Chapter Text
It begins with a single flower and an envelope attached to it, delivered on Reeve's desk by his very curious assistant.
"For you, sir," she says, not even holding back her interest, or her smile. "It was dropped off at the front desk just half an hour ago. I thought you might want to see it right away."
Reeve barely glances away from his monitor at first - and then does a double take. It's some kind of lily, pale yellow and large and - alive? Reaching out to touch it, he finds it is unquestionably real, a plant still in great condition, as though it had been plucked from the ground just moments ago. There are two vividly green leaves attached to the stem, looking like something out of a photograph rather than something you might find in Midgar. It must've been expensive.
Who would send such a flower to him?
"Did they leave a name at the desk?" Reeve asks, taking the small envelope tied to the flower with a golden ribbon and turning it over. His full name is written on it with… not the loveliest of hands, perhaps, but it's definitely addressed to him.
"No, sir, I'm sorry - I asked, it was dropped by a bike courier," his assistant says and then, seemingly unable to hold back her excitement. "Who is it from, sir, do you know?"
Reeve doesn't have the faintest idea. The only person he thinks would ever send him flowers is his mother, perhaps, but there's no occasion for it - and where would she even get such a thing in Midgar? Though there are many stores that sell artificial flowers for decoration, this one is a living plant. He hasn't seen the like in Midgar since… hell, he can't even remember. Not aside from the dead dry grasses that still cling to the dirt below the plate, anyway…
Shaking his head, Reeve detaches the envelope from the plant stem. "I don't suppose we have a vase?" he asks dubiously. "I would hate to see such a plant wither immediately."
"Oh, perhaps a tall glass would do, or an empty bottle…?" his assistant wonders, casting a wistful look at the letter and then smiling knowingly. "I will get something for you, sir."
"Thank you, Sarah," Reeve nods and pries the envelope open.
It holds a folded card with very little on it. A message, short and… not exactly sweet.
I'm back in town. Let's meet.
Lure Lounge, 19:00, tonight.
Well… that does not clear things up at all. Whoever the flower and the message is from, a poet they are not. They do seem to know him, however. Though he'd never been one for bars, Lure Lounge is the one Reeve had visited most often, back in his university days, before Shinra. Perhaps the sender was one of his old university mates, then? For the life of him he can't think of a single one that would send him a flower.
He can't help but be intrigued though.
His secretary returns as Reeve examines the lily more closely. It's surprisingly heavy, for a flower. Hefty with life - and water, most likely. "Thank you, Sarah," Reeve says as she puts a tall glass down on his desk, and gently sets the flower in it. It's… rather too large for such a meagre vase and tilts threateningly to one side, but it stays mostly upright.
"Well, sir?" Sarah asks eagerly. "Who sent it to you? Anyone special?"
"I'm… not sure," Reeve admits and shows her the card. "They seem to have failed to sign the thing."
"Oh, bad form," Sarah says, but looks rather intrigued. "How mysterious, though! What are you going to do, sir? Are you going to go and meet them? You at least have to find out who's behind it, right?"
Well, his grand plans for the evening were the last remaining beers in his fridge, some takeout and a half finished model build of Junon, so… "Yes, I think I do," Reeve chuckles. "If not for any other reason then to find out where they got this from," he touches the flower. "I can't even remember the last time I saw such a pretty flower."
"Me neither," his assistant sighs wistfully. "Either way, sir, you're a very lucky man, if you don't mind me saying it. Also, you should start preparing for your two-o-clock."
"Right," Reeve sighs and sits back down behind his computer, setting the card down beneath his monitor. "I'll get right on it. Did we get those reports from Sector 5 yet?"
"Still waiting on them - I'll let you know as soon as we do," Sarah says. "You have thirty seven minutes until the meeting."
Plenty of time to come up with something to present to the board, then, Reeve thinks and with a last look at the flower sets the matter aside, for now.
His work day stretches all the way to six, and by the time he's about ready to leave the office, there is no time to head home to change - or even take the lily back to his apartment, which is a real shame. So, after making sure the flower has enough water, he heads to the Lure Lounge in his work suit. Just as well - it's a fine enough suit, and from what he remembers, the Lounge isn't the fanciest place anyway. In fact, he might be overdressed.
