Just Like Honey: Chapter 14
The Red Menace
AU: organized crime, cabaret, sex work
SHIPS: MULTIPLE! rufus/cloud, vincent/cloud, sephiroth/cloud, reeve/cloud, rufus/cloud/tseng, zack/cloud, cloud/other characters as clients because that's his job, weiss/nero, background aerti
RATING: EXPLICIT, no minors allowed, 18+, minors DNI
WARNINGS: violence, sex workers, prostitution
Everything was green. The light was green, the air was green, all he could see and smell and taste was green. Not a fresh green like plants or nature. Poisonous, electric-green soda syrup, thick and sickly sweet. It was burning his eyes, soaking into his pores—he was swimming in it, swallowing it, his lungs were filling up with it and he was going to drown. He kept hearing something, through the suffocating density of the fluid. A voice, muffled and distorted. What was it saying?
“…you! What are…here?”
Abruptly, as if a bubble had popped, the green pressure burst and drained suddenly away, and Cloud gasped in a deep breath, like he had broken through the surface of the ocean, from some unfathomable depth. That formerly faint voice became loud and razor sharp, in his ringing ears.
“Wake up! Wake the fuck up!”
With a tremendous effort, he forced his heavy, sandy eyes open, then flinched in the blinding light, which stung and made them fill with tears. Covering his face with his arms, he groaned and rolled onto his side.
His head was splitting and his pulse was beating a dubstep rhythm on his eardrums. His body felt sore and weak and feverish, too, as if he’d gone through an extreme workout routine while suffering from a severe flu. His mouth tasted like some kind of dental medicine. Like that horrible, all-pervading green from the dream. His stomach turned, as the dizzy, seasick feeling returned.
“I asked you a question,” the hostile voice persisted. “A series of questions, in fact. I suggest you answer them quickly. I am not a patient man.”
Ugh, this prick. He uncovered his eyes and tried to squint around, but all he could see was a too-bright blur, through all the stinging and watering in his eyes.
It slowly occurred to him, as his thoughts recalled themselves from the wild interpretive dance they’d been doing, and fell reluctantly back into a semblance of order, that he was in Zack’s bed, in Zack’s room, at Shinra Tower. That made sense, because that was where he’d gone to sleep. What didn’t make sense, was this irritating person-blob, looming over him, backlit by the huge windows, rudely demanding a lot of answers to baffling questions.
“Who the hell are you?” he finally managed, in a husky rasp. “What are you doing in here?”
“You are in no position to ask questions of me, trespasser,” said the interloper, his voice gratingly clear, despite his person being fuzzy and vague. “You have exactly five seconds to tell me who you are and what you are doing in SOLDIER First Class Fair’s quarters.”
Cloud ignored the question and rubbed his eyes. Things were developing colors, though shapes continued to be mostly beyond his comprehension. The person-blob was all red, from top to bottom. Perfect. A big, red, blurry annoyance, as a counterpoint to that sickening green dream. Just as he was thinking this, his vision adjusted, and a man’s person resolved, in front of him.
Cloud stared up at him, still blinking away tears. “You’re…Commander Rhapsodos.”
“I know who I am,” the supernaturally beautiful, world-famous war hero returned tartly. “I asked who you are. Last chance.”
“I’m Cloud,” he said, clearing his throat against the cracking hoarseness. “I’m Zack’s friend.”
“Incorrect,” Genesis Rhapsodos retorted. “I know all of Zack’s two friends, of which I am one. You are not the other.”
“But I am,” Cloud maintained. “I mean, we’re not very close friends, but—”
“You’re not very close friends, and yet you are sleeping in his bed, in his highly secure private room, whilst he is absent.” Fierce, stunning eyes—like if a tiger’s eyes could be vibrant blue—narrowed suspiciously. “You know what I think? I think you’re a Turk spy.”
Cloud frowned, disoriented by this bizarre logical leap. “Huh? I’m not a Turk.”
“Then how do you explain this?” With an air of triumph, the First SOLDIER held something up for him to see, then waited impatiently while Cloud’s bleary eyes took a moment to recognize it.
“Wait a goddamn minute. If you have my ID, why are you asking who I am?” Cloud demanded, his awed reverence for this man decreasing in direct proportion to his increasing grumpiness level. “You can see my name on there, and that I’m a civilian contractor. I met Zack in the lobby, after work, and we’ve ben hanging out.”
