Author's Note: I'm really getting irked with In Stride. It might shape up to be a decent story, but I like this one a lot more. Problem is, if I focus on this one, I'll put the other off for another two years. C'est la vie, I suppose. This chapter's title brought to you in no part by Pink Floyd, who should have a church.

Strange Bedfellows: The Great Gig in the Sky

-

"Yes, I can!"

Scarlet shot up in bed, slamming her head against a medicine cabinet and sliding into the gap between her chair and the wall. In an instant, she realized she was still at the hospital and had fallen asleep on her chair sideways.

As the door slammed behind the nurse, she also realized Reno had made it his job to stare up her dress.

She glared at him and kicked the chair at the bed, then stood up and thrust herself back onto it, still in a half-asleep state of mind. She looked down. She glanced up. She mentally raked in the facts: her dress would need some serious dry-cleaning, her hair would need more than a bit of work to get the knots out, and from her partner's sudden look of disgust and the time on the clock, she had been drooling on his leg for about nine and a half hours.

"And what," she continued her mental path without informing him, "was so fucking important that you had to scream at the nurse and do this to me?" She pointed at her dress, then her hair, then wavered back to her dress, then thrust a finger at her hair again. Her priority file was very disorganized.

Reno tried to sit up, then remembered exactly why he was in the hospital and gave up with a groan. "Stupid nurse asked if I wanted a drink. I said yes and she brought me water. I said I wanted a fucking screwdriver."

She decided the source of the argument had been discovered. "To which she replied?"

""Orange juice with vodka, sir?"" He lit a cigarette, surprisingly fast for being so injured. "She said it in that way – you know, the one that says, "In elementary school, I was voted More Likely to Succeed Than Reno Drannor.""

"And you said?" Scarlet wasn't sure why she was so interested in knowing the conversation that had just transpired, but she figured she had to know whether to break more of his bones or not. She refused the offered cancer stick.

The redhead paused a moment, wanting to get this part of it right. He said, quite slowly and deliberately, ""No, you stupid whore, vodka with orange juice and nothing else, dammit."" He smiled in that way only he could and sunk back into the pillows. "Then she said I was an asshole and wouldn't be able to handle alcohol right now, slammed the door shut behind her, and you made an idiot of yourself waking up." He ignored her look. "G'morning, Dear."

There was something about Scarlet's eye twitching that made most people just shut up and let her have her way, but Reno patted her on the head and ashed onto the floor. "If your back wasn't so fucked up already," she snarled, "I'd kick your ass until I broke it again."

Reno was going to say something to that, but the door cracked open and a bottle of water was hurled against the cabinet that Scarlet had almost knocked herself out on. There was a small thunk sound as the Turk's knife landed in the door. "Your father called and said that your existence is a mistake!"

Eight miles away, on the edge of the plate, Rude was going through his morning routine. The thing about his house that drove everyone who stayed overnight into a fit, aside from how high all the ceilings and doorframes were, was that it as absolutely silent for most of the time.

No one understood just how he could shave – without even the hum of an electric razor – in total quiet.

But he'd just finished that, and had moved on to his breakfast. As soon as he'd swallowed the last bit of hash browns, he checked his watch and determined he had about fifteen minutes until he needed to leave for work, so he sat down with the paper.

His obsession with silence ran on the same principle as people who like loud music and parties. It was much more comfortable for him to spend twelve hours meditating in solitude than it would be if he went to a bass-powered rave with Reno. In the latter situation, he would feel needlessly threatened and uncomfortable. In the former, he could be content with himself.

His redheaded friend had grimaced upon finding out he was "one of those weird Zen fucks." Rude remembered this with a grin, flipped the page, and checked his watch again.

Crinkle. Tick, tick, tick, tick.

The next noise combination was another turn of the page, the sounding of the grandfather clock in the living room, and his loud watch yet again. His teams had all won their games, and he reminded himself to collect his bets at the office.

Crinkle. Bong – bong – bong – bong – bong – bong – bong – bong. Tick, tick, snap, tick.

"Eight-o'-clock," he muttered, glancing over an article about the hard times in Mideel with the threat of a Lifestream explosion. He wondered if Reno knew and if he would even care about his hometown anymore. They had kicked him out, after all. He made a mental note to mention it just in case.

Tick, tick, tick, sip, tick, snapsnap, tick.

Actually, Rude's obsession with silence was a form of sensory deprivation he thought he was absolutely in need of. His logic was that all Turks needed to be able to respond to even the slightest of threats, and therefore they had to be aware of them. If not for Reno's dumb, clumsy luck, he would have been killed many times over by people sneaking around under his perpetually ringing ears.

