Current mood:	morose
Entry tags:	advent children, ff7, fic: empire, tseng/rufus

[FF7-AC]: Empire: Chapter 2
This sucks so much. Argh. There's too much talk, too much detail, not enough flow. And I've been working on it all day as well.

II
 
Afternoon found Cloud back at Healin Lodge, the whine of his motorcycle’s engine dying down as he braked to a halt and pulled the keys from the ignition. Out of sheer force of habit, he slapped the button that sent two sword-filled racks flying open like a pair of metallic wings on either side. But when his hand brushed the hilt of the Buster Sword, he paused, and frowned.
 
When he knocked on the door, it was without his blade.
 
“Enter,” Rufus Shinra called.
 
Cloud shoved the door open. The President was leaning over his desk, furiously writing in the margins of some report, bangs obscuring his eyes.
 
“Cloud,” Rufus greeted him, without looking up. “The documents you were looking over last night are over by the chair. I haven’t touched them.”
 
He responded with a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window reflected off Rufus’ immaculate white suit and glinted off the metal clasps on the bandage wrapped around his throat, drawing Cloud’s attention to the latter.
 
Surely he was cured of Geostigma?
 
“There’s tea in the pantry. Help yourself.” Rufus tossed aside a document to make way for another.
 
“Tea?” Cloud said. “Isn’t that a luxury?”
 
Rufus finally looked up, a dry smirk on his face. “It’s that foul herbal concoction from Wutai that Tseng has been forcing down my throat. You’re welcomed to it. I’m afraid we are short on real tea.”
 
“Thank you, but I’ll pass,” Cloud replied.
 
“Pity.” Rufus shrugged, and laid his pen down. “How far along are you?”
 
“Far enough,” Cloud replied, settling into the chair with a sigh, and pulling a file from the stack.
 
“Is that so?”
 
Cloud gestured at the stacks. “You know as well as I do just how many files there are here…”
 
“Actually, I have a job offer,” Rufus said.
 
He blinked. “Apart from reading this stuff, you mean?”
 
“The last time, you told me you were a courier. I have a need for several important documents to be delivered. I’d pay you, of course.” Rufus tapped a stack of brown envelopes. “All of them are locations in Midgar. Normally, I’d ask one of the Turks to send them, but they aren’t around at the moment…”
 
Well, what was there to lose? He did have to make a living, after all, and he wasn’t going to do that just by sitting on the floor of Rufus Shinra’s office, reading his way through piles of stuff, looking out for … goodness knew what.
 
“I’ll take them.”
 
“Thank you.” Rufus smiled.
 
-
 
“We’re in Costa De Sol, chief.” Reno’s distinctive drawl sounded distinctly pleased.
 
“Just what are you doing in Costa De Sol?” Rufus sighed.
 
“Oh, checking out the chicks, checking out the beach, getting a tan. The usual.”
 
“I sent you to Nibelhelm.”
 
“Can’t blame a guy for taking a well deserved vacation, right? We’ve been working nonstop since the Kadaj bunch turned up! Or before, that, even.”
 
“Where is Rude?” Rufus asked, cradling the PHS between his shoulder and his cheek as he wrote. Oh, for the Shinra speaker phones of yore…
 
“On the beach. Getting a tan.” He could almost feel Reno’s smirk radiating through the line.
 
“Since you’re already on that continent, I want both of you to head up to Corel. Radio me back when you’re there.”
 
“Awww chief? That little dirt hole? Or are we getting a company sponsored vacation to the Golden Saucer?”
 
Rufus grinned humorlessly. “Actually, you are. I want you to pay a visit to Dio.”
 
“What for?” Reno’s tone was suddenly sharper, more attentive, his Turk instincts triggered.
 
“Like I said. Radio me back when you get there.” He killed the line.
 
-
 
The sun was setting by the time he got back. The pollution in the air did guarantee pretty sunsets here on the outskirts of Midgar, and Cloud paused to admire the streaks of pink and gold across the sky. From here, Midgar looked almost peaceful, flocks of birds rising from the wreckage to wing off for the night. It was easy to forget the homeless and the destitute, the low laid lower by Meteor. Geostigma was gone, by Aerith’s healing rain could not help to alleviate the poverty and starvation that was the lot of the refugees of Midgar. And for all that Avalanche had fought to free them from the clutches of Shinra, they were helpless to do anything for them in the aftermath.
 
Loathe as he was to admit it, Rufus Shinra was indeed in a better position to rebuild the world than they were. In fact, what were the former members of Avalanche doing, besides getting on with their lives?
 
He shook his head ruefully. I don’t save anyone. I can’t save anyone.
 