He is very overdressed, it turns out. The Lure Lounge, not exactly a gentleman's club to begin with, has not gotten any classier since he'd last visited the place, it seems - quite the opposite. The street just outside is littered with cigarette butts and other small trash and there's a lingering odour of dirt, motor oil and mako in the air. The culprit is readily apparent too - there's a motorbike parked in the front, a well polished Hardy-Daytona with three large travel bags and a black helmet sitting on the bench.
Well, the clientele of the Lounge used to be mostly university and college students and other transients, so it would make sense if bikers had begun frequenting the place as well.
There are speakers above the entrance playing music with heavy, pounding beat, and Reeve gets a brief deja-vu, remembering the Friday nights spent here with his university roommate, getting drunk on the cheapest drinks, trying to hit on girls way above their class and paying the price for it the next morning.
It can't be his old roommate, surely? He really can't imagine Ryson Durell giving him a flower.
Shaking his head, Reeve nods respectfully to the bouncer smoking by the door, watching the Hardy-Daytona. "Evening," Reeve says. "Is there an entry fee?"
The bouncer eyeballs him for a little bit too long - clearly, Reeve does not fit the image of Lounge's regular clientele anymore. "Nothing much going on today," the bouncer then says. "You can go right in."
"Thank you very much, have a good night," Reeve says and steps past the man.
Inside the Lure Lounge looks pretty much the same as before. Fake wood panelling and low hanging lamps are still the same, though they've updated some of the furniture. Short stout armchairs have been changed to more modern chairs, and the tables are a little bit higher now too. Probably a good thing - you could never stand up from the old chairs with any kind of grace, they were just a little too low for that.
There are maybe twenty people present, couples mostly, with only two larger groups, and Reeve… has no idea where to begin looking for the person who sent him the flower. Awkwardly checking his watch - 18:54 - he heads up to the counter to order something and get another angle of the bar.
There's only one person sitting alone in the entire place - a messy-haired blond man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses, likely the bike's owner. Could that be them? He doesn't look like anyone Reeve knows…
"Hey, what can I get for you?" the bartender asks, and Reeve turns to her. She's giving his suit a once over, though it's hard to tell if it's appreciative or just amused. He's… probably very out of place here, wearing it.
Can he ask, would she know who he's looking for - would someone even tell a bartender they were waiting for someone? He has no idea. It's been about six years since the last time he went out with… anyone not from work. He has no idea what the etiquette even is anymore.
"Yes, can you make a Black Battery Cap?" Reeve asks, automatically - it was his usual starter drink during his university days.
"Is espresso okay?" the bartender asks, arching her brows a little. "Otherwise I will have to brew some coffee - but I can get a shot of espresso from the machine in just a moment." She motions to the end of the counter, where said machine sat.
"Espresso is fine, thank you."
And then with some horror Reeve realises just what it is he ordered - a mix of espresso, caffeine liquor and an energy drink with two different hard alcohols thrown in for good measure, neither of which he could remember the name of. A drink uniquely suited for a sleep deprived university student with no sense of his own mortality - not so much a sleep deprived bureaucrat with work in the morning.
Damnit, it really has been too long since he'd last been to a bar, hasn't it?
The bartender puts the glass in front of him, dark and bubbling, and Reeve can feel his blood pressure skyrocket just at the idea of actually drinking the thing. He pays for it nonetheless, saying, "Thank you," and wondering if there was a convenient fake plant he could throw the thing in at some point.
No, he wouldn't make a mess for the staff to clean, that would be rude. He'd just leave the glass un-drunk and leave it at that.
Shaking his head at himself, Reeve takes the glass and then studies the bar again, hoping that whoever he's here to see has arrived - and noticed him - by now. It doesn't look like there's been any chance…
But now the blond biker is looking at him - and as Reeve's eyes slide over the man, he waves. And beckons.
Uh…
Very well then.
