1. Shake It Up

"Goooood morning!" Reno crooned as he flung open the door. His red hair stuck out every which way and his Turk suit looked like he had thrown it on at the last minute, but his smile brimmed with the confidence of a man secure in the belief that he knew precisely what he was doing.

"Shut up." Freyra, a petite woman in a dark suit like his, glowered at him beneath her ample fringe. She sat hunched over her desk, nursing a cup of strong, black coffee. "You sound like some demented rooster."

"His hair sure looks the part," Cissnei quipped while gathering her own into a ponytail. It was nowhere as long and abundant as Freyra's, but when bent over a desk it tended to get in the way all the same.

"He's got the spindly chicken legs, too," Freyra grumbled.

"Sounds like some people ain't had their coffee this morning," Reno sang as he strutted past them, raising the mug he was holding.

"Sounds like some people haven't figured out how to shut up."

At his desk, Rude snorted. His broad shoulders, bald head, and thorough disinterest in idle chatter made him Reno's polar opposite in more ways than one.

"Aw, come on," Reno called over his shoulder to Freyra, making her wince and clutch her head. "You can do better… than…"

The room fell silent. Behind him, all three Turks looked up from their desks in unison.

"The hell…?" He turned on his heel and glared at each of them in turn. "Okay, which one of you shits messed up my goddamn desk?"

"What's wrong with it?" Cissnei wondered.

"You gotta ask? Look at it!"

She pushed herself halfway out of her chair, craning her neck for a peek past her monitor.

"Oh, wow. I haven't seen the surface in years."

"Where are all my files?" Reno demanded. His face was rapidly approaching the same color as his hair. "My notes? My goddamn paperclip collection?"

With a shrug, Cissnei sank back down. "The drawers, maybe?"

"File cabinets?" Rude suggested.

"Why the hell would I put anything in fucking drawers? I had all my stuff here," Reno swept his arm over the empty surface, "right where I wanted it!"

"Must be the evening shift," Freyra muttered. She was rubbing her temples, her eyes squeezed shut.

The ranting redhead blinked repeatedly.

"The what now?"

"Haven't you heard? The Junon division is teaming up with us." She paused for a yawn that nearly unhinged her jaw. "Took the whole lot to Goblins last night. They sure drink like Turks."

"Huh?" Reno said, still trying to shift mental gears. "The B Team is moving HQ? Who's bright idea was that?"

She shrugged. "Orders from above. Until we get more office space, we're working in shifts. Sharing desks."

He flinched back and stared at his desk as if it had grown hands and slapped him.

"Who's sharing mine?" he asked slowly.

"Calls himself Tyco." Freyra paused for a hefty gulp of coffee. "Blond guy, worked on the Rocket Town incident a while back. Could probably take your head off with nunchucks."

Reno narrowed his eyes. "He's that snooty prick from up north, ain't he?"

"He's not snooty," Cissnei cut in, "and he isn't a prick either. It's just what happens when you have a formal upbringing."

"Reminds me too much of the Shinra brat," he muttered as he bent down for wary peek under the desk. "That's how I first met the guy, you know that? He was hobnobbing with the Shinras at some fancy-ass gala up north, while I was stuck guarding 'em. And staying sober. The whole fucking night."

"It's hardly his fault you had to work."

"Yeah, well, ain't like I'd have been invited to swig sparkly wine with 'em even if I had been off duty." Reno smacked his mug onto his desk, dropped himself into his chair, and crossed his arms in a huff.

"Oooh," Cissnei said, drawing it out. "So that's what this is."

The knowing smile on her lips made Reno's fingers twitch. He fixed her with a sour look.

"What what is?"

If anything, his scowl made her smile wider.

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing, my ass. You got something to say, then out with it."

"No, no." Holding up her hands, she leaned back in her chair. "I just figured something out, that's all."

"What, you figured out that lil' bastard's got more gil than I'll ever make, even if I work this job 'til I'm ninety? Yeah, that's some top notch detective work there, Lil' Miss Turk." Reno swung his boots onto his desk and raised his mug in salute. "Couldn't have worked that one out without ya."

"You're the one who said it, Red. Not me." Cissnei bent over her paperwork, still smirking. "Oh, and just so you know, it's sparkling wine. Not 'sparkly'."

"Whatever!"

The following afternoon, Cissnei returned to the Turk offices to find Reno hard at work. Baffled, she wandered over to his desk and stared at it. Half its surface was covered in a haphazard patchwork of colorful post-it notes. Judging from the heap of untouched pads next to Reno, more were on their way.

