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I finished it! I will probably post this on other comms later but I kind of just want it out somewhere.
Title: Learning to Fall
Fandom: FF7/Before Crisis - Rufus and Tseng gen fic
Warnings: Implied child abuse, a complete lack of anything even resembling sex
Notes: Squenix owns 'em, mad props to the editor boyfriend for helping me whip this into shape. Set in the gap between missions 17 and 18, where Rufus is essentially a prisoner of the Turks.
Summary: Redeeming Rufus.
The clatter of dishes accompanied Tseng's internal litany of frustration and anger as he began clearing the table after dinner. Veld was six months missing, and Tseng wondered how anyone could ever fill the shoes his mentor left behind. On top of it all, he had to deal with keeping an eye on the disgraced ShinRa heir.
"Teach me to fight."
The words were phrased as an order, not a request, but there was a hint of uncertainty in them. When Tseng looked up from the plates he was clearing, Rufus was wearing his usual mask of ice.
“Sir?” asked Tseng, setting down the dishes and turning his full attention to the young man.
“Teach me to fight,” repeated Rufus, with no trace of the previous uncertainty in his voice.
The 'why?' was on the tip of Tseng's tongue, but he sensed Rufus won't give himself up so easily. Well, there was one way to find out. Leaving the dishes on the tiny apartment’s one table, he stood, straightening his suit.
"If I agree to this, there are two things I must make clear first, sir." Rufus said nothing, only glared, and he continued. "First, in training, I outrank you. I cannot and will not train someone who won't listen to me." There was a flash of defiance in Rufus's eyes, and for a moment Tseng thought he was going to protest, but he only nodded silently. "Second - this won't be easy. It'll hurt, and you'll end up with bruises at the very least."
Rufus didn't meet his eyes now. "...I know how to deal with bruises," he said quietly.
Tseng thought there was another secret hidden there, waiting to be unearthed. He ignored it for the moment, though, simply nodding briskly. "We'll start now, then. Go get changed into something you don't mind ruining."
"You fight in your suits," Rufus pointed out defiantly.
Tseng gave him a hint of a smirk. "Ours are designed to resist damage. Yours is not. Go get changed."
Rufus didn't look happy at the rebuke, but he headed to the little bedroom anyway, shutting the door behind him. When he emerged again in faded sweats and a plain cotton undershirt, Tseng had already stripped off his jacket and dress shirt and folded them in a neat pile on his desk. He caught Rufus staring at the scars along his arms, the record of a dangerous life, and smiled slightly to himself, amused that he had finally surprised the young yet cynical blond. Tseng motioned him to follow and moved two doors down the hall to the room that served as a training ground for the Turks. As they walked, he surveyed his newest trainee. It was easy to forget how young the vice president was when he was the mastermind lurking in the shadows, but standing in front of him, skinny and pale and seventeen, it hit Tseng that for all his conniving, he was still just a boy.
He put the thoughts aside and moved into a guard stance in the middle of the room, gesturing at Rufus to join him. "Try and take me."
After a second's hesitation, perhaps sensing the trap in his words, the blond rushed him, the motion full of anger and screamingly obvious. With the barest movement, Tseng sent him sprawling. He got up and tried it again, and again Tseng knocked him to the ground. After the sixth time, he'd learned his lesson and didn't get up, instead getting his breath back as Tseng to came over and offered him a hand up.
"As you've realized by now,” said Tseng as he pulled Rufus to his feet, “everything you thought you knew about fighting is wrong. So, we start at the beginning; learning how to fall."
Rufus was smart enough not to protest that he already knew how to fall, and instead stood silently, shoulders squared in determination, as Tseng showed him how to distribute his weight to take the impact without injury. He was a quick learner, and, despite his small frame, he was very fit.
After two hours, Tseng gave a satisfied nod as Rufus stood again. "Good enough for tonight; you're going to feel that tomorrow. We'll pick up again on Thursday."
The next day it was back to cold silence and perfectly pressed white suits, but there was a hint of respect in the ice blue eyes that wasn't there before. They fell into a rhythm of sorts, alternating between evenings of intense training, and days filled with the awkward silence between guard and captive. After two weeks of this, Tseng was comfortable enough to voice the question which had occurred to him on that first night.
“Why did you ask me to teach you?" asked Tseng, as the two warmed down from another bruising session in the training room.
