Series: Luminescence [5/16]
Prompt: 10 - Silent Embers
Title: Bedside Manners
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Rufus Shinra, Tifa Lockhart
Rating: PG13
Summary: An interview. A game. A word of thanks.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy and all of its characters belong to Square-Enix.
Note: That... was long. Actually, I wasn't intending it to stack everything in one chapter. I was planning two chapters for this one but my brain didn't seem to be working when I wrote and edited this one. I feel like I'm losing my touch on snarky comebacks ~.~


Chapter 5: Bedside Manners

Hell. If he was thrown in that fiery pit, Rufus wondered where he would land.

He wasn’t violent. At least, he kept murderous intentions in his mind and left them with the specialists during their completion. He wasn’t a hypocrite. He was too arrogant to by hypocritical anyway. A traitor to his homeland? Of course not. After all, he had always wanted the best for Gaia. His interests were another story. Sowers of schism and dissent? Now there’s a possibility.

He chuckled amusedly to himself, turning the page of the book he was reading, the Inferno. It was a gift from Reeve on his last birthday and up to that day, he had wondered what the implications of the man were by giving him such a book. Perhaps a reminder that he himself was going to hell? Ah, that he had already expected. Why still remind him?

“How long still are you going to sit around here? Are you waiting for me to fall asleep?”

Rufus, reclining against his favorite armchair in the living room, momentarily glanced at the woman lying on his sofa over the edge of his book. Her dark hair spread out in a halo over the white silk pillows, her hands folded on her stomach, she wore an unreadable expression as she faced the ceiling. Only the white pillows, her face and her hands gave him a clue that she was there. Her, or rather, his pajamas simply blended all too well against the black leather of the couch.

To an outsider, maybe, they looked just like a disaster waiting to happen. A ticking time bomb without a warning label. Or just some hallucination the devil created to amuse itself. Obviously, it was too unimaginable to think of a member of AVALANCHE to even stay inside a room with Rufus Shinra in it, much more sleep under the same roof. Not that Rufus didn’t share the same sentiments as them. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t exactly feel comfortable sleeping inside a house with someone who was more than glad to cut the world some slack by killing him in his sleep.

He was surprised though, to say the least, that no argument came up when he told her flatly that she’d have to sleep on the couch. No, he wasn’t a generous host who would offer his bed. He wasn’t even generous enough to offer to share his bed. For one thing, he’d most likely receive an equally flat ‘no’ for an answer. Another thing, he did not believe in ‘sleeping together’. The couch would do for her, unfortunately. He was certain that they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Still, if Reno were to hear a word of their situation, whether they had slept on the same bed or not, there would be a pandemonium around the planet. No doubt about it.

“Does it bother you?” he asked calmly, lowering his book to his lap. His white pajamas were a stark contrast to the dark leather.

The lights all throughout the unit was dimmed, if not turned off, except for the lamp on his side, flooding half of the living room in soft light.

“Not really…”

Rufus’s blue gaze flickered at the silver contemporary clock on the wall opposite him, quietly noting the time. It was already past midnight, almost two in the morning to be exact, and he and Lockhart weren’t asleep yet. He raised the paperback once more to his eyelevel.

“But, apparently,” he remarked, turning another page. “Since you’re still awake, that means you’re bothered by something.”

“No, I’m not. How can say you that?”

“The thoughtful expression on your face.”

“I’m wearing a thoughtful expression?”

How more inane could you get? Still, Rufus voted against saying that one out loud again, not wanting to get into a fight in the middle of the night. His carpet was white and he once had heard from Elena that removing bloodstains on white material was a pain. His eyes flickered over her when he heard a sigh escaped her lips.

“I don’t think I have milk in my ref.” He tried once more focusing on the book he was reading, telling himself in exasperation that he’d been reading the same line for the third time.

“I don’t need milk. I’m not a cat.”

He let out a sigh himself. She was just too difficult to please. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Silence answered his inquiry. Once more, her face bore an inscrutable expression and he asked himself if she misunderstood what he had meant by that inquiry. Perhaps it was a mistake to ask such a question. Perhaps she took it rather differently. The positive thing was that she was not getting up and pulling back an arm to punch him.

After another minute of silence, she opened her mouth to reply.

“Talk about what?” She was definitely trying to dodge the point of the question.

Rufus lowered his book once more, staring at the plain white wall in front of him. Reno was right. Perhaps he should place a painting there or something interesting for him to concentrate on when he couldn’t sleep at all. He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. How he hated it when his curiosity got to him.

“The reason why you’re here,” he asked after releasing his nose, turning to her.

“You picked me up—”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear.” Yes, he really should place a painting there. Something bright, something cheery, something he could tear up whenever he’d get frustrated. Anything that would stimulate his mind and imagination. A painting of a nude woman sounded promising.

Tifa didn’t say anything again within the next few minutes. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“Curiosity. Interest. I wonder how you would call it.”

Lockhart made no movement at his reply. “Curiosity kills the cat.”

A pale eyebrow rose in amusement at the famous quotation. “Perhaps so, however I am not a cat,” he echoed her words earlier, closing his eyes peacefully.

If she had noticed that he merely threw back her statement earlier, she was hiding it quite well. She stretched out an arm in front of her, her hand held out. “And what makes you think that I would answer—”

“Was it Cloud Strife?”

It took him a full minute to comprehend what he had just said and he almost instinctively reached out to his side, only to realize that his gun was not there. However, his mind retorted quickly, insisting that he had merely blurted those words out of irritation. Their question and answer portion would simply go on pointlessly until one of them gave up. He merely gave way and brought out the point. His blue eyes flickered over her, observing her next movements intently.

