Encounters

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at an AerisxReno 'fic; this whole fanfiction is going to be comprised of a collection of encounters between the two characters, both canon and non-canon, in no particular chronological order. The stories will also vary from long to extremely short. Aeris is going to be much darker and more realistic than portrayed in the game, as I believe she would be if we got to really delve into her thoughts; and Reno is a combination of the original game and Advent Children in his attitude, because I liked both and couldn't decide on how to portray him consistently throughout the 'fic… SO.

Plleaseeee enjoy, and leave lots of feedback! I'll admit, I never finished the game entirely, but I like writing about the characters. So…constructive criticism is valued and preferred over flames.


One

She didn't know what led her to the bar on that day, or why she would remember that day for the remainder of her life. There was nothing particularly special about it-after all, a bar's main purpose was to sell its liquor and offer refuge to sullen spirits united in their hangovers. Aerith was never a girl that admired such places; on the contrary, the very thought of them was a trigger to memories of scolding Zack when she would catch him, pale and bleary-eyed, scooping her up in another one of his drunken stupors. It had always been a repulsive habit of his-

But maybe that was the reason why she found herself coming to the bar in the first place.

It reminded her of him.

Zack's memory had been blooming into her mind like a weed, choking away the purposely pure seeds sewn within to take place of the hole in her spirit; the false piety and saccharine cheerfulness wilting away effortlessly at the cusp of every nightfall. Night would come like a reopened wound for Aerith; her garden of false charades, closing their frail buds to leave nothing but the soil of her soul; cold, unexposed, vulnerable. The emerald-eyed girl ached for something to fill that hole, something real and rebellious, if not temporary.

Even a flower girl had her ugly weeds amongst the pretty blooms.

Even she needed to forget; to forget Zack, to forget the recent events that stung tightly at her heart and roused her disjointed emotions; her abduction, her rescue, what would come in the future…

Aeris knew she wouldn't live much longer.

Instinct was a bitch.

And so she was here, a bar at the edge of Midgar, exact location unknown, uncared for. It had stricken her as a place her friends and acquaintances would not catch her-it lay dormant like an old cripple against the thriving city, its gray skin in wooden shambles, the yawning windows webbed with age, its orifice a wrinkled door that groaned in neglected agony at her touch. The insides were just as neglected; the peeling walls the shade of time-worn stone, victimized tables with thin broken legs and tops bandaged together with lazy gauze, the ceiling a slanted lid upon the room, as awkwardly huge and misplaced as an afterthought.

Aerith studied the throngs of eccentric customers littering the dark area; people with menacing stares and narrowed eyes, people in stuttering, drunken stupors, people as gray and intimidating and lost as their surroundings.

She wondered if she was as lost as them-if beneath the bright clothing, the wide, luminescent eyes, was nothing but a frightened child, wrapped securely in her flesh, simply waiting to die. Waiting to mean something beyond a basket of flowers and a grinning face-something more than a Cetra, a remaining echo of a forever lost family. In that way, Aeris was lost in the worst sense; lost inside of herself, lost inside of the world, lost within Time. Lost and waiting to find a reason to mean something, to sacrifice for something real and complete. She didn't give a damn about her personal worth-

And that was why she longed to get drunk to the point of hurting herself.

Struggling to gather her composure, the flower girl made her way throughout the sloppily clustered tables, the sickeningly warm bodies of drunkards surrounding her, carrying a smell-a stench that wafted through the cramped room, something so noxious she could not strain her mind to identify it, simply because she was struggling to wrinkle her nose at the same time.

As a shaggy-haired, dirty man eyed her with hunger, Aeris wondered for the infinite time if she was simply being suicidal-

Then, as her desperate green eyes scanned the dim room for a seat far away from the leering occupants, she received her answer.

It came in a loud, high whistle; a shock of bright red hair, mocking emerald eyes, and a Cheshire smirk.

"Well, if it isn't Aeris the flower girl!"

Her mind reeled before freezing completely. Aerith could only stare blankly at the man waving animatedly over to her, his slouching frame oozing nothing but cockiness, the purring arrogance of a spoiled cat. The girl's insides screamed to do nothing but turn on her heel and run out of the bar, yet her feet stuck stubbornly as if they had grown within the crevices of the floorboard.

Aerith Gainsborough had never been afraid of Reno-she knew he would capture her personally someday. He was a Turk, after all, and amazingly skilled in his job; memories of his last successful abduction of her floated too close to the surface-her unbridled fear at his triumphant, leering features, the hours spent in suspended tears within the cold confinement of her laboratory cell, waiting to be tampered with, to be violated and crossbred with Red XIII. It had been too recent, too traumatic to be simply dropped and forgotten-

But the Cetra was too exhausted to care. Perhaps today, she would offer the grinning Turk his obvious pleasure.

