DRABBLE: Back at del Sol
I swore to myself that I wouldn't add on to the Unnamed Series That Zack and Tseng Share, but a friend helped me out with something and I ended up writing a drabble to pay her back -- tadah! Tseng's point of view, this time, set just after Cream and Bastards.
Back at del Sol; Tseng/Zack (sort of), PG (sort of), Crisis Core spoilers (sort of). The worst part of it all is that Tseng knows they have to be out here.
882 words.
This isn't so much surveillance duty as it is exile. It doesn't take an army of Turks to watch one SOLDIER - even if Zack is a First, even if he's proven to be quick on his feet in spite of how he may seem on the surface. It's torturous to stay on the edges of Costa del Sol, waiting for something to happen - a callback, a disaster, a new mission, anything.
The worst part of it all is that Tseng knows they have to be out here. Veld wouldn't take half of the force out of action for no reason; politics, then. There has to be something going on back in Midgar - something that necessitates the radio silence, some brutality that Veld's putting through to get their positions secured. Too many people hate the Turks, and too many highly ranked executives like to practice taking out Administrative Research as though it's some sort of competitive sport.
By the second week, Tseng's going slightly stir crazy. The sky along the coast burns bright and hot and almost heavy; it's nothing like the watered down sunlight that creeps along Midgar streets. Tseng's always been a man of the night; but even the darkness is different out here: there's music and laughter from the far terraces, and on the private beach that the Company has the stars shine down like ever-watching eyes.
He's not comfortable here. Neither is Zack, but the SOLDIER handles it far better than Tseng does. The Gongaga boy knows it. Probably not implicitly, but he's been the one to initiate conversation for a while now - they share the empty nights, keeping the itchy ennui at bay by discussing Shinra hierarchy or field work or weapon upgrades.
Tseng's backed off since their last too-close encounter; he thinks it must be burnout from the missions, and he's right. His life has been an endless routine of catching sleep on flights to and fro Midgar and Wutai; the War splits him in half even if he sees no reason for it to do so. The Company is suspect, though, so Veld has his Wutai-born but Midgar-raised protégé shuttling back and forth like a helpless pawn just to prove a loyalty to Shinra that Tseng hates having to justify. It's demeaning and insulting and exactly like how the President and the Vice President work; they can't make him flinch from bullet wounds or battle scars, so they thrust him forward against a heritage he doesn't want to accept and make him squirm with false mercy as he watches over oblivious Cetian women.
Tseng's eager to get moving again. None of it shows on the surface, because that is what he's trained to do, but it bubbles underneath his skin, insistent and galling. He's going tan from too much time spent out in coverless day; he's growing impatient with a schedule that only seems to have time for sleep and rest and meaningless reports. Tseng longs for something to do: a mission, a negotiation, an infraction, a murder - anything. He wants the punishing weariness of 3am workdays, he wants the low, thrumming adrenaline coming off the kill. He wants to push and be pushed; he does not want this thrice-damned idleness.
The void is blank, self-defeating, without challenge.
He's starting to look at Zack like an opponent, starting to find the angles in the situations. What could he do? What might work? He cases Zack every time they meet for lunch: Tseng orders something bland and watches the SOLDIER with flat eyes and thinks: I could push him so far, I could tell him things that would make him snap, I could break him mentally even if I could never make him bow to physical torture, I could get him on his knees; this is the job I was taught to do, and here is a man whom I'm not entirely sure I can take on.
Zack is a challenge; except that he's a pointless challenge: he's an ally; in some ways, he's even a friend. Tseng thinks these thoughts; he's a somewhat morbid man. He'd be in a better temper, except that this test is grating on his nerves. His hands are empty. He's not used to that.
One night - just any other night - the entire domesticity of staying in a resort and watching people surf and snore and salivate and slurp becomes too much for Tseng to take. Zack's lying on his back with his eyes half closed talking about some puerile subject that Tseng has absolutely no interest in - that's when the Turk snaps; he fists a hand in Zack's hair, pulls Zack up against him, crushes his mouth against Zack's own, bites down with teeth and presses in with tongue and practically snarls for the SOLDIER to shut the fuck up.
He lets go of Zack a moment later, dusting a few strands of short black hair off of his palm as he does so. Tseng doesn't apologise; just settles back down into his seat and shutters his eyes, and Zack stares at him for a long, long while before slowly, very slowly, resuming his inconsequential murmurings to himself; filling the space; filling the emptiness; Tseng listening; Zack talking; the sun going down on the del Sol waterline.
