Chapter Text
Sephiroth never answers his emails. He never even opens them anymore.
It’s never anything pressing. If it’s actually important, it’ll either be a phone call or an in-person meeting. Lazard is practically his secretary at this point instead of his boss (He’d always correct them with “Union director”. He never liked the word “boss”.) Tseng would always keep him up to date, but only if they ran into each other. At this point, Hojo communicates exclusively through emails and condescending one-liners, so it is completely understandable why Sephiroth conveniently stopped checking his years ago. Most of them are scheduled medical check-ups anyway. If Hojo truly had something important to say, he’d talk to his boss (sorry, “director”).
Sephiroth has worked painstakingly to control who talks to him, when, where, why, and how long, which is why the knock on his bathroom door is so jarring. He jumps a bit in the tub and looks at the slightly open door before groaning and sinking further into the water. No, no. Noooo. No, thank you. There’s another knock and Sephiroth sinks completely underwater, in something big enough to be considered a hot tub, suddenly interested in how long he can hold his breath. Whoever is at the door doesn’t leave, knocking louder while refusing to come inside, so if nothing else, they’re being remarkably polite about the whole thing. After one minute and seventeen seconds, Sephiroth comes up for air and the mystery person finally speaks.
“Sephiroth?”
“…Tseng?” What on Earth? How much of an emergency is it when Tseng appears in his living quarters? Sephiroth starts to get up but Tseng coughs, almost stumbling over his next words.
“N-No, don’t get up. I just needed confirmation about the Banora mission?” Banora? He already said he wasn’t going. What more confirmation could they possibly need? And since when did he need to tell Tseng? That’s it, he’s getting up. Bath time is over. As soon as he’s out of the bath he can hear Tseng take a sharp, uncomfortable breath. What’s his problem?
“The director just needs a yes or no answer-“
“No.”
“-and a recommendation for a replacement, if any.”
Ah. Sephiroth grabs a towel and walks over to the door. By the time he looks through the open crack, Tseng still has his back to the door and is looking off to the side. His dedication to the basics of politeness is admirable, he has to admit.
“Does it have to be now?”
Tseng shrugs. “The director was waiting all day for a response and got worried.” That…can’t be right. Sephiroth already told him he wasn’t going. He already refused.
“…I already said I’m not going.”
“Not what I heard.”
“You’re sure-“
“Don’t shoot the messenger. All right?” Tseng sighs, still looking out the window, and Sephiroth isn’t sure what he’d prefer: his decency being protected or Tseng actually looking at him when he talks. “I can’t clock out empty-handed. I’m sorry.”
“…Right.” Okay, fine. That’s strange, though. He could have sworn he talked to Lazard about this. As in, physically going into his office to talk. Did he just have a pretend argument about it in his head? It’s not like Lazard would say no. Even if he couldn’t help you, he’d at least listen and see what could be done about a problem. He thought that conversation happened! He must have meant to head over to the office and then forgot about it. “You can, uh…have a seat, if you want.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you-“
“No, it’s…fine. I need to get my head straight.” Apparently. “Go on.”
So…what to do about Angeal and Genesis.
Obviously Sephiroth isn’t going after them. He’s disappointed that they’ve gone rogue, but SOLDIER only sends out the people best suited for a job. If two First Class SOLDIERs are missing, along with an unknown number of Second and Third class members, sending Sephiroth doesn’t exactly imply de-escalation. Even if this is “too personal”, they aren’t expecting Angeal or Genesis to come back alive. They stole company secrets. He knows he’s being sent out there to kill them.
It’s the only thing he’s really good at. Killing. So..he isn’t going. If he has to think of someone else to pick up this job, so be it.
“Want anything?” Sephiroth roots around in the fridge, reaching for a couple bottles of coffee-flavored milk. Still naked, towel draped around his head and shoulders like he’s wearing a shawl. He looks up again, into the commons area, and sees Tseng sitting on the couch with his hand covering his eyes. He clears his throat.
“I’m…all right.” Sephiroth can’t help but chuckle a little. He must confess…it’s fun, seeing the quintessential Turk sit there in embarrassment. It might be mean, but maybe drawing this out a bit longer will teach him to not drop in unannounced. No matter what Tseng says, he brings two drinks over, sliding into the seat next to him. Holding out a bottle of coffee milk. Tseng takes it, if only out of politeness, and holds it with both hands while he stares at the floor.
“…So! I’m not going.”
“I…gathered.”
“And I need to find a replacement?”
“If you can. I’m sure they can find someone for you.”
“Hmm.” Sephiroth pops the cap off his coffee milk and takes a sip, sliding his other arm across the top of the sofa, just above Tseng’s shoulders, in what can only be described as a dominance display. Tseng continues to sit there, staring at the floor.
“Do you, um…have someone in mind?”
“Could you please look at me when you’re talking?” Slowly, Tseng turns to look at him. Thin-lipped, stone-faced. Eyes locked onto Sephiroth’s. He utterly refuses to look down past his neck.
“I could report this as sexual harassment, you know.”
“I live here.” Tseng doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t look away either. He just continues to stare, clearly not in on the joke, but that doesn’t stop Sephiroth. “What are they going to do? Fire me?” Tseng closes his eyes and sighs in annoyance, turning away.
“I get it. I should have waited until tomorrow. You made your point.”
“What if I want to be fired?”
Tseng gives him this look that is two seconds away from him calling for backup. Not scared or anything, just…done. Have someone else deal with whatever this is.
“You don’t mean that.”
