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Rufus dies the way his city does: slowly. Common thought would hold that Midgar died with the loss of her people. The MeteroFall Evacuation that Reeve himself organized, then, would have been her death knell.
+++
Teeth bared, Yuffie takes them through Midgar’s ruined streets. Cait Sith at her back as Reeve’s eyes, but it is the presence of Reno, Elena, and Rude she chafes under. Reeve had asked her because for all her hatred, she followed the disintegration of Midgar the closest.
Where others see tragedy, Yuffie sees a threat, and the overgrown streets do nothing to soothe her paranoia or give her that sought victory over the old enemy.
Reno chews the end of his cigarette, green eyes bright under the harsh sun. “Thought you hated this place, princess.” He side-eyes Yuffie.
Her scoff is all teenage eloquence, but she twitches for her shruiken nonetheless. All seventeen years of her memory are long, and the memory of her people she holds, presumably longer. “Gotta say—the view’s great from where I’m sitting.” She grins at the ruin, sharp as the jagged metal she leads them past.
Elena stiffens. “Lets just hurry.” And if her gaze turns to where Sector Seven should be, nobody pays it much mind.
Yuffie glances at Cait, then sighs, loudly, shoulders hunched in the looming face of the mossy metal. If there were three people who knew old Midgar, it was Reeve, Reno, Rude, and Elena. They don’t need help navigating the ghost streets to the Tower. But Yuffie knows this dying brittle Midgar. Directing them past rusted, broken metal; sneaking them past dens where monsters have taken residence; pointing out places that look in danger of imminent collapse.
The Turks step up to the base of the Tower, and Reno casts aside the smoldering end of his cigarette.
All that’s left is a broken, collapsed heap of metal. Reeve’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at the screen.
Nature even creeps up here. Midgar dying as organic life takes.
+++
“I’m not a doctor,” says Reeve, throat catching damningly on the last syllable.
The black is stark on Rufus’s throat, almost the imprint of a bruise on his neck, save for the Stigma ooze. Reeve is the one trembling as he hesitates—hand outstretched before he remembers not to touch. That has never been Reeve’s way—he’s always been good with his hands. Handsy, many would say. Rufus refuses to break eye contact, that cool, even stare with all the cunning of his father and all the directness of his mother. “But you recognize it,” says Rufus, evenly.
There’s no denying what it is. No denying what it means. The Stigma devours Rufus the way the Planet devours Midgar. Reeve nods slowly, but has to look away. “Does Tseng know?” is the first question he can think to ask.
+++
Elena is the one who figures out that Reeve knows something the Turks don’t—what can he say, he’s always had a guilty face as well as conscience, and Elena is both smarter and more reckless than he gave her credit for. “You know something,” she says, flat out, blocking his ascent to the Lodge. “And you’re keeping it from us.”
Her amber eyes narrow and he’s always surprised by their lack. Following the President’s murder and Hojo’s resignation,the Turks had never gotten around to enhancing Elena with Mako, so she remains the only member untouched by the science team. Reeve stalls on the stairs, clutching the railing tight enough his knuckles blanche. The relationship he has with the Turks has always been fraught: technically, Reeve outranked them, but the nature of the Turks’s role meant that when the President decided he didn’t care about Reeve anymore, it would have been the Turks coming for him.
It’s impossible to forget now, regardless of whether or not Elena knows the full history or not. Reeve swallows thickly over the black ooze curling into Rufus’s throat like a noose. It isn’t his to tell, and whatever his past with the Turks, the present is uncharted territory.
Rufus’s status is unknown—given that most of the world luckily thinks him dead and they’re not far wrong—and the Turks’s leashes released only for them to remain regardless would have been unthinkable in the past, but perhaps his understanding of them has always been flawed. And there’s Reeve, grasping the failing innards of this WRO in his hands, something of a villain, something of a savior, in the end.
Elena steps closer to him. Her face is fiercely set. “What’s happening?” she demands again.
From the top of the stairs, sharply, “Laney,” the curl of smoke, the vibrant green Mako eyes. Reno leans against the railing, hand outstretched to Elena. “You’re holding their meeting up, yo.”
