Note from the Author: I'll tell you right now that I put some serious research into the hangover bit for this chapter. I feel like my inner ear has left the stage and little people keep pushing furniture around behind my eyeballs. I had an egg for breakfast and wish I didn't. I'm huddled with my coffee and crazily pinging thoughts behind a hastily erected barricade of shades to keep out the light. My liver is screaming.
Enjoy.
Also: Thank you so much for commenting even though this story seemed dead. It really encourages me and makes me (yes MAKES me) write more.
Katie: Thank you for catching that. I've meant it to be the Buster sword and I kept writing Ultima. I'll fix that.
Fuzzy Pumpkin: Hope you like the new chapter. It's my goal to drag other people into insomniac-like procrastination.
Pekkle: They do rant a bit (sorry) and much appreciation for the constructive criticism. I'll be sure to avoid "&" and just swear a lot, as Reno is wont to do anyway. I will also be mindful of "Pheros" and not Phero. Thanks for sticking with it.
I would, as always, like to thank everyone, and as I said before, I can't just let it sit forever. It will be updated. Like now.
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Chapter 10: The Open Door
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It wasn't really anything he could put a claw on. This night, like the last, he just couldn't sleep and the restlessness that had invaded his light slumber made him get up and climb the spiral rock stairs to the roof of the adobe house.
Reposing himself on the cool rock Red XII considered the bright stars overhead and gave a puzzled chuff. He could not see anything amiss, could not sense with any great certainty that something was wrong and yet, he had a great feeling of anticipation. It made the adrenaline flow and he felt powerful. Stronger than in the last days of the conflict where he and the other AVALANCHE members had been pitted against Sephiroth and JENOVA.
Perhaps it is the warrior calling in my lineage crying out for those past battles, he thought. At the moment there was no fight to be had in Cosmo Canyon (unless one counted the odd, unreasonable monster) and he had spent the majority of the past year in peaceful study with the old stargazer. He liked the quiet, preferred it really, but one did miss the excitement of combat.
Tonight though he felt like a different beast. The strange emotion pulsed through his veins and he wondered if he was really suited to this life. Some people, some creatures, were born to do battle. If even he, Nanaki, who had yearned for years to spend his time in thoughtful contemplation about the greater mysteries of life rather than fleeing mad scientists and megalomaniacs, was getting restive, what of the other members of AVALANCHE? He could not imagine Yuffie Kisagari settling down or Cloud Strife to take up a day job that didn't include putting his life on the line. Barret and Cid were older and had other things to return to. Tifa seemed content to run her bar in Costa del Sol and as for Vincent Valentine...perhaps he too was getting restless. Cait Sith was simply Cait Sith.
He had not actually seen the others since early summer when they had met in Costa del Sol via Tifa's invite. He remembered the relaxation in everyone's eyes that spoke volumes of the relief they felt from being together again. It was hard not to. They had all lived together, fought together, nearly died together for a long time. In his mind they were family and being apart was the anomaly, not the norm. Maybe he would invite them all to Cosmo Canyon for week. That might shed him of his recent agitation.
He also remembered with some trepidation though that the last barbeque had not all been as happy as it seemed. There had been something, something not explicitly spoken of, which had made some of the smiles seem a bit forced. No one would speak about whatever the problem was but Nanaki could tell something was amiss. Whatever it had been though, it was between Cloud, Tifa and Cid. He'd gotten nothing but assurances from Tifa that everything was fine but neither Cloud nor Cid would answer questions directly.
The blond swordsman had worn his leathers and full bracers on both arms that day despite the heat.
"Just precautions," he had said, but his scent was sharp and strained. There had been something like distress in it too but Nanaki did not read minds or presume to tell others out loud that he thought they were both lying and in pain somehow. It was a personal matter obviously and he would not act until he thought he was needed.
When tentatively put forward to Cid, the pilot had chewed the end of his cigar and looked more furious than Nanaki had seen him in months but again, nothing.
He would call for a gathering he thought. At the very least it would give him an opportunity to assess the others' health and put his worries at rest. It might even answer his own sleeplessness. Sleeplessness that felt brought on by a silent pull, a calling. But to what?
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The next morning Cloud woke up sore and with a mouth that tasted like he'd been kissing Pheros. There was a headache to contend with as well but it was only to be expected after a night of drinking with a Turk.
