The Turks Christmas Special : Three Flu Bugs
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Reno came to the next day feeling like a train had hit him. He didn't often get hungover, and therefore ruled that out as the cause of this pressure in his head. It took maybe five minutes for it to register with him that he was not laying on his mattress.
No, this felt. . .hard.
Metallic, even.
Sniffing, he felt the burn of cold air into early morning lungs and began hacking, opening his eyes to do so. What he found was a street covered with snow, more falling down on his suit -- which, as he would see in a moment, was somewhere beneath a large snow mound with the rest of him -- and a windshield at the back of his head.
He wiggled his frozen fingers and found a bottle clutched in one hand, at which time the previous night rushed back into his mind and he knew he was laying on his own car this morning. That was at least an upgrade as far as awakenings atop cars went for the Turk.
Reno knew, though, that he would have never chosen to do this, and also knew that Scarlet usually was the type to leave him in a compromising position. He pushed the snow off of him, sneezed, and slid off the car to go inside.
He fell flat on his face, courtesy tied-together shoelaces.
"That bitch," he growled, meaning none of it. That was exactly the stupid shit she'd pull, and she was good with knots. She said it came from having kinky high school relationships, but he wasn't entirely sure she hadn't tied nooses for pathetic teenagers at one point in her life. Not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him try to untie them -- it was a completely stupid thought, but his mind wasn't firing on all cylinders yet -- he slipped them off and took a swig from the bottle.
Growling, he smashed the bottle. He was getting more and more pissed; the alcohol had frozen at the bottom.
He cursed the blonde for all of his problems up to the door, when he fished out his keys with a trembling hand and finally got the right one into the lock. Not one whose luck changes without something ruining itself just for good measure, the key snapped right off.
The redhead looked up at the snowing sky. "Oh, you're a real fucking comedian."
He popped the window out with no problem at all and shoved himself inside, teeth now chattering loudly. He put the window back in and walked into the bathroom quickly, peeling off his frozen suit and tossing it onto the floor. None of the previous occupants of the house had even dared to touch the level of heat that his water ran at in the shower for a solid fifteen minutes until he had feeling back in his toes.
He sneezed a few more times as he dried himself off, swore loudly at the towel that never got his hair perfectly dry, and went to find something comfortable for the day. His first sign of being sick -- the first one that he admitted to, anyway -- was when he banged his hip on his nightstand and saw colors dance throughout the room briefly. Pretending not to see the clothes that belonged to Yuffie on the floor, or else just too out of it to see them at all, he collapsed into his armchair as soon as possible, wondering why he was panting.
Reno's immune system was remarkable. He hadn't ever missed a day of work, he had only an allergy to cripshay milk, hell, he barely even coughed. Elena had once called him The Human Vaccine and said he should be a superhero, but he disagreed, saying that vaccines cured people as opposed to his blowing holes in their faces and taking their children reputation to keep up.
She'd winced, what with it being her first day and the story having come up some strange way, and steered away from him for a good few weeks.
Yet there he was, sweating from seemingly nothing and feeling as though his face were ablaze and his stomach rebellious. This was mental bullshit, said his more critical brain, while the better of his two sides said he should just go lay down and sleep it off. After trying to stand up three times, he succeeded, then walked to the kitchen and opened the medicine cabinet.
After a few pills for the flu, still shivering and feeling all around cold, he willed himself into his room and under his comforter.
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He woke up maybe three times the entire day to take a quick piss, get a bottle of water, and stagger back into bed, and each time felt progressively better. When he came fully back into the real world, the sun was rising again and he felt as good as he had before he'd gone to the bar with Scarlet and Rude. So good, in fact, that he hopped out of bed and into the shower, singing some nonsense Winter Day tune as he did, and then bounded into the kitchen wearing only a securely-wrapped towel to make something filling.
He hit the button to hear the six messages on his answering machine as he passed, cranking up the volume.
. . .message. . .one. . .
"Hey, Reno." It was Reeve, he thought as he threw everything that looked appetizing onto the counter and then went about a military-esque cutting process, ending up with eggs, bacon, toast, and hashbrowns. "Just letting you know that the Operation's prediction was right, but we're heading this guy off and he's getting sloppy. We've lost only one member since I talked to you last, but the way it looks is that we'll still be seeing him at the company party. So. . .really, not much else to say. See you at the office."
beep
. . .message. . .two. . .
"Reno? Scarlet. Just thought I'd say you should stop by the Turk office when you get to the party. I left you a little surprise. Kyah hah. See you tomorrow, babe. Bye."
beep
That was odd, he decided, and then took it back. It was just like her to fuck with something on his desk while he was out of action and could only get to it after it left its mark. Because, knowing her, it was probably some rabid animal in a Schmidt costume that was trained to chew up anything that smelled like his cologne. Yeah, that was just her style. He cracked an egg into the pan.
. . .message. . .three. . .
