Okay so this is all the fanfic things I usually don't like. It's a Mary Sue-ish OC - or it would be if I was a beautiful sassy helicopter pilot (I'm not btw). It has little relevance to canon, being set - oh, I don't know - somewhere before the original game. It's definitely cutesy Advent Children Reno and I'm normally a mean and moody OG Reno girl. All I can promise is no mpreg. And I nicked the plot from that epic piece of eighties cinema that is Top Gun. (Unlike Top Gun, this story is not yaoi though. )

I even stole the title from the eighties Top Gun theme song by Berlin. Now where did I put my white eye-liner, bright pink blusher and leg warmers?

Why did I write it? Because sometimes I'm just a sad Reno fangirl.

Take My Breath Away

So we all ended up in this back-alley bar somewhere in the Sector Five slums. The drinks were flowing, and the music was an insistent, steady beat that demanded attention. There wasn't really a dance floor, but people were dancing, and we danced too. I think Kitze was a bit the worse for wear, because when we'd been there about an hour Jazz found me and said they were leaving, and I saw him helping her out. She was staggering a bit, and leaning against his shoulder. It was an even bet whether they'd end up in bed together or if she'd just pass out on his floor. Jazz was okay. He'd look after her. I kept dancing, losing myself in the beat, not wanting to think about tomorrow. The others had a table and were sprawled around it, some drinking, some just talking. I decided I wasn't going to drink any more alcohol; I had an important meeting in the morning. Feeling hot and a little light-headed, I pushed through to the bar. I was about to order when a cute guy with wide-set green eyes and the reddest hair I'd ever seen said, "Let me?"

"Oh, thanks." Really I'd just wanted water. But he didn't seem a water kind of guy, so I said, "I'll have a whisky, please."

He grinned. "Right. Me too." He ordered the two whiskies, and made them doubles. I followed him to an empty corner, where we leant against the wall. I was keeping my eyes on the drinks until he handed me mine, because you hear stories, don't you? He knocked back his whisky and said, "Hi, I'm Reno."

"Leah." I sipped the drink, which was surprisingly smooth, and smiled at him. He had a very sweet face. He smiled back. I asked, "So, Reno, are you from Midgar?" He said, "Born and bred. I work for Shinra, flying choppers, among other things." I laughed. He was a good-looking, if scruffy guy, hanging around in a seedy bar in the slums. He wore a silver earring and his high cheekbones were tattooed with red curving lines, which were surprisingly sexy. Everything about him said street. Sure he flew for Shinra! I took another sip of whisky and said, "Yeah, right – me too. Beause this is the kind of place Shinra pilots hang out."

"Not many of them."

"No. Okay, flyboy, so what kind of helicopter do you fly?" He grinned. "A big one. Black. With those rotor things on the top."

"Well – there you go. Me too. Coincidence." I couldn't believe the crap we were both talking. I downed the rest of the whisky, knowing I'd regret it in the morning. He asked, "You wanna dance, yo?"

"Uh – yeah, okay." I put down my empty glass, and he led the way into a space. He could dance. He looked like he could dance properly if he wanted – spins, back-flips, the works – but in the crowded bar he stuck to relatively safe moves. At first we danced facing each other, but not touching, then we moved closer. He suddenly took my right hand in his left, and put his right on my waist, and we were dancing together before I really knew what was happening. We seemed to fit together somehow; moving with him, in his arms, felt right. We didn't speak much. It was too loud to hear what he was saying anyway. After a while the music slowed. We kept dancing, close and slow. He kissed me, and his lips were soft, and sweet with the whisky, and warm. I had never felt so immediately aroused by anyone. When the dance ended, he said, "Shall we go?" I heard myself saying, "Okay. I'm in a hotel. I'm in Midgar for a meeting tomorrow. You want..?"

"Oh yeah."

(())

We caught the train back to Sector Eight, where the hotel was. We found a seat right at the back of the almost empty last carriage, and spent the whole journey kissing like a couple of teenagers. There was a part of me that felt sixteen again – the exhilaration, the sheer pleasure of long, deep kisses; the sheer stupidity of the whole situation! I was nearly thirty – I was a sensible, professional woman who did not go to bars and pick up men. Only – it seemed I did. Part of me was as nervous as hell, but mostly I just knew I wanted him.

