one memory
If you could carry only one memory with you into the afterlife, which would you choose?
Rude had known for weeks that Bode had used his status as a one-time star running back to get tickets to a sold out Capitals game. Bode Noble was many things, but one that he wasn't was a good secret-keeper. That was mainly why Rude assumed that Bode had no idea that the day of that game was his birthday: he would have said so if he had known. That, and he had never told him when it was.
Rude had been certain that they were going to be late, but Bode had continually assured him--in the familiar clipped yet somehow slurred accent, with that flash of a smile--that they were "right on time". Rude had first realized that something was different when the woman at the stadium's front gates had waved them right through without asking to look at tickets. He had turned a suspicious eye on Bode, who had grinned widely. "First recognition of the day," he had said. It wasn't an improbable idea; before a severe concussion had ended his career, Bode had been one of the most popular football players that Midgar had ever known. Still, though, Rude hadn't been entirely sure that that was all that was happening.
He received his second clue as they ascended the noisy metal steps into the stadium, and Bode grabbed his arm to stop him when Rude started to step out into the air to search out their cheap seats. "We're further up," he had said, gesturing at the next set of stairs, which were roped off with the sign 'authorized personnel only'.
Rude had glanced between the sign and Bode. "We're not authorized personnel."
Bode had grinned, teeth flashing white against his dark face. "Yeah, we are." He had tugged on Rude's arm, lead the increasingly reluctant bald man up to the security guy guarding the rope. The man had taken one look at Bode, then greeted him by first name with a smile and unclipped the rope to allow them to pass.
"What did you do?" Rude asked, feeling extreme misgivings as they left the security guard behind.
"I've no idea what you're talking about," Bode answered, climbing the stairs beside him.
At the top of the stairs, they went through a door to reach a nondescript red-carpeted corridor. They passed several doors, Bode still blithely refusing to answer questions, and then Bode yanked Rude inside a door that didn't look any different from all the others.
Rude finally understood when he saw what lay behind the door. The sneaky son of a bitch had pulled strings left and right to get box seats. The view was perfect; fans could be seen throughout the massive stadium filing into their seats, and the field was far below, spread out before them. The box was incredibly opulent, with televisions, sofas, chairs, food spread out…
Rude was slightly aware that his jaw was slightly ajar as he stared at the richness surrounding him. It took him a moment or two to remember Bode, who was standing beside him with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary.
"Does the drool mean you like?" he asked smugly.
"Not drooling," Rude said, but he smiled.
They had watched the game in that incredible box alongside a group of people from the Red Spear Insurance Company--Bode had muttered in an aside to Rude that he hadn't been able to get an empty box--who were all utterly thrilled to find that they standing alongside the legendary Bullet Train Noble. Ordinarily, Bode basked in attention and adoration from fans, but today, he was courteous but dismissive and remained for the most part at Rude's side.
Rude had never really been much for cheering, but he swore--increasingly often as the game progressed--when the Capitals fucked up, and Bode was more than loud enough for the both of them. He enjoyed himself, though, cursing and arguing and laughing a little alongside Bode.
The Caps won in the final moments of the fourth quarter, and after the game, when the Red Spear people were beginning to file out of the box and post-game coverage was starting to show on the large-screen televisions, Rude found himself being tugged at by Bode again.
"Come on, Rude; you planning on sitting there all day or what?"
"Let me at least finish my beer," Rude said, holding up the half-full bottle as he watched a replay of Downing's game-winning field goal.
"Take it with you," said Bode and he ruthlessly dragged him away.
Once outside and being ushered down the steps again, Rude thought to ask, "…Where are we going?"
"You'll see." Bode steered him around two shirtless middle-aged men whose entire bodies had been painted the team colors of red and white, then down into the bowels of the stadium. They took so many twists and turns and back stairways that, by the end of it, Rude had no idea where the hell they were and he just walked along at Bode's side, curious as to where they were going to end up.
He was completely in the dark right up until the moment that Bode pushed open the nondescript door and he found himself in the--very occupied--Capitals locker room. For the second time that day, his mouth hung open.
