The Railing [FFVII]
Title: The Railing
Characters: Rufus
Rating: T
Warnings: Morbid themes
Word count: 692
Summary: Rufus contemplates his place in life.
Note: Based on this beautiful fic I read last night. (And incidentally, you should read that one before this one lest I spoil it for you. It’s not terribly long.) I’m not in the habit of writing stories based on other people’s fanfics, but I had read it late last night and the combination of that and my Rufus muse being loud and pushy led to me dreaming what is written here. Reworked a bit for the sake of coherence, but still fundamentally what I dreamed.

For the record, I have written it in such a way that it is not obviously tied to that other fic, and it is not necessary to read the other for this to make sense. I suggest you do because it’s a wonderful fic, it is the inspiration for this, I do make some reference to its events, and I like to give credit where credit is due.

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Rufus stood at the very top of the skyscraper he had learned to call home, staring down at the city below. His city, he thought with a vague smile. Though in truth, he was here for the air more than the view. His office had a window and the city was there with him whenever he chose to glance out of it. But his office also had papers and phone calls and all the drudgery of everyday work, and sometimes it was nice to be out of it for a while.

Now he stood up on the roof, in the silent company of an empty helicopter pad, separated from the sheer drop of the building’s wall by a railing as opposed to a pane of glass. In the absence of pressing daily matters, his thoughts wandered to the things he didn’t often think about, the things he wasn’t proud of. Ruling by fear meant causing a lot of death and suffering. It didn’t bother him, of course, but proud was a different matter. Bothered or not, no one truly likes to think about the bad things they’ve done. As always, it was a few particular striking incidents that came to mind, never the cases that fell under self-defense, or the ones he had never actually seen.

This time his thoughts rested on a tattered slum rat who shot herself in front of him rather than return to the life she had been living. A word from him could have saved her, and instead with a word he condemned her to her fate. That was what power looked like: him standing up here, and her a mess on the pavement soaked in blood.

It was only in rare moments, thinking about it as he was now, that he realized power wasn’t necessarily a pretty sight.

He draped his arms heavily over the railing in front of him, idly contemplating what would happen were he to cross the barrier of that railing. It was possible to stand on the other side--there was about a foot of space--but a single step drew the line between standing on an edge and plummeting to certain death. Splattered on the pavement, like the slum girl.

Ironic as it was, he was unable to stifle a quiet chuckle. It hadn’t been long since he’d been in medical for one reason or another--imagine them finding him. The thought seemed horribly cruel, but funny in its own way.

Of course he would never actually do it.

Ironically, the strongest dissuasion was the simple fact of how high he was standing. A long fall meant a long time to think and a long time to regret the action with no way to take it back. It would be stupid, regardless. He had too much to do, too many people relying on him in some way or another, too much that rested specifically on his shoulders, and too little faith in anyone else to do his job. And by and large he was happy with where he stood, on the safer side of that railing. The thought had always been simple musing, and nothing more.

Of course it wasn’t the first time he had thought it.

But he was alright. Despite whatever regrets he had, and despite work that was either daily drudgery or things unspeakable, and despite the fact that he could think of any number of hundreds or thousands of people who would rejoice to see him dead, he was fine. He didn’t even think about it except in a rare moment of reflection, letting his mind wander as it did now.

He was the President of Shinra; he had no choice but to be okay.

And so he would stay on his side of the railing, and rule his empire from the top of the world. He would look forward to his future and not backward to the few things he did regret. He would do it with a smile on his face.

As he turned, leaving the roof and the railing behind and returning to his work, he briefly wondered which choice was actually more selfish.