Of Dreams and Death
. o .
She was still shadowboxing around Reno.
Sensing this, after Reno's disastrous fight at the Plate and Elena's formal induction, Tseng insisted she visit the bedridden redhead to improve their rapport. "Team-building," he'd called it, lingering over his coffee as Elena stood in front of his desk. Even her infatuation didn't blind her to the fact that Tseng had a sadistic streak, but she would find herself replacing the roses as showy and red as Reno's hair by his hospital bed even so. At first, she would dodge Reno's barbs. But as he mellowed, becoming less vicious and more bored at being trapped in a hospital bed, she rose to the bait he sent her way.
By the third week of her visits, Reno had her smuggling in Wutaian take-out, but she drew the line at cigarettes, citing the health of the other patients with a sparkle in her hazel eyes.
He didn't mind; Rude was not so scrupulous.
Reno was one hell of a backseat driver, after he'd threatened the doctors with Shiva-knew-what to get back into active duty. Someone had to show the new girl the ropes, he said, and he insisted on not missing out. However, while the doctors could be intimidated, the same tricks never fooled Tseng. En route to her last hospital visit, she mused that she fell in love with the Turk Leader at his first, aggravated "shut up, Reno," and the blessed silence that followed it.
And Tseng knew it.
Of course he did. He'd been the first one to welcome her into his family, his top hat perched over dark eyes too amused and intense to be anything but arresting.
. o .
First team missions were the stuff of legend among Turks, and Elena's was no exception. She hadn't, however, guessed the reason for their infamy until a large box appeared on her desk one morning with "WEAR ME" scrawled in Tseng's cursive across the top of it. Upon opening the box, she wondered - not for the first time - at the sanity of her superior and why she hadn't decided to follow her head and become an engineer. But orders were orders...
In the days leading up to the mission, she rationalized it by telling herself that she would have been bored to tears by any other job. As it was, the first part of their mission had run smoothly despite its strange premise, and they had separated to make final preparations. She was almost at their secondary meeting point when the sight of the two who had beat her there stopped her cold. Moving just out of sight, but not out of hearing range, she paused to listen in.
"...So," Rude griped, careful to skirt the edge of the tall red curtains, "remind me exactly why I get stuck in the bunny suit and you get to take the girl out?"
"It's the hair," Reno grinned. "Girls love it. Plus. You'd have to listen to her talk. All day. And answer questions, of which we know she's got more than a few."
Rude's frown would have been intimidating, had one of his bunny ears not chosen that moment to flop forward over his eyes. As it was, the redhead snorted in laughter, but kept well out of the range of the taller man's fists. Rude didn't return his smile. "Try that again, punk, and I will kick your ass so badly once I'm out of this gorshe costume that you'll want Hojo to fix you."
Reno couldn't help himself. "Aww, is the widdle bunny rabbit afraid to split a seam? Shit, we own this place, Rude."
Rude glared. "I am not," - he repressed a shudder - "portraying a 'widdle' anything. The March Hare is a key literary figure. Besides," he continued with an arch look at the striped tail Reno was twirling and the cat ears half-buried in his hair, "you didn't do much better."
Reno rocked back onto his heels with a wicked grin. "Naw. I get all the best lines, is all."
As usual, the redhead's mirth was infectious. "Figures," Rude chuckled.
"Don't it? Say, have you seen our Alice yet? Seems she's none too happy, despite bein' the star and all – ow, dammit – that hurts, rook!"
Elena shook her head, still tugging at Reno's ear. They'd probably known she was listening in, but Reno's line proved a perfect moment to enter on. To Rude's amusement, she'd aimed for one of the redhead's human ears. To Reno's delight, the layers of white petticoats and blue ribbons that engulfed her body did wonders to negate her fury. "If I had wanted to be a two-bit actress – " she began, halting in surprise as Reno slipped out of her hold and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
"Aw, don't sweat the easy stuff, 'specially when you look damn good and almost like the real thing in that getup. 'Sides, your first team mission sure beats the hell outta mine." Reno nestled his head on Elena's shoulder with a nostalgic sigh.
She glared, twisted, and sent a heel towards his instep, but the redhead shifted his weight and avoided the hit.
"I," he whined, "had t' guard Rufus' birthday parade float and listen to an offkey choir of brats murder a five minute song over and over and over again for three hours. Had the worst headaches for days afterwards. Taking over the roles of the actors who were gonna try to knock off Shinra Senior mid-performance? Damn. Kid stuff."
Dusting invisible specks off of her skirt, Elena looked over at Rude expectantly.
"Mmm," he rumbled in affirmation. "Tradition."
