For Thy Pleasure, FFVII (Tseng/Lazard) Title: For Thy Pleasure Author/Artist:_ice_lady_ Rating: PG Warnings:Last row, third from the left - that's a scar, no? :P Word count: 2055 Prompt: October 5 - Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, Tseng/Lazard: gun play - "He who controls others may be powerful, but he who has mastered himself is mightier still." Summary: A simple Friday night. A/N:sphinxofthenile owns this too. I just forgot which parts. *hides*
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Tseng often felt like nothing more but a delivery man. That was far from surprising considering the fact he often found himself carrying piles of files from one office to another. Then again, some documents were simply too important to be handed to anyone besides the most trusted few. He didn’t want to be here, really, but he also didn’t want to be at home.
There was nothing waiting for him there, not after Reno decided it was time to move. As much as he had ranted about it, Tseng still felt wrong returning to an empty apartment, even though it was perfectly clean now, no young men to make a mess out of it.
Working made more sense and, even though Rufus wasn’t keen on abusing Tseng, the Turk had a distinct feeling even he had given up trying to make Tseng human.
So, delivering papers it was.
He passed through the corridors, down the staircase, through more corridors filled with the remaining few people finishing up their week’s work only to go home to their friends and families. No one stopped him. No one even bothered with eye contact, knowing the Turk leader was not the type to converse and small talk. Well, he never was but, in the past year or so, he’d turned from silent to simply unapproachable. And that was the way he liked it, or he kept on telling himself so.
He didn’t like Lazard, though. Especially after… no, some secrets weren’t worth repeating, not even in his mind. Rufus had taken the whole ordeal with much less shock than anyone else of the three people that knew about it – him, Tseng and Reno. Reno had gone batshit, but then again, Reno had often gone batshit, so it wasn’t that much different. Tseng was still trying to grasp the whole ordeal with his mind, but he knew better than to even bother wording anything about it. And Rufus… Rufus had behaved as though he’d known, as though this was nothing but the way things are.
He knocked on the door far too strongly, surprising himself with the sudden outburst of emotions he hadn’t even known were there. But he quickly calmed himself down. It was never hard for the leader of the Turks to keep his emotions at bay, though Tseng, in that strange moment of weakness, realized he wasn’t referring to himself in his mind.
He straightened his suit, cleared his voice, made sure there was no residual trace of emotion anywhere on his body as well as hid mind. Lazard hadn’t shown his cards yet so it was easy he was actually a threat.
Nothing happened at first. For the good half minute, and a very long one, Tseng’s mind was going through options, whether to enter uninvited, to turn on his heel and go back to Rufus in hope the boy had some other assignment for him, anything but stand here.
In the end, he heard a very weak “Enter”, voice tired and perhaps even post sleeping, which made the corners of Tseng’s lips quirk a bit. It was too short for anyone to notice, and he made sure no one was there to see in the first place. Then, he placed his hand onto the doorknob, pushing it and getting in.
In those few times Tseng had worked under the executive, he had learned one thing – Lazard was the epitome of an orderly man. He kept everything nicely filed, marked and clean; obsessively so. Not this time, though. His office was a big pile of papers, making it seem like someone had thrown up in the form of paperwork, all over the place. And, in the middle of it, Lazard was sitting, at his computer, back at Tseng, screen flashing something red Tseng knew better than to focus his eyes on.
Lazard ignored him at first, typing something faster than Tseng could ever dream of achieving. It lasted for a short while, again perhaps too short because this meant Tseng was going to have to get home eventually, and he really didn’t want that.
Being ignored still didn’t feel comfortable, and Tseng cleared his throat, getting Lazard’s attention in a heartbeat. The executive craned his head, forced a polite smile while pushing the glasses up his nose. Pale skin, pale lips, pale eyes, pale hair.
So similar. It was stupid thinking anything else, actually and Tseng had remembered that one time, when Reno had met the executive for the first time, how he’d teased Rufus about finding his long lost relative.
It seemed amusing back then. Funny, even.
“Tseng of the Turks. My apologies, I wasn’t expecting such distinguished company.”
Tseng shrugged, in that casual yet forced manner that made certain they both knew this was nothing but politeness that was appreciated more than a sincere gesture.
“I’m ordered to remain here until you deal with these,” Tseng said, voice flat, as he approached the desk, or so he concluded, because there was too much paper on it to distinguish where wood in its rawer form, perhaps, started. He extended his arm, handing the manila folder to Lazard, whose lips were still adorned with that annoying smile and the eyes with even more annoying need for eye contact.
Lazard even produced something that sounded like a snort, a chuckle, as he pointed his left arm towards somewhere behind Tseng, who turned around to see a chair.
“I’m quite alright,” Tseng said, the only movement being placing his arms behind his back, standing straight.
“Very well,” Lazard answered, eyes now on the papers, reading slowly and carefully and, from what Tseng could see from where he was standing, the paper had many letters and folder had many papers. This was going to be a long night. But at least he wasn’t going to spend it at home.
Time passed slowly and Tseng decided to use it to meditate, because clear mind meant lack of insanity and mind filled with thoughts meant mulling over things that hurt less when they were ignored. Lazard looked preoccupied with whatever was in those papers, turning only the second leaf over when Tseng felt buzzing in the inside pocket of his jacket.