"Eight-o'-five," Rude, who had learned to pick up on the slightest disturbance, said a bit louder. "Time for work." He stood up, paused, reconsidered, then folded his newspaper and tucked it into his suit. He finished his coffee before turning around.

Tick, tick, fwip, tick.

He cocked his head to the side and looked down. "Eight-o'-six," he growled.

Tick, tick, tick, BANGBANG.

There was another moment of silence, which Rude was in no way objected to, then the dialing of a number on his PHS. After a pause came, "Tseng? Rude. He's up? Great. Yep. Listen, have we pissed off the Wutain Royal Guard in any way lately? Hm? Yeah. No, I'm fine. To Reeve? Of course." He checked his watch. "Ten minutes, no more. Sure. Bye."

He snapped the PHS closed, put away the gun, and bent down to claim his prize, prying it from the hand of a Guardsman without a face. There was something about a Wutain sword made for an unfulfilled purpose that really appealed to him, especially when that purpose involved the removal of his head. He set it on the coffee table for whenever he got home that night and dragged the samurai out of the house behind him, making sure he waved to the neighbors as he did.

Nice people, those Thompsons. Real tolerant. Good thing the kids had gone to school already.

Five minutes later, one past when he usually left for work, he was carrying a dead Wutain with a plastic bag over his head into Reeve's office, slapping him down on the therapist's couch the Urban Development manager often relaxed in. "Eight-o'-six A.M. Call Godo and tell him Rude's pissed."

"Mind if I drown this hangover first?" he asked before taking a swig out of a coffee mug holding something that didn't smell like coffee. "Reno's awake, by the way." Reeve stood up and started investigating the body.

Rude pulled the sack off of the samurai's head and put a nearby rag down under it to save the man's couch. "Tseng told me. Guy's immune system never ceases to baffle me."

That was true about everyone who had dealings with Reno. No matter what happened to him, be it the flu or some mangled body part, he was up within a week and wearing the cast as a pity tool. He and Tseng knew damn well that he didn't need the arm sling, but they figured he deserved a bit of a vacation.

Reeve tripled as the Head of Urban Development, private medical aid, and in-house psychologist. He pried open the eyes of the Wutain, checked his pulse, couldn't find it, checked it again, realized he was being stupid, and inspected the gunshot wounds. "He came at you bare-fist? Hard to believe Godo would send someone that defenseless at a Turk."

"Six throwing stars," the bald man lied, "which will be unwillingly and personally removed from my dining room wall." He knew that the Turks could get away with pretty much anything aside from steal Wutain war equipment for domestic purposes. It broke the import/export laws between their country and the company. "So how's Reno?"

The older man finished his inspection, told Rude to hold on a minute, and picked up the phone. After a brief call to Professor Hojo, which involved much grimacing, he said, "Typical Reno. His arm's fine, they said, and his back'll be better in a few days, which means he'll bitch for weeks. Mako enhancements really did wonders for that kid." He picked up his coat and started putting it on.

"Where are you going so early?" Rude asked. Reeve didn't usually leave on business until after the morning meeting, or even lunch in some cases. He definitely didn't leave at all when there had been an assassin after a Turk; that was something he needed to stay around and take care of.

He took another drink from his mug, swirled it around, and took a third. He locked the office after he and Rude had left and they started walking toward the elevator. "I need to go see how Reno's really doing. Apparently, no nurse is willing to even go into his room. He ran one out last night and threw a knife at another one this morning. He says he'll only talk to me."

"Make sure to mention that the Royal Guard's out for our heads again. First AVALANCHE, now this." He hit the button to take him to the Turks' floor and Reeve's for the infirmary. "Then again, Scarlet's there, I'm sure. He should be fine."

Reeve allowed a small smirk at this. As much as they pretended not to, they trusted the weapons specialist with everything they had. "I'll see you at the morning meeting and we can let Rufus know," he said as he got off at his floor, waving behind him. "Take it easy."

Rude expected a bit of ease for a while, but it was cut short as soon as he walked into the office. Tseng swore loudly into the phone and then stood up, eyes wild. "Rude! Thank Holy you're here!" He half-sat again, then stood back up more furiously. "No! Ah! Rude, I just got a call from Rufus. The Turks need to be ready to relocate to the Junon offices by noon. You and Elena – Elena! Elena, come out here! – you, Elena, and I need to be dropped off at the Mythril Mines on our way. AVALANCHE has been sighted heading that way after Sephiroth. And Reno. Reno. How's Reno?" His face went blank, his head cocked to the side, and he looked genuinely curious.

