Fuzzy Red Slippers and Flowery Business
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all of its properties belong to Square-enix, but the silly story is mine. Glad I could clear that up.
Here's another RenoxElena fic. I took liberties with the FF7 plot again, and canon can go die. This story combines elements from both "Turkish Moment" and "A Different Kind of Suit" but it's still a little different. Suit… is probably better than Turkish.
Thanks to Penfeather for looking the thing over and for helping me with the title.
"He's just not really into you, 'Lena. You gotta cut your losses and move on."
-
"You don't know how he feels... and besides, it's none of your damn business."
"I'm a guy, and I see that he's not in love," he went on. "He was staring at that raven-haired chick in the sexy blue dress at the last banquet. Remember her?"
"No," she grumbled, and guzzled from her glass like a pro as if that would end the conversation.
"Sure you do, but listen… don't worry about Tseng… We can have fun—just you and me."
"I don't think I like the sound of that."
"Don't worry about a thing, 'Leney. I promise you won't break a nail," he teased.
"I'm not interested," she said sternly.
"Aww… Not even for a measly hour?"
"Especially not an hour. I have to look over these files." She drew the large cream-colored folder toward her pointedly.
"Files?" he repeated in exaggerated disbelief. "Who has time for files? Give me that folder—"
"Reno, cut it out—"
"Just—"
"Stop it!"
"Whoa… 'Leney… did I just see your bra?"
"You most certainly did not!" she spat. "Now give me back those documents. Tseng wants them tonight."
Of course. If Tseng had asked her to go out, she'd be giggling or stuttering or her heart would go aflutter or she'd just stare blankly at him. And Reno's attempt to distract her having failed, especially as her shirt was still modestly buttoned enough for him not too see anything terribly exciting, he decided to blunder on. Maybe because he was so damn convinced that Tseng didn't want her, or maybe he was just a jealous, self-centered prick. Either way… he wasn't going to let her go so easily.
"Forget Tseng. Please. Please?"
She gaped at him, half in irritation, half in shock. "Since when have you resorted to wheedling, Reno?"
"Since every goddamn thing you've said involves the leader of the Turks, and everything you do, you do for him. I'm sick of it."
"Fine. What would you like me to say?"
"I want you to say that you'll think for yourself. Like a Turk. Not a… Shinra lapdog…"
She laughed through her nose. "Isn't that all we are?"
"Wrong. Turks are more than that. We've been through more shit than the rest of Shinra's ever seen. We've got experience, skill, and untiring endurance… And you, 'Leney… You might still be a rookie, but you won't always be, if you'd just stop and think about yourself for once… instead of Tseng."
"I'm happy when I follow his orders," she said softly, her voice unshaken and intense. "I'm complete when I know I've done something right. When I've done something for him."
"Are you really happy, Elena? Knowing he'll never want to kiss you?"
"Are you done?" She scowled, and there was moisture in her eyes that might have been impending tears, but he couldn't imagine her crying in front of him… or maybe he was saying that because he didn't know just what the hell he would do if she did cry in front of him.
"I might be," he replied. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Will you think about what I said?"
Silence.
I didn't think so. Reno shook his head and dropped some gil on the table. "I'm not done yet, Elena," he decided. "Not quite."
He scooted his chair back, rose to his feet, and left without a backward glance.
-
That was the last time he'd seen her, when she was muttering about Tseng over a drink.
They'd been through a mission or two after that too—dangerous ones… enough to put Rude out of commission for a while. The man had broken a rib.
He'd had her over too, and she'd gone on about Tseng again. And… that… That was it. He remembered now. It was raining, and she was soaked, as if someone had poured a bucket of water over her. He'd let her use his bathroom, to change into a robe… and later… when she left, she'd forgotten her light sweater.
It smelled like her, and it reminded him of times when she felt comfortable hanging out with him outside of business, and so he'd kept it ever since.
-
He was coming home from work, thinking over the events of the day and prepared but not exactly willing to greet the mundane tomorrow. With any luck, he would crash on the couch and never wake up. Just… dead, right there in front of the television….
