Sol's Notes: This was inspired by and is written for Sabe, whose story of bed sheet costumes got me thinking.
.X.
Yuffie wasn't exactly sure how it had happened, this strange and unforeseen attraction she felt for a particular redhead of the notorious variety. It wasn't really something she wanted—her life was crazy enough, bizarre enough, without adding this little yearning for a Turk into the mix. But avoiding him wasn't an option; in the aftermath of the Meteor Incident. ShinRa had grown a collective conscience and was doing its best to set right all the grievous wrongs it had helped commit, and Yuffie along with the rest of her companions had decided to take part in that effort as well. And somewhere between taking a swing at Reno because he'd had the gall to nickname her "Short Stuff" and threatening to poison him if he touched her materia One More Time, she'd managed to somehow fall for him.
They'd been paired together as a reclamation team several times, sent to deal with reluctant companies and industries that refused to take part in ShinRa's ambitious world rejuvenation project because they both of them had their own belligerent personalities that worked well in those kinds of situations. Some would call it bullying—Rufus ShinRa called it persuading, and for once everyone was in agreement that "persuasion" was exactly what was needed. Initially this pairing didn't sit well with either Reno or Yuffie; she was unwilling to see past his being a Turk and he refused to look at her as anything other than a diminutively sized, spoiled Wutain girl with a penchant for "acquiring" vast amounts of materia from numerous and questionable sources. They clashed many times and often for no real reasons—she'd chop off chunks of his hair with her shuriken without his notice, he'd tie knots in her bootlaces when she was otherwise distracted. In time their mutual avarice became a sort of reluctant camaraderie, and one day Yuffie realized that she no longer dreaded having to be paired with Reno of the Turks—rather, she looked forward to it.
Despite his persona—completely carefree and quarrelsome to the extreme with a healthy dose of arrogance mixed in—Reno was a man who did the right things for the (sometimes) right reasons, even if at times his purpose seemed misguided. But he was incredibly hard to read; being a Turk meant, among other things, always being straight-faced and unreadable. How Reno felt about her was a complete mystery, even though every time they were sent out together he greeted her with, "Yo, Short Stuff," and a grin that exuded trouble in the purest form. He'd taken to ruffling her hair on every occasion he could, mussing it so bad in the span of several seconds that it often took her long minutes to tame it down again. Was this flirting, or was it merely Reno being Reno and doing his best to aggravate, irritate, and annoy? Yuffie had no way of knowing; she could take a chance, she knew, and lay it all on the line but in doing so risk abject humiliation. She decided instead to put her unwelcome feelings in a chokehold and continue living as she had.
This plan, while having its obvious faults, worked well for a while. It was hard to ignore the way her heart fluttered when he would draw near and the way she caught her breath when he touched her. Harder still it was to pretend that the intrinsic brightness of his very blue eyes didn't both excite and confuse her when they were fixed in her direction. But she persevered, if you can call it that, deluding herself into thinking that this little infatuation would pass with time. It didn't; and as every day passed what she felt only grew in intensity until she felt she would either explode from the effort of containing and denying this affliction or deflate from the self-induced denial. Something had to give, she knew, but exactly what would give was the issue she worried about.
The inevitable happened some four years after the Meteor Incident, and three years since the Turk and the Wutain had started working together. After a particularly difficult series of negotiations with the shareholders of the Gold Saucer (during which Reno saw fit to extinguish his cigarette on the lapels of an aggressively recalcitrant shareholder after a heated verbal disagreement between them both), it was decided an impromptu celebration should be held. It was Reno's idea to go out for drinks, and it was an idea Yuffie greeted with enthusiasm. And so late evening found them both within one of the Saucer's many pubs, perched on barstools situated at the far end of the long bar itself. It wasn't very crowded as it was the beginning of the work week; aside from the two of them there were only five others within, scattered randomly throughout the darkened room. The atmosphere was almost subdued and it was strangely quiet for a pub; sitting side by side Reno and Yuffie conversed in quiet voices about subjects both serious and not.
After several rounds of a particularly potent variety of whiskey—Nibelheim Rivengut—Reno started to become even more obnoxious than he normally was. Rather than being irritated, Yuffie, who had chosen a colorful cocktail as her own poison, was wildly entertained in her own increasingly inebriated state.
"We make a good team," The Turk remarked abruptly after having relayed to her every dirty joke in his considerable repertoire.
Yuffie, still beset by giggles from his last joke, merely nodded her head and rubbed at her watering eyes. Reno watched her, smiling. "I'm serious."