At the same time, Bode was being greeted noisily by all of the half-dressed players, being slapped on the back and bumping chests over and over again by large men wearing just towels or pants. A select few obviously hadn't been on the team when Bode had been, but by and by, the players knew him and had obviously been fond of him; they were shouting out his name and asking what he'd been doing and if he'd managed to get another concussion yet and all sorts of things all at once. And then Bode, laughing as he returned the greetings just as boisterously as they were given, motioned to a still-stunned Rude to come further into the steamy locker room. He introduced Rude as a friend of his, and the next half-hour was one of the most memorable of Rude's life. He was an avid fan of the Capitals; had been all his life. So the chance to just stand and talk to his favorite players (while Bode caught up with them), true superstar players, on his favorite team, was unbelievable. Just being in the locker room was fucking incredible.
After a time, when a few players began to get fully dressed and say their goodbyes, Bode motioned to Rude and they took their leave of the players.
Stepping out the door, Rude shook his head in disbelief that that had just happened. "…C--"
"Buhbuhbuh. Shut it." Bode held up a dark-skinned hand to forestall comment. On this new journey up and down stairways and through back entrances, he silenced Rude the few times that he started to speak.
And then, as they turned one final corner, Rude suddenly understood where they were.
He stopped dead, staring at the view of the unnaturally green field that lay before them. Bode grinned. "Come on."
They walked onto the sidelines of the Capital Stadium football field, and that was enough in and of itself. Rude couldn't believe it when Bode nodded toward the field and said, "Go ahead."
He stared at him, eyebrow raised. "…Kidding."
The other man shook his head, long dreadlocks swaying with the movement. "I'm serious as a heart attack."
Rude took one step onto the springy green field, then another. Even as he did so, the massive floodlights were extinguished with loud clicks, one by one, and the field was left lit by smaller lights throughout the stadium.
There was no one left in the stands, the entire stadium seemingly deserted but for them, and Rude stood in the center of the dimly-illuminated field for a moment, staring around in utter awe. Then he wandered up and down the field, marking numbly in his head things like, that's where Sanderson scored the winning field goal in the '86 Snow Bowl, and holy shit, Lorenzo Torrini stood right here. Bode trailed along after him, silently and clearly enjoying his reaction.
Finally, though, after some time, Rude sat down on the fifty-yard line in the middle of the field and just stared at the massive, empty stands all around him. He felt and heard Bode settle in beside him, and they sat side-by-side on the grass.
"Can't even believe this," Rude muttered, more to himself than to Bode.
Bode laughed lightly in the dim light beside him. "Good."
Rude turned to look at him. "Thank you," he said simply.
Bode scowled at him. "None of that; you know this wasn't that hard for me to pull off." But then he smiled warmly, and said, "You're welcome, you silly bugger," and he leaned over and kissed him chastely.
It was fast, but it caught Rude entirely by surprise. They avoided any form of public affection ordinarily, a, because that just wasn't either man's style, but mainly b, because ShinRa strongly discouraged employee fraternization, particularly within the Turks. If found out, there was a good chance that they could lose their jobs, and in the Turks, being fired meant having a hit put out on you. Bode was especially adamant about it, which meant that it took a lot for him to kiss Rude on the football field.
Rude smiled faintly.
Bode got to his feet and helped him up. Then, in a move that further caught Rude entirely off guard, he leaned down and kissed him properly: long and wandering and fairly unchaste. Somewhere in the middle of it, he growled, "Happy birthday, Rude," into Rude's skin, his lips temporarily paused in their exploration of his neck.
That memory--standing on the grass in the dark, deserted stadium under the stars, hopelessly tangled up in Bode--is the memory that Rude would keep. He didn't need the memories that came after; the explosion, the worry, the hospital, the blindness, the stabbing, the blood, the cries, the final breaths, the funeral.
If he didn’t have those other memories, then this one couldn't threaten to shatter him, as it does now.
OOC - Finally starting the very long process of catching Rude up. Bode: pronounced Bo-Dee. He has an English accent, which is very difficult to describe without using the word "English".
