[ Some days he still can't believe it's over. Sure, Roche knows it's not over-over — nor does he think it ever will be, at least not in his lifetime — but he'll take his blessings wherever and however he could get them after the last two and a half, three years. Against all odds he'd survived the collapse of Midgar and the hardships that came with being a (former?) SOLDIER in a world that no longer needed them. Reeve was lucky enough to catch him before he'd skipped town entirely, enlisting him into the WRO and giving him purpose again even if it was acting as a courier from town to town like so many others. Part of him suspected it was simply to keep an eye on him given how much of a renegade he was already known to be, and maybe because of the rumors that still floated around about degradation. Like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to turn into a mindless beast.
Whatever their true intentions, Roche didn't mind. The WRO gave him purpose again and kept him busy. He still had... whatever it was with Reno and the other Turks, and that odd rivalry-slash-friendship with the old members of AVALANCHE, but he couldn't stay still for long.
Especially after he'd wound up catching the damned pox himself. To say he'd distanced himself from people after that would be an understatement. He'd started taking more and more work from the WRO, jobs that took him far away from Midgar, Edge, and Kalm. Anywhere he could go on the back of a bike — killing monsters, delivering medicine and supplies, searching for those still lost — he always took it. Anything to keep people from knowing and looking at him like he was something to be pitied.
He'd heard enough of it when the sickness brought him to his knees in Kalm some six months ago. Poor bastard. First you hear 'bout 'em falling apart and this one's got the pox. Makes you almost feel sorry for 'em, doesn't it?
That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst came when he'd been caught black-handed by Reno of all people, hunched over the sink in their shared bathroom with dirty, ichor-stained bandages half-unraveled from his arm in the middle of the night. Neither of them said anything, not even when Reno had helped clean up. Did Roche want to tell him about it? Gods, of course he did. If anyone deserved to know surely he did, yet... He could never bring himself to. Not when there was already so much else weighing on his shoulders. How could Roche add himself to his never-ending list of burdens? The last thing he'd thought the man needed was a sick and dying SOLDIER lingering in the back of his mind, so he'd kept his mouth shut about it until, well, obviously until the truth had oozed out on its own.
In truth he's glad nothing had been said that night because even now Roche isn't sure how he would've handled it. Experience told him that Roche would've ran like a kicked dog to lick his wounds in private, only... he might've never come back that time. The shared silence had spoken volumes and was probably the biggest reason he didn't slip out in the middle of the night. That, and knowing Reno always knew how to find him, and he'd never forgive himself if he took away resources (even Shinra resources) from those who needed and deserved it more. It's the whole reason that instead of taking on the more dangerous jobs the WRO had to offer, Roche took the ones that always kept him near Kalm, Edge, and Healen.
It was an unspoken promise and an unuttered plea, because Roche knew if he were to be confined to a hospital bed the sickness would claim him. The 'stigma could have him when it earned him — he never took much stock in the whole ooh-rah SOLDIER schtick like so many others did but he still had his pride as one. He'd go out fighting if he had to, so long as he didn't waste away like so many others.
Luckily, he never had to.
Even now he didn't understand it. He'd been hightailing it to Edge as soon as he'd caught wind of the commotion from Kalm, remembers his body seizing up on the bike and wiping out in some ditch some ten minutes out and then... nothing until he'd come to in the midst of a rain shower with a few broken ribs, a concussion and the sight of those terrible black patches adorning his arms washing away under a green glow. That had been weeks ago, though Roche still had some lingering effects from how severe the disease had gotten. He'd been forced to stay in Edge to recover while Reno went off doing whatever people had him doing, restricted to Healen at the farthest if only so the other Turks could keep an eye on him lest he go trailing after the redhead like a stray puppy. Turns out even they had trouble keeping him on a leash because two days ago he'd slipped his collar, hauled his bike out of the storage unit they'd put her in, and took off towards Kalm. Just for a few days, he'd pleaded with Rude over the phone. I'm going stir-crazy.
And, well, Kalm was a great deal better for his heart anyway. He could only look at the ruins of Midgar for so long before it got him feeling some kind of way he wasn't entirely comfortable with and beyond that, there was a package he'd been meaning to pick up for the past two weeks just sort of. sitting there. It was long overdue and was something Roche had been itching to get his hands on, so once he'd gotten himself situated and slept for the night, he set out first thing in the morning to pick it up from the shop. He just didn't expect to step around the corner with his prize tucked under his arm to find himself nearly face-to-face with Reno.