Rufus bristled, and Tseng thought he'd moved too soon, but after a moment he answered quietly. "I tried to break you, and failed.” He paused a moment, marshalling his thoughts before continuing, “And the old man hides behind you, makes you do his dirty work. You Turks; in the end, you're stronger than both of us. I want to be strong like that too, like my father isn't."
Tseng nodded. "We bend, but don't break. For a Turk, our flexibility is our strength, both in battle and within the company."
Rufus looked thoughtful, absorbing the lesson and mentally running through its applications.
The conversation had put a crack in the barrier between them. After that night, Rufus was still not precisely friendly, nor trusting, but nonetheless more open. The next morning, he invited Tseng to join him when he brought breakfast to the little set of rooms that served as Rufus’s cell. His tone was disinterested, but Tseng stayed anyway, curious, and they discussed the morning news over breakfast. Tseng found himself surprised by the intelligence hiding behind the pretty-boy facade; sharp, if somewhat undirected, greedily absorbing every scrap of politics and business that came its way. Rufus had a drive in him that his father didn't, and Tseng realized that if he put his mind to it, this boy could change the world, for better or for worse.
A month later, Tseng called out as Rufus headed to get changed. "Don't bother, sir, we're doing something different tonight.”
Rufus arched an eyebrow in curiosity, but said nothing when Tseng didn't clarify, and followed him to the elevator. As it slowed, their destination became clear. "The firing range is on this level, isn’t it?" Rufus said, voice full of skepticism.
Tseng nodded, looking out over the city through the glass walls. He caught the blonde's eyes in the reflection, and could see the spark of curiosity there.
Tseng flicked on the light switch just inside the door of the indoor range, and rows of bright fluorescent lights hummed on to illuminate the sparse concrete room. He unlocked another door, and, after rummaging through a few boxes, pulled out two sets of safety glasses and ear protectors. He handed one set to Rufus as he spoke. "I know you've had some firearms training, but this will be a bit more intensive. It will serve you well, though. You can't fight a ranged attacker with close combat, and in your position, most of the threats will be ranged." He pulled a number of rifles and handguns of varying styles and calibers out of the storage room. "Today we'll do basic marksmanship work to start with."
He ran Rufus through his paces with each of the firearms, carefully correcting his stance and grip. He was good with firearms, for his level of training, better than he was at close combat, and under the drive Rufus brought to everything he tried, there was the hint of a smile, of pure enjoyment as the shots rang out.
This put another crack in the wall which separated the two of them. After that first evening at the range, the respect became more obvious. Their polite discussions edged into debates, and Tseng let himself be drawn into them. Rufus began forwarding news items of interest to Tseng even when he wasn’t playing guard dog, prompting Reno to joke that he must have a secret girlfriend, with all the messages he was receiving. Tseng pinned him with a glare, and the subject was immediately dropped.
One evening several months later, after a particularly brutal session, Tseng approached the hidden apartment with materia and an ice pack in hand. He had twisted Rufus's wrist on one of the last throws, and while the blond had shrugged it off, Tseng was fairly certain it was at the very least sprained. The door was open part way, and through the opening, Tseng could see Rufus sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to the door. His shirt was off, and there was the faint green glow of a Cure spell in the room. In the half-light, the tracework of pale scars stood out on Rufus's back, and Tseng started slightly in surprise before composing himself. The motion knocked the door open slightly further. Rufus jumped at the noise, twisting around to spot its source. An expression of fear flitted across his face, quickly replaced by furious rage as he met Tseng's eyes.
"What the /hell/ are you doing there?" he spat.
Tseng's face was already schooled into a polite smile, and he held up the ice pack. "For your wrist, sir. I have a Full Cure as well, if you'll allow me?"
Rufus stalked over and held out his wrist, now visibly swollen. As Tseng activated the spell, he spoke quietly. "I didn't see anything."
Rufus nodded, some measure of trust implicit in the motion, and the crack widened enough to offer a glimpse of the angry, broken young man behind the façade. The incident was never mentioned again, but it never quite left the back of Tseng’s mind as they sparred together.
Some weeks later, Rufus and Tseng were involved in a heated discussion about the politics of Wutai and their relationship to Shinra, when Reno stuck his head into the room. “Yo, boss, Rosalind’s finally woken up.”
Tseng looked up in surprise at the intrusion, as Rufus gave him a dismissive wave. “Go to your Turk. I’m not exactly going anywhere, am I?” His voice was dry, but there was a smile on the corner of his lips.
As Tseng left the room, locking the door behind him, Reno gave him a suspicious look. "What the hell did you do to him, boss? Kid almost seemed human, there."