When we got back to my hotel room I opened the fridge and looked at the well-stocked mini-bar. "You want a drink?" I sure as hell didn't, but it seemed polite to ask. Reno leaned over and closed the fridge door, kissing the back of my neck. I shivered. He said softly, "I don't want a drink." I twisted round to face him, and he pressed me back against the wall, his mouth on mine, his body hard against me. The first time, we didn't even make it to the bed.

(())

I woke, surprisingly hangover-free, but aching a little in some interesting places. I stretched, and turned to see Reno still fast asleep beside me. The sex had been amazing, but what surprised me now was how he looked sleeping. He had seemed anything but innocent last night – but, I supposed, sleep made innocents of us all. I leaned over and kissed his irresistible mouth. He opened his eyes, and smiled, and kissed me back.

This time the sex was gentle, and slow, and perfect for waking up. I could happily have stayed in bed with him all day, but I had this damned meeting to go to, and already it was – "What time is it?" we asked, in unison. We turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. My Oh shit! was echoed by his Oh fuck!

I scrambled out of the tangled sheets and ran for the bathroom. I could hear him cursing as he tried to find his discarded clothes. I showered in two minutes flat and left the water running for him. At least I had my suit and shirt and clean shoes in the closet; he only possessed the crumpled, smoky jeans, shirt and jacket he had been wearing last night. I dried my hair on full blast and brushed it through desperately, before trying to slip on my heels and do up my watch at the same time. I grabbed my briefcase and phone, and turned to Reno, who was still trying to find one of his shoes.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I have a meeting in ten minutes."

He grimaced. "Yeah, me too. Guess I'm gonna be late." I looked at him and couldn't help smiling. "Hope they don't have a dress-code where you work?"

"Uh – yeah. I'll be in all kinds of trouble." He winked. "It was worth it though, huh?"

"It was worth any kind of trouble." I kissed him, quickly. "I really have to go. Thanks, Reno." As I closed the door I heard him call, "Hey, wait! I don't have your number!"

"I'm still here tonight - if you're interested," I called back. Then I ran for the elevators.

(())

Tseng was chairing the meeting. I'd met him before, but this was the first time I'd worked with any of the other Turks, or the acting SOLDIER pilots. I was normally stationed out in the development labs in the desert, test flying the new machines. Tseng handed me a coffee, for which I did not have to pretend to be grateful. "I thought you could do the general brief about the Scimitar 760 first, and then we'll have the questions and technical talks," he explained. "There're some good pilots in there, and some good weapons specialists. At present we're waiting for one of our operatives to come in from a mission. I hope he won't be too late."

I drank the coffee slowly, and Tseng looked at his watch. Eventually he said, "If you don't mind, Miss Young, we'd better get started."

"Of course."

We moved into the briefing room, and twenty or so eager-looking members of SOLDIER and a handful of much more relaxed-seeming Turks focussed on the screens as I ran the presentation about our newest chopper, the Scimitar 760. I'd just begun to explain the changes in the cabin layout and the enhanced weaponry, when the door at the back of the room opened, and someone walked in who looked exactly like...

My breath caught. It was Reno, spiky red hair still slightly damp, but changed into an idiosyncratically modified version of the Turks' uniform. He sidled into an empty seat at the back next to a smartly dressed bald guy who, for some reason, was wearing shades in the darkened briefing room. I faltered as I watched the bald guy raise his eyebrows at Reno, who shrugged, grinned, and turned to face forward with a murmured, not very sincere sounding apology. He registered me, his eyes widened, and then he gave a slow, incredulous smile.

I made myself continue, avoiding Reno's gaze. I was going to be working with this group for the next six months. This was going to be tricky. I felt really stupid for not believing that he worked for Shinra. His reply to my mocking question about the kind of chopper he flew came back to haunt me: "Big one, black, with those rotor things on the top"! That would be a Rapier 620 then. I pulled myself together and somehow managed to finish the presentation. When Tseng asked if there were any questions, I couldn't believe it when Reno raised his hand. "Yes?" I asked, curtly.

"So," he drawled, half smiling. "The Scimitar 760. How does she handle? I heard she was like, ultra responsive, yo?"

Bastard! I could feel heat flushing over my cheeks and I felt very grateful that the room was still dimly lit. I made myself smile sweetly and answered, "Well, as I explained during the introduction you missed, the Scimitar has the most finely tuned controls of any aircraft we've produced yet. That said, Mr…?"

"Just Reno."

