Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Rufus, his wheelchair and the silly sheet. ❯ Rufus, his wheelchair and the silly sheet. ( Chapter 1 )

"Is this really necessary?"

The question, asked blandly, not particularly judgmental, simply in a puzzled tone, drew the attention of the questioner's companion to him.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Rufus answered succinctly and returned to his silent contemplation of the object that he'd been engrossed with for the past five minutes.

Said object was a wheelchair, freshly delivered, a sturdy structure of polished metal and fiberglass, powered by the latest technology still functional in these energy deprived times, padded and cushioned with the softest of natural materials. Nothing but the best for the President of Shinra, no matter what his fallen state.

Tseng however, was more interested in watching Rufus. The man was dressed in his usual pristine white ensemble, arms akimbo, a picture of health but for the bandages swathed artistically around his brow and neck, and a few barely discernable stress lines at the edges of his eyes. While anyone else looking at his president would be hard pressed to figure out what the man was thinking, his face a sculptured study in blankness, Tseng, through long years of familiarity, knew the man was up to no good.

But then, Tseng didn't know when Rufus wasn't ever planning something.

Seeming to have his fill of staring at the chair, Rufus sank with careful grace--the man never did anything that wasn't graceful--into the seat. Placing his arms on the rest, he tipped his head sideways up to Tseng and asked, "What do you think?"

Understanding came upon Tseng, like Archimedes in his bathtub. Fortunately, Tseng wasn't the type to run out naked to the streets yelling eureka. Instead, he tipped a fine eyebrow back at Rufus, a distinct upturn pulling at the sides of his lips.

"Disguise or sympathy?"

"Hmm, both?" Rufus leaned back, presenting a portrait of an invalid so frail as to collapse with the next stiff breeze. The bandages helped complete the picture of course, together with the porcelain pallor of his complexion.

Tseng couldn't help narrowing his eyes with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?" The geostigma was after all, a deadly disease and Tseng was vividly aware of it thanks to the spiral of dusky bruises up Rufus' wrist. He was reassured when Rufus perked up and flashed a triumphant smile, as if pleased that Tseng was taken in by his theatrics.

Rufus waved away any suggestion that he wasn't up to par. "Of course! I only fainted that one time. I just get a bit tired but it doesn't mean I can't run or duck..."

Ah, there was the crux of the matter. Too many people hated the Shinra name, some enough to risk life and limb to ensure the extinction of the line. To Tseng, that was an unacceptable situation. He was pleased that his charge was actively planning ways to secure his own safety.

"That's bulletproof?" Tseng asked and was answered with a nod. He walked around Rufus, taking a second look. "We'll have to get you a smaller gun, and clips."

Rufus proudly flipped open a side compartment and poked about inside. "Too small for a shotgun," he said, nodding in agreement. There'd be no way to conceal something as long as a shotgun in that thing, despite its copious space. "But we can put materia in here, my files, Reno's lunch even."

"Nothing like lulling a hostile into a false sense of security by presenting a helpless target," Tseng murmured approvingly.

"The added plus is that anyone I talk business to while in this will feel bad about trying to take advantage of a handicapped man," Rufus said astutely. No one could ever fault his business acumen, or his methods in manipulating people.

Tseng took a third circuit around Rufus, pacing softly on the carpet. "It's not enough," he said at last.

Rufus' question was clear in his expression.

"You're still a sitting target. Anyone can snipe at you from a distance," Tseng pointed out. His eye roamed about the room, settling on a large heavy table. With a smooth motion, he whipped up the covering cloth and flung it over his shachou.

Rufus peeped out from under the sheet, appropriately white-coloured, at Tseng. "Happy now?"

Tseng reached down and lifted one delicate wrist up, his fingers caressing rough circles over the ugly discoloration spreading up the arm. "Never, until you're well again."

~Fin

Notes: Shachou means president and I love the way the Turks yell that title out at Rufus all the time. Oh yeah, I love Tseng to bits too, but I hope I captured Rufus' character in this properly. He's such a plotting manipulative bastard. I also got the plot bunny for this from an interview that the director of Advent Children gave, in which he implied that Rufus was just pretending to be more ill than he was and that Rufus could pretty much do whatever Denzel could. So there had to be a reason for him to be in that wheelchair...