Friday. Last day of the workweek for most people, and second-to-last for Tseng. Saturday was his paperwork day, the day when he sat at his desk for the better part of eight to ten hours and plowed through the paperwork that had accumulated throughout the week. He didn't like it, but it had to be done.
Friday. 'Let's get drunk' day for Reno. His policy was to only actually get really drunk on Fridays, so he could sleep off the hangover and have Sunday free. It was an odd system, but it worked. On Sundays, Reno generally lounged about, enjoying his freedom by doing nothing at all.
That particular Friday, Reno left early, claiming that he felt sick. Quite frankly, Tseng didn't believe him, because Reno used any excuse possible to get off early. Rude and Elena covered Reno's end-of-the-week chores while Tseng handled a press conference with Rufus, and everyone went home.
At six o'clock on Saturday morning, Tseng was at his desk, eyeing a pile of paperwork and contemplating burning it, just as he did every Saturday.
This, he noted, is one of the reasons I shouldn't have accepted this position.
Of course, he always refused to acknowledge the reasons he had accepted the title of Turk Leader (bossman in Reno-speak). Reasons like being very fond of his team, and being able to handle all of them, with two rather volatile personalities that always seemed to end up butting heads (guess who?), and being so damn in love with his work. On Saturday mornings, being Turk Leader sucked, and that was a fact.
/9:15am, Rufus Shinra's quarters/
I am too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan, New York and Jap-"Hello?"
"Rufus?"
"Reno? What are you doing up at-" Rufus checked his clock. "-quarter after nine on a Saturday morning?"
"I feel like crap," Reno moaned. Rufus raised an eyebrow,
"You're hungover?"
"No."
"Reno, if you called to tell me something, just tell me. If you're just calling because you're hungover, then it's your own fault for going out drinking and I don't want to hear about it."
"I didn't go drinking," Reno mumbled. "I didn't go anywhere last night."
"Then what, pray tell, did you do to have you feeling 'like crap'?" Rufus was getting impatient. He wasn't out of bed yet, and he didn't appreciate being woken up by Reno, of all people.
"I spent all night puking, okay? I feel like shit, and the only reason I'm calling is because I spent most of yesterday in Tseng's face because I felt like bothering him. He's doing paperwork, right? Would you go down and check on him, just in case?"
"Why don't you call him and ask?" Rufus asked, mentally backing up to see if he'd been anywhere near Reno yesterday. He hadn't. Good.
"If I bother Tseng in his paperwork Zen mode, I'm dead. If you do it, then he'll listen. Please, Rufus."
"That bad, huh?"
"Worse," Reno said. He rolled onto his side. "And you know Tseng. He'll never admit to being sick, so if he's at work…"
"I understand. Do you need anything?"
"A bullet to the brain would be nice."
"I'm being serious, Reno."
"So am I. I've spent most of the last eighteen hours fighting a life or death battle with my guts. I can't get any more serious."
"I'll check on him. Take care of yourself."
"Sure." Reno hung up and pulled his pillow back over his face. With any luck, he'd suffocate.
Rufus rolled onto his back and eyed his phone for a few minutes. He really ought to go down now and check on Tseng, but he was sleepy and warm, and he was not going to risk catching whatever Reno had. He'd call someone when he woke up.
/Turk offices/
By noon, he was three-quarters of the way through the stack and was beginning to look forward to going home. He paused to inhale a microwavable noodle bowl (the only day of the week he would eat one) and stretch, raking his hands through his hair, and returned to work. Some weeks, paperwork became something of a Zen thing, and he could relax. Today was not one of those days. Today was one of the days when he kept getting distracted, and Reno's handwriting was even worse than usual, so he had to spend long minutes deciphering it, and his chair was squeaking, which drove him positively insane.
By four o'clock, the thought of more paperwork made him feel vaguely nauseated. He'd been at it for the better part of the last ten hours, and he'd had enough. Quitting wasn't an option, of course. Then he'd have even more next week.
