Current location:	among some plants
Current mood:	dirty
Current music:	The Hush Sound - Don't Wake Me Up
Entry tags:	*final fantasy vii, author: faicinn_rocais

Forever Together [FFVII: Rufus and Dark Nation]
Title: Forever Together
Author: Faicinn_Rocais
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst and spontaneity
Word count: ~1250
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Rufus and Dark Nation (gen, obviously, I hope): his only real friend - I used to call your name when no one else would come.
Summary: Rufus remembers the good times with Dark Nation after a day gone horribly wrong (It's all thanks to the Science Department, really) and the public showings he has to do this month require him to be at a dog show: just the place he wants to be.
A/N: So I'm an hour or so late, sorry. The monetary system I'm going on is 1.00 USD = 100 gil. I guess even though I like angst, I also like happy endings.


It had been a bad day, one ranked as the lowest of the lows. Nothing had gone right. Two of his appoints had been double-booked, causing them to either be short or rescheduled. One dignitary from someplace on the other Continent hadn’t even bothered to show for his appointment, which ended up being okay since the next one had shown up nearly an hour early thinking she was late. Then the power had gone out on his floor due to some experiment the science department was conducting that hadn’t ended up working. That had taken up the rest of his afternoon with his secretary having to cancel and reschedule those appoints that were wrecked.

To top it off he had to make an appearance at the Midgar Champion Cup; a dog show that had apparently been going on in Midgar for a few years now. A few new breeds were going to be premiered tonight and, for public appearances sake, he couldn’t very well deny attending now despite having had such a shit day.

He had a special box seat with other important officials. The Terriers went by, the Toys—which he really didn’t see the point of. What was the use of a dog that barely reached mid shin in height? Non-Sporting, Herding, Sporting; those dogs were more interesting. Then the Hound group went and the Working dogs.

A few of the new breeds were in the Hound and Working groups. The breeders were, surprisingly, from Midgar and he was somewhat familiar with the names. They had crossed Guard Hounds with local breeds to get a large dog that specialized in protecting family and property—it was apparently very good with chocobos. One breeder who tested their mettle at an up and coming chocobo ranch apparently spoke that four of his dogs fought of a small pack of Vladkoros. It was when one of the last dogs came into the ring that he was entranced.

Dark Nation, Rufus thought to himself, for indeed, the dog looked like his mutated Guard Hound. He was obviously missing the signature whip-like protrusion Guard Hounds sported, but his half-tail, thick neck, green eyes and dark coat were all reminding him of his loyal friend. He had no doubt that that dog would win the best in breed and wasn’t surprised when the judge picked the dog.

The announcer called that tomorrow would be the best in show competition. Rufus, along with everyone else, made his way home.

----------

As Rufus nursed a glass of vodka, the man looked at the framed pictures that were on the end table by the sofa. One was of him and Dark Nation, the other was of the dog; pose of poise and perfection. Ears perked forward, green eyes stared knowingly into the camera. As he took a sip, he seemed to recall that the photographer who had done the shoot hadn’t photographed dogs again.

Dark Nation had always been there, even when no one else could. When the Turks couldn’t be there because of something his father had said or was doing—the President was more important than his heir—or he hadn’t wanted to be around anyone. Being sick, no one was allowed to see him other than his doctors…

…or Hojo.

Throwing back his drink, the ShinRa president took the photos and looked at them more closely. Dark Nation, a loyal friend, had always known when he was wanted. He had always been there; no sense of decorum or appearance had been necessary. Even when he hadn’t been able to say his name all the way, the dog had come. The dog had been told all his secrets, everything that he couldn’t say to anyone for fear of retribution from his father or someone else; back in those days, ShinRa hadn’t exactly been safe.

He realized that he missed that; the absolute loyalty and love that Dark Nation had bestowed upon him without question. Turks would come and go in all matter of states of health with Dark Nation ignoring them—some covered in blood; only respecting him enough to get up from what he was doing to greet him and see if he was all right. He would lay at his feet as he did paperwork, he got pleasure out of a pat or tickling Reno’s ankles with his neck-whip during briefings and meetings.