If he looks as sheepish as the kid who'd got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, no he doesn't. Shut up. The still-fading scar left behind by the 'stigma wrinkles a little as he laughs softly, shoulders slumping. ]
i told u i'm comin
Whatever their true intentions, Roche didn't mind. The WRO gave him purpose again and kept him busy. He still had... whatever it was with Reno and the other Turks, and that odd rivalry-slash-friendship with the old members of AVALANCHE, but he couldn't stay still for long.
Especially after he'd wound up catching the damned pox himself. To say he'd distanced himself from people after that would be an understatement. He'd started taking more and more work from the WRO, jobs that took him far away from Midgar, Edge, and Kalm. Anywhere he could go on the back of a bike — killing monsters, delivering medicine and supplies, searching for those still lost — he always took it. Anything to keep people from knowing and looking at him like he was something to be pitied.
He'd heard enough of it when the sickness brought him to his knees in Kalm some six months ago. Poor bastard. First you hear 'bout 'em falling apart and this one's got the pox. Makes you almost feel sorry for 'em, doesn't it?
That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst came when he'd been caught black-handed by Reno of all people, hunched over the sink in their shared bathroom with dirty, ichor-stained bandages half-unraveled from his arm in the middle of the night. Neither of them said anything, not even when Reno had helped clean up. Did Roche want to tell him about it? Gods, of course he did. If anyone deserved to know surely he did, yet... He could never bring himself to. Not when there was already so much else weighing on his shoulders. How could Roche add himself to his never-ending list of burdens? The last thing he'd thought the man needed was a sick and dying SOLDIER lingering in the back of his mind, so he'd kept his mouth shut about it until, well, obviously until the truth had oozed out on its own.
In truth he's glad nothing had been said that night because even now Roche isn't sure how he would've handled it. Experience told him that Roche would've ran like a kicked dog to lick his wounds in private, only... he might've never come back that time. The shared silence had spoken volumes and was probably the biggest reason he didn't slip out in the middle of the night. That, and knowing Reno always knew how to find him, and he'd never forgive himself if he took away resources (even Shinra resources) from those who needed and deserved it more. It's the whole reason that instead of taking on the more dangerous jobs the WRO had to offer, Roche took the ones that always kept him near Kalm, Edge, and Healen.
It was an unspoken promise and an unuttered plea, because Roche knew if he were to be confined to a hospital bed the sickness would claim him. The 'stigma could have him when it earned him — he never took much stock in the whole ooh-rah SOLDIER schtick like so many others did but he still had his pride as one. He'd go out fighting if he had to, so long as he didn't waste away like so many others.
Luckily, he never had to.
Even now he didn't understand it. He'd been hightailing it to Edge as soon as he'd caught wind of the commotion from Kalm, remembers his body seizing up on the bike and wiping out in some ditch some ten minutes out and then... nothing until he'd come to in the midst of a rain shower with a few broken ribs, a concussion and the sight of those terrible black patches adorning his arms washing away under a green glow. That had been weeks ago, though Roche still had some lingering effects from how severe the disease had gotten. He'd been forced to stay in Edge to recover while Reno went off doing whatever people had him doing, restricted to Healen at the farthest if only so the other Turks could keep an eye on him lest he go trailing after the redhead like a stray puppy. Turns out even they had trouble keeping him on a leash because two days ago he'd slipped his collar, hauled his bike out of the storage unit they'd put her in, and took off towards Kalm. Just for a few days, he'd pleaded with Rude over the phone. I'm going stir-crazy.
And, well, Kalm was a great deal better for his heart anyway. He could only look at the ruins of Midgar for so long before it got him feeling some kind of way he wasn't entirely comfortable with and beyond that, there was a package he'd been meaning to pick up for the past two weeks just sort of. sitting there. It was long overdue and was something Roche had been itching to get his hands on, so once he'd gotten himself situated and slept for the night, he set out first thing in the morning to pick it up from the shop. He just didn't expect to step around the corner with his prize tucked under his arm to find himself nearly face-to-face with Reno.
If he looks as sheepish as the kid who'd got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, no he doesn't. Shut up. The still-fading scar left behind by the 'stigma wrinkles a little as he laughs softly, shoulders slumping. ]
I, ah... I could be saying the same thing to you.