“He knows what’s going on!” She twists to glare at Reno, and Reeve blows out a slow breath.
Reno snorts inelegantly on smoke.”Everybody knows somethin’, Laney. Can’t corner ‘em all on the stairs. Yeesh. Always so overexcited. Woulda thought the boss’d kick that out of you.”
Her mouth opens again, but even Reno looks surprised when she drops her hands and moves to let Reeve pass. Still, letting the Turks at his back as he enters makes sweat gather at his nape.
+++
Tseng stands at the window, curtain of hair shielding him from Reeve’s scrutiny. He must have watched the entire exchange. Cat-like, Tseng twists his neck to watch Reeve from the corner of his eye, that sharp, cold look that contains all the ruthlessness, all the history of the Turks. “Rufus is waiting,” he says, in that mild way of his. “He wished to see you privately.”
Reeve has never been so grateful for the choke of Tseng’s leash.
He goes to the indicated room where he can hear the shower running. The door shuts behind Reeve, leaving him and Rufus and the oozing black secret between them. Should he wait here? Has Tseng sent him in too early to flush out what Reeve knows?
“Come in,” Rufus’s voice is faint enough Reeve contemplates pretending he hasn’t heard, but even seeking forgiveness, Rufus isn’t forgiving. And it isn't as if it's Reeve's forgiveness he seeks.
Reeve enters the bathroom, the steam immediately wetting his face, then he startles. The water runs black with corruption, and, in the midst, Rufus is sitting, arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes are bruised beneath. He looks up at Reeve, piercing and blue. In this position, the worst of the Stigma is hidden—most of it crawls outward from Rufus’s heart, where Shinra Tower would be. As it was the first part of Midgar to be destroyed in the Crisis, so is this the first part of Rufus to succumb. Though, most might argue that Rufus never had a heart to lose.
“You still haven’t told them.” In the months since Rufus told Reeve, he still hasn’t told the Turks. Reeve removes his tie, for something to do with his hands. He’s always been a tinkerer, and the twitch of his fingers has always given him away as such.
Rufus laughs, an echo of that old, brash laugh that froze Reeve’s skin. “I unfortunately find myself in the position of needing them. And you. Luckily for me, you are in the position of needing me back.” His smile is all teeth, slicked, unfortunately, with black blood.
Reeve cannot deny it. Even without Midgar, even with Rufus dying by inches, even in a post-Shinra world—no one can be free of Shinra’s shadow. Especially when Rufus damningly remains the wealthiest man on the Planet.
“Help me up,” but it’s far from a plea.
Reeve is loathe to touch. No one knows how the Stigma speeds—without Shinra Science to study it, there is no official body to turn to. It’s why Reeve has to get the WRO onto it’s feet. It’s why the world needs what the WRO could be. It’s why Reeve needs Rufus. So Reeve has to reach for Rufus. But he’s stopped short by Rufus’s amused, “Going to soak your shirt, Reeve?”
If Reeve leaves the shirt on, it will arouse more suspicion from the Turks. Yet, is that truly worse than baring himself now? Reeve relents—the Turks are more likely to kill him than shame. Shame and Reeve are old partners. He strips shirt and undershirt, folding them carefully before casting them aside.
Rufus’s icy gaze is heavy on Reeve’s bare, healthy chest. His eyes narrow as he waits. Reeve reaches into the tub, the heated water hitting his skin, so hot he almost has to pull away. His fingers brush Rufus’s side, and he can feel the thick slick of corruption that he wants to shy from. But Shinra has ever made his hands dirty.
+++
Both of them are dressed with the memory of skin between them. Rufus sits heavily on the bed, chest heaving with exertion. He had demanded help from the tub, but refused it in wrapping his sick and dressing himself. Reeve could only watch with hovering hands.
“It isn’t a bad idea,” Rufus admits, though Reeve assumes it costs him. “The WRO would begin with the Stigma?”
Unfortunately, Rufus needs Reeve. He nods. “As well as the power shortage.”
Rufus sighs wetly around the build-up in his lungs, lips flecked with black again. “Don’t attach my name to it, obviously, but you’ll get what you need. Keep an eye on the account. Now, get out.” He sounds petulantly tired as he sprawls out on the bed more haphazardly than Reeve has ever seen him.