"We do," she agreed, feeling far too lightheaded than was wise and not really caring. "Even though we hated each other at the beginning."
"I didn't hate you," he said, and when she made a rude noise he amended, "Well, I didn't really like you."
"It was mutual."
"For someone so short," he said, lifting his glass and swirling it so that the ice inside clinked together, "you've got a real attitude."
His teasing grin was the only thing that saved him from wearing what was left of her cocktail. Instead she lifted the glass and drank it like you weren't supposed to drink it—all in one fell shot. Refusing to grimace at the burning sensation that then crawled down her throat and into her gut, she gave the Turk her own grin. "You're one to talk, Red. The only reason I didn't kick your ass back then—"
"Yesss?" He interrupted, leaning in close with eyebrows inquisitively raised.
"The only reason …" she said again and trailed off, distracted suddenly by his proximity, by the fact that his face was only a scant few inches from her own.
"Cat got your tongue, Short Stuff?"
Yuffie shook her head and immediately regretted the decision as suddenly the world around her began to tilt and spin. "I didn't kick your ass because then they would have stuck me with someone worse. If there is anyone worse," she added in a tone of mock doubt.
"Ouch." Reno hefted his glass and took a long pull, closing his eyes as he swallowed. Opening them again he said, "You wanna know why I didn't kick your ass?"
"Because you couldn't?"
"Because I didn't want to." He corrected, "But if I had …"
Yuffie gave a very unladylike snort. "In your dreams, Red."
He leaned back, almost fell off the stool, righted himself and then regarded her in silence for a moment, finally saying as though having reached ultimate enlightenment, "You're drunk."
"So're you."
"Yeah." He nodded sagely. "That's what happens when I drink this stuff straight."
Yuffie eyed his empty glass, eyed her empty glass, and came to a conclusion. "We need more drinks."
As she lifted her hand to wave the bartender over he caught her wrist. "Nah, let's get outta here." He said, ignoring her glare.
She considered his proposal for a moment before lowering her hand; he didn't let go, however, instead pulling her off the barstool and leading her towards the exit. In her current state, the fact that he was still holding her wrist must mean something, right? "You can let go," she told him, and promptly stumbled.
"You'll hurt yourself." His grip stopped her from falling completely, and when she stood upright again he threw one arm around her shoulders. He said in a sing-song voice, "Somebody can't hold their liquor …"
When she stomped on his foot and he tripped with a strangled yelp, it was her hand on his wrist that kept him from falling. "You were saying?" She asked sweetly.
He glanced at her sidelong, chuckled softly and shook his head. "C'mon, Short Stuff. The night's still young."
"Where're we going?"
"I don't know." He came to a halt; they were now standing within one of the several tube-like tunnels that connected all the different areas of the Saucer together. This late there was very little in the way of pedestrian traffic, and they stood alone in the dim passage. Reno stared off into space for a moment, clearly formulating a plan of some sort; he glanced down at her then and asked, "Where do you wanna go? The arcade?"
She shrugged, and he listed off the other options, "The battle arena? Wonder Square? Chocobo races?" When said nothing, he made an exasperated noise, "You're boring."
"I don't know what I want to do," she told him, leaning back against the tunnel wall as her head began to spin again. "What about you?"
He blinked, stared at her a long moment, and blinked again. And then he smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "I want to do …" he said, stepping closer to her, and she watched with a mind too muddled to realize what exactly was happening. He bent his head so that his mouth was directly beside her ear and finished his sentence, "… this."
This? She meant to ask, but found it hard to speak as suddenly his lips were on hers and showed no signs of leaving. Inebriation made her slow to react; astonishment stopped that reaction. She stood absolutely still as the Turk kissed her and found that she had no thoughts whatsoever—her brain was dead. When he drew back a little so that he could see her face, he asked in annoyance, "Was I really that bad?"
"I—" she whispered, staring at him wide-eyed. There was a flush crawling up her cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol she'd consumed. She tried again "You …"
"Yes. Me." He watched her struggle with words, frowning a little. "Y'know, forget it. I shouldn't have done that."
"No, I—"
"Forget it," he said, waving off whatever it was she had been about to say. "We've both had to much to drink. Not ourselves, y'know?"
Mute with dismay, with exultation, with a myriad of other things she was too confused and intoxicated to understand, she watched as he turned and made his way rather unsteadily down the tunnel. She stared after him and contemplated giving chase. Another part of her also contemplated curling into a little ball on the floor and staying there forever, because she'd just screwed herself out of what was most likely the only chance she'd get at getting what she wanted. She chose to do neither of those things, and long minutes after Reno had left she followed his path. For the duration of their "business" here they'd both rented rooms in the Saucer's haunted mansion themed hotel. She was suddenly very tired and wanted only to sleep; maybe tomorrow, she thought glumly, she'd wake up and find what had just happened was only a dream.
