Tseeve: Drabbles Meme part II

Tseng had left a note for Reeve; it was a private affair and therefore the words were not traceable over the usual communication systems. Instead the Executive had found it when taking lunch. Opening his metal lunchbox, a piece of paper fluttered towards the floor. Reeve caught it within his fingers and with a puzzled expression, lifted it to read.

Meet at Wall Market entrance, 1900 hours. Wear something comfortable.
Enjoy your lunch...

Reeve recognised the script as Tseng's own hand and a faint embarrassment crept up his neck at the last comment. The Turk will undoubtedly use the fact his lunchbox bore a rendition of an ancient beast to tease him in the future. However, he put that thought to the side, as well as the other questions raised about the invitation, and concentrated on his work for the day.

At 1845 hours Reeve had made his way down into the slums dressed in a pair of grey jogging bottoms and light blue sweatshirt, his apparel of choice during the rare times spent relaxing in his apartment. Fingering the collar of the top the Executive successfully blended into the background of the scents and noises of the busy slum market. It had always been a skill of his and one of the reasons Veld had shown interest in the man, until other things made it quite apparent to the Chief that Reeve was, in fact, not suited to being a Turk.

Hazel eyes raised to see a figure, dressed in white and not the usual dark blue Reeve associated with the man. The top was like a robe, fastened to the waist with a sash and hanging over loose white cloth trousers. Eyes followed the unique vision upwards as Reeve gave Tseng a questioning smile. Obsidian lengths separated; front portions usually neatly combed back were pulled up loosely into bondage as the remainder trailed downwards in a familiar silken sheet.

A sighed breath marked Reeve's quiet voice as he joined the other man, "It's been a while since I saw you with your hair tied back." It had been a fair few years in truth, when Tseng had just broken past his teenage years and had stepped up to leadership. There was something significant about the act, Reeve was sure of that, but then, it was so very difficult to pin symbolism upon a Turk.
 
Dark eyes narrowed, "Reeve, leave the flirting until later," There was a trace of a smirk curving at Tseng's lips, his address marked by the informal familiarity switching Reeve's ambient temperature a little higher. The Executive opened his mouth to protest but shut it again swiftly at the look, muttering to the side as they walked inside, "Any particular reason you decided to bring me to a gym? I mean, dinner and a movie are generally more usual..."

At those words Tseng remained silent, something uncharacteristic crossing his face. Reeve's eyes caught it and narrowed also as they entered the building. He could have sworn the look was of apprehension.

The smell of sweat lingering in the humidity hit their nostrils and the back of their throats with a salt tang. The five men around the square ring stopped their squat thrust motions as Tseng and Reeve crossed through before the largest of them hollered, "Hey Wute, long time no see! Say... who's ya friend?" His voice was thick Midgarian, run overhead by a playful leer.

Reeve  glanced at Tseng's face, half-expecting a reaction to the ethnic term, but it was as impassive as it usually was. His voice however in return was held equally playful and was suddenly accented by the melodies of Wutai Reeve had not before heard in the Turk's patter of speech, "It has been a while, Jimmy, but you know the score. I'm not here to play with you boys."

A flick of a wrist in dismissal which prompted an "Ooo" noise from the other men, Tseng stepped into a stairwell and turned, "Enjoy your squats. He's with me."

Reeve followed and gave Tseng another curious look before climbing the stairs, speaking quietly to the other man, "They don't know who you are."

The Turk paused and turned. He always appreciated how the Executive was observant enough to know when to stay quiet, or when to speak. If choosing the latter, Reeve could be startling when he spoke, unafraid of harsh truths or voicing criticism. It hit hard upon a man who lived so little for his own will, and so it challenged Tseng, discretely, internally. Reminded him that he was in fact his own man; somewhere, deeply concealed.

It was largely because of Reeve's unique ability to re-awaken the human within the suit that Tseng had decided to bring him to this place. He was still apprehensive however, but that was just proof in itself it was the correct decision. A Turk was trained out of such emotion.

Nonetheless he was not quite ready to face the man beneath the occupation, his voice cooling back to his normal polite tenor "Correction, they don't know what I am. To Jimmy and the others I'm just one of many down on his luck immigrants trying to get ahead in the big city." A hand lifted and came to rest on Reeve's shoulder, his voice was clear but again there was a touch of accent, of irony, "I also despise Shin-Ra."

A step down next to Reeve and dark eyes held gaze, "Reeve..." The Executive heard the beat of his own heart keenly, unsure how to place this situation. Of all the times he had spent with Tseng, this was definitely the most unique. Looking back, he searched within those dark eyes and was slightly disconcerted to actually find emotion there, though the realisation thrilled a shiver down his spine.

"Tseng. Why have you brought me here?"