Steeling himself for an awkward re-introduction to a man he's clearly forgotten entirely, Reeve makes his way to the table. "Hello," he says, resting his free hand in his pocket and trying to affect a casual air, rather than a nervous one.
Up close the man doesn't ring any more bells than he had at a distance. And he really should've - Reeve can't imagine anyone forgetting this man, not after getting one good look at him. Even with sunglasses on, he's… a sight to behold.
"Hi, Reeve," the man says, leaning back and resting one elbow over the backrest of his chair, leather creaking as he moves, as his bicep flexes in the jacket sleeve, straining it. "Thanks for coming."
"Your invitation was… exceptional," Reeve says, scrambling to remember where he might know the man from. The sunglasses might be messing with his perception - but he thinks he would remember someone with this man's chin and jaw, strikingly delicate in contrast to his obviously muscled body. Unless the man has gone through some sort of self-transformation, lost a lot of weight, spent the last half a decade working out…
Hopefully he's not someone Reeve had once rudely turned down, or something to that nature. This better not turn out to be some sort of obscure revenge thing.
The biker offers him a nod. "Thought it might catch your interest. Do you wanna sit down?"
"Don't mind if I do," Reeve says and sits, setting his glass of heart-attack juice on the table between them. What to say, what to say… "How long has it been?"
The biker snorts, and the corner of his mouth lifts to a crooked smile. "We've never met before, Reeve - relax."
Oh. "That… actually makes me a little less likely to relax," Reeve says slowly and sits up straighter. "Well, you know my name, obviously. Mind introducing yourself?"
"I do, actually," the biker answers. "We'll get to that later."
Well, that's ominous. This whole meeting is becoming rather ominous. "If we've never met before, then… how did you…?" Reeve glances around in the bar. There are maybe five people who might still remember he used to come there…
"Let's say I had some insider information," the man says and reaches to take something from inside his jacket. Reeve doesn't even have the moment to go tense or wary, he doesn't have the instincts for the kind of paranoia he really should be exercising as a Shinra executive - but in either case, it's unnecessary. What the man takes out isn't a weapon - it's a present. "For you," the man says.
"… What is it?" Reeve asks warily. It could be anything - a bomb, some sort of chemical, contraband, blackmail material…
The man tilts his head to look at the box he's holding - covered with gleaming black wrapping paper and golden ribbon. "It's a gift, Reeve - open it," he says flatly and sets the box down on the table, sliding it over. "I think you'll find it very interesting."
Frowning, Reeve hesitates just for a moment, eyeing the biker as the man reaches for his beer glass. Then, figuring he's deep enough as it is, Reeve accepts the gift and goes about easing the ribbon off. "Should I have brought security with me?" he asks, half jokingly.
"It would make things very awkward, going forward," the biker says. "Just open the thing, Reeve."
Well, he has Reeve's interest - and his ever growing apprehension too. Reeve should've known better - he's gone through annual security training about these sorts of things with most other directors at Shinra. Things like meeting new people who might try to leverage something against him, or leverage him against the company, or something like that. The executive branch of Shinra was always targeted by opportunists and terrorists; any one of them might end up a subject of blackmail or other manipulative tactics. Even something as mundane as Urban Development had access in the company people might try to exploit.
It was stupid to come here, and with only his assistant even aware of the meeting.
Reeve opens the box, and instead of something like doctored photographs or exposes, he finds a… book, a brand new leather bound book with the title of The King of Cats, by Tom Fae. Confused, Reeve lifts it from the box and turns it over. "A book of… fairy tales?"
The biker smiles, taking a drink of his beer. Then, licking the foam from his upper lip, he says, "Let's call them… prophecies. Go on. Open it."
Giving him a wary look, Reeve opens the book. The first bit of written text is a quote.
"There's plenty of stuffed toys like my body around, but there's only one me! Don't forget me, even if another Cait Sith comes along. Goodbye, then! I guess I'm off to save the Planet..."
- Cait Sith
Reeve looks up sharply and the biker smiles. "Go on," he says again, taking another drink. "It gets better."