Rude had known for weeks that Bode had used his status as a one-time star running back to get tickets to a sold out Capitals game. Bode Noble was many things, but one that he wasn't was a good secret-keeper. That was mainly why Rude assumed that Bode had no idea that the day of that game was his birthday: he would have said so if he had known. That, and he had never told him when it was.
Rude had been certain that they were going to be late, but Bode had continually assured him--in the familiar clipped yet somehow slurred accent, with that flash of a smile--that they were "right on time". Rude had first realized that something was different when the woman at the stadium's front gates had waved them right through without asking to look at tickets. He had turned a suspicious eye on Bode, who had grinned widely. "First recognition of the day," he had said. It wasn't an improbable idea; before a severe concussion had ended his career, Bode had been one of the most popular football players that Midgar had ever known. Still, though, Rude hadn't been entirely sure that that was all that was happening.
He received his second clue as they ascended the noisy metal steps into the stadium, and Bode grabbed his arm to stop him when Rude started to step out into the air to search out their cheap seats. "We're further up," he had said, gesturing at the next set of stairs, which were roped off with the sign 'authorized personnel only'.
Rude had glanced between the sign and Bode. "We're not authorized personnel."
Bode had grinned, teeth flashing white against his dark face. "Yeah, we are." He had tugged on Rude's arm, lead the increasingly reluctant bald man up to the security guy guarding the rope. The man had taken one look at Bode, then greeted him by first name with a smile and unclipped the rope to allow them to pass.
"What did you do?" Rude asked, feeling extreme misgivings as they left the security guard behind.
"I've no idea what you're talking about," Bode answered, climbing the stairs beside him.
At the top of the stairs, they went through a door to reach a nondescript red-carpeted corridor. They passed several doors, Bode still blithely refusing to answer questions, and then Bode yanked Rude inside a door that didn't look any different from all the others.
Rude finally understood when he saw what lay behind the door. The sneaky son of a bitch had pulled strings left and right to get box seats. The view was perfect; fans could be seen throughout the massive stadium filing into their seats, and the field was far below, spread out before them. The box was incredibly opulent, with televisions, sofas, chairs, food spread out…
Rude was slightly aware that his jaw was slightly ajar as he stared at the richness surrounding him. It took him a moment or two to remember Bode, who was standing beside him with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary.
"Does the drool mean you like?" he asked smugly.
"Not drooling," Rude said, but he smiled.
They had watched the game in that incredible box alongside a group of people from the Red Spear Insurance Company--Bode had muttered in an aside to Rude that he hadn't been able to get an empty box--who were all utterly thrilled to find that they standing alongside the legendary Bullet Train Noble. Ordinarily, Bode basked in attention and adoration from fans, but today, he was courteous but dismissive and remained for the most part at Rude's side.
Rude had never really been much for cheering, but he swore--increasingly often as the game progressed--when the Capitals fucked up, and Bode was more than loud enough for the both of them. He enjoyed himself, though, cursing and arguing and laughing a little alongside Bode.
The Caps won in the final moments of the fourth quarter, and after the game, when the Red Spear people were beginning to file out of the box and post-game coverage was starting to show on the large-screen televisions, Rude found himself being tugged at by Bode again.
"Come on, Rude; you planning on sitting there all day or what?"
"Let me at least finish my beer," Rude said, holding up the half-full bottle as he watched a replay of Downing's game-winning field goal.
"Take it with you," said Bode and he ruthlessly dragged him away.
Once outside and being ushered down the steps again, Rude thought to ask, "…Where are we going?"
"You'll see." Bode steered him around two shirtless middle-aged men whose entire bodies had been painted the team colors of red and white, then down into the bowels of the stadium. They took so many twists and turns and back stairways that, by the end of it, Rude had no idea where the hell they were and he just walked along at Bode's side, curious as to where they were going to end up.
He was completely in the dark right up until the moment that Bode pushed open the nondescript door and he found himself in the--very occupied--Capitals locker room. For the second time that day, his mouth hung open.