.X.
It took her three attempts to find the hotel; she wandered down four wrong tunnels before it occurred to her to look at the signs above them. Upon reaching her destination she considered asking the desk clerk whether or not Reno had returned and decided against it. He wouldn't want to see her anyways. She walked on wobbly legs up the stairs and tried her key on two doors before she found her own. Once granted entry she walked immediately to the bed, stripped off her clothes and flopped down face first on the mattress, not bothering to turn on the lights. The exhaustion brought on by her drinking slowly crept over her and began to take her mercifully away from the depressing reality she faced when she was jerked upright by an abrupt, loud crashing sound.
Sitting up, she listened closely, blinking bleary eyes and wondering if maybe she'd been dreaming. But it came again, and this time she knew it for what it was—the sound of breakable objects being hurled at a wall. Not just any wall, she realized, but the wall separating her room from Reno's …
After several more crashes she stood and moved to the door. She'd opened it and stepped halfway through before she realized she was clad only in her underwear; stumbling back to the bed she grabbed the topmost sheet, ripped it free and draped it toga-style around herself, tucking in the edge securely in the front. Thus armed, she made her way back to the door. Seconds later, standing in front of Reno's door, she almost turned back around. But she swallowed and with iron resolve lifted her fist to bang on the door. There was no immediate answer, and she had just lifted her fist to knock again when she heard his voice, "Yo?"
Steeling herself, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Reno was standing at the foot of his own bed, holding in his hand a vase supplied by the hotel to presumably add some character to the room. Remnants of others just like it lay in numerous shards on the floor. His blue suit jacket was strewn in a careless heap across the floor; he still wore his white shirt, though it was partially unbuttoned and wrinkled beyond all belief. His eyebrows flicked upwards as he took in Yuffie's appearance but descended almost instantly into a scowl. "What?" He demanded.
"I can't sleep," she said, irritated by his tone, and gestured to the wall bearing marks of his frustration.
"Oh." He looked from the vase in his hand to the shattered pieces on the floor, and it was obvious that the ruckus he'd been causing had only just occurred to him. "Sorry." He offered.
Yuffie closed the door behind her. Reno said nothing. She crossed the room, careful to avoid the broken glass, and walked right up to him, stopping only when she was so close he had to peer down his nose to see her. For a moment they stared at each other; growing uncomfortable in the extended silence he finally snapped, "What do you want?"
There were many ways to answer that question, but she chose the one that would have the most emphasis. She grabbed his shirt collar and jerked while simultaneously rising up on her tip-toes. This kiss was less a pressing of lips than it was a collision, but she was betting he got the point. When she let him go he straightened and rubbed at his mouth. "Ouch …"
"Wimp," she said derisively; he grinned.
"What brought that on?" He asked, tossing the vase onto the bed.
"I'm drunk," she replied succinctly.
"And if you weren't?"
It was her turn to smile. "Hard to say …"
He was leaning in close again; his hands settled on her hips before going around her waist, and when he drew her in she let him. With both her hands flat on his chest she looked up at him with eyebrows raised, and he obliged her by kissing her again. Sometime later they parted again, and he said breathlessly, "Well, who'd have thought …?"
"It's weird," she agreed, lifting herself up on tiptoe again to brush her lips teasingly along the line of his neck.
"Coworkers shouldn't get involved romantically," he intoned, the mock seriousness of his words belied by the way his voice trembled—only a little—at her kisses.
"We're not coworkers." She said.
"Partners?"
"No …" Her fingers had, while he'd been occupied by other things, deftly undone the remaining fastened buttons on his shirt. He sucked in a breath as she slid her hands over the smooth, lean expanse of his newly exposed torso. "We don't really like each other," she said, watching his reaction with an evil smile.
"Not really." He made an attempt to catch her hands, but she suddenly whirled away, a lithe twisting of the body that put her suddenly out of his reach. He watched her with an expression of perplexed amusement. "So what are we?"
She shrugged. He lunged for her but caught only a loose edge of the sheet covering her form. She halted immediately, knowing that if he pulled hard enough it would unravel.
"I vote for lovers," he said, answering his own question. She grinned again, and it was a challenging gesture; he returned it and tugged. Cloth fell away and skin was abruptly exposed, and this time when he came for her she met him halfway.
.X.