Tifa had packed dinner for him. He opened the packet now, perched on the ledge admiring the sunset, and munched on the sandwich within with an air of distraction. Idly, he wondered what Rufus ate for dinner, especially when he didn’t have the Turks around to prepare it for him. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine the President of Shinra Inc cooking his own food. He wondered if Rufus even ate. He wouldn’t put it past the man to forget entirely.
 
He wondered why he was thinking of Rufus, bent over his work, sunlight glinting off his hair.
 
The birds from Midgar squawked as they winged overhead, jarring him out of his thoughts. The sandwich was long gone.
 
“Back to work,” he announced, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.
 
-
 
Healin Lodge was drench in complete darkness when he neared it. Cloud frowned; the lights were solar powered and occasionally the solar batteries did not last the night, but it was still early. Just after sunset, in fact. It was highly unlikely that Rufus would have turned in for the night already, but from what he could see, even the small light in the office was not lit.
 
Whatever it was, he contemplated returning home, and catching an early night. Rufus’ ‘whenever you wish’ presumably did not extend to all hours of the day, no matter how late he had stayed the night before. The files could wait. If Rufus had wanted to modify them, he’d have done it by now, and it was true that he hadn’t found anything even remotely suspicious in the ones he had flicked through. If there was something afoot, it was definitely a lot more subtle, and the President was hardly likely to leave it on his desk for all to see—
 
--an oddly familiar sound echoed through the night, and Cloud tensed instinctively.
 
The sound exploded into the silent air again, right behind him. Years of ingrained reflexes kicked in as he flung himself off the bike and dived for cover, before the gunshots – for that was what they had been – began ringing in earnest.
 
He didn’t have his sword. Didn’t have time to get it before the glass of the nearest window shattered outwards. Cloud ducked out of the way again, attempting to dart towards the bike and the swords stored within. A yell sounded from within the house, followed by a short, sharp scream.
 
Rufus!
 
A bullet winged him in the arm as he reached the bike – some sniper hiding out in the bushes and obviously taking him as the enemy. He whirled before he even thought about it, the fire materia on his armlet already flaring into action. One of the bushes burst into flames, and the ensuing screams told Cloud that he had hit his target. The crossfire over his head faltered, as he grabbed the Buster Sword from the bike, and dashed towards the door.
 
The house fell eerily silent a second or so before he burst in through the main door. The living area was a mess, the windows all smashed and the walls riddled with bullet holes. The door to the office was ajar, and as he inched his way into the room, Buster Sword held protectively in front of him, he could see that it was deserted. Papers were everywhere, the files obviously rifled through.
 
He tried the bedroom next. The door was jammed; he slammed his shoulder against it repeatedly. When it refused to yield, he hefted the sword and took out the hinges with a quick swipe.
 
A shove was all it took to send the door crashing to the floor. The smell of gunpowder and blood hit him first, reminding him all too sharply of numerous battles long past. The room was a small one, and most of the floor space was taken up by two shapes sprawled across it. Both were dressed completely in black, helmeted, and pools of blood were starting to collect beneath each.
 
Sephiroth, his mind supplied immediately and unhelpfully, remembering another night and the streaks of blood splashed across the hallways of the Shinra Headquarters.
 
But Sephiroth would never use a gun.
 
And where was—
 
Something tackled him from the side, shoving him over onto the ground. A blade whipped through the space where his head had been, but he hardly saw it, whipping the edge of the Buster Sword up, the point leveled at his assailant’s throat—
 
The edge caught on fabric and sheered through, and Cloud caught side of a pair of furious blue eyes before Rufus jerked backwards, the bandage around his neck unwinding.
 
“Behind you!” Rufus snapped, punctuating his warning with two shots from his sidearm. There was a curse and the sound of someone staggering back, then Cloud was on his feet, deftly blocking the expected return fire with the blade of his sword. Another swipe and half a gun barrel clattered to the ground, and the attacker made to bolt.
 
“Don’t kill him!” Rufus ordered, and Cloud paused for a one incredulous millisecond to process the fact that he was taking orders from Shinra Inc, before he clamped down on the killing swipe and reverse his sword instead, bringing the hilt crashing down on the man’s head. Behind him, Rufus fired at a shape outside the windows. Cloud made to follow, when Rufus’ hand clamped down on his elbow. Shakily, the President pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t bother.”
 
“What?”
 
“Elena and Tseng are on the perimeter. They’ll get them. Better to wait and see if any more try to attack.”
 