At the same time, Bode was being greeted noisily by all of the half-dressed players, being slapped on the back and bumping chests over and over again by large men wearing just towels or pants. A select few obviously hadn't been on the team when Bode had been, but by and by, the players knew him and had obviously been fond of him; they were shouting out his name and asking what he'd been doing and if he'd managed to get another concussion yet and all sorts of things all at once. And then Bode, laughing as he returned the greetings just as boisterously as they were given, motioned to a still-stunned Rude to come further into the steamy locker room. He introduced Rude as a friend of his, and the next half-hour was one of the most memorable of Rude's life. He was an avid fan of the Capitals; had been all his life. So the chance to just stand and talk to his favorite players (while Bode caught up with them), true superstar players, on his favorite team, was unbelievable. Just being in the locker room was fucking incredible.
After a time, when a few players began to get fully dressed and say their goodbyes, Bode motioned to Rude and they took their leave of the players.
Stepping out the door, Rude shook his head in disbelief that that had just happened. "…C--"
"Buhbuhbuh. Shut it." Bode held up a dark-skinned hand to forestall comment. On this new journey up and down stairways and through back entrances, he silenced Rude the few times that he started to speak.
And then, as they turned one final corner, Rude suddenly understood where they were.
He stopped dead, staring at the view of the unnaturally green field that lay before them. Bode grinned. "Come on."
They walked onto the sidelines of the Capital Stadium football field, and that was enough in and of itself. Rude couldn't believe it when Bode nodded toward the field and said, "Go ahead."
He stared at him, eyebrow raised. "…Kidding."
The other man shook his head, long dreadlocks swaying with the movement. "I'm serious as a heart attack."
Rude took one step onto the springy green field, then another. Even as he did so, the massive floodlights were extinguished with loud clicks, one by one, and the field was left lit by smaller lights throughout the stadium.
There was no one left in the stands, the entire stadium seemingly deserted but for them, and Rude stood in the center of the dimly-illuminated field for a moment, staring around in utter awe. Then he wandered up and down the field, marking numbly in his head things like, that's where Sanderson scored the winning field goal in the '86 Snow Bowl, and holy shit, Lorenzo Torrini stood right here. Bode trailed along after him, silently and clearly enjoying his reaction.
Finally, though, after some time, Rude sat down on the fifty-yard line in the middle of the field and just stared at the massive, empty stands all around him. He felt and heard Bode settle in beside him, and they sat side-by-side on the grass.
"Can't even believe this," Rude muttered, more to himself than to Bode.
Bode laughed lightly in the dim light beside him. "Good."
Rude turned to look at him. "Thank you," he said simply.
Bode scowled at him. "None of that; you know this wasn't that hard for me to pull off." But then he smiled warmly, and said, "You're welcome, you silly bugger," and he leaned over and kissed him chastely.
It was fast, but it caught Rude entirely by surprise. They avoided any form of public affection ordinarily, a, because that just wasn't either man's style, but mainly b, because ShinRa strongly discouraged employee fraternization, particularly within the Turks. If found out, there was a good chance that they could lose their jobs, and in the Turks, being fired meant having a hit put out on you. Bode was especially adamant about it, which meant that it took a lot for him to kiss Rude on the football field.
Rude smiled faintly.
Bode got to his feet and helped him up. Then, in a move that further caught Rude entirely off guard, he leaned down and kissed him properly: long and wandering and fairly unchaste. Somewhere in the middle of it, he growled, "Happy birthday, Rude," into Rude's skin, his lips temporarily paused in their exploration of his neck.
That memory--standing on the grass in the dark, deserted stadium under the stars, hopelessly tangled up in Bode--is the memory that Rude would keep. He didn't need the memories that came after; the explosion, the worry, the hospital, the blindness, the stabbing, the blood, the cries, the final breaths, the funeral.
If he didn’t have those other memories, then this one couldn't threaten to shatter him, as it does now.
OOC - Finally starting the very long process of catching Rude up. Bode: pronounced Bo-Dee. He has an English accent, which is very difficult to describe without using the word "English".