"Mr. Drannor, this is Jeanette, Mr. Skeward's assistant. He, as your lawyer, has told me that. . .well, Mr. Drannor, there's no easy way to say this. You case will never hold up in court. You're simply wasting your time trying to say you were talking loudly and got your tongue stuck to the DJ's flagpole because it was badly placed and unheated. You may be better off just paying them a few gil for the inconvenience as opposed to asking them for thirty-two thousand. Thank you, Mr. Drannor. For the record, Mr. Skeward is also filing for a restraining order since you stapled his lapels to the desk."
beep
He shrugged. He hadn't expected to win that case, but everything was worth a try.
. . .message. . .four. . .
"Where the fuck are you, man?" That was Rude in all his angry glory. "I banged on the door twice, and now you're not picking up your phone. I see a big body-shaped lump on the car where Scarlet said she left you. so if you're dead, you should let me know. Call me back; I need my tie out of your guest room."
beep
. . .message. . .five. . .
"Reeve again. Rude said he can't get ahold of you. Just thought I'd call and see if I could. If I don't see you at the party, you'll be in the obituaries on Monday. Call me back."
beep
Yeah, that was just like Reeve to play the fatherly type. Reno chuckled and tossed the bacon into the frying pan. He briefly considered hiding out just to see what they would put on his headstone, but then he remembered that he needed his job more than anything. Besides, he kind of liked it.
. . .message. . .six. . .
There was a long pause and Reno thought for a moment it was someone with the wrong number that had hung up and screwed with his answering machine. It happened more often than one might thing, and it was annoying as hell. He'd gotten it fixed properly once, but nowadays it wasn't worth it and he just tapped it with a hammer until it worked again.
"Reno?"
He jumped and swung around, but it was just the answering machine.
"Heh. Nah, this is an answering machine, right? I can't really tell when the message is just "Who the hell is it?" and a beep. Whatever. I know you're probably sitting there listening to this right now, and I couldn't blame you if I tried. I did a bad thing, Reno, I know that, but I had to do it or this would have all happened a lot more violently and a lot faster. Look, Reno, I know you're no idiot and you're well aware that this is your kid. You're my best friend, Re, and if I lose you as even that. . . Somewhere along the line, I made the damned stupid mistake of getting attached, the one you said no strong person makes in case they have to leave." Her voice was getting thick. In the egg yolks he could see her eyes tear up. "And now one of us has to leave, and I know it's me. Godo has a bounty out for you, Reno, and there's no way he'll let me leave without tracking me down, too. He set me up for a week in the hotel by your place for extended goodbyes, but. . .shit, after that. . ."
beep
. . .end. . .of. . .messages. . .
He forgot briefly about the breakfast, but then decided to start cooking again because he could focus his mind partly on that.
That hadn't been Yuffie Kisaragi. At least, that hadn't been the Yuffie Kisaragi he knew. That was the scared, eighteen-year-old Yuffie that needed companionship and a good place to stay. He didn't know that Yuffie; that was the ninja that had been bounced on her father's knee until she spit up into his morning coffee, but they both found it cute and amusing. That was the Yuffie whose mother had told her she was the most beautiful thing in the world on her deathbed; the Yuffie who cried when she figured out what had actually happened.
That wasn't a lying snake-in-the-grass Yuffie.
That was his Yuffie; the Yuffie he needed to protect.
His head was swimming as he ate his hashbrowns. He wanted to go over there right now, scoop her into his arms, and tell her it was all fine and she was forgiven. But on the hand that said live by the book, die by the book, she had lied to him about the most vital of things. He was in quite the predicament.
Something clicked on in his head, which seemed to be very helpful this morning. It asked why he was even thinking about what to do; if she was good enough to consider breaking moral codes over, why shouldn't she be good enough to just haul off and do it for? And if she was worth actually doing that for. . .was it possible that he. . .?
"No," he said aloud. "Reno Drannor fucks. Reno Drannor leaves. Reno Drannor kills. Reno Drannor ruins. But Reno Drannor is surely not a fucking father figure. You hear me, Yuffie? I can't be a father, y'hear? So knock this lovey-dovey shit off and I might, just might, come talk to you."
Suddenly there was a phone in his hand. He wasn't sure when it got there or how long it had been there, but he knew it was there and the screen read Scarlet's number. He held the phone to his ear and gave a fearful, meek, ". . .Scarlet?"
His hope fluttered about for a moment before he heard her chuckle in a nonhumorous way and hang up. He didn't know when he had called her, nor why, but he had a feeling it had to do with the fact he always went to her for advice on things. And she'd heard him say that; she knew it all, but she'd heard him say Yuffie's name and definitely knew what was going on by now. She knew about the kid now; she knew that he and Yuffie were closer than they appeared; she probably had heard through the grapevine what had happened in Wutai.
He checked the clock on the wall and sighed, finishing his breakfast quickly. He went to the refrigerator and did a quick count of his alcohol.
After walking out the door and down the street to get a newspaper -- it did, indeed, proclaim what had happened in Wutai and that he was the father of Yuffie Kisaragi's unborn son or daughter -- he returned to his house and made a few phone calls to make sure everyone knew he was alive. At roughly eleven in the morning, which was not too early to begin drinking as it had been when the ninja was around, he did just that.
The rest of the day was a smashed blur.
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Author's Note: Hurrah for the self-revelation chapter?