Tseng smirked slightly as he hefted the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. "Training."
Title: Learning to Fall
Fandom: FF7/Before Crisis - Rufus and Tseng gen fic
Warnings: Implied child abuse, a complete lack of anything even resembling sex
Notes: Squenix owns 'em, mad props to the editor boyfriend for helping me whip this into shape. Set in the gap between missions 17 and 18, where Rufus is essentially a prisoner of the Turks.
Summary: Redeeming Rufus.
The clatter of dishes accompanied Tseng's internal litany of frustration and anger as he began clearing the table after dinner. Veld was six months missing, and Tseng wondered how anyone could ever fill the shoes his mentor left behind. On top of it all, he had to deal with keeping an eye on the disgraced ShinRa heir.
"Teach me to fight."
The words were phrased as an order, not a request, but there was a hint of uncertainty in them. When Tseng looked up from the plates he was clearing, Rufus was wearing his usual mask of ice.
“Sir?” asked Tseng, setting down the dishes and turning his full attention to the young man.
“Teach me to fight,” repeated Rufus, with no trace of the previous uncertainty in his voice.
The 'why?' was on the tip of Tseng's tongue, but he sensed Rufus won't give himself up so easily. Well, there was one way to find out. Leaving the dishes on the tiny apartment’s one table, he stood, straightening his suit.
"If I agree to this, there are two things I must make clear first, sir." Rufus said nothing, only glared, and he continued. "First, in training, I outrank you. I cannot and will not train someone who won't listen to me." There was a flash of defiance in Rufus's eyes, and for a moment Tseng thought he was going to protest, but he only nodded silently. "Second - this won't be easy. It'll hurt, and you'll end up with bruises at the very least."
Rufus didn't meet his eyes now. "...I know how to deal with bruises," he said quietly.
Tseng thought there was another secret hidden there, waiting to be unearthed. He ignored it for the moment, though, simply nodding briskly. "We'll start now, then. Go get changed into something you don't mind ruining."
"You fight in your suits," Rufus pointed out defiantly.
Tseng gave him a hint of a smirk. "Ours are designed to resist damage. Yours is not. Go get changed."
Rufus didn't look happy at the rebuke, but he headed to the little bedroom anyway, shutting the door behind him. When he emerged again in faded sweats and a plain cotton undershirt, Tseng had already stripped off his jacket and dress shirt and folded them in a neat pile on his desk. He caught Rufus staring at the scars along his arms, the record of a dangerous life, and smiled slightly to himself, amused that he had finally surprised the young yet cynical blond. Tseng motioned him to follow and moved two doors down the hall to the room that served as a training ground for the Turks. As they walked, he surveyed his newest trainee. It was easy to forget how young the vice president was when he was the mastermind lurking in the shadows, but standing in front of him, skinny and pale and seventeen, it hit Tseng that for all his conniving, he was still just a boy.
He put the thoughts aside and moved into a guard stance in the middle of the room, gesturing at Rufus to join him. "Try and take me."
After a second's hesitation, perhaps sensing the trap in his words, the blond rushed him, the motion full of anger and screamingly obvious. With the barest movement, Tseng sent him sprawling. He got up and tried it again, and again Tseng knocked him to the ground. After the sixth time, he'd learned his lesson and didn't get up, instead getting his breath back as Tseng to came over and offered him a hand up.
"As you've realized by now,” said Tseng as he pulled Rufus to his feet, “everything you thought you knew about fighting is wrong. So, we start at the beginning; learning how to fall."
Rufus was smart enough not to protest that he already knew how to fall, and instead stood silently, shoulders squared in determination, as Tseng showed him how to distribute his weight to take the impact without injury. He was a quick learner, and, despite his small frame, he was very fit.
After two hours, Tseng gave a satisfied nod as Rufus stood again. "Good enough for tonight; you're going to feel that tomorrow. We'll pick up again on Thursday."
The next day it was back to cold silence and perfectly pressed white suits, but there was a hint of respect in the ice blue eyes that wasn't there before. They fell into a rhythm of sorts, alternating between evenings of intense training, and days filled with the awkward silence between guard and captive. After two weeks of this, Tseng was comfortable enough to voice the question which had occurred to him on that first night.
“Why did you ask me to teach you?" asked Tseng, as the two warmed down from another bruising session in the training room.
Rufus bristled, and Tseng thought he'd moved too soon, but after a moment he answered quietly. "I tried to break you, and failed.” He paused a moment, marshalling his thoughts before continuing, “And the old man hides behind you, makes you do his dirty work. You Turks; in the end, you're stronger than both of us. I want to be strong like that too, like my father isn't."