He shook his head at the dark-humored thoughts as a tiny smile came to his lips. He didn't like the thought of dying on the couch, lying on his back while some cheesy B movie played on one of the popular television stations. He just needed to talk to Rude again, that was all. Talk Rude's ear off while the man just silently listened and watched with a little comment or grunt of acknowledgement here and there.
But when he opened the door, the sight that met his eyes almost knocked him on his ass with the shock of it. He told himself that it was insane, that it was too good to be true. She couldn't possibly be there. She couldn't really be sitting there in one of his old white dress shirts—how did she get it?—and not much else…
She couldn't be…
…Lounging on the couch with her long legs draped over one side, bare toes covered by fuzzy red slippers while they bobbed up and down…
…Her head propped up on a small pillow, with her shoulder-length golden blonde hair spread across the cushion…
…One of those girly magazines with skin care tips, fashion advice, and shampoo ad after shampoo ad held loosely in her tiny, well-manicured and… destructive hands…
Any obligatory smartass commentaries, along with all other thought or reason, fled his mind completely, and any color in his already pale face left him white with shock. He finally told his feet to move back into the hallway, where he silently closed the door in front of him so he could close his eyes and shake the imagery out of his head. His mind had played tricks on him before, but he wanted to make sure he was wrong.
He took a deep breath to free his mind of all fantasy, and instead thought of lighting up a cig, having a cold beer, and hanging out in front of the TV that night. Maybe put his feet up and pass out on the couch.
With that in mind, he sharply lifted his head and smartly pushed open the door. Casually, he stepped into his apartment and tossed his bag on a nearby chair, shaking his head with a little smirk of amusement at his wild imagination as of late.
He fished around for his cigarettes, discovered them in his back pocket, and found the lighter in his jacket. He lit up… and heard a page turning.
Slowly, he lifted wary eyes to the couch, and the smile left his face.
Holy shit.
She was here, just the way he thought he imagined her, and now he couldn't help but stare. Again.
She'd never dressed like that before… that he knew about, anyway.
His eyes inevitably swept across the length of her to the very long, very smooth, very bare legs draped across the couch, and finally came to rest on her bouncing feet, before he spoke her name without thinking.
"Elena..."
"Hmm?" She turned another page, glanced over it briefly, and turned yet another.
"…Whatcha doin'?"
Shit, he didn't even have to ask. He could clearly see that she was trying to make him lose his cool… That was a Turk's job, right? In fact, it was his specialty, chiefly where Elena was concerned. He could drive her nuts any day, not the other way around.
"Reading…" A straight answer and no sarcasm? What had this peaceable creature done with Elena?
"How was work?" she added. An innocent inquiry for a boring ol' couple, maybe, but he wasn't sure exactly what to call the two of them.
"Sucked," he curtly answered, before asking a little more deliberately, "What are you doing?"
She lowered the magazine away from her face and turned her head toward him, studying his dubious features for a moment.
"Something wrong, Reno?"
He had a few questions, like, 'How the hell did you get my address?' 'Where have you been?' and 'How long are you staying?' but he brushed those inquiries aside when another idea took precedence.
"…Is that my shirt?" He knew it was, but he couldn't vault over the fact that she… put it on.
"…Is this an interrogation?"
He took a long drag of his cigarette and shook his head, more so to himself than to her, and hopelessly let his eyes travel the length of her legs again. Damn right, it was an interrogation. She had no reason to be there.
Then he got to the point, or at least… closer to the point. "Well… 'Leney… I guess I'm a bit surprised to see you here... It's been… how long? Months, I think." More like a year…
"Do you want me to go?"
"I didn't say that…"
"Then… what's the problem?" No challenging tone, just pure curiosity.
"There isn't a problem. I'm just… surprised… as I said."
"Okay." She went back to her magazine, as if he never even entered the apartment. Blinking at her noncommittal response, and still amazed that she hadn't engaged in that enjoyable banter with him, he impatiently put out his cigarette and meandered down the hall to his room.
Halfway to the bedroom, he froze.
