Title: Let it Snow
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Reno, Rude
Note: Written for LJ's adventchallenge Winter Round 2011
Summery: It's snowing in Midgar and Reno & Rude are still on duty.
DISCLAIMER: Neither the characters nor the song that inspired this fic belong to me. All things FFVII belong to Square Enix. Let it Snow is property of the estate of Dean Martin,
"Wow, yo."
Rude didn't bother looking up from the newspaper spread across his knees. He already knew who the speaker in the doorway was, and he knew what had astonished them. It was kind of hard to miss.
"Man, it just doesn't stop. I mean seriously, it's been at it all day and we're the only fucks dumb enough to still be here."
"It is a blizzard, Reno, and we're the TURKS."
"Yeah. Exactly. We're TURKS not mailmen, yo. We never made any damn promises about fighting through blizzards."
When he didn't get a response from his partner, Reno wandered across the Department's break room and towards the massive plate glass windows. True the view was stained nicotine yellow from generations of chain smoking TURKs that no amount of elbow grease and expensive cleaning products could remove, but it was still a pretty sight. Snow had been building up steadily all day, the white stuff falling faster than the rising heat of the reactors and lower plates could possibly melt it, leaving the upper plate a treacherously slippery but beautiful. By night Rude was willing to bet that it would be more beautiful still.
"Better not be here overnight, yo. My back has arguments with that fucking sofa in my sleep." Reno grouched, earning an amused snort from his partner. "What?"
"You just use me as a pillow anyway."
"Burden of being so damned cuddly, big guy." Reno smirked, digging around inside his jacket for the means to add another layer of nicotine to the glass. Rude watched him impassively from behind his shades, and thought that the faintly yellow hue was probably the only reason why his partner hadn't dissolved into a shock of red hair and black suit and eyes so blue they could burn as cold as the cherry of his cigarette being lit. "You know, I never saw snow till I moved to the upper plate." Smoke drifted up with the words, like warmth breath on a cold day. Rude followed it with his eyes. "What about you?"
"Don't get much snow on the Costa."
"Nah, I suppose not. But you saw it another time yeah? B.S?"
"Bull shit?"
"Before Suit, yo."
His newspaper was a lost cause if Reno was asking questions. He folded it methodicly, carefully, into its original creases and felt Reno's stare burning into the top of his head. "Yes."
"When?"
"When I was younger."
"Yeah, but there had to be something you remember about the first time you saw the stuff, buddy."
This is not a conversation he wants to let happen right now. How does he explain that he was far too distracted with losing his virginity to learn to ski with the rest of his family? More importantly, how could he ever say such a thing without Reno latching onto it like a baby with a milk bottle?
"Nothing you're going to hear about."
"Oh really?"
Rude just nodded his head and pretended not to see the challenge in the red head's eyes. Pretended not to notice when Reno got up to slink over to the pitiful excuse for a bar they kept on an old committee table that hadn't been moved in 30 years. A squat fridge kept the beer cool, and the vodka lukewarm. His partner brought both back over to him, and pushed an already open can into his hand. It was doctored of course, but he was surprised to find it was only with vodka when he took a swig.
"Planning on getting me drunk, Reno?"
Reno's grin is as reassuring as a dentist telling you to trust him, "Would I do that to ya, pardner?"
Rude doesn't bother to point out that, yes, he would and had done so many times. Reno would just shrug and ask if he were going to drink his beer, so he skipped the middle man and knocked back a heady mouthful.