Tseng nodded. "We bend, but don't break. For a Turk, our flexibility is our strength, both in battle and within the company."
Rufus looked thoughtful, absorbing the lesson and mentally running through its applications.
The conversation had put a crack in the barrier between them. After that night, Rufus was still not precisely friendly, nor trusting, but nonetheless more open. The next morning, he invited Tseng to join him when he brought breakfast to the little set of rooms that served as Rufus’s cell. His tone was disinterested, but Tseng stayed anyway, curious, and they discussed the morning news over breakfast. Tseng found himself surprised by the intelligence hiding behind the pretty-boy facade; sharp, if somewhat undirected, greedily absorbing every scrap of politics and business that came its way. Rufus had a drive in him that his father didn't, and Tseng realized that if he put his mind to it, this boy could change the world, for better or for worse.
A month later, Tseng called out as Rufus headed to get changed. "Don't bother, sir, we're doing something different tonight.”
Rufus arched an eyebrow in curiosity, but said nothing when Tseng didn't clarify, and followed him to the elevator. As it slowed, their destination became clear. "The firing range is on this level, isn’t it?" Rufus said, voice full of skepticism.
Tseng nodded, looking out over the city through the glass walls. He caught the blonde's eyes in the reflection, and could see the spark of curiosity there.
Tseng flicked on the light switch just inside the door of the indoor range, and rows of bright fluorescent lights hummed on to illuminate the sparse concrete room. He unlocked another door, and, after rummaging through a few boxes, pulled out two sets of safety glasses and ear protectors. He handed one set to Rufus as he spoke. "I know you've had some firearms training, but this will be a bit more intensive. It will serve you well, though. You can't fight a ranged attacker with close combat, and in your position, most of the threats will be ranged." He pulled a number of rifles and handguns of varying styles and calibers out of the storage room. "Today we'll do basic marksmanship work to start with."
He ran Rufus through his paces with each of the firearms, carefully correcting his stance and grip. He was good with firearms, for his level of training, better than he was at close combat, and under the drive Rufus brought to everything he tried, there was the hint of a smile, of pure enjoyment as the shots rang out.
This put another crack in the wall which separated the two of them. After that first evening at the range, the respect became more obvious. Their polite discussions edged into debates, and Tseng let himself be drawn into them. Rufus began forwarding news items of interest to Tseng even when he wasn’t playing guard dog, prompting Reno to joke that he must have a secret girlfriend, with all the messages he was receiving. Tseng pinned him with a glare, and the subject was immediately dropped.
One evening several months later, after a particularly brutal session, Tseng approached the hidden apartment with materia and an ice pack in hand. He had twisted Rufus's wrist on one of the last throws, and while the blond had shrugged it off, Tseng was fairly certain it was at the very least sprained. The door was open part way, and through the opening, Tseng could see Rufus sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to the door. His shirt was off, and there was the faint green glow of a Cure spell in the room. In the half-light, the tracework of pale scars stood out on Rufus's back, and Tseng started slightly in surprise before composing himself. The motion knocked the door open slightly further. Rufus jumped at the noise, twisting around to spot its source. An expression of fear flitted across his face, quickly replaced by furious rage as he met Tseng's eyes.
"What the /hell/ are you doing there?" he spat.
Tseng's face was already schooled into a polite smile, and he held up the ice pack. "For your wrist, sir. I have a Full Cure as well, if you'll allow me?"
Rufus stalked over and held out his wrist, now visibly swollen. As Tseng activated the spell, he spoke quietly. "I didn't see anything."
Rufus nodded, some measure of trust implicit in the motion, and the crack widened enough to offer a glimpse of the angry, broken young man behind the façade. The incident was never mentioned again, but it never quite left the back of Tseng’s mind as they sparred together.
Some weeks later, Rufus and Tseng were involved in a heated discussion about the politics of Wutai and their relationship to Shinra, when Reno stuck his head into the room. “Yo, boss, Rosalind’s finally woken up.”
Tseng looked up in surprise at the intrusion, as Rufus gave him a dismissive wave. “Go to your Turk. I’m not exactly going anywhere, am I?” His voice was dry, but there was a smile on the corner of his lips.
As Tseng left the room, locking the door behind him, Reno gave him a suspicious look. "What the hell did you do to him, boss? Kid almost seemed human, there."
Tseng smirked slightly as he hefted the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. "Training."