Swallowing, Reeve turns the page. There's no copyright or publishing information presented. A privately published work, then? There is a dedication, To Those that Cry for the Planet, and then… then there's a table of contents. At a glance it looks normal: foreword, introduction, chapters… but then Reeve takes a second look.
Foreword, by Reeve Tuesti.
"What is this?" Reeve asks, his voice flat with incredulity. The biker just looks at him - or maybe not, it's hard to tell with the sunglasses. He doesn't answer, either way, and with a shake of his head Reeve opens to the foreword.
It is a strange task, writing a letter to yourself, to your past self. One would think it would be easy. You are me, I am you, I should know you. But you're a man younger than I remember being, and I don't know you anymore, I don't know where you are, what you're doing, what you're thinking. You're as good as a stranger to me. And I am just as alien to you and I hope I always will be.
Either way, hello, Reeve. I too am Reeve - Reeve Tuesti, some twenty years into your future. And to prove myself to you, here follows a list of secrets you have never told anyone; phone in the washing machine, the soldier's broken leg, the garage radio under the dead tree, Camila didn't cheat, the schoolhouse frog, seventh shelf and to the right, Cait Sith's eyes in the back of yours.
I trust this at least catches your attention. If it doesn't prove to you that what is written here is the truth, the following essays, reports and studies should prove it - the ones I wrote all bear the code you devised during your second year in Shinra to prevent plagiarism. There are other forms of code in the book as well, as a precaution - certain sections are entirely coded, just in case. You will have to crack them yourself. I don't remember exactly how sceptical I was at your age. Perhaps this foreword will be enough, perhaps it won't, either way, I prepared further proof.
What you are holding is the collected sum of knowledge from myself and various other experts, concerning the truth about mako, Shinra, the Planet and her eventual destruction in the next two decades - and potential steps to take to prevent it. I arranged these papers in order that would explain everything most clearly to you - please read them thoroughly in order and, obviously, never show this book to anyone - except the man who gave it to you.
He is a friend - he is from the future, and you can trust him with everything. Just by giving this book to you, he is trusting you with far more. I will say no more about him here - he can introduce himself to you, as he sees fit.
He is there with you to save the Planet.
Please help him.
- Reeve Tuesti.
Reeve stares at the end of the text and then jumps back at the list of secrets. Then, swallowing to try and whet his painfully parched throat, he looks up. The biker - the man from the future - arches his brows at him quizzically.
"Um," Reeve says, licking his lips. He's feeling weirdly chilled, as though he'd sweated a lot and then gotten thrown into a sudden blizzard. Nervous sweat maybe. "I don't know what to say. Where to begin. This is. Um."
The blond tilts his head. "You read the foreword?"
"Mhm, yes," Reeve says and slowly closes the book. Somehow, his hands don't shake. He draws a slow breath and rests his hand over the cover. "I suspect I will need to read it again, but it's, ah. Very compelling." To say the least.
"Okay," the other man says and sets his beer glass down. "Compelling. What do you think about it, though?"
"I think I have to read the whole book to say for sure, but - for now… yes," Reeve says and clears his throat. "I have to ask, though - why me?"
The biker is quiet for a moment and then shrugs again. "Read the book," he says and shifts where he sits, taking something from his jacket pocket. A scrap of paper with a phone number written. "This is mine. Once you're done, give me a call."
"You're not going to -?" Reeve glances down at the book. "You're just going to leave this with me?"
"It was written for you," the biker says and snorts, putting the phone number in his hand. "I don't understand half of it. Just be careful with it - a lot of dangerous stuff in there."
"Oh," Reeve says faintly, closing his fingers over the scrap of paper. "How much time do I have? Should I read it tonight or - ?"
"So long as you don't take all year " the man from the future says and stands up, his biker leathers creaking as he stretches his arms. Then he makes a receiver gesture with his hand, says, "Call me," and leaves Reeve there, holding what rather feels like a bomb after all.
A book from the future, about the future. About the end of the world.
With a slightly trembling hand, Reeve reaches for his Black Battery Cap and takes a big gulp. Looks like he's going to need it, after all.