There was a smell in here. Something… different…
"Oh, Jesus," he breathed. "Don't tell me…"
He continued on his path, only to pause in the doorway, where he noted that she'd taken it upon herself to clean the bedroom, and everything in it. The sheets were clean, new, and the bed was made, with the blankets neatly folded over away from the rounded pillows. What the hell? He had a carpet? He never really noticed until now; it was usually covered with his clothes. And now he couldn't tell which were clean or dirty... because she must have thrown all of it into the laundry…
He didn't even want to see how she organized his closet.
"Fuckin' hell…"
Mindlessly, he turned around and peered into the bathroom. Everything looked clean and polished… and… and… there was a box of some… dry, leafy looking things in a smooth little ceramic bowl…
Crinkling his forehead, he leaned over and reached out to poke one, startled by the flowery smell.
When he straightened out, he looked into the mirror and shook his head at the incredulous red-head looking back at him, his jaw twitching tensely.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. Then he turned toward the door, his forehead deeply creased down the middle.
"Elena!" he shouted, his voice more strident from the little bathroom's echo.
"What?" she called back irritably.
"Did you clean?" he asked, his tone accusing. Of course she cleaned...
"Just a little bit of straightening up… Why?"
"Right… more like… complicating everything to shit," he mumbled.
"What was that, Reno?"
"Nothing!" he replied.
He addressed his companion in the mirror once more. "Unbelievable," he said again. He wasn't even gone for an entire day, and yet she managed to screw up everything with neat and feminine sensibilities…
"Elena," he whined, lazily heading back to the living room, "why'd you do that?"
She no longer lay on the couch, but stood by the kitchenette, looking just as bedeviling as before. She put her hands on her hips challengingly and regarded him dourly, her lips firmly pressed together.
"I wanted to make it look nice," she said defensively, "because it smelled really… weird… in here."
Ah, so Elena was in there somewhere—all he had to do to draw her out was to piss her off, which was his forte. If he could keep her in that unpleasant mood, he wouldn't have to worry about anymore passive, mystery clone Elenas. Shouldn't be too much of a problem at the rate he was already going…
He lifted an eyebrow at that as he put out his cigarette. "Weird? Like how?"
"Like… nasty. And unclean. And I thought I smelled leftover takeout or something… You had something growing on your food in the fridge… so I threw that out… I went shopping and bought some things."
"Bought some things," he repeated flatly. "You bought me flowery shit. Blue, flower print bed sheets. Matching flowery pillow cases. Dead, smelly flowers in a bowl…" He shook his head at the painful imagery. "Looks more like redecorating than just a person buying a few things," he assessed.
And… speaking of girly flora… Elena smelled like wildflowers herself.
"I'm sorry you don't like it, Reno. I'll change it right back and throw all those things—"
"What?" he murmured, somewhat flustered. "Nah, don't do that…" He took several deliberate steps forward, causing her to return to the couch. Was she afraid of him? That possibility made him stop, and he shifted his weight to one leg in an attempt to look relaxed.
She shook her head, frowning at him in confusion while she twisted her hands in the shirt she'd stolen. "But… I thought you said—"
"Well, now that it's there… don't bother," he interrupted, "but… was it necessary, 'Lena?"
She sighed and restlessly put her hands on her hips with a little shrug. "Is it such a big deal?"
"It depends… Elena," he answered softly, his voice a tad calmer this time, as his thoughts traveled somewhere else.
"On… what?" She lifted one thin eyebrow in question
"On… how long you plan to stay… here… I guess…"
"…Do you want me to stay here, Reno?"
"If you want…" You'd better stay here, 'Leney…or I'll tell Tseng…
He considered her curves for a bit and reexamined his inward threat.
On second thought, scratch that last. Mr. Prissy will never know about this.
"But… would I bother you… if… I did?"
"…Are you going to put more flowery paraphernalia in my apartment?"
"If your apartment starts to smell again… then yes."
"In that case… sure… Stay awhile."
Her eyebrows rose in shock. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Shit… I need… I need a drink." He whirled around and started toward the kitchen, his fingers curling in his messy hair.
"I bought you some beer… I noticed you were out."