“Nice try, little Turk,” Genesis sneered. “Your ID has a higher level of access clearance than mine. I checked. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here, or shall I drag your ass up to Director Tseng’s office and ask him in person?”
“Let’s do that,” Cloud said, brightening. “Actually, I’ll call him right now. He can tell you who I am.”
Genesis clucked his tongue and gave his long, burnished-copper hair a dismissive toss. “Why would I believe that sneaky Turk’s word about another Turk? He’d just lie for you.”
“If you wouldn’t believe him anyway, then why did you threaten me with—”
“Silence!” Genesis cut him off, holding up his gloved hand. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re too stupid to be a Turk.”
Cloud made a face. “Seriously? I mean, no offense, but Reno…”
“Ha! Turk! You’ve exposed yourself by naming your accomplice!”
“I met Reno in the lobby, too!” Cloud pleaded, leaning back to evade the accusing finger, that was dangerously close to his face.
Genesis withdrew the finger and planted his hands on his hips. “So, in this fantastic scenario you’ve constructed, Shinra’s top-level military and intelligence personnel have just been hanging around the lobby all day, waiting to run into you.”
“It kind of seems that way, actually,” Cloud muttered. “But listen, mister—commander—”
“Genesis.”
“Gen…Genesis,” he repeated, faltering under the weight of the man’s forename, which felt much too grand and luxurious to be handled so casually by his backwoods mouth. “I get that it’s weird for a civilian to know a SOLDIER First Class and some Turks, and have really high access clearance, but it’s because I do private consulting for some high-level people at Shinra. Tseng knows all about it. He can back me up.”
“Which high-level people, and why does Tseng know all about it?”
“Tseng knows because he got me my clearance. Sorry, but I can’t tell you who my clients are. I signed some pretty hefty NDAs, and I’m more afraid of Shinra’s lawyers than I am of you. Uh. With all due respect.”
Genesis pursed his perfect, sculptor’s-model lips. “Then what kind of consulting do you do? I’m sure telling me that much won’t violate any NDAs.”
Now Cloud was in a pickle. He didn’t think it would be wise to try lying to the man who had personally obliterated an entire island nation, at the age of fourteen, but the nature of his ‘consulting’ at Shinra was the whole reason for the NDAs, in the first place. As for his work outside Shinra, that was fair game. Also, Genesis could literally pick up the Arts & Culture section of any Midgar newspaper, and instantly find out what his day job (so to speak) was, anyway.
“I’m a professional dancer. I consult as a physical therapist, on the side,” he said, relying on his standard euphemism for client work. It was even sort of true. What he did basically amounted to therapy of a physical nature. And, being a lifelong athlete, he knew enough to bullshit his way through if he was ever questioned.
Meanwhile, First SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos, from the news and television shows and recruitment ads and documentaries and huge fucking poster in Zack’s living room, was standing there looking like the definition of human superiority, eyeing Cloud cagily. “Physical therapist? Aren’t you a little young for that?”
“I am, thank you.”
“Tch. And you’re good enough to see clients who require you to have sky-high access to Shinra Tower?”
“Of course. Why else would they have hired me?”
“You realize I can very easily find out exactly who you really are, and what it is you do, correct?”
“I mean. You’re holding my ID card, so…”
Genesis promptly tossed the ID to him. “Is Zack a client?”
“No. We’re friends, like I told you.”
“The kind of friends who fuck?”
“Yeah, that kind,” Cloud shot back defiantly.
“Hmph. Well, I suppose you are pretty enough for Zack to notice you. You’re too stupid to be a Turk and too small to be a SOLDIER, so…perhaps you are telling something in the vicinity of the truth. But you’re still trespassing. This is a private floor, restricted to the Firsts and our invited guests.”
“I keep telling you, I am an invited guest,” Cloud said wearily. “Zack brought me here, himself.”
“Ah, but guest privileges only last twenty-four hours. Zack is not currently in residence, and has not been since yesterday morning. Hence, you are no longer an invited guest.”
“Nice try, but I’m not that stupid,” Cloud scoffed. “I spent the night with Zack last night, how could he have been away since yesterday?”
“You must be stupid, if you think I’d fall for a lie that obvious,” Genesis scoffed right back. “I know precisely how long he’s been gone. I saw him off, myself.”
“But I can prove it!” Cloud insisted, rummaging on the night stand for his phone. “Look, here! He messaged me after he left, this morn…ing. What the fuck?”