When it became clear that that was all the bunny-eared Turk was going to say, Reno tugged at one of Elena's errant blue ribbons. "Best be careful ya don't start breaking hearts in that getup," he drawled, amused by her blush. "Wolves and worse out there, y'know."
Elena side-stepped to the curtains and eyed the plywood forest on stage. "I sincerely hope you're not speaking about yourself."
As he tugged his cat-ears to sit straight, Reno laughed. "More the four that're all tied up and knocked out behind that big tree of mine, but they shouldn't be too much trouble anymore."
"I get it," Elena sighed. "You're trying to wish me luck. Weird, but thanks."
"Nah." He flipped the edge of her skirt for good measure. "Actually, I'm trying to imagine what old man Shinra's face would look like after I suggest that fluffy miniskirts should become standard Turk attire for the ladies. But you're welcome."
Before the blonde could land her punch, her fist was caught and halted from behind. As she tensed, Tseng spun her around to face him. "We don't have time to fix his makeup before the curtain call, Elena."
She was young, and protested. "But he –"
"I'm not saying that he didn't deserve it," Tseng replied, steering the younger Turk towards the edge of the stage with a firm look back at the redhead. "Tomorrow, when he takes you through the ropes, you can explain yourselves, but until then... well, frankly, you shouldn't have been surprised."
As the music swelled in the pit below the stage, she turned back to the Turk Leader. "I – I don't understand."
Tseng tipped his top hat and swept into a low bow. "You should have found, to borrow a line, that we're all quite mad here, my dear." With his gentle push to her shoulders, she found herself on stage, and in the seconds between regretting her present career choice (again) and the first sweep of the curtain's slow rise, she heard Tseng's voice. "Welcome to the Turks, Elena."
. o .
Reno was, she thought, what some would call a persistent annoyance. She knew he had assignments, but it seemed as if he was constantly in and out of her excuse for an office whenever she was in it, stealing pencil sharpeners and thimbles and Shiva knows what else. Madcap and reckless and for all his bluster, smart, and she cursed him, not caring if he was within earshot; he often was, and grinned at her ire. He never held on to much, but he seemed to enjoy her words, their banter. It wasn't long before she came to enjoy it as well, even when she would, inevitably, find her sharpener in a potted fern two weeks later, or the thimble redesigned into a woefully futile paperweight for the mountain of files on his desk.
"To do, to do," he teased as she snatched up the missing knickknack and looked pointedly at the files – "to do later, y'know. Got skirts to chase and sun to bask in." But every week his paperwork would be the first to be sent in – and it was always completed. Impeccably. She had checked it a time or two until he caught her at it. He loved his reputation – said it let him get away with murder – and though Elena scoffed and told him that his job title let him get away with murder - let them all get away with it, he would only laugh, and sometimes ruffle her hair. "You don't get it at all yet, do ya, rook?"
"Elena," she insisted.
"Exactly." A laugh turned into a lazy grin, and as he tipped his ever-present sunglasses over his eyes, she knew their conversation was over. Orders were orders, and in the early days, she had listened to them. It was on a sweltering afternoon in late summer, when she and Reno were returning from a mission beneath the Plate, that she stopped.
The mission - the negotiation - had gone poorly, which meant that Reno needed both stitches and a new magrod, and she had to report back to the lab techs that their explosive prototype was perhaps too effective. The walk back to their car was tense until it was interrupted by an errant kickball. Reno had watched the ball sailing past his nose with amusement, cracking a grin at the telltale sound of breaking glass and his partner's flinch. "Rookie," he'd teased, and laughed as Elena flipped him off.
Moments later, the shopkeeper bustled outside, his face crimson as he threatened to call the police to deal with the group of children caught between fight or flight.
Seeing this, Reno sighed, reached out and snatched the ball from the other man's hands. "I'm the cops." The storekeeper could only squawk as Reno towered over him and plunked a small bag of gil into his empty hands. "Buy yourself a new window and shut the hell up - I've got a city to ruin."
Moving on, Reno tossed the ball from hand to hand before rolling it from one hand to the other along his arms and behind his head. He let the ball drop, booting it over to the kids with an elaborate kick and a grin that grew upon hearing their laughter.
As one of them shouted "hey, thanks, mister!," Reno waved nonchalantly over his shoulder, but Elena was starting to think she'd been around the other Turk long enough to notice an extra swagger in his step. Cracking a grin of her own, she nudged the redhead with her shoulder. "Run, Reno."
"Huh?"
