Disclaimer: I do not, nor have at any time owned Final Fantasy VII
Reno woke to a sight he'd often envisioned, even when he was just a smart-mouth Turk drinking the night away at the Seventh Heaven: a disheveled Tifa Lockheart massaging his bare chest.
Abruptly, he felt like he was hit by some of Highwind's dynamite as the force of his injuries flooded his senses. He could have been on fire and wouldn't have known the difference. He opened his eyes again to see Lockheart's locked on his own, while her lips made a silent chant. She lowered the pain to just when it became tolerable, but not beyond. With more clarity, he could see his chest had actually been expertly bandaged and his left arm was secured in a splint.
"It's awfully cold in here, Lockheart," he murmured, licking his lips slightly.
She blinked, realizing he was actually awake and not making the insane ramblings of earlier that morning, and leaned over him slightly. "Reno..."
He held his breath in anticipation as she edged closer to his face.
"... you've got an ice-pack taped to your head." She dropped a canteen, which she had just grabbed off a corner of the cot, onto an uninjured part of his chest and backed away to examine his sprained wrist. Satisfied, she slid off the bed and moved to the next patient.
Never one to be silent, especially when feeling rejected, he opened his mouth to speak, "Lockh -"
"Sleep, Reno. You need rest - and not the materia induced kind, either." Her back was still to him, and he could make out some of her once white shirt beneath the tangled waves of hair. He was staring at her, and she knew it. Quickly, Tifa began some Cure spells; the girl's fever was back and it concerned her, but she also hoped the Turk would tire and give her some peace while she made her rounds.
Reno's eyes narrowed when her spellcasting began, affronted that she thought he could be brushed off that easily. He was the undisciplined Turk; the indolent one, too lazy to tuck in his own shirt. He "tsked" lightly under his breath. He wasn't lazy (...at least not always...).
He was patient.
She stopped casting, noting some of the girl's natural color returned to her features. Tifa waited a moment to see if Reno was still awake and waiting for her to stop. She counted to herself silently and finally relaxed as she stood to go to the next bed, unobstructed.
"Talkative, aren't we?"
His voice, affectedly loud, sent a shock through her system, just as she was stepping from the cot. Her leg buckled underneath her and nearly sent her flying backwards into a ration cart, but her fighter's reflexes turned the rather clumsy fall into an impromptu pirouette.
Reno could suppress the grin at the gymnastics occurring because of his innocent
question, but his eyes continued to flash with a suppressed satisfaction at getting a one up on the Avalanche member. He had scars from her that little chants would never take away.
But it all died when he looked into her eyes. He remembered them as carrying a radiance that seemed to light her bar, as opposed to the other way around. He expected them to hold a righteous indignation at his prank, like they did when a guy made a bad come-on. Never, though, did he think of Tifa Lockheart's eyes as holding nothing at all. They were dead, like Strife's, like Highwind's.
Cid Highwind didn't even raise an eyebrow at Reno's sudden appearance and offer to help. He just sent him to Strife, who had recently lost some Recoverers and needed replacements. No fights, no blame, not even angry words towards the Shinra. Both of them - Strife and Highwind - walked every day in their own misery. And they walked it willingly.
Of all of Avalanche, Lockheart was the one Reno expected would remain alive, even in the midst of this misery they called Midgar. He flinched under the ice-cold gaze when he realized how wrong he was.
"Shut up or get out."
She was dangerously close, and Reno tried to lighten the air.
"Easy, Lockheart. I'm still hurting from yesterday."
She moved lightening-quick and grabbed his hair, pulled back loosely from his face, causing him to inhale sharply, and spoke directly into his ear, "You are here by my grace, not the other way around. If you keep me from my duties again, I will kick you out, and I will make it hurt a lot worse than Sector Six just did."
There was a familiarity, there, that took him a moment to place, but it soon hit him like a shotgun blast. That was the almighty Shinra Voice. It was the voice of those lower employees, working for a living in a business that centered around undercutting and greed. Everything was serious, everything was efficient, and the slightest mistake could cost them their job. Lockheart was a Shinra now. Sure, the stakes were nobler and yeah, it was for a good cause, but a soul's a soul and since when did volunteer Medics call their patients, "duties"?
He used his good hand to ease her grip on his hair, slightly, and cocked his head toward her. His eyes were dark, stormy and his voice lowered to an apologetic - and what he hoped was unthreatening - whisper. "What are you?" He spoke the words slowly, almost like singing a lullaby. "A machine?"
And with that, he slammed his hand down on her neck, forcing her lips to his. He was sure of very little in this new world except that Tifa Lockheart had no business selling her soul.
I realized, belatedly, that in my terror/excitement about posting, I completely forgot a disclaimer. I also realized I didn't take the time to thank all you guys who've encouraged me to do this. Soda_cola_pop gave me the final kick in the butt I needed (go read her stuff - she has a ton of potential!). Now, I've done my part so kindly drop a review in the box... it'll make you feel good. Promise. ;)
Out of curiosity, does every new author check their box once an hour for reviews, or am I the only one neurotic like that?