He stared at the screen in blank bewilderment. Then he closed the messaging app and opened it again, as if that might somehow convince the discrepancy to resolve itself. It didn’t. No matter how he looked at it, the messages from Zack were dated from the twelfth, while his phone’s home screen proclaimed today to be the thirteenth.
An ominous weight began to settle in the pit of his stomach. He racked his brain, trying to think what the fuck could have happened, and what he could have been doing here for an entire extra twenty-four hours, to no avail. The harder he thought, the more muddled his mind became, till a stab of pain split his skull and he groaned, collapsing back into the pillows.
“I think…I’m sick,” he panted, as a wave of electric-green nausea rolled in on the heels of the pain.
“Mentally, at least,” Genesis said drily. “Though, it looks as if you may be physically ill, too. You’ve gone quite pale.”
“Have to go,” Cloud mumbled, doggedly pushing himself up again. “Gotta get home. Andrea’s probably freaking the fuck out.”
“Who’s Andrea?” Genesis demanded. “Your partner? Lover? Are you two-timing Zack?”
“Zack’s not my boyfriend, and Andrea’s my boss,” Cloud said irritably. “Andrea Rhodea.”
“Andrea Rhodea, of the Honeybee?”
“Is there another guy on the Planet named Andrea Rhodea?”
“So you’re that kind of consultant,” Genesis said, with a knowing smirk. “Well, that does clarify things, doesn’t it.”
“Doesn’t clarify what happened to my entire missing day, but I’m glad you feel enlightened,” Cloud grumbled, as he scooted to the side of the bed to contemplate the task of standing.
“At least I understand why you’ve been obfuscating your relationship to Zack, now. Client confidentiality is a sacred tenet of your trade, after all.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Zack’s not a client. Do you have a learning disability, or something?”
“You know, it’s not every day one of the Firsts brings a new person into the sanctum,” Genesis mused, as if he hadn’t heard him. “They are usually quite careful about preserving my privacy.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I happen to be a very private person, outside of work. I wouldn’t talk about you to anyone, unless I wanted to draw attention to myself, which I do not.”
“Mn. We who work in the public eye tend to be quite guarded, don’t we.”
“By guarded, I assume you mean ‘suspicious assholes’.”
Genesis shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”
Cloud snorted out a laugh, then groaned again, as the throbbing ache clamped down on his skull. “This is like, the worst hangover I’ve ever had, times a thousand. What the fuck happened to me?”
“Considering the missing time, I would suspect someone had slipped you something, only you’re in the most secure location in Midgar. No one can even enter this floor, without Angeal, Zack, or myself.”
“Won’t my ID get me in? You said the clearance is higher than yours.”
Genesis shook his head. The sun had briefly broken through the eternal cloud cover, at that moment, and his long hair threw off fiery shimmers in the brilliant light, now streaming in the windows. “This floor is a special area. Not even the little prince can use his credentials to get in, and he owns the place.”
Cloud made a mental note that ‘little prince’ was a pretty good pet name for his dog. “But there has to be a way around that. I’ve seen a lot of spy movies. There’s always a back door, and some guy with a key.”
“I think we’re assuming a bit too much. Most likely, you took some medication of Zack’s, accidentally. The concoctions they give us could easily kill an unenhanced person. There’s no reason they couldn’t cause a blackout.”
“I don’t think so,” Cloud said doubtfully. “I hardly take any meds. Like, not even over the counter painkillers. Why would I suddenly break that habit?”
“Maybe you were already hung over and looking for something to take the edge off.”
“No way. We didn’t drink anything stronger than Mt. Nibel Dew, at the movie theater. Though, I’m pretty sure that stuff could strip the paint off cars.”
A perfectly groomed copper eyebrow arched. “Aw, how precious. A date at the movies, like a pair of high-school sweethearts.”
“Hey, shut up,” Cloud scowled, then quickly remembered who he was talking to, and how easily severable his neck and limbs were. “I mean…I didn’t mean…sorry.”
“You don’t have to walk on tenterhooks, for my sake,” Genesis replied breezily. “I’ve decided that I like you.”
“Since like a minute ago, when I was a Turk spy?”
“Yes, my capriciousness is part of my charm. Do try and keep up.”
“Wait, what the hell is a tenterhook?”
“You are a friend of Zack’s, and so you must be a friend of mine.”
