Tseng bides his time, watching Rufus impassively as he speaks. It is best like this, to make himself an empty slate, to let Rufus pour the things that trouble him into Tseng so that they are no longer his to bear alone. Tseng can handle it. Rufus does not know the world like he does, even now.

So he listens, still and accommodating. He lets Rufus lean on him and take comfort in the solid plane of his chest. He puts an arm around him to mire him in the moment.

Of course he has questions. He knows of Shinra's bastards—they're the company's worst kept secrets. How Rufus knows, however, is beyond him. (He doesn't like it. But it doesn't matter.) The picture he paints is chilling. Tseng wants a damage report, to know who they lost, what was sacrificed to Sephiroth's blade.

Worst of all, he wonders why Sephiroth let him go. This has been his greatest fear, that Sephiroth would retaliate by taking the last living idol of the Shinra corporation. It's what Tseng would do if he was in Sephiroth's place, crush SEPC for good under the ensuing power struggle that would crumble its proud towers to rubble in his absence. That Rufus is still standing makes no sense to him. But he's here, mostly unharmed, and all Tseng can do now is train himself to breathe evenly, because the worst did not happen after all.

First thing's first:

"What sort of information," he asks, and it is difficult to keep the sting out of his voice when he does so, "were you attempting to gather?"