"You've got too much time on your hands, don't you?"

"My mark's gone underground," Reno said absently, furiously scribbling something down on a bright pink note. "Ain't much I can do 'til someone sniffs him out."

"So, until then you're… covering your desk in pixel art with post-its?"

"That what it looks like?" He paused his scribbling to eye his desk thoughtfully. "Could work with that, maybe… Hey, any chance you know how to do a pixel dick?"

"Ciss," Rude sighed from his desk. "Don't give him ideas."

"For your information, my dear pals and pains-in-the-ass, this ain't supposed to be decorating." Reno tore the pink note off his pad and waved it around. "Just making a few memos, y'know."

"Uh huh." Cissnei snatched the slip of paper out of his hand. "'Gotta feed the brain, yo'," she read out loud, imitating his underplate drawl. "What does that even mean?"

"I'm responding." He pointed to an orange note in the middle of his desk, separate from the paper blanket he was creating. "To that one."

"'Dear colleague'," she read. "'Please eat your snacks in the kitchen. The crumbs get everywhere. Much obliged, Tyco from the evening shift.'"

"Can you believe this fucking guy? Telling me what to do with my own damn desk?" Reno scoffed and picked up an orange pad. "I'm gonna 'oblige' him, all right."

"I'm surprised you went for post-its. Would've thought you'd hide the desk in a mountain of crumbs instead."

"Who says I can't do both?" He gave her a quick grin. "But nah. No way in hell am I wasting perfectly good cookies on this blowhole."

"I'm not even going to ask what that word means." She picked up the note he had just added to his colorful collection. "'Paperwork minus snacks equals no can do, yo.' You're putting 'yo' in every one of these, aren't you?"

"Think it'll piss him off?" His face lit up with hope.

"If they don't do the job, your spelling might." She set the note down in front of him. "You're missing a 'c' in snacks. And there's no 'y' in paper."

"Pff, whatever." Without so much as a second glance, Reno returned it to its place among the paper horde. "With all those fancy-ass schools he must've gone to, he can figure it out."

"Come on, Reno, it's not his fault he was born into a rich family."

"Think that's all I'm pissed about?" He scoffed and slapped a yellow note down next to the others.

"Then what is it?"

"You gotta ask?" He scowled up at her. "Took me years to find all those paperclips. You got any idea how many desks I had to break into to find a purple one?"

"No. I really don't."

"Had some nice neon ones, too," he grumbled as he retrieved a blue pad from his heap. "They don't even make those anymore."

"Holy crapola!" Freyra had appeared at the office door, grinning from ear to ear. "What's gotten into you, Red?"

"Just making a goddamn point," he hollered back at her as she skipped in. "And stop yelling, will ya? You'll wake up–"

He cut himself off as the door to Tseng's office swung open. In the doorway stood the Turk leader himself; his suit crisp, his hair in a tidy little ponytail, and his expression firm and unreadable.

"Aw, crap," Reno muttered, hanging his head. "Too late."

But Tseng barely raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Reno's desk. He remained in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back, and coughed softly. Every Turk in the room turned to face him.

"Listen up." His low, controlled voice always seemed to hold an air of creeping menace. "I'm sure the news about the Junon division has reached everyone by now, so I'll get straight to the point. To even out our numbers between shifts, Freyra has agreed to join the evening shift for the time being."

"What?" Reno squeaked.

Tseng silenced him with a look, then continued.

"Remember, this two-shift situation is temporary. Eventually we will all share one office as a single team. Until then, one Turk from each shift will switch places for a week at a time."

"Whaaaat?"

"Are you volunteering for the first exchange, Reno?" Tseng asked, his voice smooth as a fist in a velvet glove.

Reno blanched.

"No, sir," he muttered, glowering at his feet.

"Then perhaps you will kindly shut up while I brief you."

"Aw, go easy on him, boss," Freyra interjected cheerfully. "He doesn't know how."

Tseng inflicted one of his looks on her, too.

"Then he had better learn and quick," he said with deceptive calm, "unless he wants to spend the night patrolling Hojo's labs. Alone."

Reno turned a shade whiter.

"Introduce yourselves to your colleagues when you get the chance," Tseng continued, addressing his audience as a whole. "Show them what Midgar has to offer. Questions?"

"I have one," said Emma, a woman with a stern face framed by a blonde bob. Her Turk uniform rivaled Tseng's in terms of impeccability. "Does this joint venture have something to do with a certain high-ranking prisoner we have in our custody?"