"Reno is fine, Tseng," his friend said calmly. "We'll go to the Mythril Mines. We'll make sure nothing happens that doesn't need to happen. We'll go to Junon after that and drink this all away, right, Rookie?" He looked at the newly-arrived woman, pausing for a moment to notice with much interest that she had her blouse bunched up above her stomach to get some air on her burn, and nodded.

She was perplexed. "What am I –" She noticed her obviously stressed captain and changed her tone. "I mean, yes, sir, anything that needs to be done." She was then told to grab any necessary belongings for work and go to the roof at noon, where their helicopter would depart from.

In about half an hour, Reeve retrieved them for the morning meeting, which was to be held an hour early because of what had just been revealed to them. Tseng had all of his paperwork packed, Rude had only his gun to go home and retrieve, and Elena had very few things to take at all.

Therefore, when he'd heard about the relocation, Reno sent her to get his things, which would take up his bag and hers as well. The others explained this at the meeting and it was underway.

"Well," Rufus began, "as anyone who got the message knows, we're temporarily relocating the company to our headquarters in Junon and sending the Turks out to acquire the whereabouts of Sephiroth and AVALANCHE. While we're on the topic, Tseng, how is Miss Simms working?"

Tseng looked around the table, thinking of all the ways to answer that question. One involved the phrase "slave labor," and others contained "torture" and "mistreatment." He finally settled on, "It's most definitely a trial run."

If she'd been able to hear him, Elena might have been slightly offended, but she was instead in her fellow employee's apartment. Her bag had been filled by the cleaning supplies they would need as well as her personal possessions, and it was Reno's list that was confusing her. On top of his horrible penmanship, he was asking for things in completely different languages.

So far she had compiled his entire minibar into the carrying case he'd had made for it and loaded six cartons of Seven Star Box cigarettes from his secret stash into the side pouches. She'd grabbed whatever else she could make out from the list – a company photo album, a sixteen pound bag of coffee beans, three spare suits, various other clothes, and more – and thrown it into the a much larger sack. It was at his two prized lighters that she paused, though.

Inside the drawer was a small blue book, imprinted with the Turk seal and the word "Schedule," another thing he'd said to pick up. She would have just left it alone, seeing as how she had one and they were used solely for work, but she found a small pink ribbon sticking out of one of the pages.

She didn't assume Reno was one to wear ribbons in his hair and became curious. She glanced into all the rooms to make sure he, with his broken back and injured arm, hadn't followed her into the apartment and slowly opened it. In the margins surrounding a page of scribbles were sketches. The first looked like a badly proportioned hourglass, and then there was one that seemed to be a pyramid. These continued, alternating semi-regularly with different styles of circles, until there were drawings of what seemed to be business suits.

Then there was a face. It was a woman's face, and one she had seen before. Next to it was a quick sketch of Reno, and upon closer examination, Elena noticed something in large, black writing on the back of the page. She turned it and was about to read the word when she heard glass shattering.

She dropped the book into the sack – accidentally, of course – and spun to face the window. There stood an apparently confused Wutain samurai, sword and all. They stared at each other, then the second muttered, "Uhh." He darted through the room, opened the front door in the main entry, and checked the apartment number. He looked back at Elena and ran toward her, swerving at the last second and stopping just before the window. From under his mask came a pronounced, "Well, fuck," before he dived back out the window.

Against everything she wanted to witness that day, she rushed to the window just in time to see him hit the pavement below, next to the remains of her coffee maker. It took a moment for this to register, and after such a moment had passed, she ran into the bathroom and rightfully threw up all over the place, finally aiming it into the sink.

It was there that she saw the note she had just hurled all over. It read, in a neat scrawl that definitely wasn't the apartment owner's:

Elena –

Make sure the bathroom is clean when you leave.
I've had rats before.
Remember: your ass.

- Reno

The blonde wiped her mouth and looked at the mess she had just made. There was a blob on the mirror, quite a bit on the floor, a few stray smears on the walls, and the toilet seat would need cleaning. She ripped the note from the sink and threw it away, running the water after she did.

Staring down into it, she wondered if maybe Reno had the right idea in drowning himself.

Half an hour later, when she was back at the office after loading their supplies into the helicopter next to Tseng's and Rude's bags, the feeling had faded. She had helped herself to a few beers, feeling she was entitled to them after her day, and had relaxed considerably. She had relaxed almost too much, in fact, because she had forgotten about the Wutain until she saw Rude practicing yoga in his office.

