Strawberry Wine
by: Pollensalta

Chapter Two

Man! Rude, is it just me or is Midgar lookin' shittier and shittier with each passing day? asked a seemingly lanky built man who wore his navy blue uniform and his red hair in a rebellious fashion. His stride was casual and cocky. The way he tapped his nightstick against his shoulder added more to the confidence that lingered about him.

Beside him strolled his confidante, although with a more upright and militant step. His appearance was also strikingly different. His similarly colored uniform wasn't loosened or unbuttoned, unlike the lady-killer at his side—instead, it was pressed and clean, with military creases. And he wore his shades _over_ his eyes, rather than perched up in his hair (which he lacked).

He said nothing and continued on with his walk through the dank streets of Midgar, ignoring the prostitutes lurking on nearly every corner, the litter here and there, and the God-awful smell. It was as if he was impervious to it all.

Actually, he was just in the mood for a drink.

And so was his friend.

You sure this bar's in Sector Seven and not Sector Six? I mean, everyone knows the best bars and entertainment's there

I'm sure because I've been there once before. And the name of it gives it away, Reno.

And what's the name of it again?

Seventh Heaven.

Reno suddenly stopped walking and gawked at his stoic co-worker. You're taking me to a bar named after that TV show!?

Rude's fixed countenance did not waiver, despite the outburst. For what it's worth, it's got a good reputation for having the best Tequila Sunrise's around. The man paused in his walking for a bit. How do you know about that TV show anyway?

That caused Reno to shake a hand at the topic, dismissively, and the two Turks started walking again. Jennifer used to watch that crap all the time. She even taped the damned show.

They passed some battered homes and shops, the brightly lit sign of the Seventh Heaven Bar coming into their view. Rude cleared his throat and spoke again:

Her name was Janelle, Rude stated, firmly. Janelle Deaengelo. She works as a secretary on the forty-fifth floor of the HQ.

Well hot damn, Rude! You remember more about her than I do! Reno snickered and patted the serious caramel-skinned man on his back as the two trotted casually up the porch steps that led to their destination.

Not surprising.

Indeed it wasn't. Everyone that worked in the Shinra Headquarters building knew of Reno's reputation amongst the ladies, even Reno himself. The way he flirted with the women at every given moment, the way he'd flash them his charming lopsided grin He was never out of their bathroom or teatime gossip sessions, that's for sure. It was as if his reputation for loving-and-leaving and barely remembering their names didn't bother them. Or him.

Endorphins. That had to be it.

The door to the bar swung open, a bell above it tinkling and signaling the proprietor of two new well-dressed customers to add to the four already within. Rude stepped in first and Reno followed him in. And frowned.

It was definitely what he did _not_ expect. The bar, if he dared called it that, was small, with only a few seats and a handful of stools lined up along a sturdy wooden counter. Behind that counter were several shelves holding shiny glasses and bottles of alcohol. A portable two-burner stove stood in a dark corner on the left side and on the opposite side of the room stood a funny looking pinball machine.

This has _got_ to be a joke, Rude.

If it is, please feel free to laugh at any given moment.

Reno alighted himself onto the stool beside Rude, laying the nightstick across his own lap. I'm serious. Why'd you take me to this dump? I'd rather drink that canned sewer water in the vending machines back at HQ!

Rude shrugged and gestured towards the bar's exit for he had no intentions of leaving the dump'. Reno would have done so if a pleasant voice from behind the counter hadn't stalled him and forced him to turn around.

Welcome to Seventh Heaven. What can I getcha?

That was the first time he had ever seen her. Tifa Lockheart. She possessed a heart spun of pure gold, and her considerate nature never ceased to amaze him. However, she also had a fierce will and sense of justice, and was known to have quite the temper. Rumors about her being the best student of the infamous wandering martial artist Zangan, capable of lifting Nibel Wolves over her head with ease floated about and Reno did not doubt them.

And, admittedly, he was intrigued by that.

His friend Rude appeared to be so as well, as revealed to him months later in the jungles of Gongaga.

Ever since that eve, both Turks spent the greater part of their spare time at her bar. Tifa had started a tab for them and the two of them became her best customers within weeks. However, that all changed when a group began frequenting the bar: a girl with looks not worth writing home about and sepia colored hair, a young man with dark brown hair and so much machismo it was sickening (really, that red headband was just friggin' ridiculous), a fat man in his early thirties, and finally, the most interesting of the troupe, a largely built black man with a gatling gun for a hand and a fuse shorter than a cheap warehouse basement.

Needless to say, Reno didn't care for them and could have lived without those dirty looks they presented him and Rude whenever they stepped foot into the bar. Many times, the gun-for-a-hand-man (his name was Bullet or Barret or something) would begin to throw a fit when he had a glimpse of those navy suits but it only took a few hushed words from Tifa to tame him. She was quite the lady.