By half past, vaguely nauseated had become unquestionably queasy and Tseng was starting to wonder if A) Reno really had been sick and B) if he'd managed to catch whatever it was Reno had.
Ten minutes later, Tseng bolted for the bathroom. That was where Vincent found him, curled in a miserable ball on the floor, shaking and sweaty.
"Reno was right," Vincent murmured, sounding surprised. "Tseng?"
"How did you get in here?" Tseng asked, glaring tiredly up at Vincent. Even in his current state, a little part of his brain was sticking to Turk ideals. Namely, that random people who just showed up in the Turk offices without prior warning were not to be trusted.
"Rufus was kind enough to give me temporary pass codes. Can you walk?"
"I'd rather not. Why did Rufus- put me down."
Vincent ignored Tseng and shifted his grip to avoid putting pressure on Tseng's stomach.
"He gave me the codes because someone had to come and check on you."
"I don't need- ulp."
Thankfully, Vincent understood what Tseng's choked 'ulp' meant and put the Turk back down. Tseng might have been grateful if he hadn't been busy attempting to turn himself inside out. Vincent crouched beside him and held his hair out of his face.
"Like it or not, you did need to be checked on. I didn't volunteer for this, and I know you don't want it, alright? Are you finished?"
"I think so," Tseng mumbled. He sat back on his heels and took a deep breath, then stood slowly and staggered to the sink to rinse his mouth.
"Good. I'm taking you home."
"Absolutely not. I have work to do."
"You're sick. I had a look at your papers on my way in; you wrote Reno's name in for several dates. Reno isn't a date, Tseng, and if you're that out of it to either think he is or not notice, then you need to be at home. Pull yourself together while I call Rufus."
Tseng didn't answer, but he turned to glare at Vincent's back.
Out in the office, Vincent leaned against Tseng's desk and dialed Rufus' number.
"I assume, since you're calling me, that you've gotten in?"
"I have."
"Tseng?"
"Sick."
"What with?"
"Stomach flu, looks like."
"Just like Reno."
"Mmhm."
"He's being a stubborn ass, isn't he?"
"You could say that."
"Won't go home?"
"No."
"Would you see to it that he does get home? By any means necessary?"
"Of course."
"Thanks, Vincent."
"You're welcome."
"I am not leaving," Tseng announced, wobbling back to his desk. "I have a job to do."
"So do I, and my job is to take you home."
"I outrank you," Tseng countered. He sat defiantly in his chair and glared at Vincent's back.
"I'm stronger than you."
"I'm armed." (Of course, Tseng assumed that Vincent wasn't carrying anything, because he'd wound up pressed against his hip in the process of being put back down and there was no gun there.)
"As am I." Vincent flexed his claw meaningfully.
"I'm fine."
"And I'm the Tooth Fairy."
"You'd look terrible in pink."
"You're changing the subject. Where's your coat?"
"I didn't bring one."
Vincent sighed and pulled his cloak off, holding it out to Tseng.
"Put that on."
"No."
"Tseng, I have permission to do whatever I have to in order to get you home. If that means hog-tying you and carrying you out of here slung over my shoulder, then so be it."
"I don't need your cloak," Tseng snapped. "The weather is fine."
"The weather is not fine. If you'd bothered to look outside at some point this afternoon, you'd have noticed the rain. I came on a bike; you'll freeze anyway, but I intend to keep you as dry as possible. Now put it on. We're going."
Tseng stayed put.
"I am not going to tell you again. Put it on or I'll cocoon you in it."
Tseng gave up. He took the cloak, eyed it unhappily, and swung it around his shoulders. It wasn't as heavy as he'd thought, but it was still big on him; he wasn't sure why, because, if anything, he was bigger than Vincent. His shoulders were broader, and he was a little more than an inch taller, and yet the cloak fit him like a tent.
"How do you move in this?" he grumbled.
"Practice. Come on."
