Tseng wonders how it must feel. In his eyes, Rufus is not a bad person. Driven to do things with terrible consequences, yes, but he was never in the thick of it until it was too late, and then it was their job to see him out.

But that was a different Rufus, he supposes. This one has known the touch of agony, the sort that is unyielding, that breaks you. His eyes come alive when he considers the prospect of Sephiroth laid out and vulnerable on his table. And Tseng isn't in the business of lying to his lovers anyway, so he nods.

"For hours," he says, always careful, always on watch for the moment when that look in Rufus's eyes switches. The last thing he wants is for Rufus to look at him with disgust. Even though the prospect is thrilling, it would be so professionally damning that he can't even consider the prospect. "I sliced piece after piece out of him. I am sure that he will recover; he is no mortal man."

Tseng doesn't sound discouraged or disappointed. It's just a matter of fact.

"I did not want to push him beyond recovery. I wanted to remind him of what we are, so that perhaps he will think twice before he so carelessly dispatches one of our own."