"How kind of you, Elena. I must have done something really nice to deserve that." He paused in front of the fridge to glance over at her. To his surprise, she'd taken up her position on the couch again, and she didn't respond to his comment in any fashion. Back to mystery clone Elena.
He spoke, though he couldn't imagine the source of his ability to form coherent words at this point… which made him wonder: Elena had yet to comment about his wandering eyes. She had no right to anyway; as far as he was concerned, she'd invited him to look.
"You want one?" he asked. Maybe this mystery clone Elena might want him after a drink or two, unlike the other Elena. But he wasn't going to bet on it.
"No thanks… I hate the taste of that crap." That tone… Yes, that was the annoyed blonde he knew best.
He stared not so furtively at her while she perused a few pages, and actually started toward her, but thought better of it. He sent his attention to the softly humming fridge while pretending that the contents within were fascinating before he pulled open the door.
He straightened with a bottle of cold beer in hand, and lightly kicked the door closed with one foot as he skillfully twisted off the cap.
After this, his attention revisited the blonde on his couch… The woman hardly dressed for any occasion other than the obvious…
"Elena…" He spoke her name without thinking, and hoped that she didn't plan to wear that outfit for the remainder of her stay. On the other hand, if he got lucky—but nah… he wouldn't count on it…
"What is it this time?" she asked in exasperation. "Are you pissed at the way I organized the kitchen too?"
"…No…"
She met his eyes above the magazine pages. "Then what is it?" she asked indignantly.
He willed his eyes to remain in safe territory, even though he decided that looking at any part of Elena would give him ideas, especially when he found her dressed like that.
"…Aren't you cold?"
"No," she answered shortly. "I'm a little hot, actually."
"Only a little?" he asked suggestively, green eyes twinkling at her as he brought the bottle to his lips.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she hid her face behind her magazine. He crossed the kitchen floor to reach the living room to get a better perspective of his challenger. Once his feet encountered the carpet, he slowed his steps to give his eyes more time to drink in the view.
"'Lena."
"…Yeah?"
"Are you blushing?"
She sighed heavily. "No, Reno. I'm not blushing," she replied emphatically.
"But you were thinkin' about it for awhile," he said smugly, and took another drink.
"Thinking about what?"
"You know what," he returned promptly, pointing the bottle toward her.
"…I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied imperiously.
"No?" He set down the bottle on the coffee table and boldly sat down on the couch next to her. At that point, his hand started heading for her soft hair, but at the last minute he stopped himself and brought it to rest at his leg.
"I think you do," he insisted, his eyes once again continuing their roaming. This time, he found the tantalizing view of cleavage down her shirt from the button or two left undone. My shirt, he reminded himself, once more astonished at his ability to think clearly.
She shook her head in denial and turned another page. He tore his eyes from her chest to regard the colorful page impassively.
Something about skin care tips and how to look young. The usual. The model on the page was smiling as she rubbed an ointment onto her pale cheek. Ridiculous.
"Elena… you don't need to read that," he chided her, changing the subject.
"Why the hell not?" she commanded sharply, tilting her head back to petulantly glare up at his smirking face.
He leaned over, lowering his head enough so that his long bangs tickled her nose, causing her to jerk her head to a side to remove the itch.
"Because your face is beautiful enough not to require the crap in there," he explained. He jabbed a careless finger to the page to illustrate his point.
"See that girl? She's airbrushed. But you're real, 'Leney… and you don't need any shit like that. You don't even need make-up," he went on, his eyes on the page. "They could just paste your face right on there… not that I want you doing that sort of thing."
"Oh really? Why not?"
His gaze slid over to her deliberately. "Because guys would buy it and try to contact you, and then I'd have to kill them."
"I can take care of myself."
"Sure you could, but a mob of guys might come after ya. Then what?"
"I have a gun," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll shoot them if I have to." That said, she returned to her magazine and turned the page pointedly, taking interest in the horoscopes section.
"And what about the other stuff I said?" he asked after a moment, ignoring her answer.
"What other stuff, Reno?" she asked innocently.
He narrowed his eyes at her balefully, but his lips curved up into a chilly, knowing smile. "You know damn well what."
"Fine. I think you're full of shit, Reno. Happy?"