His throat catches, but he obeys. The Turks watch Reeve leave, and he can’t but think they can see it on his hands as well as his face.
+++
Yuffie lounges in Reeve’s Junon hotel room like it’s hers. An unlit cigarette hangs from her lips, soggy at the end, and he assumes she never intends to light it. “So you expect me to believe, full stop, that magically overnight you’ve got money to get offices and labs and actual employees and shit? Come on, you gotta give me more than that.”
Of all of the things Yuffie is, of all the things he admires about her, of all about her that is detestable, deplorable, or aggravating, she has never been stupid. The only organization, the only person that has ever had that clout is Shinra, the shadow that hangs over both Yuffie and Reeve in vastly disparate ways. “We have no choice. We’ve got to cure the Stigma.”
Yuffie huffs around the frayed filter. “Dangerous thinking. I’ve heard all that shit before. And I’ll tell you now: I find him, I’m wringing his neck myself.”
She won’t have to. The Stigma is doing her job for her. “So does that mean—“ Reeve pauses, trying to find words that won’t send Yuffie scurrying off. She’s always been more sensitive than her bravado. “Does that mean you’re going?”
Her face twists sardonically. “I’ll always leave. But I’m in for the WRO, so long as it doesn’t become Shinra. It does, you’re next. But you know that. I’m not letting other people decide my—or Wutai’s—future ever again.”
+++
The next time Rufus summons him, Reeve’s already sent Yuffie to collect scientists to study the Stigma. Rude and Reno wait at the foot of the stairs. Reno hands his cigarette over to Rude, who doesn’t hesitate to take the wet end into his mouth. Green eyes narrow, and, Reeve barely keeps himself from taking a step back. Those bright Mako eyes people in Midgar knew to fear.
“Come on up,” Reno drawls, pouting at the Lodge.
Rude puffs on the cigarette and doesn’t return it. “Tseng is waiting. With Rufus.”
Something is happening. Something is wrong. Have the Turks finally turned? He takes the stairs quickly, forgetting for a moment that Reno and Rude are behind him until they take the stairs after him. Reeve tenses, but can’t freeze. No. Elena is stationed by the door, her face pinched with anxiety as they come in. Rude presses a hand to her shoulder as he passes. Reno doesn’t so much as glance at her as he takes position on the other side of the door. Reeve gets the distinct feeling this has been staged for his benefit.
Tseng has Rufus pinned against his armchair, looming over him, long strands of hair falling into Rufus’s face. “Did you not trust us, is that it?” Tseng demands, voice low, but perfectly audible in the silence.
“You’re one to talk of trust, aren’t you, Tseng?” Rufus’s mouth curls. “Across how many nations have you spread your loyalties?”
Elena takes an automatic step closer, but Rude’s hand on her shoulder holds her back. There is history here. Tseng curls his hand into the fabric of Rufus’s suit. “You still refuse to understand. Very well. Let me be clear: the Turks are here by no obligation but our own desire. Whatever fault you find in us, it certainly isn’t loyalty.” Tseng breathes heavily, the most Reeve has ever seen him lose composure. “How long?”
Subdued, Rufus murmurs, “Shortly after I woke from the collapse.”
Reno fishes another cigarette from his pocket, rolling it over and over in his hands. Restless energy. Never a good sign in Reno. Reeve lingers in the doorway, flanked by the Turks. “And how long has Reeve known?” Tseng asks, silkily, but he turns to Reeve, so there can be no mistake as to who the question is directed.
Unleashed, Tseng makes Reeve’s blood run cold. He locks eyes with Rufus. “Three months, give or take," Reeve says.
Rufus attempts to push Tseng away, but can’t budge him. No. Tseng instead grips him harsher. Manhandling the former president like he does it every day. “Sir—Tseng. Maybe we should—I don’t know. See how bad it is, before you—“
She’s lost her stomach for confrontation now that she’s faced with it. Or perhaps now that the ire is turned to Rufus rather than Reeve. Regardless, Tseng pulls his hands back. Considering her suggestion more than Reeve would in his position. “Very well. Let’s see, Rufus.” Tseng takes a step back expectantly. “After all, I had to dig through the garbage to find the bandaging. You’re going to have to change it soon anyway, aren’t you?”
