It was impending death. A sapping of the soul that had no cure. But in its own way, it was beautiful, like leaking watercolor forming swirls and blotches on translucent paper. Lying on the plush bed, his head hanging down over the side, Rufus, the former president, rotated his hand near his face, catching the evening sunlight which reddened his pale skin. Every angle of light brought to the surface new stains of color. His head, however, that was red solely from hanging off the side of the bed for a good half an hour.

Footsteps grew steadily louder as they came up to the outside of his bedroom door. They were the first chain of sounds Rufus had heard for quite a while, outside of his own steady, pounding heartbeat and the occasional rustling of sheets as his limbs shifted.

A knock pierced the air. Rufus cringed at the sharpness. Surely it was a supper announcement. The time was right. But he had no appetite, hadn't had one for days, not since the markings first appeared.

To ward off the intrusion, he growled, "I'm good, thank you."

After a pause, a soft, yet stern voice said, "Sir, I've come to give you my report."

Rufus blinked at the door as his heart sped up. That particular voice brought out the same tension it always did and for so many reasons. "All right... Come in."

The door opened, and Tseng stepped inside and reclosed it, shutting out the outside world behind him. Dark eyes took in the whole of the former president in one sweep:

Still lying down on the bed, Rufus' sleeveless undershirt, partially tucked in, exposed a good portion of his taut stomach with his arms bent and hands tucked behind his head. His white formal pants were edged low on his hips, undone and showing his crisp white briefs. Both articles of clothing were still on after he'd collapsed onto the bed when undressing had taken too long. His shoes, socks, black shirt, vest, undercoat, and coat were all tossed carelessly on the floor.

Tseng had seen him in far worse states over the years, so Rufus didn't bother composing himself. At Tseng's cool gaze and advancing steps, Rufus took to observing his own hand again, but then sucked in a breath when Tseng took it in his own hand by Rufus' fingertips, examining it for himself.

"I'll call the doctor," Tseng stated, "It's getting worse."

Rufus snatched his hand away, rubbing at it, trying to get the tingling sensation Tseng had created to go away. "I'm quite all right. Just give me your report."

Apparently intent on ignoring him, Tseng added, "And they've told me you're not eating."

Those were not the words the Rufus wanted to hear. He hated concern in his direction. He especially hated it from Tseng, because that meant the man was going to do something about it, whether Rufus wanted him to or not. And that was probably why someone had said something to the Turk.

Rufus tried his best to glare, but couldn't really manage it since, well, seeing Tseng upside down was getting a bit... overwhelming. Especially with the man so close. It didn't help at all that Rufus' most convenient view was more or less Tseng's suited crotch.

Rufus gripped the bedspread and pulled himself up, and then supported his torso with his bent elbows on his legs. His head swam with sudden loss of blood from sitting up, his head lulling. He tried to cringe it away which only helped minimally.

And through his troubles, as always, well, more or less always, Tseng stayed a quiet presence behind him. Although, what could the Turk really do to help him?

But, seriously, did Tseng really have to be so close to him? And out of his sight by standing behind him?

As Tseng had done so many time before, his presence set off Rufus' nerves just by being there, let alone hovering over him like a demon waiting for blood. Tseng set off Rufus' nerves without even trying.

But Rufus did know why Tseng was standing in his bedroom at that moment with unwelcome determination: Someone had snitched on him, someone who had a pink slip coming to them. And somehow Rufus needed to get this Turk off of his back so he could get back to more important things, like dying.

After a moment of internal bickering, Rufus' mind settled on the obvious diversion laced with lies, spouting off, "I have been eating." Eating crumbs, at least. "And I'm fine. Besides, the doctors don't even know what I have. And they've tried everything. I'm so fucking tired of the needles and drugs. All of that crap doesn't doesn't do a thing, except for make me feel sicker." Rufus turned his torso and head and glared Tseng, adding, "About the only thing they haven't tried is kissing the damn thing away. But my mother is dead, so..."

Rufus trailed off when he realized what he was saying. But, even then, Tseng wasn't reacting.

Rufus scowled at the man and then swung out his blemished hand. "Well, here, since you apparently feel the need to something about it." He huffed dryly, before adding, "You're about the closest thing I have to a mother anyway."

Then Tseng actually made to take the hand! Rufus snatched it right back, wide-eyed, pressing its palm to his chest. The Turk dropped his own arm back to his side, still focused on the hand.

"Are you crazy?" Rufus blurted out, "I was kidding! You could get..." He didn't want to say it. Didn't even want to consider it. The last thing he wanted was for this man to get sick as well. And if Tseng died...

"It hasn't been proven to be contagious."

Rufus shook his head, fisting his hand, before dropping it to his lap, his gaze dropping to the bed because the man's level stare was too much to bear. "So they say, but I won't take that risk. I need you." He almost left it at that, but then realized how it might have sounded, even if it was so close to the truth, and added, "I need all of you to perform your duties."

"Of course."

Wait a minute...

Rufus' searched his employee's face. "Were you..." An unwelcome heat filled Rufus' belly. "Were you actually going to kiss my hand?"

Something flickered across those dark eyes before Tseng closed them and his lips formed a tight line. Rufus could only consider it a withdrawal from a situation Tseng didn't want to be in or, perhaps, face.

Rufus' breath deepened as uneasiness took hold when Tseng refused to look at him. He'd obviously pushed this too far and in a direction he definitely hadn't intended to. "Tseng... Your livelihood may come from my bank account, but your duties have no clause about my bed. You know this, correct? I'd never..."

Rufus, the former conspirator, president, and more-or-less dictator, was many things, had done too many despicable things over the years, but he'd never taken an unwilling lover out of the handful he'd had. And after all the Tseng's years as Rufus' and his father's employee, the Turk had to know this.

