A/N: I literally wrote this in less than an hour, just for fun. Hope you like it. Sometime after Advent Children, I guess.
Cracked
He liked the way she leaned over the bar, her eyes conspiring to share a private little joke with him, and asked what he wanted, her voice clear and sweet.
"What do you want?"
What did he want? What a question to ask. He had no idea, didn't even know where to begin. He wanted a day off. He wanted quiet. He wanted to be in a crowded bar, surrounded by the sound of drunken chatter, letting the noise drown out his thoughts. He wanted to curl up and sleep for hours. He wanted a night out on the town, to feel young again, to be a prowling, swinging bachelor on the lookout for Miss Right Now. He wanted to be alone. Most of all, he wanted her to really mean that question. To really want to know what he wanted.
"The usual," he said, summoning up his best rascally grin and winking at her. "A scotch, and a date."
She allowed him that small victory, as she almost always did. When he first started to frequent Seventh Heaven, his attitude had driven her crazy. She'd been so easy to rile up, and he'd enjoyed it too much. Enjoyed the pink flush of rage that bloomed on the apples of her cheeks, enjoyed the reddish gleam cast in her mahogany eyes as she told him he had a better chance of getting Rude to dress as a ballerina for Halloween than he did of going out with her.
At least she had a sense of humour.
At least.
He snorted.
"Something funny?"
He looked up as she slid his drink in front of him. Something had to be said. He couldn't leave her hanging, and he couldn't let the opportunity to flirt pass him by. Because she was prone to getting angry when he flirted with her, and he liked it when she got angry. Anger suited her. "Just wondering when you're gonna cave and let me take you out, sugar."
"Get bent," she said, though the sentiment lacked the necessary vitriol to make it heartfelt. Still, her eyes flashed a warning at him, and he knew he'd accomplished his goal.
"Cheers, babe." He downed half of his drink, to show her he took her words about as seriously as she took his.
Tifa Lockhart snorted, echoing the noise he'd made moments ago, and returned to her dishes, giving him a prime view of her perfectly round and luscious backside. He admired it, with a most un-Turk-like tenderness. He was fonder of her than he cared to admit, and had he caught anyone else mimicking his subtle up-and-down eye movements, that someone would suffer dearly.
Nobody had the right to check her out, least of all him.
"Hey, I have a question."
That got his attention, and only years of being a Turk, of keeping his true thoughts and feelings well-hidden under the carefully constructed facade of asshole extraordinaire, kept Reno from leaning forward and offering himself to her like a sacrificial lamb. "Ask away, babe," he said, carefully weaving that cavalier tone into his voice.
She ignored the jibe, to his disappointment and approval. "What's your deal, anyway?"
He tilted his head and blinked slowly. What was his deal? What did she mean? What deal, and why did she have to throw in that "anyway," make it sound like she knew exactly what his deal was, and just wanted him to clarify it for her? "What do you mean?"
"Reno." She leaned over her bar once more, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his eyes on her face, to not glance down at her ample bosom and the cleavage that was undoubtedly visible from his vantage point. That would earn him a smack, and Tifa Lockhart had fists of steel. "You harass me on a daily basis," she said, not unkindly. "What's your deal? Have you made it your mission in life to irritate me?"
Sadly, it was his current mission in life to irritate her, not because he had any negative feelings concerning Tifa, but because she looked so damn sexy when she was irritated. He shrugged in an indifferent fashion. "No. It's just too easy."
Her mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break out on her heart-shaped face. But she managed to look annoyed, to pretend his answer displeased her. Reno was impressed. She would make a good Turk... he liked the thought of her in a tailored blue suit, the cut of it just subtle enough to emphasise the curve of her waist and the shapeliness of her hips.
"You come here almost every night. Last week you came here six nights in a row. Why?"
Her direct line of questioning surprised him. He'd come to expect a more subtle approach from Tifa Lockhart. He considered his course of action. Sly remark? Indifference? Flirting? Mocking? Or something vaguely resembling the truth? He went with the last option, because he wanted to throw her off, surprise her. "Because I like you."
"You like me." She sounded dubious, and slightly amused.
"Yeah. I like you." He leaned forward, smiling at her roguishly. "I like you, and I like your bar. And I like pissing you off."
Tifa threw her head back and laughed, a clear, bell-like laugh, delighted and sweet and not her usual restrained chuckle. Reno felt he'd scored another point in his favour. But he wouldn't get too complacent. And he wouldn't get too carried away. He knew he danced a fine line between being a pest and being a real irritant to the buxom bartender. He wanted to remain firmly in the first category. Pests could be endearing. Irritants were flat-out... well, irritating.
"You do, do you?"
"Sure."
She leaned forward, that conspiring look in her eyes again, sharing something with him and him alone. "You want in on a little secret, Reno?"
"I love secrets." Damn, she was flirting back. He'd caught her in one of those rare moments when she genuinely enjoyed his company, crudeness and all. It happened. Rarely, but it happened.
"I like it when you're honest." She paused, considering, and grinned at him. "Someday maybe you'll give me an honest answer, the next time I ask you what you want."
His years of being a Turk suddenly failed him, and Reno stared at her, his mouth half-open, as she straightened, turned around, and resumed washing dishes, completely ignoring the fact that she'd finally cracked him.