“Must I?”
“You must. Give me your phone.”
Fighting down a disorienting sense of unreality, to the point that he was beginning to doubt he’d actually woken up, Cloud held out his phone to the most famous man on the entire planet. Genesis took it and tapped on the screen for a moment, as if he was some kind of human being who did mundane human things like using the chat app on a phone.
“There. Now you have a contact that the tabloid press would pay ruinous sums of money to acquire. Consider it a gesture of trust.”
Cloud looked at the screen, as he accepted the phone back. Sure enough, Genesis had added his contact details, under the inexplicable name BadApple.
“Um. Thank you,” he said stiffly.
“Don’t mention it. Now that we’re on such intimate terms, I will do you a friendly favor and escort you home.”
Cloud balked at the idea of this monumental celebrity spending his incalculably valuable time driving him down to a whorehouse in the slums. “Why would you do that?”
“You said yourself that your boss must be in fits, worrying about you.”
“I don’t think I used the word ‘fits’.”
“Besides, you’re far too unwell to go on your own. I’m afraid you have no choice but to indulge my fancy and let me take care of you, in Zack’s stead.”
“Th—thanks, then,” Cloud said, not knowing why he felt so inclined to cooperate. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Anything for a friend. By the way, you’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“Oh, no,” Cloud groaned, as he was taken by both wrists and pulled to his unsteady feet. “Not another helicopter.”
“Helicopter? Goddess forbid.”
Winged flight is a glory of which humans have dreamt, since our first primitive ancestors beheld the flight of birds, with envy and longing. Over the millennia, the development of modern engineering has brought our species into the sky, but it is only a pyrrhic victory. For all our technological capability, there is still nothing we can do, that approaches the freedom and grace of sailing through the heavens under one’s own power, unfettered by artificial apparatus, and unbound from the planet’s gravity.
This is, of course, because most of us are not superhuman killing machines, genetically engineered by highly unscrupulous scientists, in the employ of a colossal mega-corporation, with unlimited funds and little interest in ethical minutiae. Genesis Rhapsodos was one such superhuman, and along with all the other physical and mental advantages those morally elastic scientists had bestowed upon him, came the power of flight, unaided by mechanical contrivance.
The heaven-defying splendor of this experience was wasted on Cloud, unfortunately, because he was far too occupied in using every ounce of his strength to cling fast to this winged madman, who had scooped him up like a princess and leapt off a sixtieth floor balcony, with literally zero warning.
He wasn’t sure how high they were, or how far they’d gotten, because he was also keeping his eyes squeezed resolutely shut, lest he faint from terror and fall to his death. But it wasn’t as if he missed that much. Even if he’d not been too petrified to open them, the icy-cold wind battering his person, due to the tremendous speed at which Genesis traveled, would have forced his eyes shut, and he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the spectacular view, anyway.
Repeating a silent oath to the helicopter goddess that he’d never speak or think ill of those wonderful machines again, Cloud weathered the ordeal as best he could. In a briefer time than he would have expected, he felt Genesis arc downward, plummeting like a very slow meteor, till they alit on the street, outside the Honeybee.
“Wings. You have…wings,” Cloud mumbled drunkenly.
Genesis set him on his feet, then immediately had to catch him, because he swayed and nearly pitched over.
Adrenaline-crashing and irrationally indignant, Cloud tried to push the man away and stand on his own, only to find he could do neither. He was in superb health and uncommonly resilient, but even his robust constitution was no match for ghastly green dreams and an aching head and sick stomach and missing time, and getting woken up and interrogated by war heroes from posters and dragged off balconies and flown across the city—all slopped together, like the world’s most stressful omelet.
The thought of an omelet set a fresh wave of nausea crashing over him and with that final straw, Cloud’s wobbly legs gave out. It was thus that he was carried into the Honeybee, half senseless and pale as death, after an absence of multiple days with no contact, in the arms of the world’s most renowned personage. Needless to say, it caused something of a commotion.
The club was still several hours from opening, so there were few staff in the front of house. The first person to encounter the pair was a waitress in a bee costume, who stopped dead in her tracks and shrieked, “Cloud! Andrea! Cloud’s back! He’s back!” Without stopping to ask questions, she wheeled about and went running away down the hall, bee-bustle bouncing violently behind her.