At her prolonged hesitation, the amused redhead brought his free hand up-the other wrapped securely about a slender bottle of…something, to beckon her over. She clenched her fists, considering; she was foolishly unarmed, more from recklessness than silly mistake, he was physically stronger; she had healing materia, he had his electric rod and, perhaps, a gun hiding beneath his suit. Resignedly, the girl stepped towards him and sat across his still-smirking face, and upon doing so caught a whiff of his breath.

The Turk was evidently very drunk. His cheeks were slightly flushed, accentuating the tattooed scars just below his gleaming eyes; his free hand suddenly clinging to the ebony rod at his side, he shook his bottle of alcohol amiably towards her, simultaneously swinging the electro-rod back and forth. Aeris winced, watching the direction of the rod anxiously as he swung it around his thin frame; and so did other nearby customers surrounding him as electric sparks flew through the air. Realizing he would not stop his swinging until she responded to what she took as an offer for a drink, she immediately shook her head, and just as immediately, the drunken Turk frowned and-to the relieved sighs of those around him-dropped his rod.

"Relax, babe! It's not poisoned or anything. I was just being a humble male host to my pretty little guest!"

With a wink and a chuckle at Aerith's uncomfortable expression, Reno leaned against his creaking seat, tipping the bottle down towards his opened mouth; the clear liquid slopped obediently down his awaiting orifice, and she realized this was clearly not the first time he had gotten so…

"Wasted," Her host suddenly chirped from his seat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and setting his bottle firmly upon the trembling table, "The entire day has been wasted in here, with all of these fucking failures at life, and I love it. And to think I was just aching to be in the company of an attractive member of the opposite sex…well, I guess I'm pretty damn lucky tonight, hmm?"

Reno watched her with his foggy countenance, and winked at Aeris again, his sly expression causing her face to grow hot. Yet she was not convinced. Green eyes clashed with his own; she grit her teeth, her voice coming out in a slightly braver hiss than she truly felt,

"Is this some kind of trap-out to kidnap me again? Tell me, where are the rest of you hiding?"

At first, Reno blinked, appearing puzzled. Almost as quickly, he let out a cool chuckle,

"I'm off duty for now, Aeris. I don't want to kidnap you-it isn't something I would do in my spare time, you know; unless you go for that type of thing…anyways, don't flatter yourself, otherwise!"

As if to accentuate his point, the red-haired Turk shook his bottle wildly, sprays of clear liquor falling in droplets across the girl's stunned face. She wiped the liquid away with caution, yet continued to stare, unnerved and curious, at the inanely drunken man before her. How alcohol and off-time had contributed to changing the suit-clad assassin from slick and serious to easygoing and amiable, she could not fathom. He was still the murderer of hundreds with the dropping of Midgar's plate, a ruthless kidnapper and criminal. Yet Reno was as she had remembered physically; resplendent in his crisp dark suit, the dress shirt slightly wrinkled and loose against his strong, lean torso, exotic scarlet hair framing his unpredictable features perfectly; the bangs that fell from the interruption of metallic goggles, shock of ruby confined to an almost feminine ponytail. Even the way he slouched, so secure and cocky and infuriatingly domineering against his low chair, seemed strangely attractive. She could see why a woman would want to sleep with him. It was different than Zack or Cloud; different than any man she had ever observed, ever been with. It was a difference she was afraid she found almost…

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

Aerith bit her lip and swore beneath her breath.

Reno had been watching her all throughout her careful analysis, cocking a scarlet brow and chuckling to himself.

"Stockholm Syndrome," The Cetra repeated, her voice quivering slightly, "That's not what I'd call it, Reno. It's more like a desire."

At this, Reno's jade eyes widened considerably in sudden surprise, "Oh?"

Aerith nodded; then, with a curt sense of satisfaction, found her irrational behavior getting the best of her,

"It's a desire to get the fuck out of your pathetic face, you murderer."

Even then, shock gripped her; evident in the way she gasped as the words left her lips, the way her fingers rose to cover the sharp insults from her soft, pink mouth. Aerith had never sworn before, not even in the most intense anger, the most offensive situation. And yet here she was, her inert state of frustration rising in unexpected fervor. Reno's mouth hung opened, exaggerated in his bewilderment, in the sudden onslaught of hostility from the fragile girl before him.

A period of tense silence passed between them, thick as cement, until the Turk's stagnant features broke quite suddenly into a clangor of hysterical laughter. It was Aerith's turn to stare blankly at the howling redhead, as he banged his clenched fist against the tabletop, green eyes slanted, laugh lines possessing the once stern quality of his face. People turned to stare in alarm at the loud convulsions-and Aerith wondered if she was dreaming.