Vincent hadn't been kidding when he said he'd come on a bike. The motorcycle waiting outside looked like a red sibling of Cloud's, gleaming wetly like blood in the rain. Tseng groaned. Great. He didn't like motorcycles on his best days, and this was far from one of his better days.
"Don't like it?"
"No."
"Neither do I, but I needed transport. Hop on."
There were a few situations in which Tseng had never thought to find himself in. One was his funeral. Another was in bed with Yuffie Kisaragi. A third was hanging onto anyone for dear life, but here he was with a death-grip on Vincent's waist. They were still stationary. This was going to be hell.
"You're going to crack a couple of my ribs," Vincent complained. "Ease up a little."
"Sorry."
"Let me know if you're going to be sick."
"Mmhm."
He nearly had a heart attack when the bike started. Then he remained in a state of near-cardiac arrest as they pulled out into traffic.
Halfway to Tseng's apartment, Tseng's stomach gave an ominous lurch. He yanked on a handful of Vincent's shirt. Vincent said nothing- or, if he did, it was lost on Tseng's ears- and pulled over at once. Tseng stumbled off the bike and vomited into a storm drain. Thankfully, no one was there to see besides Vincent.
"Now will you listen to me?" Vincent grumbled, pulling Tseng's hair back.
"Maybe," Tseng panted. He straightened up.
"Finished?"
"For now."
"Back on the bike, then."
Tseng groaned.
"Would you rather walk?"
"Yes."
"Too bad. On the bike. Now."
Tseng obeyed.
The rest of the ride was uneventful; Tseng was too busy trying not to panic to feel sick. When they arrived at the apartment block he lived in, he handed Vincent his keys without a second thought, leaning heavily against him while Vincent opened the door.
The inside of the apartment was dark and wonderfully familiar; no more crazy motorcycle rides through the city behind a maniac.
"Thanks for the ride," he mumbled. He kicked his shoes off and locked himself in his bedroom.
Tseng spent the next hour and a half on the bathroom floor. When his stomach calmed down long enough for it, he stumbled back into his bedroom and stretched out on his back on the bed.
The bedroom door opened. Tseng let his head fall to the side to see who it was; he was too tired to move any more than that.
"I locked that," he said muzzily.
"And I picked the lock," Vincent countered. "Open up."
Tseng eyed the thermometer Vincent was brandishing and decided to chance an argument.
"No."
"Tseng, there are two other places I can put this to get a decent reading. You won't like either of them. Open."
"No."
Vincent sighed.
"What happened to being complacent and groggy?" he muttered.
"You happened," Tseng said. "Go away."
"No."
"My home, my rules. Out."
"Your boss told me to stay here. Open up."
"No."
"Fine. I'm done being polite."
Before Tseng could quite process what Vincent had said, Vincent was leaning over him with the tip of his claw against Tseng's throat.
"Open your mouth. Now."
"You can't-"
"Do not push me, Tseng. I am not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm here because I was asked to by your boss. Don't make me call him and have him give you a direct order to listen to me."
Tseng opened his mouth. Vincent made a satisfied noise and put the end of the thermometer under Tseng's tongue.
Tseng didn't need to be told to close his mouth. He didn't need to be told to let Vincent take it when it beeped, either.
"Not as high as it could be," Vincent murmured. "One less thing to worry about."
"Are you finished?"
"For now."
"Wonderful." Tseng slid off the bed and wobbled back into the bathroom.
"Don't lock the door," Vincent called after him.
Tseng responded with several unprintable suggestions.
"You can hardly walk, Tseng. I don't want to have to pick another one of your locks. Leave the door unlocked in case you need me."
"Fine." Tseng snapped, and kicked the door shut.
Some time later, Vincent marched in and stood over Tseng, hands on hips.
"What do you want?"
"I'm going to check on Reno and make sure he hasn't thrown himself out a window. Don't lock me out."
"Mmhm."
"I mean it. I'll kick the door in if I have to."
Tseng didn't respond.