There was a general rustling and banging as other people came hurrying out of various doors, in response to the disturbance. Among these were Aerith and Tifa, who would have thrown their arms around Cloud and peppered him with tearful kisses, but for the fact that he was being carried by—
“Genesis Rhapsodos?” Aerith said, tilting her head to one side, then the other, as if the slight alteration in angle might reveal him to be an entirely different person.
“At your service,” the First SOLDIER answered, with a dip of his chin, since his possession of Cloud’s person made bowing inconvenient, at the moment. “I understand my young friend belongs to this establishment.”
“What happened to him?” Tifa cut in, too beside herself with worry to care about any celebrity, war hero or no. “Why are you carrying him? He’s not hurt, is he?”
Genesis eyed her skeptically. “He only mentioned Andrea Rhodea. I’m afraid I won’t be relaying details to anyone else, on his behalf.”
She would have replied indignantly, but Andrea came rushing in just then, with the bee-costumed waitress trailing after him. His expression, when he saw Cloud, was that specific cocktail of fear, hope, shock, anger, and tremendous relief, that one might see on the face of a parent, when a teenaged child comes home safely, many hours after curfew.
“Cloud, darling! Thank the goddess you’re safe!” he cried, shooing the girls out of the way. He immediately observed Cloud’s condition, however, and addressed himself to his protector, in a lowered voice. “Is it serious? Does he need a doctor?”
Genesis answered in an equally confidential tone. “I don’t believe so, but it would be best to take him somewhere more comfortable and private, before you ask him any questions.”
“Of course, of course,” Andrea agreed quickly. “His room is upstairs. You don’t have to trouble yourself, though, I can carry him from here.”
“No, thank you. I’ve come this far, so I may as well take him all the way.”
“I actually think—I can walk now,” Cloud said, lifting his head feebly.
“No one asked you,” Genesis informed him, pushing it right back down. “Lead the way.”
Scolding the staff to stop gawking and get back to work, Andrea led his headliner and said headliner’s guardian angel to the staff elevator. Practically dying of curiosity, but not having any alternative, everyone dispersed and went back to work. But there was a lot of grumbling about it.
“It’s good to see you well, Genesis,” Andrea said awkardly, as the elevator lurched upward.
“Likewise, Andrea,” Genesis replied, in an equally strained tone.
Neither of them looked at the other. There was a stifling, wooly silence until the bell dinged, announcing their arrival on the third floor.
Nero and Weiss, who had apparently been waiting for the elevator, stood out of the way for the three, as they emerged—Weiss with a look of concern, and Nero with a sneer.
“So, he’s alive,” Nero sniffed. “Looks like I owe you twenty gil, brother.”
“Cloud, we’re so glad you’re back,” said Weiss, smiling warmly. “We were worried about you.”
“I was not the least bit worried,” Nero corrected.
“Thank you for bringing him home, sir,” Weiss said, addressing Genesis, who he clearly did not recognize. “Is he alright? He’s not injured, is he?”
“Only a bit under the weather,” Genesis assured one of the only two people in the world who seemed to have no idea who he was. “He felt faint, so I thought it’d be safer to carry him. Can’t risk having the Honeybee’s big star out of commission, can we.”
“Tch,” Nero said, and sauntered past them into the elevator, followed by Weiss.
In Cloud’s room, Genesis laid the returned lamb down on his bed, where Cloud gave a brief and somewhat scattered account of his situation, to an increasingly anxious Andrea. Unable to make heads or tails of it, and needing to be doing something useful, he hurried off to make Cloud some of his famous hangover tea, just in case it might help.
“What do you mean, the Honeybee’s big star?” Cloud asked Genesis, once he’d gone. “You said you didn’t know who I was and called me a spy.”
“Yes, but I happen to be literate, and your name is all over the marquees, outside. Not to mention the many posters in the lobby.”
“You didn’t recognize it before?”
“I don’t get out much,” Genesis said, casting his eyes about, for a place to sit. The single chair in the room had a pile of Cloud’s glittery costumes draped over it, so he seated himself on the corner of the bed.
“Uh. My room’s kind of a disaster,” Cloud said sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“I like it. It’s colorful and lived-in. It feels very…yours.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve been here for five years.”
“I’ve lived in Shinra Tower for twelve years. My room has never felt like mine.”
“What’s your place like? The same as Zack’s?”
“It’s about twice the size. And it was furnished from Shinra’s private, curated collection of antiques.”
“Wow. That’s generous of Shinra.”