"You meant 'run.'" Elena corrected, amused but not surprised by his slip. As she did, a different thought occured to her, and she froze. "Hey - wasn't that the money from-"
Reno's grin was vicious as he voiced her thoughts. "Run or ruin? Nah, it don't matter. They almost mean the same thing in this town. 'Sides, it was drug money, and they-" he said, gesturing back towards the demolished building the two Turks had recently vacated, "-didn't need it anymore, did they?"
She blinked, surprised. "But why - why bother? It doesn't seem -"
"Doesn't seem my style? Heh, maybe," he replied. Kicking at a stray can, he looked over to her. "So what? So I made those kids laugh – laugh like they meant it. So we are who we are – doesn't mean we can't feel the same thing those kids back there do, from time to time. 'S why you cover that condo of yours in green plant things and why Rude always carries his Cure materia and a book on basic medical shit. He could've been a doctor, y'know?"
"I hadn't. Known." She tried not to look at him with a question in her eyes.
"Me, rook? Hell, I live. Any way I can. You should've figured that one out by now."
Elena shook her head slowly. "I keep hearing that."
"And you will 'til you understand."
"I don't see," she said, frowning, "exactly what's so important about all of this that I could be missing."
The words were a statement but her tone was curious, and he swore even as he chuckled. "You're fuckin' persistent, y'know that?" When she held his gaze, Reno cracked his knuckles and continued. "I'll keep this simple, then. Turks have two options. One is holdin' on to something beyond the job – a dream, a distraction, whatever. You lose it, rook, and you're just left with the job. If that happens, you become destruction in a five-foot-six frame."
"I'm not five—"
"…'s not the point. Point is, destruction's all you are when you make that choice, and as someone who's been there and fought like hell to get back – shit, wouldn't even wish that on Strife and those jokers, much less the cute addition to our corpus insanitus. And you haven't chosen it yet, though, damn, none of us'd blame ya for it."
Elena frowned. "Thanks, I think." She found her keys, and made a mental note to put a plant on his desk the next morning.
A week later, when she saw him teasing the kitten that Mayor Domino's secretary kept around with a stem from said plant, she only laughed at his antics. The jade plant would heal, or take root elsewhere. It had survived Reno so far.
. o .
The sun was setting through her office window that day when he caught her at her bad habit. She hadn't been quick enough with the picture frame - as he came in, it slid back into place, but she knew from his look that he had seen her. Seen it. Green eyes were still fixed on the place where she had scratched a neat tally into the wall; one more scratch, one more body. She was going to need a bigger picture frame.
"Damn," Reno whistled. "If that's what your wall looks like, I'd hate to see your bedpost."
Elena bristled, but held her ground. "What's it to you?"
"Nothin', hey. Just can't afford to have you snapping on the job."
"I'm fine. That just - it just helps me remember. Keeps me human. You know?" She looked at him with something resembling hope, and relaxed her fists as he nodded.
"Eh, sure. Nice to know you're not entirely earth-mother and wholesome and shit, 'Laney."
"This, from the man whose plants look better than mine."
"Heh," Reno laughed, eyeing the picture frame but letting it pass. With the Temple of the Ancients debacle only a few days past, everyone was reeling. "Your plants have good taste. Say, though," Reno added, shifting his gaze to her desk, "is that thing ready yet? Powers That Be're getting damn impatient."
"Mmm? Ah, here it is." Elena reached for a blue file folder, imagining that his fingers pressed against her own with something like sympathy - hah, she told herself, he's still Reno - when the file changed hands.
"Don't die on us, 'Laney."
She couldn't help but smile at his deadpan delivery. "Hey, I'm okay. Don't you dare go sappy on me now."
With a laugh, he headed for the door. "Ain't any chance of that," he said, "not at all."
Elena smoothed her hair and sunk into her chair as her laugh joined his. No chance, indeed. Mad, and vicious, and impossible he (they) may be, but life went on, and he was one of her boys. She wouldn't ask him (wouldn't want him) to be any different.
. o .
finis
. o .
Sabe's Scribbles: ...none of the characters herein nor the world belongs to me; moreover, this (although it was born on a lawnchair on a scorching July day and finally found its ending on a beanbag half the world away in the first thaws of a new year)would not have been created without inspiration from...
these songs: Emiliana Torrini's "to be free." Danny Michel's "the valley of doom." Regina Spektor's "us." Linkin Park's "shadow of the day." (...shhh.) Jose Gonzales' "storm."
these books/texts: Neil Gaiman's "the fairy reel." Lewis Carroll's "through the looking glass" (which I am almost guilty about. But Rude as the March Hare refused to leave my head until I'd written it down.) J.M. Barrie's "peter pan."
...Japan has warped my writing style something fierce. ^^;; So, any thoughts are doubly welcome. Cheers, everyone.