"Rude!" she called from the doorway, scaring the large man. "Just thought I'd tell you guys, some samurai came into Reno's apartment. Wanted to kill somebody. Left me alone and jumped out the window, though. Nothin' else. See you at noon." She waved happily and closed the door behind her.

The bald man stared at the wall for a moment. His brows furrowed and relaxed again, then he scratched his cheek. He specifically remembered deadbolting the door before he'd taken his shirt off. He checked his watch and saw that had been about half an hour ago, after the meeting. He'd said, "Tseng, I'm gonna go exercise. Make sure nobody comes in."

He decided to stop thinking about that because it would just scare him when he realized she'd picked his lock without a sound and picked up the phone to call Reeve. The man would certainly like to know about the second attack.

He got a busy signal, because Tseng was currently talking his ear off about the relocation. Reeve hurried around his office, slinging things into boxes, taking things back out, throwing things away, taking out the garbage, and having a terribly hard time because of all the people calling him about the attempted assassination that morning. Being the foreign ambassador of Midgar, he'd decided long ago, was a major pain in the ass.

"Tseng, yes, I realize that it's a tragedy that your very own people would try to take out one of your most trusted peers, but you have to admit, that whole war business did birth a few grudges." He half-listened as the Wutain ranted about that being no excuse for Godo to send out Royal Guards to take out his Turks. The other part of his mind was screaming at him that it was 11:34 and he needed to move it.

He said, quite calmly, "Okay, Tseng, I know you need to pack some things, and so do I, so I'll see you in the helicopter." At his friend's response of "I've packed all my things and honestly think you should be giving me more of your concentration," Reeve yelled, "I'm trying to concentrate on my own problems, so if you'll shut up and leave me alone, I'll concentrate on you later!"

There was a pause.

Reeve noticed that the usual radio in Tseng's office had gone silent.

Rufus ShinRa, the one man in the building with the power to interrupt a phone call, quietly said, "I was simply asking if you would ride with us so you won't have to wait for the Turks to finish at the mines. However, if you want to be left alone, Emerson, I'll just save you a seat in the helicopter." There was a click and Reeve felt his security flake apart like a cracker in a paint shaker.

He quickly called his employer back. "I'm sorry, sir," he sighed when Rufus picked up. "It's just been a bit hectic around the place lately, as I'm sure you know. I'm getting calls from every room in the building with someone wanting to know the story behind the attack on Rude this morning."

The white-coated president's tone was that of understanding. "I know, Reeve, but look how relaxed you are now. You'll be riding in the black executive helicopter with Scarlet, Heideggar, Palmer, Professor Hojo, a few SOLDIERs, and myself. Hojo, as you know, will be flying. Any objections?"

"Hojo's flying" begged to crawl from Reeve's mouth, but he swallowed it. "No, sir. I'll be on the roof in ten minutes. Is there anything that needs to be done before we leave?"

There was a pause on the other end, then Rufus' creamy chuckle drifted over the line. "Perhaps you'd like to console Miss Simms. It appears as though she was also confronted by one of the Royal Guards this morning. Otherwise, I'll see you on the helicopter."

Reeve officially felt like shooting himself by the time he put the handset down, but Rufus didn't mind. He had everything essential to the survival of ShinRa loaded into the back of his large helicopter. Heideggar, the man he loved to hate, and Palmer, the man he hated to love, were at his side as he walked onto the roof. He gave his city one last wave before boarding the helicopter, patting the professor on the back as he did. Hojo loved flying because it kept everyone else on pins and needles.

Tseng, pilot of the navy blue helicopter beside them, was given a "Good luck" over the radio as he took off. A SOLDIER sat in the passenger's seat, Rude and Elena in the row behind them, and Reno was securely locked in place in the back. Hojo knew that helicopter, and he knew it would rattle and whine all the way to the mines, which was why he conveniently never flew with the Turks.

The executive chopper, however, was fast and comfortable. He had designed it as nearly soundproof and installed couches and a bar in the back. The seating was circular, and ideal for anyone Rufus was trying to wow with his city while making a business proposal. Under the floor was a large foam pad and shocks, making turbulence almost undetectable from the back. It was sad that he'd never built one for himself, mused the professor.

The SOLDIERs accompanied Reeve onto the craft and the Urban Development manager collapsed on one of the plush couches, obviously strained to his mental capacity. Scarlet patted him on the head as they lifted off the roof, aimed directly for Junon.

They discussed minor matters on the way, knowing the stress of Sephiroth wasn't something they wanted to bring up at the moment, focusing mostly on Rufus' Inauguration. Even though the company recognized him as being in power, the public would want a ceremony to welcome him into office, which would be executed a few days after arriving in Junon.