“They didn’t do it for me. They did it for the optics. I am aware that it’s more than most people have, and I shouldn’t complain, but it’s furnished according to other people’s tastes, and I’m not allowed to live anywhere else. It’s nothing but a—”
“If you say the words ‘gilded cage’ right now, I swear to the goddess,” Cloud threatened.
Genesis laughed. It was a beautiful, unaffected laugh, that burst forth naturally and scintillated in the air, like a rainbow of ice crystals. Cloud got the feeling it was a very rare and precious sound.
“I wasn’t going to say gilded cage, for your information, as apt as the aphorism would have been. I was going to say it was nothing but a PR ploy. ‘My’ apartment was featured in a dozen interior design magazine spreads, before I even set foot inside.”
“But you’re a SOLDIER. Shouldn’t they want you guys to look super badass, like…sleeping on beds of nails and eating raw meat and stuff?”
“Shinra’s PR people aren’t fools. They knew the gung-ho, hyper-masculine image wouldn’t suit me. Unlike their standard recruits, I grew up wealthy and privileged, and I didn’t adapt well to many aspects of life, at Shinra.”
“By ‘didn’t adapt well’, you mean…”
“I incinerated three training facilities in as many weeks, and the fire that mysteriously began in the first quarters they assigned me at the Tower took down half a floor of the building.”
“Wow. And Andrea accuses me of having diva tantrums.”
“Can you blame me? They expected me to sleep in polyester sheets,” Genesis shivered.
“I think we can all agree that synthetic fabrics are an abomination,” said Cloud, who was very particular about his own bed linens. “So, you had a habit of setting fire to Shinra property in fits of pique, and their solution was…to give you a lot more extremely expensive Shinra property.”
“Mm-hm. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
“I get the feeling that’s how it works for you, most of the time.”
Genesis had gotten up and was shrugging off his famous, crimson leather trench coat, which he flung carelessly onto Cloud’s chair, atop the other clothes. His thermal top was sleeveless, and Cloud couldn’t help but notice that his arms were a lot more muscular than they’d appeared, under the sleekly tailored coat.
“Correct. I’m not the type to take things lying down, in the first place, but they also made a crucial mistake.”
“Which was?”
“They let me find out that the launch of their SOLDIER program was relying entirely on me. You know what they say. Never let a spoiled, melodramatic, superhuman teenager, with the ability to spontaneously create massively destructive fires, find out how vital he is to the success of your riskiest venture.”
“Tch. Who doesn’t know that old saying? I think my mom has it cross-stitched on a pillow.”
Genesis chuckled again. He was over at the vanity table, now, rummaging through Cloud’s array of perfumes and cosmetics. The cosmetics were all well loved, but most of the perfume bottles were gifts from clients, left unopened, only placed around for decoration. Cloud watched him, fascinated by the way he interacted with physical space. He seemed to move with careless, catlike grace, but there was something off about it.
Suddenly, it occurred to him what he was seeing. As natural as they appeared, all of Genesis’ movements were delayed, by an infinitesimal fraction of a second. As if everything he did was a deliberate and calculated performance.
Cloud was thunderstruck. The level of absolute self-awareness, and the incredible presence of mind it would take, to consciously regulate every single move your body made, was unimaginable. He prided himself on his excellent control, but this man was far out of his league.
“Feel free to tell me to mind my own business,” he said, “but if you don’t like it at Shinra, why don’t you leave?”
“You’re mistaken,” Genesis answered, as he picked up a particularly ornate crystal bottle and turned it in his hand, watching the refraction of the light, in the finely cut facets. “I am very satisfied with my position at Shinra. We have our differences, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I am a hero, after all.”
Cloud was unable to respond to this strange statement, because Andrea knocked on the door, at that moment, and bustled in with a tray, bearing slices of toast, and the promised pot of tea.
“How are you feeling, bumblebee?” he asked, as Cloud sipped a steaming cup.
“Still achy, all over,” Cloud admitted. “But the tea is really helping my stomach.”
“I think you should let the doctor have a look at you. Losing a whole day can’t be normal. What if you hit your head?”
“But my head doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just my body.”
“The best cure for that would be a long, hot bath,” Genesis put in.
Cloud shrugged. “Staff bathroom only has showers.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I had heard that the Honeybee possesses a luxury suite, featuring the largest bath in the city.”