Rufus suddenly realized that he missed his Hound more than he thought he had. With things finally settling down after the Crisis, he missed the easy-going nature of Dark Nation, the presence he had in a room. The knowing look he would give him when he tried to hide something. The growl-purr he would make when you rubbed his stomach…

Perhaps he’d get a dog; he had seen some good breeds at the show. Tseng would hate it.

----------

“I still don’ see why ya had ta bring me along, boss,” Reno drawled as he stood behind Rufus’ seat at the show.

“You know a Turk has to be with me at all times when I’m out in public,” Rufus admonished as he watched the goings on about him. “You should be glad that I talked Tseng down to just you; he wanted you to head a team.”

Reno made a face behind his sunglasses.

The announcer started the show and they watched the groups come and go. When the Working Group came out, he heard a soft, “Dark Nation” from Reno. It was true, the dog was pure grace. The dog, ironically named Dark Night, won the group, and was runner up for the Best in Show, getting hedged out by some breed from the Northern Continent. Rufus didn’t like it’s icy-blue stare as he descended down among the handlers to greet them and their dogs, Reno right behind him.

“Your dog moves well,” Rufus said to the handler-breeder.

“President ShinRa!” the woman exclaimed. “Tina Foxglove! It’s an honour!”

“I’m surprised how much he doesn’t look like Guard Hounds,” Rufus carefully replied.

“We know that Guard Hounds were created by ShinRa, and can be pretty feral,” Ms. Foxglove replied, “we try to just breed for their attitude and not their physical characteristics.”

“Is that so?”

“We’ve learned that the ones who develop the Guard’s whip are usually more aggressive than the ones who don’t, like Night here.”

“She’s a beautiful dog,” Rufus replied as he held out his hand. The dog delicately sniffed it before bowing her head to allow him to pet her. Her handler looked a bit surprised before Rufus continued, “where did you get your Guard stock?”

“We caught them in the slums after Meteor,” Ms. Foxglove replied. She began walked back to where she had set up to get ready to clean up. “One of the ones caught was larger than the rest, and seemed more dangerous, than the others; not feral exactly, but like he was waiting for something.”

“Interesting,” Rufus replied as they reached her area. A growl brought Rufus’ attention away from Ms. Foxglove to dark shape with glowing eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” she replied. “He’s only manageable with his sister around. I’d usually have the ones with whips either culled or neutered, but he’s perfectly fine around his sister.”

Rufus looked into the carrier. The light that managed to illuminate the dark shape showed a muzzle over the dog’s face. “Would you like to say hello?” Rufus asked, holding out his hand.

“I wouldn’t recommend that, sir,” Ms. Foxglove replied, but the dog came out of the carrier, hackles half up, neck whip lashing, and half-tail stiff. What had Rufus was the dog’s eyes.
They weren’t the same colour green as Dark Nation’s, but they were green. Some of Hojo’s specimens did escape when Sephiroth attacked and when Meteor destroyed the Tower. The breeder was surprised when the male’s hackles went down and his tail began to wag.

“I’ll pay you double of what his sister is worth if I can walk out of here with him,” Rufus replied as the dog sat placidly by his feet. He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Reno, but he didn’t care; this dog was his and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“That would be 320,000 gil,” his breeder breathed. “Are you sure, Mr. President?”
Rufus had already signed the cheque and filled out the amount. “Do I make it out to you or your kennel?”

“My name would be fine,” Ms. Foxglove replied, in shock. With the tearing of the check, she seemed to come back to reality, unlatching the muzzle and hooking a leash onto the collar. She pulled papers out of a case. Rufus gave all the papers to Reno. They watched as the dogs touched noses.

“It was a pleasure,” Rufus said as he left.

They had gotten to the car before Rufus’ curiosity piqued enough to inquire about the dog’s name. Reno flipped through the documents as the driver started the car and abruptly laughed.

“The mongrel’s name is Dark Nation,” Reno replied as he handed the papers to Rufus.
The President looked at them, and sure enough, the Dobherd Hound’s name was Dark Nation.

He watched the dog curl up next to his feet and the neck-whip slowly make its way to Reno’s pant’s line.