Vincent's visit to Reno's apartment resulted in a couple of other trips, so that Tseng was hoping he wouldn't return. Right about the time Tseng had decided that, yes, he was alone again, the door opened.
"I'm back," Vincent called.
"I heard," Tseng said dryly. He'd ditched his suit and crawled into bed. At the moment, he hated Reno, stomach flu, and his boss.
"Mr. Valentine told me you were sick, Mr. Turk." A small body climbed onto the bed beside Tseng and patted his hip. "Tifa said I could come make you feel better."
Tseng twisted to look at the invader. Marlene smiled at him. He looked over to Vincent, who was standing in the doorway and looking impossibly smug.
"She's going to get sick," Tseng warned.
"No, she's the source."
"What?"
"According to Tifa, Denzel and/or Marlene brought the bug home from school. They passed it on to Cloud, who gave it to Reno. You already know the rest."
"Wonderful. What was Reno doing with Cloud?"
"He goes to 7th heaven to drink when he's not out to get smashed."
Small hands felt Tseng's forehead.
"Mr. Valentine said you have what Cloud had," Marlene said.
"And he's probably right," Tseng mumbled. Marlene gave his forehead a quick pat and leaned over his side to push a hand under his shirt and feel his stomach.
"Does your tummy hurt?"
"Mmph," Tseng mumbled, not wanting to admit it in front of Vincent.
"That means yes," Vincent said. "Take care of him, Marlene. I'll be in the living room." Before he left, Vincent toed the trashcan from beside Tseng's desk over to the bed. "Stay in bed."
Forty-five minutes later, Marlene trotted out into the living room and tugged on Vincent's sleeve.
"Yes?"
"He's asleep," she announced.
"How is he?"
"Unhappy," Marlene said, climbing onto the arm of the chair Vincent was sitting in. "He didn't want me in there, at first."
"Of course not. He doesn't like admitting to weakness."
"Like you and Cloud."
"Yes, just like us. Are you ready to go home?"
"He doesn't need me any more?"
"No. You did a good job, Marlene. Thank you."
Vincent left a note on Tseng's bedside table and took Marlene home. On the way back to Tseng's place, he stopped at Reno's, just to check up on him. Reno was stretched out on his couch when Vincent walked in.
"Back so soon?" Reno asked.
"Thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing."
"I've been better," Reno sighed. "Haven't felt this bad in ages. How's Tseng?"
"Asleep. Aside from that? Cranky and miserable. His stomach's calmed down a bit."
"It won't last," Reno warned. "Trust me. He'll be puking again before you know it."
"Any suggestions?"
"Aside from shooting him, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Not really. I didn't try anything on myself…I just waited for it to be over. You could try a few of the usual tricks, though. Flat soda, peppermint tea…that kind of stuff."
"Thanks for the advice."
"Sure." Reno watched Vincent leave, then called after him, "Take care of him, okay?"
Vincent didn't answer.
Reno was right. When Vincent got back to the apartment, he could hear Tseng retching. He sighed heavily, kicked his boots off, and headed into the bedroom. Tseng had taken his advice and stayed in bed, and was thus leaning over the edge to throw up into the trashcan Vincent had left for him. Vincent shook his head and knelt on the bed behind Tseng, carefully supporting him from the shoulders.
"I can't leave you alone, can I?"
"Sure you can," Tseng coughed. "The door is that way." He pointed and nearly lost his balance. Vincent tightened his grip and pulled Tseng back onto the bed.
"Rufus asked me to stay, and I intend to. Here, rinse your mouth." Vincent reached around Tseng, who was slumped bonelessly against his legs, to get the glass of water Marlene had brought in when she'd arrived.
Tseng took the glass without saying anything.
"Marlene sent something for you."
"She did?"
"This."
Vincent offered the toy he'd left on the edge of the bed when he'd come in. It was a bright green chocobo plushie with wide, innocent blue eyes.
"She says it'll make you feel better."
Tseng took the chocobo and stared at it. It was the size of a housecat, just big enough to be tucked under his arm, and quite soft.
