Jack Shinra looked better than he had in years. The tuxedo he wore had nothing to do with it.
Tseng stood at his usual station inside the president's office, just to the right of the door, with his back against shelves that were lined with treasures from every corner of the world that had reason to do business with ShinRa, Inc. The position afforded him equally good views of the door, which was standing open, and of the presidential desk. The president stood behind it, already dressed for the evening's black-tie affair, and snapped orders at his secretary.
This one was as new as they came. His fingers flew over the keypad as he tried to keep up with the president. Tseng wondered what he'd done to be sentenced to such a promotion. Offended someone very important, no doubt. Rude, who'd been on duty when the secretary had shown up for his first day on the job, had offered Tseng twenty gil that the man wouldn't last long enough to collect his first paycheck.
Tseng had declined the bet.
Rude had shrugged. "Fine. One week. Forty gil."
"Forget it. I've got better ways to waste my money."
Right at the moment, the secretary's heart was beating frantically. Tseng could hear it from across the room. It pounded an awkward accompaniment to the president's orders. Tseng found it distracting, in a distant sort of way. His own heart beat no more than the president's did, both having been stilled to silence for the same reason. Tseng had not felt his own pulse beat since the day the president had bent his head back in the middle of this very office and bled him to death.
He'd brought Tseng back, of course.
He had also remained in remarkably good humor well into the early hours of the morning, going so far as to allow Tseng, newly-born and proportionately hungry, to drink from his latest pretty girl.
He'd reserved the pleasure of her death for himself, though.
Perhaps there was a similar reason for his abrupt flare of life tonight. Perhaps the president had indulged in one of his spectacularly indiscreet indiscretions, and there was now a dead body cooling in the presidential bed, waiting for Tseng's very practiced talent for making the unwanted disappear. Most likely something young. Something vibrant. A self-contained sun that had shed heat and light, before the president had decided to rip it apart.
Tseng would check on it at his first opportunity.
A thin woman in a gray suit leaned through the doorway. "Your car has just pulled up front, sir."
"Good," said the president. "Let's get this over with." He tossed a file onto the desk, where it lay for a fraction of a second before the secretary darted forward and scooped it up. "I trust she's waiting in the lobby."
"Sir?" asked the secretary, holding the president's black wool coat at the ready.
The president thrust his arms into the sleeves. "My wife."
The secretary fumbled with his handheld. "Security reports that Mrs. Shinra has not yet left her apartment."
The president stopped dead halfway to the door. "Why the hell not?"
"I-- I don't know?"
Tseng noted a flash of spit-wet canine and felt vindicated. He'd have to remember to tell Rude. The secretary, possessing no cover but a handful of folders, shrank from the president's glare. Poor bastard didn't know how lucky he was the president was in a hurry, and already showed every sign of having fed well.
The president turned and found Tseng, as ever, present and waiting.
"Get her."
Tseng bowed and trailed him out of the door.
The hallway of the sixtieth floor was precisely as Tseng remembered it from eight years previous. He'd walked its length for three consecutive evenings, four months running, then never had occasion to return again. Gold-toned lamps provided illumination where there were no windows, laying Tseng's shadow out before him like a stain on the cream carpet. Cut flowers in vases, all shades of pink and rose, might have been snipped from the same plants as their long-faded predecessors.
There was something about Jack Shinra that made everything he owned resistant to change.
Even Tseng looked very much the same. He'd still been mortal then, but only barely, and yet too pale from wounds he'd taken as a SOLDIER, despite his subsequent stay at the ShinRa Medical Center. The injuries had not been unexpected when one considered the kind of assignments he'd pulled in those days. But the extended stay, compliments of ShinRa Medical, had been an unlooked-for favor. Tseng had not thought himself important enough to warrant that degree of attention.
Nor had he ever thought to be ordered to the office of the president of ShinRa, Inc. But that was where he'd found himself for the very first time upon his release from the doctor's care, standing at attention, and remembering every rumor he'd ever heard about the man in front of him.
Jack Shinra had taken his time and looked him over from head to bootheels before saying, "It seems you've recovered."
"Yes, sir." Even that young, Tseng had known enough to keep staring straight ahead.
The president consulted his handheld. "Tseng? That's your name?"
"Yes, sir."
"Sit down, Tseng. I'm about to interview you for a job."
Tseng had sat.
The president had walked around his desk, tossing his handheld onto its polished surface. "You've heard of the Turks?"
"Quite often, sir. Their reputation precedes them."
"Good answer. You ever wanted to be a Turk?"
"Of course, sir."
The president had almost smiled at that. "Better answer. Congratulations. You pass." Then he'd leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, and Tseng had begun to wonder exactly what he'd just signed up for.
Not that he'd had any choice.
"You'll start officially tomorrow. But there's something I want you to do for me tonight."
"Sir?"
"Don't worry, Tseng. I just need a favor. A very personal favor, granted, but it's something I think you'll enjoy." He'd most definitely smiled then, confirming the greatest of the rumors. "I know I always do."
That had been the first night of Tseng's employment as a Turk. It had also been the first night he'd seen a vampire. And the first night he'd walked down the hallway of the sixtieth floor to knock on Eleanor Shinra's door to tell her her husband wanted a favor.
Tonight, he didn't bother to knock.
The sitting room was well-lit, but empty. Through the doorway to the bedroom, Tseng saw the doors of Eleanor's wardrobes were flung wide open. A satin gown the color of old snow hung unwrapped and ready, waiting to be taken down. Eleanor herself sat in front of her vanity in a lace slip, her hair pinned high up on her head in a tumble of blonde curls.
When Tseng stepped into the room, he found two heartbeats where he had expected only one.
Rufus Shinra sat curled in his mother's lap. His feet were tucked up on her knees, and his pale head rested against her bare shoulder. He didn't look like the heir to an unimaginable fortune. He looked like a seven-year-old boy who was far too big to be sleeping in his mother's arms. But his eyes were closed, and his breath came heavily through his parted lips. Eleanor's hand moved caressingly over his neck.
Tseng frowned.
Then Eleanor's fingers strayed down over the boy's collarbone, so that Tseng saw the paired wounds she had been touching so gently, and he realized Jack had outdone himself this time.
And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
A Turk would never, under any circumstances, gasp in surprise. The sound Tseng made was voluntary and completely intentional. Eleanor heard it, and glanced up.
Tseng resisted the urge to clear his throat. "The president requires your presence immediately."
"Does he now." She sounded as if she were standing someplace immeasurably far away.
"Do you require assistance?"
"From you?" Her laugh was pale and bitter. "You want to help me, Tseng?"
He stared down at the favor he had done for the president. He wondered what might come of a favor done for his wife.
"If I can."
"You can't." Her voice was as cold as anything that had ever come out of the president's mouth. "Tell him I will not be going anywhere this evening. I have become suddenly... sick."
For a moment, her hand clamped down on Rufus' throat. Even unaware his surroundings, the boy flinched. There came a whimpered, "Maman?"
"Sshh, darling." She picked up her soft stroking once more, and Rufus subsided into his daze. "Everything's all right."
"There must be something you need."
"You need to remember that you are a Turk. I need to be left alone." There was a hint of her former humor around the lines of her mouth. Looking closely, Tseng could see where she was growing old. "Don't concern yourself. He won't kill me yet."
She turned all of her attention back to the boy with her blue eyes, her flushed skin, and her shimmer of hair. He bore no resemblance whatsoever to his father. Tseng stood silently for a long minute, deciding with great care on what words to use in his report to the president.
He left the apartment chased by the sound of Eleanor Shinra singing her unconscious son a lullaby.