"Hmm… One of these days you'll have to trust me, Elena…"
"Not on your life."
"You used to."
"Used to what?"
He glared harder at her blonde head. He was tired of her playing dumb. "Trust me," he clarified.
After a long silence, he shook his head in withdrawal of the topic and negotiated, "We can talk about this at a later date, 'Leney. I've got another thing to address first."
"Which is?"
He lifted his eyebrows, pleased that she accepted his changing of the subject.
"Why did you put on my shirt?"
"I spilled something on mine."
"Been drinking much?"
"No," she said impetuously, "I was eating lunch."
"And… do you plan on giving my shirt back?"
"Do you need it now?"
"No," he answered, too quickly.
"Then… you'll have it back later."
"…Okay."
After that, they both were silent for a time. He got comfortable—in a sense—sitting there. He'd occasionally lean forward to take another sip of beer, eventually draining the bottle before setting it back down on the table. Then he'd let himself fall back against the cushioned seat and appreciate the silence with the beautiful woman next to him. It might have been prickly silence, but he would take what he could get.
In his restlessness, he thought to turn on the tube, to maybe watch the scheduled programming for the hour, but the remote was way over there on top of the TV, and he really didn't want to move at that point. Maybe it was laziness too, but mostly he stayed because it was warm there, next to her, and she smelled so good. Without a doubt, he could get used to that… flowery business… after awhile.
Some amount of time later, he mindlessly slipped a hand through her hair. Her eyelashes fluttered down and she flinched; his fingers stilled between the silken strands for a moment, and he slowly looked toward her pretty face to gauge her reaction when he moved his hand again. She tilted her head back to glare at him, as he'd predicted.
"Stop that," she said tightly.
"I wouldn't hurt you, 'Leney," he thought to tell her, recalling her withdrawal to the couch a few minutes prior.
"I know… Reno…"
"Then why are you afraid of me?" he returned.
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are," he said calculatingly.
"I'm not," she stubbornly protested, and added with uncertainty, "I just don't know if I like the idea of… you… touching me…"
Withdrawing his hand from her hair, he sniffed under his arm. "Do I smell bad? Just bathed this morning—"
"No… Reno… it's not that."
"Then… what the hell is it?" he demanded, green eyes targeting hers again.
Couldn't she just get to the point instead of torturing him with the wait? And did she want him as much as he wanted her? He could handle whatever she had coming, he was sure. If yes, then he'd kiss her until she was dizzy with want. If not, he'd head to the bar and drown his sorrows in as many bottles of beer he could afford until he could forget… but he wouldn't… forget…
She sighed a little and sat up so she could toss the magazine on the coffee table, beside his empty bottle. "You've been with other girls, Reno…"
"…Have I?"
She met his steady eyes with a vicious glare. "Don't play with me, Reno. I know you've had your share of one-night stands."
If she thought he had multiple romantic rendezvous with a certain blonde in his dreams, then maybe she'd be right, but alas…
"…That's what you think of me, huh?"
"I don't have to guess. I just know."
"You're wrong, 'Lena… It's not like that at all… In fact," he added, "I think I'd better clear things up for you, before you get more of those… strange notions in your head."
She parted her lips to speak, but the look he gave her made her stop.
"There's no one else and there never was," he informed her. "I flirt, and I play. I've kissed a few ladies too, but it never goes beyond that…" He waited for her to deny him, ready to challenge her back, but she'd fallen silent.
"Do you know why?" he added softly. "Because none of them can satisfy me."
"What the hell do you mean, Reno?" She got up suddenly and walked away. Immediately, he rose to his feet and followed her as she went down the hall toward the bedroom, his eyes staring helplessly at her swaying hips as she moved.
"I don't want any of those girls, Elena," he answered after a time, wondering at her choice of direction which could mean something advantageous or unpleasant for him. "And I think you know exactly why."
"Well, I don't want to be one of those girls," she muttered, unfortunately missing the point, and turned toward the closet to pull out her pants. Slipping off her slippers, she tugged on her pants to cruelly hide her perfect legs from his view, and paused, her eyes on something hidden in the depths of the closet.