He pulled the cell phone out quickly, the only reaction from Lazard being those eyes glancing at him over the rim of the eyeglasses before returning to the papers.
“Tseng,” Tseng said, pressing the device to his ear. He knew who was calling and that the person know Tseng knew who he was, but still, he wasn’t uncovering the identity in front of a suspected enemy, at least not yet.
“Would you mind telling me why you’re still in the building?” came Rufus’ slightly annoyed voice. Tseng didn’t say anything. There was no need, both of them knew. And Lazard didn’t, and he didn’t need to. “You can leave, Tseng. And that’s an order.”
“Yes,” Tseng said casually, flipping the phone shut, letting it slide back into its default place. He resumed standing there, as though nothing had happened, until finally, Lazard chuckled, looking up at Tseng, who only allowed one eyebrow to slide up in question.
“I suppose brother dear needs a better grip over his Turks,” Lazard said oh so casually and Tseng had to cough to cover his shock. Lazard simply chuckled once more, shaking his head. “He warned me about you.” He shrugged. Tseng was still frozen. “If you plan on staying, which I suppose you do, please make use of that chair. I’d hate to be blamed for any spinal injury to a Turk,” Lazard added, voice humorous, arm extended towards the chair. “Please.”
Again, time passed, but this time at least, Tseng could relax a bit. Staying home or sitting here, staring at a blank wall either way, it didn’t really matter to him. It’s not the first time he’d spent the day guarding some random executive whom he couldn’t care less about. But he wasn’t guarding this time, he told himself. Lazard was the enemy. Everyone who wasn’t a friend was.
Lazard chuckled then, pulling Tseng’s attention from the random musings plaguing his mind. “Midgar Daily editor,” Lazard simply commented, as though Company secrets were everyone’s cup of tea, “wants a five percent increase.”
Tseng almost allowed himself a snort, shifting his centre of gravity, eyes on Lazard now. “And there I was thinking our media was neutral.” The tone was hard to miss and Lazard obviously appreciated it.
“A wise man once told me,” he started with a polite smile, pulling the glasses off his nose, releasing them onto one of the paper piles on his desk. “Not to trust anything I see on TV. You might know him,” he added. “He works for you.”
Tseng produced a very faint chuckle, having a rather good idea who the executive was talking about. “Let me guess – tall, has a scar on his face.”
Lazard nodded, crossing his fingers, pulling his hands a bit away from himself. An opening gesture, Tseng noted, the man wasn’t that afraid of perhaps trusting him anymore. “Always thought it was too vague of a reference.”
“Let’s just say…” Tseng paused, offering another of those polite but not so much fake smiles to the executive. “He has a tendency to be anything but a vague reference.”
“Quite talkative, that one,” Lazard continued, a tad of reprimand in that voice, though he did well disguising it, causing Tseng to chuckle once more. There was no need to keep the trumps in his sleeves anymore. Actually, there was no need to keep the trumps in their sleeves, not after tonight, though Tseng wasn’t about to spit out his history, no matter the blood. Or genetics.
“I’d call him anything but talkative,” Tseng added. “Manipulative fits him better.”
Lazard chuckled this time, the smile a definite not polite or fake one. More like discomfort, this one, as he leaned back, pushing his back into the chair, as though stretching his arms, channelling the mental discomfort into the physical one. “Rufus.”
Tseng shook his head ever so slightly. “He didn’t know anything then. I had to make sure.”
Lazard pursed his lips, eyes down his nose and onto the papers for a long few seconds, until he returned his ever so polite gaze back onto Tseng. “Nothing’s simple in the Company.”
“Nothing ever is. You should consider yourself lucky, though.” Tseng paused, glad to be seeing he’d gotten Lazard’s attention with those words. “Rufus trusts no one, and yet he walked right into your arms.”
“Sounds like there is a threat underneath that.” Lazard’s voice was anything but worried. Just stating the facts, nothing more. “I suppose he trusts you then, no?”
“You could say there isn’t much between him and the fallout.” Tseng adjusted his tie, as though absentmindedly, shifting his legs, uncrossing them then crossing the other one over.
It pulled another chuckle from Lazard. “I’d never take ‘not much’ as a euphemism for your services.”
“Flattered as I am, my limitations are as real as anyone else’s.”
“Still…” Lazard pursed his lips. “Were I to hurt my… were I to hurt Rufus,” Lazard paused, eyes as piercing as Tseng had seen on Rufus many times, “I have a distinct feeling my entire department wouldn’t save me from you.”
The nod Tseng made was so slight that not even Lazard was certain it was really there. “But, as a friendly advice,” Tseng continued then, another nod added just to confused the executive, perhaps. “Just because it wears a blue suit, it doesn’t mean it’s trustworthy.”
Lazard’s lips quirked again, as politely as ever. “And just because it allows being drunk to death doesn’t mean it lacks self control. A snake can smell another from a mile away.”
“True enough,” Tseng whispered, allowing perhaps a first somewhat sincere smile to his eyes.
Lazard’s eyes glanced towards the manila folder still lying stubbornly on the desk before him, then they quickly travelled up, meeting Tseng’s. “I know an excellent teahouse at the outskirts of the city.”
Tseng pursed his lips, visibly amused all of a sudden. “And the paperwork?”
It pulled a chuckle out of Lazard alright. “This?” he said, the tone of voice a tad higher than normally, humanly so. “Nowhere nearly as important as your services to me this night.”