Tseng curled his fingers upon his shoulder and turned, sweeping aside a curtain at the top stair; a scent of incense replaced that of sweat, "あなたをテストするには"

At Reeve's slightly disgruntled retort that he was an engineer and not a linguist, an amused breath escaped Tseng's lips as he replies in kind, "To test you." Reeve had joined him at the top and was looking around the place with fascination. The room at the top was laid out as a traditional dojo, training ground of the Wutai people.

He may not be a linguist but he had read books about many different cultural structures, and the Wutainese temples, pagoda designs and landscaped gardens had always intrigued him. That sense of being, of history and tradition, encapsulated within every meticulous architectural detail.

To think, a dojo would be hidden away in the slums of Midgar...

It was a plain, functional space, as was to be expected from a training area, but along the sides there were marks of culture; most notable of which, a shrine upon the back wall. Reeve had begun to smile, until that expression dropped into a frown at Tseng's words.

"Test me? ...Oh no, no. Tseng, you know I'm not a fighter." Reeve remained still as Tseng removed his shoes and walked over to the right hand corner, past the kamidana to pick up a long length of wood, turning to meet a look once again.  

"I don't think that's at all true, Reeve. I've watched you fighting each and every day." Inching into a stance, Tseng nodded to his companion, "Remove your shoes and pick up a bokken."

The accent concentrated, nearly cracked at Tseng's composure until he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was already proving to be a significant personal challenge. Allowing words of the Wutai – his forgotten history – to repeat unspoken, Tseng's mind cleared as he gestured to Reeve to follow his direction.

The Executive proved to be rather adept at picking up postures, which had begun to form memetically, irrepressibly, from within Tseng. No doubt acute spatial awareness helped the brown-haired man yet Reeve soon found himself, somewhat awkwardly, paying less attention to the movements themselves as the man who was gliding with sheer grace and beauty through them.

He suddenly felt every inch a voyeur of something he had not been expecting to witness. Guilt from the exposure pricked at Reeve as he remained transfixed, guilt from the feelings - not thoughts - that this was inspiring in him. Tseng was more vulnerable than he had ever seen the man, despite being armed, despite being always dangerous. It was intoxicating.

There was a loud clatter as Reeve's bokken dropped from his fingers and Tseng's meditative focus snapped back to reality, "Pick it back up," The accent snarled and plucked around the words, "Ready yourself."

Reeve moved down to pick up the weapon, only just righting his posture and not having time at all to process what was happening, before there was a hard smack of wood on wood. Tseng actually laughed in surprise, "You blocked me?" before he danced a few deft steps backwards, "Again."

Reeve, breathing heavily, shook his head, "No, wait- Tseng... What are you trying to prove her-" There was a blossom of pain in his shoulder as the weapon connected, followed swiftly by another sharp focus at the back of his knees. Reeve buckled with a grunt to the hard wood surface. Rolling onto his back he found himself pinned immediately by Tseng's weight.

"Hm. Beginner's luck?" The words purred into his ear as Reeve struggled before turning limp, "You've got good instincts, Reeve. So, what do you think I'm trying to achieve here?" Reeve's reply whispered out harshly; all of a sudden with that perceptiveness the Executive bore within. He understood, he knew, "Tseng... you-"

His words were interrupted by the sound of Wutainese, dry from age, "Good, good instincts. Perception is a powerful skill. Though release him, Shion. This man of Midgar does not know our ways."

Tseng's weight disappeared from Reeve who, still panting slightly, turned to see the Turk bowing before an old man. "He IS Midgar, master," Tseng deferred using the man's name, though Reeve could not quite catch it amidst the alien tongue. This was followed by something that sounded remarkably similar to "Riberu."

Was that his own name?

The old man hissed through cracked lips, "Shin-Ra".

Now that was a name Reeve could identify. He pulled himself up to standing, legs and shoulder still sore as Tseng replied, "Yes, though do not misjudge him. He gives much of himself to many."

The old man looked Reeve over silently for a few moments then huffed "You have never given me reason to distrust you. Though always, be mindful. Perception is a powerful skill. A mind to wield it, he could be dangerous to you."

With that reiteration the old man bowed to Reeve and spoke, this time in Midgarian, "You are welcome here again, Man of Midgar. But do not betray his trust in you."

As he gave another bow to Tseng he walked off, Reeve noticed darkness in Tseng's eyes. He could see; even when most human, there was still betrayal of self. "Tseng."

A hand reached to cup Tseng's jaw, "Tseng. As much as I can, I promise."

There was a lot left unspoken, but through the quiet understanding of vulnerability and limitations, of brief and stinging clarity, shreds of self had tangled and bound them a little closer. Reeve was sore and tired but strangely thankful. Tseng, in return, stung more deeply and was marked by a unique form of exhaustion, but he was relieved.

He demonstrated this physically, with something almost like gratitude, towards Reeve, his man of Midgar and more, with a lingering kiss.