Stripped of his upper hand, Rufus can only comply. His hands shake as he undoes the buttons on his thick jacket. He never turns his gaze from Tseng’s—quelled in the face of cold anger and concern. The shirts come away slowly, and Elena gasps as she sees the black seeping through the bandaging over his chest and throat. Reno takes an aborted step closer, then chooses to fiddle with cigarette instead, eyes bright on Rufus’s chest. At Elena’s side, Rude clenches his fist and averts his gaze. Reeve can only watch the way he watched while Shinra decided to drop the Plate: with horror and unease curling his stomach.
Rufus meets Tseng’s gaze icily. “Tell me, doctor, what is my prognosis?”
There is stony silence from Tseng, then, “Why Tuesti?” Softer now, like the steel has left him.
“His WRO is the best chance at curing this,” Rufus says slowly, eyes narrowed as he reclaims his cool countenance. “And your organization is hardly known to be forgiving of weakness.” There, laid bare: Rufus’s fear. For a man like Rufus Shinra to die alone—is unthinkable. As unthinkable as the idea of Midgar mouldering away, emptied of her people.
Elena opens her big mouth before anyone can stop her. “Sir—President—if we hadn’t intended to be in this for the long run, we wouldn’t have saved you from that Tower! Sir.” She adds the last as an afterthought.
A pause, then Reno puffs out a short, sardonic laugh. “Might have the right of it, ‘Laney. Might want to listen to her after all, boss. Shocking, I know. If we’d wanted to jump ship, pretty sure we would have done it once we realized we’d be livin’ out here with the chocobo, boss.” Admonishing.
Reeve can only blink and think, once again, that he’s misjudged him. Even though Rude doesn’t say anything, he simply watches Rufus and nods. Tseng clears his throat, sounding like something has gotten lodged in it, “Tuesti, can your WRO fix this?”
“We’re going to do everything we can.”
Reno shrugs. “Count us in for whatever you need. So long as it doesn’t interfere with our shit here.”
In his chair, Rufus sags, mouth twisted downward, but his eyes are wide with surprise. Perhaps this isn’t the post-Shinra world Reeve imagined, but if they don’t work quickly, it will be. He nods once at Tseng, and Tseng eventually nods back.
Perhaps, this is progress.
+++
Surprisingly, it is Elena and Reno who take the most effort to keep Reeve updated on Rufus’s status. With the WRO coming up and Yuffie gone researching the spread of the disease in Wutai, Reeve has little time to visit the Lodge. But the reports are usually the same: Rufus can only get worse. Certainly, he has good days, but the downward trend is irreversible so far. With the help of the scientists, hopefully they can do something about it.
But then Tseng and Elena get captured in some fool’s errand, and Reeve can only try to keep the reins of the WRO even as he sends Cait Sith in. Only to find, in the end, that not science, not money, not anything Reeve has at his disposal could ever help. Because it would only ever be the Planet itself that could cure the corruption. The black melts away, and the next time Reeve sees Rufus, he stands again. Tall as ever, but with those same dark shadows beneath his eyes.
He meets Reeve outside old Midgar, staring at where the green has become more green, and the metal more dilapidated. Rufus’s mouth purses as his gaze lingers on the Tower. “I shouldn’t have survived any of it,” he says, softly.
“Perhaps. But you have, at great cost to others.” Reeve stares across this city that somehow still connects them. “They’re waiting for you, Rufus. You shouldn’t keep them.”
Rufus laughs, something that sounds real, but Reeve can’t be sure. It’s nothing of the laugh of his memories. “I guess I am stuck with them and this life of mine.”
“You are. But it’s not so bad. Everything must change—that’s the way of the world.” He gestures at the ruin.
Rufus nods. “Well. I expect I’ll see you soon.” And then he turns his back on his city, as if it’s so easy. Perhaps it is, even if Reeve could never see how it could be. Maybe the first step is simply the act of physically walking away.
Reeve turns to give it a shot.
+++
As it turns out, Rufus changes the way his city does: slowly, but surely.