Reno woke to a sight he'd often envisioned, even when he was just a smart-mouth Turk drinking the night away at the Seventh Heaven: a disheveled Tifa Lockheart massaging his bare chest.
Abruptly, he felt like he was hit by some of Highwind's dynamite as the force of his injuries flooded his senses. He could have been on fire and wouldn't have known the difference. He opened his eyes again to see Lockheart's locked on his own, while her lips made a silent chant. She lowered the pain to just when it became tolerable, but not beyond. With more clarity, he could see his chest had actually been expertly bandaged and his left arm was secured in a splint.
"It's awfully cold in here, Lockheart," he murmured, licking his lips slightly.
She blinked, realizing he was actually awake and not making the insane ramblings of earlier that morning, and leaned over him slightly. "Reno..."
He held his breath in anticipation as she edged closer to his face.
"... you've got an ice-pack taped to your head." She dropped a canteen, which she had just grabbed off a corner of the cot, onto an uninjured part of his chest and backed away to examine his sprained wrist. Satisfied, she slid off the bed and moved to the next patient.
Never one to be silent, especially when feeling rejected, he opened his mouth to speak, "Lockh -"
"Sleep, Reno. You need rest - and not the materia induced kind, either." Her back was still to him, and he could make out some of her once white shirt beneath the tangled waves of hair. He was staring at her, and she knew it. Quickly, Tifa began some Cure spells; the girl's fever was back and it concerned her, but she also hoped the Turk would tire and give her some peace while she made her rounds.
Reno's eyes narrowed when her spellcasting began, affronted that she thought he could be brushed off that easily. He was the undisciplined Turk; the indolent one, too lazy to tuck in his own shirt. He "tsked" lightly under his breath. He wasn't lazy (...at least not always...).
He was patient.
She stopped casting, noting some of the girl's natural color returned to her features. Tifa waited a moment to see if Reno was still awake and waiting for her to stop. She counted to herself silently and finally relaxed as she stood to go to the next bed, unobstructed.
"Talkative, aren't we?"
His voice, affectedly loud, sent a shock through her system, just as she was stepping from the cot. Her leg buckled underneath her and nearly sent her flying backwards into a ration cart, but her fighter's reflexes turned the rather clumsy fall into an impromptu pirouette.
Reno could suppress the grin at the gymnastics occurring because of his innocent
question, but his eyes continued to flash with a suppressed satisfaction at getting a one up on the Avalanche member. He had scars from her that little chants would never take away.
But it all died when he looked into her eyes. He remembered them as carrying a radiance that seemed to light her bar, as opposed to the other way around. He expected them to hold a righteous indignation at his prank, like they did when a guy made a bad come-on. Never, though, did he think of Tifa Lockheart's eyes as holding nothing at all. They were dead, like Strife's, like Highwind's.
Cid Highwind didn't even raise an eyebrow at Reno's sudden appearance and offer to help. He just sent him to Strife, who had recently lost some Recoverers and needed replacements. No fights, no blame, not even angry words towards the Shinra. Both of them - Strife and Highwind - walked every day in their own misery. And they walked it willingly.
Of all of Avalanche, Lockheart was the one Reno expected would remain alive, even in the midst of this misery they called Midgar. He flinched under the ice-cold gaze when he realized how wrong he was.
"Shut up or get out."
She was dangerously close, and Reno tried to lighten the air.
"Easy, Lockheart. I'm still hurting from yesterday."
She moved lightening-quick and grabbed his hair, pulled back loosely from his face, causing him to inhale sharply, and spoke directly into his ear, "You are here by my grace, not the other way around. If you keep me from my duties again, I will kick you out, and I will make it hurt a lot worse than Sector Six just did."
There was a familiarity, there, that took him a moment to place, but it soon hit him like a shotgun blast. That was the almighty Shinra Voice. It was the voice of those lower employees, working for a living in a business that centered around undercutting and greed. Everything was serious, everything was efficient, and the slightest mistake could cost them their job. Lockheart was a Shinra now. Sure, the stakes were nobler and yeah, it was for a good cause, but a soul's a soul and since when did volunteer Medics call their patients, "duties"?
He used his good hand to ease her grip on his hair, slightly, and cocked his head toward her. His eyes were dark, stormy and his voice lowered to an apologetic - and what he hoped was unthreatening - whisper. "What are you?" He spoke the words slowly, almost like singing a lullaby. "A machine?"
And with that, he slammed his hand down on her neck, forcing her lips to his. He was sure of very little in this new world except that Tifa Lockheart had no business selling her soul.
I realized, belatedly, that in my terror/excitement about posting, I completely forgot a disclaimer. I also realized I didn't take the time to thank all you guys who've encouraged me to do this. Soda_cola_pop gave me the final kick in the butt I needed (go read her stuff - she has a ton of potential!). Now, I've done my part so kindly drop a review in the box... it'll make you feel good. Promise. ;)
Out of curiosity, does every new author check their box once an hour for reviews, or am I the only one neurotic like that?