Back at del Sol; Tseng/Zack (sort of), PG (sort of), Crisis Core spoilers (sort of). The worst part of it all is that Tseng knows they have to be out here.
882 words.
This isn't so much surveillance duty as it is exile. It doesn't take an army of Turks to watch one SOLDIER - even if Zack is a First, even if he's proven to be quick on his feet in spite of how he may seem on the surface. It's torturous to stay on the edges of Costa del Sol, waiting for something to happen - a callback, a disaster, a new mission, anything.
The worst part of it all is that Tseng knows they have to be out here. Veld wouldn't take half of the force out of action for no reason; politics, then. There has to be something going on back in Midgar - something that necessitates the radio silence, some brutality that Veld's putting through to get their positions secured. Too many people hate the Turks, and too many highly ranked executives like to practice taking out Administrative Research as though it's some sort of competitive sport.
By the second week, Tseng's going slightly stir crazy. The sky along the coast burns bright and hot and almost heavy; it's nothing like the watered down sunlight that creeps along Midgar streets. Tseng's always been a man of the night; but even the darkness is different out here: there's music and laughter from the far terraces, and on the private beach that the Company has the stars shine down like ever-watching eyes.
He's not comfortable here. Neither is Zack, but the SOLDIER handles it far better than Tseng does. The Gongaga boy knows it. Probably not implicitly, but he's been the one to initiate conversation for a while now - they share the empty nights, keeping the itchy ennui at bay by discussing Shinra hierarchy or field work or weapon upgrades.
Tseng's backed off since their last too-close encounter; he thinks it must be burnout from the missions, and he's right. His life has been an endless routine of catching sleep on flights to and fro Midgar and Wutai; the War splits him in half even if he sees no reason for it to do so. The Company is suspect, though, so Veld has his Wutai-born but Midgar-raised protégé shuttling back and forth like a helpless pawn just to prove a loyalty to Shinra that Tseng hates having to justify. It's demeaning and insulting and exactly like how the President and the Vice President work; they can't make him flinch from bullet wounds or battle scars, so they thrust him forward against a heritage he doesn't want to accept and make him squirm with false mercy as he watches over oblivious Cetian women.
Tseng's eager to get moving again. None of it shows on the surface, because that is what he's trained to do, but it bubbles underneath his skin, insistent and galling. He's going tan from too much time spent out in coverless day; he's growing impatient with a schedule that only seems to have time for sleep and rest and meaningless reports. Tseng longs for something to do: a mission, a negotiation, an infraction, a murder - anything. He wants the punishing weariness of 3am workdays, he wants the low, thrumming adrenaline coming off the kill. He wants to push and be pushed; he does not want this thrice-damned idleness.
The void is blank, self-defeating, without challenge.
He's starting to look at Zack like an opponent, starting to find the angles in the situations. What could he do? What might work? He cases Zack every time they meet for lunch: Tseng orders something bland and watches the SOLDIER with flat eyes and thinks: I could push him so far, I could tell him things that would make him snap, I could break him mentally even if I could never make him bow to physical torture, I could get him on his knees; this is the job I was taught to do, and here is a man whom I'm not entirely sure I can take on.
Zack is a challenge; except that he's a pointless challenge: he's an ally; in some ways, he's even a friend. Tseng thinks these thoughts; he's a somewhat morbid man. He'd be in a better temper, except that this test is grating on his nerves. His hands are empty. He's not used to that.
One night - just any other night - the entire domesticity of staying in a resort and watching people surf and snore and salivate and slurp becomes too much for Tseng to take. Zack's lying on his back with his eyes half closed talking about some puerile subject that Tseng has absolutely no interest in - that's when the Turk snaps; he fists a hand in Zack's hair, pulls Zack up against him, crushes his mouth against Zack's own, bites down with teeth and presses in with tongue and practically snarls for the SOLDIER to shut the fuck up.
He lets go of Zack a moment later, dusting a few strands of short black hair off of his palm as he does so. Tseng doesn't apologise; just settles back down into his seat and shutters his eyes, and Zack stares at him for a long, long while before slowly, very slowly, resuming his inconsequential murmurings to himself; filling the space; filling the emptiness; Tseng listening; Zack talking; the sun going down on the del Sol waterline.