But then he grew quiet, docile, and merely watched her, his fingers stroking the bottle at his side with a sense of deep interest.

"I've never heard your angry side, Aeris. I must have done something awful to make you hate me."

His expression was so inquisitive, so raw and confused and sickeningly innocent of misdeeds, the girl desired to throw herself from her seat and slap him across the face. Her fingers trembled in her lap; she held them as tightly as she could, the knuckles growing deathly pale, her eyes shutting forcefully to forget his friendly face. The rage crept within her spine like a venomous spider; it had bitten her over the years, the wound growing deep and deadly until she wished to be destroyed by it; by anything other than the inevitable, anything other than the future. Aerith no longer wanted to be a victim; she no longer wanted to continue on the path she knew was her Fate, the path of an early death, the path of an all-consuming suffering.

She would die for this world-yet part of her did not want to. The mortal side, the horribly human side, the sinful and noxious portion of her spirit that crawled within her aching to die. It was aching to die away to the pure Cetra exterior, the smiling, happy, unblemished outside; and yet her sins were all-consuming, and she preferred them.

And here was a man who embraced it; here was a man with both strength and weakness balanced favorably before her-a man who could be both violent and unerring, wicked and flirtatious. And she hated it. She hated hating it, she hated envying him, envying all who did not need to sacrifice, who did not thirst to save humanity, who did not have to die for it.

"It isn't you,"

She finally murmured, her closed eyes downcast, her body seething. Then, a cool hand upon her shoulder; distraction. She could sense the flaw in the fingertips, could sense the years of hard murder and coercion and sinfulness. She could feel the sensuousness of his grip, could imagine the way he seduced his women, the way he indulged within the things she could have never even spoken of-the liquor upon the table, the gambling with life itself, the cocky seduction of another innocent girl.

Aeris did not bother to budge his hand. Instead, it gave her a sense of solace-a sense of balance.

She opened her eyes and stared into his. His expression was unreadable, yet his brows were furrowed as he smoothly inquired,

"Why did you come here?"

He knew, then. He knew this was not an area she would ever in her right mind go to, if she were in her right state of mind. He saw the way she entered the bar with such hesitation, a pink bloom of brilliance marring the chaotic gray of normal low-living. He saw her, beneath the layers of carefully constructed conformity to her race, the human caught desperately within her divine noose.

"To forget,"

Aerith's voice choked on the words; Reno's hand slipped from her shoulder for an instant, but she clung stubbornly to his wrist, savored the strange feeling of understanding.

She had seen it in his green eyes, eyes mirroring her own with haunting perfection.

Confinement.

"You killed all those people," Her voice was a whisper, strong and sudden and menacing and beseeching, "You killed them all and you didn't regret it! How could you do that, and have the nerve to come here and drink to it all…"

"It's my duty, Aeris."

For the second time that day, the Cetra came to a shuddering stop. Reno was calm as he said it, as his fingertips tracing the outline of her shoulder against her jacket-a shadow over his eyes, almost sober in his speech, almost sympathetic, "Things have to be done, and I have no other choice. People die everyday…and in the end, I do my duty, and I come here, and who do you really think is the better off between them and me?"

The girl did not have to answer. It came in the sudden depth behind his eyes-an ocean she had only witnessed frozen over, now thawed by booze and the remnants of what could only have been tears.

"I really don't want to kidnap you right now. I don't want to revert to what I am supposed to be, to what my duty as a Turk makes me. What I want to do is relax and withdraw and be a murderer some other time. I want to forget what everyone perceives me as and take what's in front of me. Don't you, Aeris? Isn't that why you're really here?"

Reno's drink lay dormant on his side-he sat directly before her, no obstructions but her own seething prejudgments, her own fear and frailty. The brown-haired girl did not answer; and, in response, the Turk only sighed to himself and reached within his pocket. Puzzled, she watched his lithe movements with wariness, until Reno held the remnants of a wilted flower in his cupped palm, one which she realized had come straight from her own garden.

"Your flowers had to die. Deep down they're nothing but hideous little seeds, but who gives a care to really think of what lies beneath them? But in the end they still did their duty…didn't they?"

As Aerith stared at the bloody, crumpled petals staining her fingertips, she did not have to ask Reno what that duty was. As he pulled himself to his feet, dusted off his coat, took another sip of his bottle before leaving it upon the tabletop, she understood. She saw the struggle in its bent tips, its beautifully tattered demeanor, a footprint still embedded within its scarlet body.

"I'll have to kidnap you again some other time. My apologies. But come back when you want to forget, flower girl...I'll be around."

As he left her with a smirk, her eyes strayed back to the flower that had died beneath his feet.

Its duty had been to live.