He parted his lips to ask her what she saw, but before he could speak, she bent down and pulled out a sweater from the depths of the closet and straightened to present it to him.
"Is this my shirt?"
With a subtle floral pattern on it? Couldn't be.
"Er… Is it?" He'd forgotten about that.
She shook it in his face. "Were you planning on giving it back?"
"It's only a shirt, 'Leney."
"But… you can't fit in it anyway."
"Are you trying to tell me something about my weight, Elena?" he asked with pouty lips and sad puppy dog eyes, dramatically resting a hand on his flat abdomen.
"No, Reno… I'm merely curious as to why you're upset about me wearing your shirt when you think it's no big deal to have mine… for all this time…"
"Well… You look a lot better in my shirt than I would look in yours."
She impatiently folded up the sweater and draped it over one arm, glaring up at him. "What the hell do you want from me?"
He stepped forward, determined to come out on top in this little squabble. "Who said I wanted anything? I'd ask the same of a chick wearing little more than a man's shirt—in his apartment."
She was quiet for a time, her eyes eventually falling away from his to land on her fuzzy slippers. She moved one slim foot timidly across the top of one slipper in her sudden shyness.
"I didn't think you'd mind," she answered finally.
He silently stared at her downcast features, even prettier now that she wasn't shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He must have watched her for a long time, because she eventually tilted her head back to bring her expectant dark eyes to his.
"Will you forget about him, 'Leney?"
"Him?"
"You know very well who I mean.."
"I think you might be a little obsessed… Could it be because he's everything you're not?"
Ouch.
"Possibly. But babe… You could have something right in front of your eyes. Someone who gives a damn about you."
"Maybe I don't want him."
"Why not?"
"Maybe because I know he's had his share of one-night stands."
"This route again, 'Lena? And where was I when all these one-night stands were happening?"
She groaned in frustration and pivoted to head out of his bedroom, holding her sweater to her chest. "Don't play games with me, Reno…"
"I told you, I'm not playing games," he growled, bending to pick up her slippers before sauntering after her.
Two can play at the Revisiting Game.
"Why did you come here, 'Lena?"
She sighed heavily and turned to face him—he wasn't too far behind.
"I thought it was the one place I could go without having to worry about…"
"About... what…?"
"Well… anything, really… Around you, I guess I feel… mostly comfortable… or—"
"Only mostly?" he asked with a creeping smile.
"…I'm gonna go."
"Fine… but…" He lifted his hand, holding up her slippers in two hooked fingers. "…Don't forget these…"
She snatched them out of his hand and headed over to the door to slip on her shoes.
"And my shirt, Elena?" he asked as he watched her straighten the cuff of one pant leg over a shining black boot.
"What about it, Reno?"
"Maybe I don't want it," he answered.
She lifted her eyes to his then, copper brown ones dark with amusement as a smirk pulled her lips upward.
"Maybe I want to take it back," he amended, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.
"Not on your life."
She'll never trust me… and she'll never let me take my shirt back… and she'll never let me see her in my shirt again… Just great… The damn… tease…
He seized the sweater from her loosened grasp and held it high above his head so she couldn't reach.
"Reno!" she hissed, treading on his boots as she attempted to take it back.
"Then I'll just keep this a little longer, Elena," he replied, taking in the view as she brought her face closer to his. She took a fistful of his shirt while she reached up with one manicured hand, tugging on his sleeve.
"Fine… Then maybe I don't want it," she muttered spitefully, glaring up into his eyes.
His eyes darkened and his cool smile returned. "You could always take it back, 'Leney," he suggested, his gaze shifting down to her lips. "But if you don't want to…"
She cursed in a very un-mysterious-clone-Elena-esque fashion and crushed her lips to his in the most merciless of kisses. He heard the blood pumping in his ears when he felt the brush of her tongue against his, and easily got used to their mingled scent of wildflowers and cigarettes and beer, deepening the kiss without a second thought.
They each dropped the stolen items in their abandonment—one ridiculously fuzzy pair of slippers and a soft, cottony sweater—and Reno decided that he could learn a lot more from Elena when he stole her clothes.