Her eyes closed, she fisted a trembling hand around her shirt. He wasn’t quite sure what her answer might be but it was apparent that the name had hit her hard. People were too easy to read, even without them speaking. Their actions, their expressions, they were just too obvious. Too open. Too vulnerable. He could now see possibilities, different ones, as to why she had left her house. He heard a harsh sigh that almost sounded a sob. Was she crying? After another moment of silence, she opened her mouth.

“And what makes you think that?” Her voice was calm and even, void of any emotion.

What made him think that? Well, there were a lot of possibilities he could think of that moment. The most logical one would be an argument of sorts. He wasn’t type of person who would bother to poke his nose into other people’s business. He was neither nosy nor sympathetic. More like apathetic and curious. Another reason would probably be Cloud Strife not coming home again. The list was endless, especially when Cloud Strife was involved.

“Well?” came her impatient voice. She had sat up and turned around to face him, their eyes meeting. “Well?”

“Because…” He took a deep breath inwardly, half-dreading, half-anticipating what might happen after his reply. If he made a mistake, he was done for. He was sure of it. His next memory would that of the next day.

“I’ve always thought that the one person who could truly affect you was Cloud Strife. That much so as to force you to walk under the rain in the middle of the night.”

He saw her eyes widened for a moment, her expression changing from impatience to astonishment. Her entire body had stiffened and her hands had balled into fists, as if she wasn’t expecting such an honest answer from him. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting himself to give such an honest answer either. He was hoping to get her in a comfortable argument, not something like this. He coughed quietly, sensing the thick tension surrounding them. Perhaps he should’ve continued his reading in his loft.

He now wondered if he had said something wrong. Perhaps he had, judging by her quiet reply yet again. This time, he realized, that he shouldn’t push the topic much. Not that he was afraid of being punched out. No. As apathetic as he was, he was considerate enough to leave the issue as is. He probably wouldn’t get a decent reply—

“We had an argument earlier…”

Rufus looked startled when Lockhart started, her voice sounding amused. Bitterly amused. Her legs were folded underneath her, her shoulders hunched over, her hair falling over them and covering her face.

“Well, not exactly an argument,” she told him, laughing softly. “Cloud didn’t argue with me usually. He’d just sit there and listen and then apologize. We were lucky that Barret took Marlene and Denzel away for the weekend. I sure didn’t want them to hear another one of our petty squabbles. And it always made me feel bad, him apologizing over and over again…”

Rufus listened tolerantly, not a word leaving his lips. Did he even want to hear this? It almost sounded like those scenes in a series Elena was watching where he would catch the Turk crying, biting the corner of a handkerchief. But he told himself that he should. He had opened this topic in the first place anyway.

“I guess…” There was now an audible crack in her voice. She must be trying to keep herself together still. “I was too excited, too eager. I thought that, after all that had happened, everything will finally fall into place. It was probably stupid of me… to even think that he had changed…”

Well, he had no comment for that. But she wasn’t stupid, that was for sure. Perhaps expectant, hopeful. Too hopeful. Rufus gave the clock a momentary glance before he looked once more at the girl. No longer a girl, indeed.

“Thank you for the story.” He had stood up, his book in one hand, his gaze trained on the blank white wall. “But I should be getting some sleep now.”

She was looking up at him, a slight smile on her features. Was she thanking him for not encouraging her to continue? Or was she thanking him because she had opened the issue up and let her release at least some of her burdens? He wasn’t sure. And he didn’t specifically care.

“Well, then, go,” he told her pointedly, those three words unconsciously spoken.

Lockhart’s expression had changed again, puzzled by his instructions. “Go? Go where?”

“Upstairs. You can use the bed.”

Rufus was now standing there stupidly. Why was he even saying those things to her? Offering his bed? He could might as well offer her a house to stay in forever. It seemed that it was one of those moments when his mouth and his brain didn’t cooperate when it should. He wasn’t used to it. The people around him wasn’t used to it either.

She still looked confused. “Where would you sleep?” She paused for a moment before her eyes narrowed. “You’re not implying—”

“I am not suicidal, Lockhart, to even think of sleeping on the same bed with you,” he countered flatly. What the… “The couch is big enough for me, I assure you. Just leave the pillow and the blanket there.”

“All right then. Since you insist. But are you sure—”

“One more question and you may sleep in the bathroom.”

Lockhart wordlessly got off the couch and walked towards the stairs leading to the bedroom loft, her footsteps quiet against the marble floor, just as Rufus sat down on the couch, wanting to bang his head on the coffee table. Either it was one of his random bouts of insanity—or was it stupidity, in this case?—or he was starting to get sympathetic. Maybe he should take a scalding bath tomorrow to clear his brain.

“Rufus…”

He had barely realized that she had called him by his first name, too caught up with the situation that he had just given up his king-sized bed to Tifa Lockhart.

“One more question—”

“It’s not a question. I just want to say thank you. And goodnight.”

He looked over his shoulder, stunned to say anything, only to find that the young woman had finally disappeared upstairs. With an inward sigh and a soft grumble under his breath, he turned off the lamp and lay down on the couch, an arm over his eyes.

He could still smell the scent of her hair on the pillow, assaulting his senses. It was his scent. She wore his scent and somehow, the thought of it made him feel troubled, unnerved and, at the same time, morbidly comforted. Rufus fought the urge to shoot himself in the head and merely turned to his side, facing the couch.

It had to be his random bouts of insanity. It had to be.


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