“We do,” Andrea said proudly. “The Greek bath suite. I designed it myself.”
“There you go, Cloud. Why not try it?”
“Those suites are for sessions with clients,” Cloud objected. “I don’t need to soak in a hot tub, anyway. The shower will be just fine.”
“I really think you should try the bath.”
“Well, you’re not the boss of me, so…”
Genesis narrowed his eyes. “Andrea, I have become enamored with this charming little honeybee. I would like to book a session with him, in the Greek bath suite, to begin immediately. Here is my Shinra ID. Charge whatever you like, they’ll be paying. There. Now I’m a client.”
“Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t agree to this,” Cloud protested.
“Sorry, bumblebee, we can’t possibly turn away a world famous war-hero,” Andrea said, gleefully scanning the ID card with his phone. “I’m sure you’ll do your very best to satisfy your client.”
“You heard the man,” Genesis said smugly. “Bath time.”
“The fact remains that he walked into this building and did not walk out!” Rufus Shinra was thundering, at some uniformed Shinra security guards, who stood before his desk, shaking in their boots. “Unless he grew wings and flew away, he is still inside it, somewhere. Do your jobs and find him, or I’ll replace you with men who can!”
The guards hastily saluted, and practically ran from the office. The moment the door shut behind them, Rufus sank into his leather chair, clenching his teeth and spasmodically clutching his neck, where the knot of intense pain was worsening by the hour. Darkstar, sensing his master’s distress, but not having a wide range of options, as far as comforting him, put his massive head on Rufus’ lap and snorted, in sympathy.
“Sir,” said Tseng, as he stepped in, a moment later.
“I don’t want to hear anything, unless it’s about Cloud Strife’s exact location and status.”
“Understood, sir.” Tseng turned on his heel, to walk back out the door.
“Get back here, you asshole,” Rufus called after him. “You know better than to listen to me, when I’m like this.”
“Yes, sir,” Tseng replied, with an audible smirk in his voice, if not on his face. “I’ve got the report from our agents in Wutai. There are a number of interesting photos, which I thought you might want to see. Nothing from the Valentine compound, for obvious reasons, but security at Da-chao Palace did not present an obstacle.”
“Put them on the screen,” Rufus said irritably. “I don’t want to scroll through your phone.”
Tseng did whatever he did to make the holographic screen appear, in front of Rufus’ desk, and the photo set popped up. The first one was Cloud, being handed out of the car by Vincent Valentine, at the grand entrance to Da-chao palace. The next twenty or so were shots of the two walking the red carpet, from a lot of different angles. There were dozens, inside the ballroom, documenting every single person Cloud and Vincent spoke to, though they were not of the highest quality, due to the lighting and the crowd.
“Princess Kyrie,” Rufus muttered. “Are the rumors about her and Valentine true?”
“Unlikely, sir.”
He scowled at a picture of four youths, who he hadn’t seen before. Or maybe he had. Their faces had been beaten till they looked like pigs’ heads, so there would be no way of knowing. The series of photos depicted them emerging from what appeared to be a side-courtyard, disheveled and bloody, heavily aided by Da-chao palace staff.
“Who are they?”
“No one important. The sons of some businessmen and minor gentry, from Junon and Kalm.”
“Then why are you making me look at them? Who beat them up, like this?”
“From what I can tell, sir, Cloud Strife did,” Tseng said tranquilly.
Rufus forcibly concealed his astonishment, since that was exactly the reaction Tseng had intended to produce, by springing it on him like that, and replied coolly. “Explain.”
“Upon investigation, we have surmised that, at the behest of Princess Kyrie of Junon, these young men lured Cloud Strife into a room used for storage, in this courtyard annex, a small distance from the main palace. Brass knuckles and a cricket bat belonging to two of the young men were found at the scene. It’s unlikely they expected to be the victims of a severe beating.”
“What does Junon have to do with Cloud Strife? Why would they target him? To get to Valentine?”
“These four are not in Queen Mireille’s employ. They’re amateur thugs, just out of prep school, with a history of academic misconduct, assault, and allegations of sexual abuse of fellow students. It appears the grievance was personal, in nature.”
“Personal how?”
“We obtained this video, from one of our people inside Junon Palace. It was sent to Queen Mireille, whose personal assistant uploaded it to the palace email server. I believe it will answer your questions.”
Tseng touched the play button, and the video popped up on the screen.