“No, I’m serious. What would it take for me to get fired, I wonder?” He’s never actually thought about it until now. If he doesn’t go rogue, but stops going on missions, could they afford to find someone else? He’s been with the company as long as he’s been alive, as far as he knows. You’d think that he was left on President Shinra’s doorstep in a basket. No one’s ever fully explained how they even knew his mother either. Would they just…let him leave?
Tseng reaches out, slowly, gently taking the towel still draped around Sephiroth’s shoulders, and pulls on it until it settles in Sephiroth’s lap. He never breaks eye contact the entire time.
“I think,” Tseng says, giving Sephiroth a gentle pat on his knee and speaking low enough so the room’s cameras can’t pick up the audio, “it probably isn’t appropriate to say that when the rest of your team is missing.” He nods, prompting Sephiroth to also nod in agreement, which means that specific line of conversation is over. If Tseng’s implying what Sephiroth thinks, then he probably doesn’t want to know the answer to that question. And Tseng doesn’t want to give that answer.
“…Sure.” Sephiroth takes another drink and Tseng nods again, removing his hand and finally opening his own bottle. There’s still a warm spot where his hand was. For some reason, Sephiroth kind of wishes it were still there. “Um. I’ll think of something.”
“Thanks.” Tseng leans back and it’s then that Sephiroth notices his right arm sprawled across the top of the couch, which he completely forgot about and sheepishly retracts. “I get it. It’d be too personal, right?”
“Personal?” The word is said in such a dumb, clueless way that it makes Sephiroth cringe afterward and Tseng raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief.
“The…mission?” Sephiroth has the sudden urge to get up and get dressed, just to hide his face, and when he does so that still doesn’t derail the conversation. “You’re the only First Class SOLDIER left, so that’s probably their reasoning. They’re not stupid. They wouldn’t want to pit childhood friends against each other.” Sephiroth is in the middle of rooting around the drawer for underwear and laughs bitterly at “childhood friends”.
“You really think that?”
“The director wouldn’t do that on purpose.”
“No, the childhood friends thing.” Tseng is in the middle of trying to fold the towel that Sephiroth forgot about, just to help, and pauses.
“Aren’t you?” Sephiroth can only scoff at the question while putting on a clean pair of briefs.
“No, they’re childhood friends. They grew up in Banora. Their parents were friends. They already knew each other when they joined. Genesis left and Angeal fucked off to join him.” Tseng clicks his tongue and it’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed because they’ve definitely had several conversations from this same genre of topics. Or at least the root cause of them.
“…So it’s still personal, then.”
Sephiroth can’t even answer that. Tseng stands up, folded towel in his hands, walks across the room, and hands it over. Sephiroth takes it in silence.
“We don’t even know why Angeal left. Part of this mission is for reconnaissance, remember.”
“…You’re going as well?”
“Yeah.” That’s…good. Tseng would probably want to resolve things peacefully, although Sephiroth doubts he’d have a problem sniping people from a rooftop if needed. For all his earnestness, Tseng can be weirdly cold. But he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. Neither did Angeal’s little protégé, but he’s probably biased in the other direction. He can’t remember the last time he’s been yelled at like that before, and from a Second Class?
Wait. That can’t be right. Can it?
Zack’s here. He’s holding Angeal’s sword, the Buster Sword, and he’s screaming at you. The Mako smell in here is terrible, but you’re so used to it now that it barely registers. You can’t understand what Zack is going on about either. Something something other people’s sadness. He’s crying. He thinks that you’re sad too and tries to understand, which is impossible because you aren’t sad. Why would you be? You found your Mother. You’ve never felt such happiness in your whole life. Zack should feel happy for you, too.
So, why isn’t he? Why is he crying? Why?
“Sephiroth?”
“Hah?” What…what were they talking about again? He looks down and sees that he dropped his towel again, ruining Tseng’s hard work. Sephiroth bends over and picks it up while Tseng’s brow furrows in worry.
“I guess it’s late. You’re probably tired, right?”
“No, I…” Sephiroth wrings the towel in his hands, thinking. “No, I was going to say something, but I must have forgotten.” Let’s see, Genesis, Angeal, Tseng probably wants them back alive…Zack.
Zack?
Right, of course! He’s so stupid! Tseng must have read his expression because he lets out a “huh?” as soon as the idea comes to him.
“Why not send Zack?”
“…Zack Fair?”
“Yes. Why not? He’s been trying to get into First Class for awhile, hasn’t he?”
Tseng doesn’t have a very productive comeback for this, just a non-committal, “I…guess so.” Sephiroth’s mood lightens up so much that Tseng probably can’t argue with it much. “You’re sure?” His hesitation is understandable. They both know what Zack’s like, even if Sephiroth has only heard about it. Zack the Puppy. He may as well be the human incarnation of Stamp.
Still, Zack inherently, almost instinctively, defaults to non-violence. He has good instincts. He can “read a room”. This mission wouldn’t be as likely to blow up in his face.
“Of course. It’s a good way to get more experience under his belt. And you’ll be there to keep an eye on him.” He pats Tseng’s shoulder, implying that this is an order and not a suggestion, and the other man sighs in defeat.
“If you say so. If this turns into babysitting duty, you really owe me.”
“He’ll do great.”
“Sure.” Tseng walks out from under Sephiroth’s hand in one smooth motion and gives a small wave goodbye. “Goodnight. Sorry again. …Take it easy for now, okay?”
“You first.”
“Sadly, that isn’t in my skillset. Later.” With that, Tseng saunters out and, while Sephiroth had been meaning to ask how he even got into his room in the first place, by the time he’s ready for bed, he’s already forgotten about it.
Tseng forgot to take his coffee milk with him, too.