"It has more to do with the terrorists he funded, and what they might do with those funds. And on that note," he turned to the sulking redhead, "any progress on that weapons dealer you're looking for, Reno?"

"Ain't got much to report yet, 'cept that he ain't so much a weapons dealer as someone who's into homemade fireworks."

"Bombs?" Freyra pulled a face. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It'll please you even less to hear that he's dropped off the radar. Must've heard I was sniffing around." Reno shrugged. "Ain't much I can do 'til one of my people catches wind of him again."

"Keep me posted," Tseng said, which Reno acknowledged with a limp salute. "Then, unless there are more questions…?" He scanned his crew, but all he got were shrugs and blank looks. "Dismissed."

Once the door had closed behind him, Reno turned his scowl on Freyra.

"The hell is this, huh? You're joining the dark side?"

"It's our side, dumbass," she pointed out, rolling her eyes. "We're all Turks here."

"Yeah, but us in here right now?" He waved his hand between himself and the others. "We are your Turks. Why are you teaming up with that other bunch?"

"Do you even have to ask? I like to spend my mornings in bed. Asleep."

"So much for loyalty," Reno grouched, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, shut up. You," she poked him in the arm, "are just grumpy because you're too spoiled to share that damn desk of yours."

"Spoiled?" he sputtered. "Some northern Mr. Moneybags has made off with my desk even though he could buy twenty of 'em with his fucking pocket change, and you think I'm in the wrong here?" With a huff, he turned his back to her. "Fine, then. Go join those evening losers. See if I care."

Freyra responded with a firm smack on his ass. He shrieked and spun around, but she had already hopped out of his reach.

"Careful there," she sang as she skipped to her desk, her long ponytail swinging jauntily. "You don't want to land yourself on my bad side."

Grumbling to himself, Reno returned to his notes, while surreptitiously rubbing his stinging behind.

At ten past five in the evening, Tyco of the Turks entered the office. His blond hair, carefully coiffured into a windswept do, framed a face that looked far younger than his twenty-two years. He strode across the office with purpose in his steps, though as always he took the time to nod and smile at his colleagues along the way. When he reached his desk, he stopped in his tracks. Slowly, his mouth fell open.

"What in the world…?" He turned around and pointed at his desk, every inch of it covered in colorful post-its. "Okay, who did this?"

The Turks parked at their desks exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs.

"It was like that when I showed up," rasped Maur, a brick wall of a Turk with years of Costan rum and cigarettes in his gravelly voice.

"That'll be Reno from the morning shift."

All eyes turned to Freyra, who stood in the doorway to the break room, leaning on the frame; a position she had chosen for the unobstructed view of the highly contested desk. As the break room didn't stock popcorn, she'd had to settle for the cup of coffee in her hands.

"Unfortunately for you," she added, "he uses that desk, too."

"He'd do… this?" Tyco gestured at the desk.

"Oh, believe me." She grinned. "Coming from him, this is nothing."

Gingerly, he plucked a yellow note off the edge of the desk.

"Grunts… are," he read out loud. "No, wait. Crumbs are goat… good for the… soul?" His jaw dropped again. "That's what this is about?"

"You figured something out?" Freyra asked as she strolled up to the desk.

"All I did was leave a note," Tyco said, his voice squeaky with disbelief. "One tiny, polite note with a perfectly reasonable request." He picked up a pink one and squinted at the handwriting. "Got to feet… no, feed the… banjo?" He mouthed through the message once more, frowning at the note. "Is there, uh… something wrong with this guy?"

"Oh, he just doesn't like people touching his stuff." She rolled her eyes as she rounded the desk, taking in Reno's handiwork. "Like a grumpy little terrier who doesn't want to give up his bone." She stopped and tilted her head to the side, peering the patchwork of notes from a new angle. "Huh. Is it just me or does that look like a dick?"

"I didn't take his desk. It was assigned to me!" Tyco waved the note in the air. "What am I supposed to do with memos about banjos?"

"Well…" She sidled up to him, smiling sweetly. "It might work to leave his desk in better shape than you found it. Keep it squeaky clean, tidy away all the files, that sort of thing."

"But that's what I've been doing!"

"Well, Reno has a way of testing anyone's patience." With a theatrical sigh, she patted his shoulder. "Just stick with it for a while. Keep it professional. He'll come around once he sees that you'll take good care of his desk. Trust me, I've known him for years."

"I guess that makes a certain kind of sense," Tyco said slowly. He bent over the desk and began plucking the post-its off it, oblivious to the devious grin that was spreading across her face. "I'll keep it in mind, thanks."