Cloud stared at him, noticing for the first time that he had lost his white jacket, which left him with… oh, just three layers, a black vest over a white shirt over another black shirt. He gripped a gun in his right hand – not the sawn off shotgun – but something smaller and obviously custom made for concealed carry. Stumbling back to lean against the wall, the President ejected the spent magazine and pulled another from somewhere on his person, reloading the gun with an efficiency that spoke of long practice. He glanced over and frowned. “What?”
 
“Nothing.” Cloud tore his gaze away from Rufus’ neck. The bandage had concealed neither an open wound nor lingering traces of Geostigma, but a long, slightly ragged scar that ran across his throat to disappear somewhere into his shirt collar. “What gave you that scar?” he asked, unable to help himself.
 
Rufus’ free hand flew to his neck, his eyes widening for a moment in undisguised shock. He looked away sharply, hitching his collar up in a vain attempt to hide the mark. “Some fight in the past.” His cultured tone was unusually abrupt.
 
“Is that why you always wore turtlenecks?” Cloud pressed.
 
“We haven’t secured the area yet,” Rufus said, ignoring the question entirely. “Stay alert.”
 
-
 
They waited, Rufus seated on the floor in a corner between a bookshelf and the door, while Cloud kept watch, leaning against the wall next to the window. With nothing to pass the time, the wait seemed interminable. Cloud attended to the bullet wound on his arm – the shot had only scraped him, nothing serious. The President, however, had one high in the left shoulder, the bullet still lodged in the bone. They would need surgery to get it out; using a Restore materia would only serve to seal the bullet in.
 
When Rufus’ PHS buzzed, Cloud nearly jumped out of his skin.
 
“Understood,” Rufus said. He paused, and a scowl flashed briefly across his face. “Understood. Yes, slightly. No, nothing serious. And Strife is here. What? Yes. Very well.” He snapped the PHS shut, one handed, and stuffed it into a pocket. “They’re headed back.”
 
“Ah,” Cloud said. “Who were the attackers?”
 
“Jenova knows.” Rufus shrugged, and winced. “When our captive comes round, we’ll find out.”
 
“They were trying to assassinate you, weren’t they?”
 
“A surprising number of people are. You were ready to do so, just yesterday.”
 
“I was here to stop you. Not to kill you.”
 
“Same difference.” Rufus pushed himself to his feet. Glass crunched outside, signaling Tseng’s arrival. The Wutainese strode in. His suit was the very image of perfection, and not a strand of his long black hair was out of place, as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour dodging bullets and killing assassins. His eyes flicked to Cloud in cool acknowledgement, before he turned to Rufus. “Rufus-sama—“
 
“I’m fine.” Rufus brushed off his concern, gesturing towards the assassin that Cloud had knocked out earlier. “Take care of him.”
 
“Elena can handle him, sir. I’m getting you to safety and to appropriate medical care before the next attack comes.”
 
Rufus hesitated a moment, before sweeping past Tseng and out of the room.
 
“Not so crippled, is he?” Cloud asked.
 
“He’s not going far,” Tseng replied coolly. “Thank you for your assistance.”
 
Cloud inclined his head as Elena strode in, holstering a side arm. “Area’s secure.” She glanced curiously at Cloud. “Is he coming with us?”
 
“I have no orders to that effect,” Tseng replied, turning to leave.
 
“I’m going with you,” Cloud said quietly.
 
Tseng was too dignified to whirl, but he did turn back. “I will convey your request to the President—“
 
“I am going with you.” He wasn’t sure where the words had come from or what he hoped to achieve, but they were out, and he was bound to follow them.
 
Tseng eyed him for a long moment. “I will consult the President,” he said at last, but Cloud knew that he had won.
 
-
 
He was the last onto the ‘chopper, helping Elena to load up one of the huge metal briefcases emblazoned with the Shinra logo. Tseng waited long enough for him to scramble in before taking off, leaving Elena to slam the door shut and for him to fall into an empty seat. Completely forgetting that the Buster Sword was still strapped to his back. Ow.
 
In the seat opposite, Rufus cracked open an eye and raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Cloud cursed and fought himself free of the scabbard.
 
“Aren’t you due home?” he asked eventually.
 
Cloud shrugged. “You haven’t paid me for the deliveries.”
 
Rufus laughed softly, a sound that made Cloud eye him in surprise. There was a first for everything, it seemed.
 
“Indeed. I’d forgotten. Credit or gil?”
 
“Gil,” Cloud replied. “All the banks in Midgar are destroyed.”
 
“That too,” Rufus replied, evidently in good spirits, or faking it very well. “If you would be so kind as to wait until we’ve reached our destination, then. It’s not too far.”
 
--