“Please, please stop,” a male voice was groaning, as the phone camera jostled and blurred, and then focused on his face. Or, what was left of it, anyway. The bridge of his nose was sitting at a grotesque angle, and was already livid with an ugly, purple contusion. One eye was swollen all the way shut, and there was blood in the drool trickling down his chin, as he bawled and pleaded. “Don’t kill me, please. My father’s super rich. He’ll give you anything you want. Don’t kill me.”
“I told you idiots like ten times, I’m not going to kill you,” said a voice behind the camera, that was so very clearly Cloud Strife’s, Rufus got half-hard just hearing it. “You are going to look into this camera, and state your name, your buddies’ names, and exactly what you did.”
“Buuuuhuuuhuuuuuu, it was all Gregor’s ideeeaaaaaa!” the young man wailed, till Cloud’s hand flew out and slapped him across the mouth, stunning him into silence.
“Stop crying, you fucking embarrassment. You brought this on yourself. Be a man and own up to what you did. Then it will all be over. Understood?”
Cloud’s voice was icy and domineering, and lacked the bantering lilt it had, when he was ordering Rufus around, in their sessions. Without that cork on the foil, it was a naked blade, of which Rufus was just now learning the sharpness. He shuddered involuntarily, at the same time the young man on the screen gave a terrified nod.
“Good,” said Cloud. “Now talk.”
With admirable patience, Rufus listened to the perpetrator’s rambling, self-justifying, blubbering account, all the way to the end. This included the names of his accomplices, their leader’s sister, who had brought the princess to them, Princess Kyrie’s belief that she was betrothed to Vincent Valentine and that Cloud Strife was an interloper, and the four young men’s intention to record themselves assaulting Cloud, then release the video to the internet, in order to publicly humiliate him. Princess Kyrie, for unclearly defined reasons, apparently believed that this would somehow alienate Cloud from Vincent Valentine, thus endearing her to him.
Rufus had superhuman control of his body language and expressions, but Tseng observed the slight flaring of his nostrils, as he slowly tapped one finger on the desk.
“Please, try to remain calm, sir,” he said. “You’ll make your neck pain worse.”
“Thank you, Tseng, I am perfectly calm,” Rufus replied. “Shinra must not be seen to have ties to the families of those four young men. Should any…misfortune befall them, they will certainly be subject to public scrutiny, which might tarnish our reputation, by association.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Is Princess Kyrie still in Wutai?”
“No, sir. The princess has been sent by her majesty the queen, on a goodwill tour of Junon’s charity hospitals and vaccination centers, all over the world. She is expected to be abroad for twelve months, at the least.”
Rufus gave a mirthless laugh. “I guess she’s in time-out, then.”
“Shall I have my agents keep an eye on her?”
“Don’t bother. Queen Mireille can deal with the brat herself.” Rufus flipped back through the pictures, to the young men being helped out of the storage room, and stared thoughtfully at them, for a long time. “This type of beating. It wasn’t panic or self defense. It wasn’t even anger. It was…”
“Ruthless,” Tseng finished for him.
“Yes. But you don’t have to sound so pleased about it,” Rufus muttered.
Tseng’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, just then, which all his agents knew never to do, unless it was urgent. “What is it?”
“Sir, it’s Elena. I think we figured out what happened to Cloud Strife.”
“One moment. I’m putting you on speaker, with President Shinra. Go ahead.”
“Good morning, Mr. President. We have just learned that an hour ago, Commander Rhapsodos was absent from a SOLDIER briefing, and we have multiple witnesses saying he flew past their windows, carrying a blonde-haired individual. We think that individual was Cloud Strife, and that he and Commander Rhapsodos exited via a window or balcony, on the First Class floor, where there are no security cameras.”
“Damn it. What the hell kind of show is Lazard running, over there?” Rufus snarled, clutching his neck, where the knot was twisting tighter. “Why are his freaks hosting civilians on restricted floors, and flying out of unauthorized exits, with no accountability?”
“Uncertain, sir. This is brand new intel, and I called Director Tseng immediately, as instructed. I’m on my way to speak with Director Lazard, now.”
“Good work, Elena,” Tseng said. “Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.”
He tapped the screen to end the call, and again to make another. “Rude. Get down to the Honeybee. I want eyes on Cloud Strife. Alert me, the moment he’s found. And watch out for the Red Menace. Apparently they’re together.”
THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY
genesis my beloved
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