It was a shame President Shinra's orders required him to drop the plate onto Sector Seven and to dispose of AVALANCHE.

* * * *

Hey, waitress. C'mere.

The waitress with the hair of an obviously dyed black cherry hue stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, a slight scowl gracing her youthful face. The scowl then faded when she noticed how they nearly shared the same shade of hair and how incredibly handsome he was. Even with those two scars. They make us wear name tags on our uniforms for a reason, you know.

Yeah whatever. Listen, he motioned for the waitress named Soleil to come closer to him with his index. She obliged and stepped over. Can you do me a favor? he asked. He smelled of tobacco.

You'll have to put out that cancer stick first, Soleil said, flashing him a smirk and pointing to the convenient No Smoking' sign hanging above the café's ingress then wrinkled her nose at the lingering smoke.

The man's lips formed a sneer around his cigarette but he nevertheless extinguished it by inconsiderately tossing it into the complimentary glass of water. He blew out a long trail of smoke before speaking, Ya happy now?

Soleil could have sworn she heard him murmur something that rhymed with witch', but couldn't make it out due to the volume of the lovely voice singing for open mic night. So what do you want me to do? she asked him.

He dug into the confines of his black leather jacket and withdrew a small wine bottle. Give this to the girl that's singing.

Who? You mean Tifa?

No. Barbara Walters, his words were caustic and grouchy, accompanied by a roll of his Mako eyes. Yes. Tifa.

My my. Aren't you the cranky one?

Look, can you do me this favor or do you _not_ want a tip?

Soleil sighed, knowing good and well that this redhead had been her best tipper ever since he began frequenting the café for nearly two weeks. It wasn't everyday she received a hefty 300 gil tip for pouring someone coffee-he must've had a damned good job to coolly fork over money that had helped pay her car note and her rent; and she wasn't about to let him slip away so easily. Alright, fine. Keep your shirt on. I'll give it to her.

The man flashed her a confident grin, as if he were to say: I know you want me to take it off. Instead, he winked at her in thanks.

Before she walked away, though, she paused. Who should I say it's from?

Don't worry about that and just give it to her.

The female redhead shrugged and made her way over to the band as the crowd's round of applause resonated throughout the café, the bottle of strawberry wine in her grasp. From his seat, the man saw Soleil approach Tifa, and though they weren't in the range of his hearing, he could tell by the brunette's lovely face that she was burning with the desire to know who had sent the gift.

He smirked. And simply waited.

* * * *

Tifa Lockheart's slender eyebrows lifted in surprise. Reno? He was the last person she'd expect to give her such a gift. She side glanced towards Soleil and found the waitress leering at her like the Cheshire cat.

Aren'tcha gonna approach him? Soleil's voice was almost teasing. I meanstrawberry wine is rare and expensive nowadays. At least thank him for that.

Tifa stole a glance towards the Turk. It was quick enough to go unnoticed but long enough to scrutinize him entirely. He still wore his fiery hair in that rugged and tousled ponytail with the standard pair of black shades; a few of the short and showering spikes he called bangs drifted casually in front of eyes that swirled with Mako. A simple pair of beige pants and a black leather jacket over his top was all he wore. She was surprised to see him out of the navy uniform that came to be known as an icon for the Turks. But she had to admit, she was glad he was making his money by other means.

Despite the fall of Shinra in Midgar nearly two years prior, she was not ignorant of the fact that her good friend and former Shinra employee Reeve Parker had organized a similar corporation to the fallen electric power company. Instead of one thriving on corrupt politics, tyranny, and greed, Reeve ran the corporation for the good of the people from his headquarters in Junon, hiring many of the former employees of Shinra, including the remaining Turks, and working around the clock for the restoration of the damage the corporation had caused during its reign. Neo-Shinra was what he called it.

Tifa blinked out of her reverie and looked to Soleil.

I asked you if you were going over there or not, but then you just brain farted or something. Soleil squinted her hazel eyes at her friend. You okay?

Feeling slightly embarrassed and chuckling nervously, Tifa reassured her friend, or at least attempted to, by shaking her head. I'm fine. I'm fine.

Good, so now you can go over there.

Soleil's hand came to her hips. She gave her friend an admonishing look. Oh, so you're just going to ignore him?

Tifa sighed, defeated. Fine. I'll go. But if he pisses me off, Soleil, I swear I'm never talking to you again.

Atta girl!

~ Fin? ~

Disclaimer: All characters property of their respective owners.

Author's Notes: Ohhh! Twelve reviews! Thank you guys so much! As you can obviously see, the 'winner' of the votings was Reno, fave lil' Turk. ^_^ I hope I didn't mess up with his characterization; I also hope this chapter did some justice. Oh, and don't mind the name of the Chapters; they're all named after alcoholic drinks. I figured that'd suit Reno. Please leave a review; I live for them and I squeal with joy everytime I receive a new one (well, providing it's not a flame). I'd love to hear from you!