After landing, they set the building up for use, but chose to take the night off to enjoy the city. Rufus gathered everyone into his office and handed out hundred gil notes, telling them it was the birth of a new age and to go have dinner, on him. Reeve and Scarlet "stopped off at the bathroom," which was code for sneaking off while Heideggar and Palmer stood outside the door rocking back and forth on their heels. They pooled their money and headed to Café Faust.

ShinRa itself owned Café Faust, and it had been agreed upon at establishment that there would be no free meals. That had been Rufus' father's wish, but it still stood. With two-hundred gil and a fifty percent discount apiece, though, the two could afford Faust's money-sucking prices without opening their own supplies.

"Will Reno kill me if I offer you champagne?" Reeve queried after dinner, knowing the Turk was a good sport when it came to people offering Scarlet friendly advances. They got along perfectly well, the two men, and it was a long while ago that Reno had formally given him permission to interact with his prized Scarlet.

She laughed, shaking her head. "That man may go to some extremes, but it's nice knowing there's someone in the world who bows before you if you want them to." The bottle arrived and she opened it, making sure she hit someone in a suit with the cork. "Besides, the bastard means well. He's just a bit hostile."

Reeve had gone in to check on his friend this morning and was quickly greeted with a mock-tearful, "Oh, Reeve! They've been doing awful, awful things to me! They won't let me have a cigarette, Reeve! How do I live without a cigarette!" He had been amused, but knew full well that if it had been anyone else, the redhead would have made sure the second knife didn't miss. "So what is it about that guy that makes you go back to him every day?"

Scarlet poured herself a glass of champagne as she thought it over. "It's the fact," she said slowly, "that two of the only three other men in the building that I can put up with are screwing each other. And I know that after Melissa, your dating experiences ended." She smiled over the rim of her glass. "Though you would be in the front running if you were still looking."

Melissa had been Reeve's fiancée, who had left him because he spent too much time at work. After that, he had vowed to never get attached and stick to his work, which was why he kept himself stressed all the time; it kept his mind only on the job and off any physical attraction. Scarlet fit his mold for a match, but every time he concentrated on this, the phone rang and he thanked it for doing so. It kept him happy knowing he would die with a pen in his hand and be too busy to regret it, as masochistic as that may have sounded to anyone else.

"So Reno was the ideal choice. He keeps me happy, don't you think?"

Reeve nodded. "You smile a hell of a lot, and I know for a fact that's not because you work at ShinRa, Incorporated." The only person who smiled because he worked at the company was Hojo, and they all knew that was probably a chemical miscalculation that led to facial spasms.

They sat in silence for a moment. They looked rather thoughtful, maybe about something profoundly deep, like "Where did the years all go?" or "How crazy is this thing called love?" In actuality, they both really had started thinking about why Hojo smiled all the time.

Some things were just better as juvenile outcomes.

"So should we go pay him a visit?" Reeve suggested. "Maybe set up a wedding date while we're there? I hear it's beautiful from inside the cannon," he offered. It was a public secret that Scarlet and Reno were engaged; they had been for months now, without much progress, but neither one seemed to be tired of it.

She smirked. "You're one of a kind, Reeve," she replied, plugging the bottle with a napkin so they could sneak some to their red-haired companion. They left after paying their bill, enjoying the night air as they walked to the hospital wing of their new building. They had called in advance and the secretary told them that Rude, Tseng, and Elena had dropped him off a while ago and were heading back to camp at the mines. When they got there, an annoyed nurse was already storming out of the Turk's room.

"Are you the bereaved?" she growled.

They both jumped a bit, but knew she wouldn't have that kind of tone if he'd actually died. "Are you suggesting he's dead?" Scarlet asked, lifting a brow. She would have to do some serious ass-kicking if he had gotten hurt in here, and Palmer could vouch that her nails left scars.

She glared at them. "He will be if he keeps this shit up!" she screamed at the door. Without another word, she stormed out of the hospital on the spot. They came to find out that Reno had asked for chocobo feather pillows, and when she had repeatedly replied they had none, he'd started throwing IV needles at her.

In an even more bizarre situation than the previous night, that nurse also ended up at the same bar Heideggar and Palmer went to after being ditched, where they got into a particularly amusing argument about what brand of toothpaste was best to nullify the taste of vodka vomit.

After a few glasses of such, she went home with Palmer and quickly found out it was Wutain Pine.

Heideggar heard the story first and found both occurrences fairly disturbing.