"That said, Reno, I tend to find that the handling is very much down to the skill of the individual pilot. You either have the touch, or you don't. Any other questions?" I tried to concentrate on what a little blonde woman was asking, while acutely aware of Reno watching me, smiling. My heart was racing, and although my blush had subsided the blood seemed to have gone rushing off somewhere else just as inconvenient. I got through the rest of the session somehow, and when it was over, headed straight for Tseng, who handed me another cup of strong coffee, with a smile. "That went well," he said. "I must apologize for Reno – punctuality is not his strongest suit."

"Don't worry," I said, sounding confident, and feeling shaky, "I can deal with guys like Reno." Actually, I had never met anyone quite like Reno. I was beginning to feel I might be out of my depth. I wasn't comforted by Tseng's cynical, "Hmm. He's a bit of a handful." I had to turn away to hide a smile. Oh – he was more than that! Luckily one of the SOLDIER pilots approached at that point, and asked me a question about helicopters. I focussed. I had to get Reno out of my head, at least for the rest of the day.

I was about to go back into the briefing room for the second session when I saw Reno and the bald guy in the shades approaching along the corridor. I really didn't want to meet Reno now, so I headed back around the corner and ducked down behind one of those giant potted plants that sprout up everywhere in big corporate buildings. As the pair of them drew nearer I could hear the bigger man saying, "So what was up with that flirting earlier?"

"Flirting?" Reno's voice was all wounded innocence.

"Yeah. With the instructor from the labs? How does she handle? You'll be up on a disciplinary."

"No way. She can take a joke, yo."

"And you'd know that because…?"

"C'mon! Down to the skill of the individual pilot? She gives as good as she gets." I didn't have to see Reno's face to imagine the raised eyebrows, the cocky tilt of the head. I heard the other guy sigh; pictured him shaking his head in mock despair. "Reno, why do I get the impression there's something you're not telling me?"

"Beats me!" They turned into the briefing room, and I was about to get up and follow them when I became aware of Tseng standing behind me. "Miss Young," he said calmly, "Are you all right?"

"Oh – uh – yes, thanks. Contact lens," I improvised.

"Contact lens?"

"Yeah. Or – not…not for sight, obviously, being a test pilot with twenty-twenty vision…but – um –UV protection. Ah, here it is." I mimed putting in the non-existent lens, feeling more stupid with every passing second, and Tseng just stood and watched. "There you go!" I said brightly, brushing down my suit and smiling a crazed chirpy smile. "Okay – session two." I turned and walked back into the briefing room with as much dignity as I could muster. Which, frankly, wasn't a hell of a lot.

(())

The day didn't improve. I wasn't speaking at the rest of the morning sessions, so I just sat near the front, where Reno couldn't catch my eye, and tried to pay attention to the other talks. At lunchtime I got out of the Shinra building as fast as I could, and found a café in Sector Eight where I bought a coffee and a sandwich, and pretended to read a newspaper, and failed to stop thinking about Reno. When I got back to the Shinra building I went to the bathroom before the afternoon sessions, and I was about to emerge from the cubicle to wash my hands when I heard a woman's voice saying, "So what about this bet of Reno's then?" A second, older-sounding voice replied, "What bet?"

"Rude reckons Reno's got the hots for the test pilot from the labs."

"Yeah – well Reno always has the hots for someone. I can see them together. She looks his type." The first woman laughed and said, "What - female?" Then they both chorused in perfect unison, "And with a pulse!" They laughed some more, and the first voice said, "Anyway, Rude bet Reno he wouldn't be able to get her into bed by the end of the week. Rude reckons she looks too professional to get involved with someone at work."

"And Reno took the bet?"

"When did Reno not take a bet?" asked the first woman.

"Well, I'm gonna put money on Reno," the second voice said. "He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be…"

"You'd know?"

"I never kiss and tell. How about you – the bet, I mean?"

"My money's on Rude. He's a good judge of character."

"Come on, we'll be late. Keep an eye on Reno and Miss Young. This should be fun to watch!"

I waited until I was sure they'd gone, then unlocked the cubicle, and washed my hands. My face in the mirror was scarlet. It was bad enough being in those sessions with Reno watching my every move – now it seemed all the other Turks would be, too. I wasn't sure whether to be furious with Reno, or relieved that he hadn't told Rude about the previous night, although that was probably just because he'd seen a way to make a fast gil.

"So, Reno, you think you've got it made?" I thought, splashing cold water on my face to bring the colour down. "Well, we'll see about that!"

I'd have to get talking to someone – a secretary, perhaps, or one of the female Turks. I'd need their help if I was going to put my money on Rude without Reno knowing about it.

TBC? Or is that quite enough of that, thanks very much?