Of course... With Rufus' current undressed state, which was definitely not the first offense, Tseng might have gotten the wrong idea. And there were other things Rufus had done... Perhaps he was too loose with this man.

Rufus pressed his lips together.

But...

He didn't want to stop whatever it was they had between them. If he was honest with himself, after so many years, this man was, well, about the closest thing he had to a friend. And, being this close, in some absurd way, with his employee... The idea of stopping that 'closeness' made something in Rufus threaten to break.

Tseng stated as evenly as ever, "I understand, sir. I apologize."

The responsive glare was instant. "You apologize?" His neck cramping up, Rufus finally pushed himself around so that he was facing the other man full-on, sitting cross-legged. "You apologize for what exactly? My sexual harassment of you?"

At the words, Tseng finally latched his cold, hard expression on Rufus' face alone. The look took Rufus' breath away because it wasn't just cold and hard. He'd seen cold and hard many, many times before. Rather, underneath it, there was something else. Something that spoke to the instinctual part of him.

"That was hardly sexual harassment."

Blond brows rose before they furrowed as Rufus' curiosity overtook him. His hands slipped behind him and took his weight as he leaned back, getting comfortable for the long haul. "Then what exactly is sexual harassment?"

Dark eyes looked him over again, every part of him: His loose undershirt that hung on his wide shoulders; His open pants, revealing his briefs. His otherwise bare skin, including his bare feet which hardly a soul had ever seen. Rufus' pulse only picked up with every second the man spent examining him.

Finally, Tseng said, "This... might be considered sexual harassment. But to sexually harass, you must have some intent." Their eyes met again, and for once, the Tseng's face wasn't blank. His face seemed... Rufus wasn't sure he wanted to put a name to it, was sure he'd be wrong. "Is it your intent to harass me?"

Rufus swallowed and tried to steady his breaths as Tseng's look did unwelcome things to his body, mostly to the middle section of his body. Rufus wished then that he was a mind reader so that he could understand this man's intentions. "No, that's not my intent."

His employee's lips curled up a bit. "Then we don't have a problem."

"And if it was my intention?" Rufus didn't know why he'd said it, didn't even think about the words before they jumped out of his mouth. But now it was too late to take them back. Perhaps some part of him wanted the answer more than he was willing to admit.

"If it was..." The other man's intense eyes watched him for several unnerving breaths. "Then I'd have to do something about it."

Rufus was breathless, but somehow he managed, "Like what?"

They stared at one another for far too many seconds. Rufus could hardly keep his composure, his weakened body begging for action he wasn't well enough to participate in, not with his refusal to eat anything more than nibbles when the pains of his stomach grew too great. The Turk took a step forward but then seemed to catch himself. Perhaps he saw what Rufus' body lived: a slow, impending death.

The idea was confirmed when Tseng stated, "I'm going to get you something to eat, and you are going to eat it."

The words stiffened Rufus' body, this time as a whole. His eyes narrowed. "That's not your decision to make, Turk."

Tseng's own body took the idea of stiffness to a whole new level. His teeth ground together. His hands clenched. Rufus wondered for the first time since he'd met him if Tseng was actually going to snap. And why? Because he wasn't going to eat? What did it matter to this man if he did or didn't? Well, outside of the possible loss of a paycheck...

Finally, Tseng growled, "Don't be a stubborn child, Rufus. Your age is no longer an excuse."

The words flamed up an instant revolt, including, 'How dare he?!' As such, it took a moment, but Rufus finally picked one word out in particular that Tseng had said:

That was the first time Rufus had ever heard the Turk use just his first name. To Tseng, Rufus' name was always 'Sir' or 'Mr. Shinra' when the younger man's father had died. Or something similarly formal. Never 'Rufus,' not even when Rufus was a teenager.

Confused, angered, done with the conversation as a whole because he was just too damn tired and weak to deal with it mentally or physically, Rufus tried to get up off of the bed to distance himself because Tseng obviously wasn't leaving quite yet.

The moment he stood up, the Turk's hands gripped Rufus' upper arms, trying to drag him back downwards. "Stay in bed."

Rufus shoved at the man's chest, which did little more than pull him along a bit of distance with the man's grip on him. Hands still at the suited chest, Rufus blurted out, "Let go! You have no right to touch me, Turk!"

Tseng shook him just enough to get his teeth rattling, Rufus' pants dropping even more and barely holding on. It was obvious with the tension in the shake that Tseng wanted to do much more. "Do you have absolutely no understanding of what's good for you? You've always been like this: Stubborn, spoiled, always thinking you know better, not afraid to put your power where it doesn't belong. I know it's your privileged upbringing. I understand that. But you need to grow up!"

Rufus didn't know what shocked him more: the man's words or the fact that he'd raised his voice, damn-well near shouting. Everything said so bluntly, Rufus didn't even know how he wanted to start responding. So he stood there, overwhelmed, dumbfounded, slightly slack-jawed.

Then, unnerving him all the more, one of the hands at his arms released its grip, lifted, and lightly touched his cheek. Dark eyes followed what Rufus could only describe as a caress on his reddening skin. In Tseng's face, he saw so much worry and...

Oh-so-quietly, Tseng said, "I don't want you to die."

Rufus pressed his lips together, not ready to speak. He knew he wouldn't be able to trust his mouth if he tried. He wanted to say far too many things, both good and bad. When the hand finally cupped his cheek, his mouth betrayed him with only, "Tseng..."

Tseng's eyes met his eyes. And in them, Rufus saw love, or at least something damn close.

"I'm getting you something to eat."

And then Tseng's heat was gone, stalking out the door, leaving Rufus to wonder how he hadn't noticed how cold the room was.