"It will?"
"Apparently. Reno says he hopes you feel better, by the way."
"When did you see him?" Tseng shifted a bit to get Vincent's knee out of the small of his back and put the plushie in his lap.
"I stopped by on my way back. He's doing better. Looks like it's only a 24-hour bug."
"Great," Tseng mumbled sarcastically. He leaned further into Vincent's lap.
"Don't you dare fall asleep on me," Vincent said, giving Tseng's shoulder a gentle shake.
"Why not?"
"My legs will fall asleep, that's why. Let me up."
Tseng sat up, allowing Vincent to slide off the bed.
"I was going to try a remedy or two on you," Vincent sighed. "So much for that idea."
"If it'll help, I'm game," Tseng said.
"With your stomach as touchy as it is?"
Tseng smiled humorlessly.
"What have I got to lose?"
"Your dignity?"
"I lost that the instant you walked into my office," Tseng said shortly. "If you think something might help, then let me try it."
Vincent shrugged.
"Your funeral," he said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Tseng curled on his side around the chocobo and listen to Vincent moving around in the kitchen. At one point, the kettle whistled, and Tseng pulled a pillow over his head. How had he gotten the thing to do that? It never whistled for Tseng.
Vincent padded back in, and Tseng hurried to shove the chocobo under a pillow.
"Here." Vincent held out Tseng's favorite coffee mug. Tseng took it, wrapping both hands around it and peering at the contents.
"Shoga-yu?" he asked.
"I find that it's quite an effective cure-all."
"You made this?"
"I did."
Tseng inhaled the steam rising from the mug and sighed, remembering home.
"I haven't had homemade shoga-yu since I was in grade school. Where did you learn the recipe?"
"In Wutai, on assignment."
"And you just happened to come across it?" Tseng sipped carefully at the drink. It tasted just like he remembered.
"I got sick while I was there. A woman two apartments down came by and made it for me, and I asked about the recipe before I left. Did I prepare it correctly?"
"Perfect." Tseng's stomach squirmed but didn't rebel. "I didn't know you could get sick."
"There was a time when I was only human," Vincent reminded him, perching on the edge of the bed and dragging the plushie back out into the open.
"Still, you strike me as one of those infuriating people who never catches anything."
"I used to be one of those infuriating people who caught every bug that came his way. Are you going to drink that or stare at your reflection in it?"
"I'm enjoying it," Tseng sniffed. "Aren't you worried about catching this from me?"
"These days, what makes me sick would kill you."
"Oh."
Tseng finished his shoga-yu without another word. Vincent took the empty mug, handed Tseng the chocobo, and left. Tseng blushed and shoved the toy back under the pillow.
Ten minutes later, Tseng threw up, as per Reno's prediction.
Vincent also tried the flat soda remedy, with similar results.
Around midnight, Vincent gave up on keeping Tseng in bed and moved him back into the bathroom, making a nest of sorts with towels. He dragged a chair in for himself and took Reno's advice: just wait until it's over.
By quarter 'til two, Tseng was exhausted as well as miserable. He slumped against Vincent's legs and clutched the chocobo plushie; Vincent had refused to let him hide it and had brought it in a little before one. While it was abominably cute and rather embarrassing, it was soft and comforting, like the one he'd had when he was little.
"Did Rufus tell you to stay here?" Tseng asked.
"What?"
"You said he wanted you to bring me home. Did he tell you to stay here afterwards as well?" Tseng let his head drop back against Vincent's knees so he could look him in the eye.
"No."
"Then why are you still here?" It didn't come out the way Tseng had intended.
"I have no idea. Do you want me to leave?"
"I…no. Stay."
Vincent smiled slightly and put his hand under the back of Tseng's head.
"Sit straight; you'll get a crick in you neck doing that," he said.
"My back is already killing me," Tseng shot back, reaching up to shove Vincent's hand away. "I really don't care if the remaining part of my spine hurts as well."
"You could have said something," Vincent sighed. "Get off me."
Tseng did, looking vaguely affronted. Vincent stood up, shoved his chair out of the way, and settled down again with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out.
"Sit," he said, indicating the floor between his legs.
"What?"
"Sit here and lean against me. It will help your back."
"And how do you know this?" Tseng asked. He settled carefully where Vincent had indicated, leaning back slowly.
"I came out of that coffin as one mass of stiff muscles and aching joints. After the initial shock of being woken up wore off, I could hardly move. Cloud and company tried everything to help; it turned out that just sitting very still leaning on someone was the best for my back."
Tseng intended to say something along the lines of a sympathetic ow when his stomach lurched and he had to pull away from Vincent (who was surprisingly warm and comfortable) to throw up.
By six, Vincent was slumped against the wall, supporting Tseng. Tseng was sleeping again, curled up with his head tipped back against Vincent's shoulder, the chocobo almost forgotten next to his ankle.
Vincent's phone buzzed. Vincent attempted to get it from his pocket without jostling Tseng, and failed.
"When'd you get a phone?" he asked groggily, sitting up so Vincent could get to his phone.
"When Cloud gave me one. Hello?"
"Good morning, Vincent."
"Isn't it a little early for you to be up on a Sunday morning, sir?"
Tseng twisted around to look at Vincent's phone.
"Rufus?" he said. Vincent nodded.
"Not when my boss Turk is sick. How was he when you left?"
"The first or second time?"
"What?"
"I've left his apartment twice in the last twelve hours."
"You're still there, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Is Tseng in a position to talk to me?"
Vincent put his hand over the receiver and looked down at Tseng.
"Do you feel like talking to him?"
"No."
"What should I tell him?"
"Anything to get me out of it." Tseng reached for the chocobo and used it as a pillow against Vincent's shoulder. Vincent shook his head and turned back to the phone.
"Not really."
"What's wrong?"
"What do you think?"
Rufus winced. Yuck.
"Ah. Aside from that, how is he doing?"
"Better than last night. He's quit fighting me, at least."
"But still vomiting?"
"Yes."
"Have you heard from Reno?"
"I stopped by his apartment last night."
"And?"
"He's getting over it. It's a 24 hour bug, as far as we can tell."
"That's good to hear. You're doing alright?"
"Yes."
"Tell Tseng I hope he feels better. And thank you for doing this."
"I will. You're welcome." Vincent snapped the phone shut.
"So?" Tseng asked.
"He wants you to know he hopes you feel better."
"He called at 6am and woke me up just to say that?"
"Mmhm."
Tseng wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or touched, and decided on both. Then he went back to sleep.
By noon, Tseng's stomach had calmed down to a manageable level, and Tseng relocated to the couch, urging Vincent to forage in the kitchen. By two o'clock that afternoon, Tseng was asleep again and Vincent was gone. He went and reported to Rufus, then went back to 7th Heaven and slept until dinner.
Two weeks later, the phone at 7th Heaven rang.
"Vincent!" Tifa called. "Phone!"
Vincent picked up from the set upstairs.
"Hello?"
"Good evening."
"Tseng?"
"Mmhm. I have just appropriated a bottle of Thunderbolt Junction. Are you busy this evening?"
Vincent raised one eyebrow; Thunderbolt Junction was very good wine.
"Is this a prize you ought to be sharing with your team?"
"You don't drink wine with Reno, you drink beer or hard liquor with him."
"Rufus?"
"Only white wine."
"When?"
"8 o'clock?"
"I'll be there."
Tseng met Vincent at the door, looking terribly pleased with himself. Vincent took his boots off and was argued out of his cloak. Tseng had left the wine in the living room, waiting on the coffee table with two glasses.
Vincent waited until they were both settled on the couch to voice a question he'd been pondering all afternoon.
"Is there a reason you called me, of all people, for this?"
Tseng smiled at him over the rim of his glass.
"I couldn't think of anyone better to call. Who else can appreciate wine like this?"
Vincent smiled and sipped his wine.