Shedding the clothes he had neglected to remove after collapsing into bed, he padded over to the shower and let the falling water massage his throbbing skull. It poured in soothing rivulets through his hair and ran hot down the back. The boneless relaxation that alcohol induced had long since passed and all the aches and pains from the day before came calling. With set teeth he forced the damaged leg to flex, stretching it back and forth till it moved normally and he was able to bend it more easily. Most of the marks and bruising he had been grimly pleased to note were fading fast and he thought one more solid night of sleep would erase them completely. Gods he wanted to get back to Costa del Sol so he could do just that.
Toweling off he faced the mirror and considered a shave he didn't really need (he'd gone weeks before with only a hint of fuzz to show for it). He stared hard at his reflection. It had been six years now. His jaw was sharper he thought. The eyes were sharper too, not like the flat blue things that had looked back at him from the polished metal of a steel door.
Ah…again.
He remembered details like that sometimes. Small things that returned to him from recesses of his swiss-cheese brain. He chewed on his thumbnail and had to smile a bit. It was like being a TV with crappy reception. Sometimes it ran the usual shite but every now and then, a commercial break. Kinda funny if you didn't look too closely.
At least, he thought, there was no part of his face now that could be mistaken for a boy. A few years might even have him looking his age.
The hot air from the shower began re-steaming up the portion of the mirror he had wiped clean and with a finger he traced the outline of his head, dotted two eyes, then hesitated at the mouth. He flashed over the current business and began smudging a down-turned line. Then, he thought suddenly, and quite randomly, about the time in the swamp when Reno had been tangled up in the mud with his black chocobo Sylth. The line of the mouth jerked up so sharply on the other side that it almost intersected the outline of the head itself. What he had now was something that looked like a pineapple on fire with eyes and mad expression. He felt silly but didn't wipe it off the mirror. Instead he gave a small snort and left, leaving the door open.
The caricature began dripping slightly as the air cooled and there was a change so small and barely noticeable that had Cloud reentered at that moment he might have missed it. The down-turned side of the mouth was now curled up slightly. And, as the whole picture began to evaporate, a hastily drawn handlebar mustache appeared then faded moments later with the rest.
Back in the main room Cloud dried off and ran a hand through his hair a couple of times. The requisite grooming complete, he changed back into the only spare outfit he had, those from the night before. They reeked of smoke but there was nothing to do about it now. Into his pack went the UPS, the shredded clothes, and the disorganized pile of gil (source unknown to his hazy recollection) he'd found all over the floor. Time to meet up.
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The morning dawned a few streets over just as painfully for the other half of the unlikely duo. Reno emerged from the depths of a dark room with all the tell-tale signs of someone both still drunk and completely unrested.
Stepping out into the moderately populated street without giving into the desire to curl up in a dark space under the bed he had just left took more energy than fighting the Zolom. His body ached, his head hummed, and his mouth was dry. It had been a strange night to be sure, one that came back to him punctuated with little voices that he couldn't seem to banish from his ears. He hadn't had anything remotely like sleep to smooth away the little aches and pains and even now his brain fairly vibrated with a high pitched whine that set his teeth on edge. He couldn't say anything for certain about last night save that he was sure his headache had something to do with Cloud Strife.
Rolling out his shoulders and slinging the pack over one, he stalked away from his seedy lodgings and aimed a course for the docks. He was due to meet Strife just under the hour which was still some time away. He hadn't intended to be early (that punctual shit was for Elena, not him) but since sleep had escaped him he had nothing else to do with the time.
People and characterless buildings passed like ghosts in Reno's peripheral vision. If it wasn't attacking him he had no energy to spare for it. He strode along with only his thoughts for company and those carrouseled around two points. One; What to do when he found what he was looking for? His name on a list wasn't much to go on by itself but when he found more information, what then? What if Hojo had been secretly lacing his meals with arsenic or something? There had been no lost love between the two ever since Reno had added some 'spice' of his own to the scientists' coffee and caused the man to slur his orders, which had set Reno into a giggling fit that just grew until all of ShinRa rang with his laughter. Come to think of it, hadn't Hojo started referring to him as number 098 after that incident...?
The man had no sense of humor so Reno could imagine several endings, each gorier than the last. Was he just going to keel over and die? Maybe he'd been taking something that would make his hair fall out and the Turks would have two bald members. (he unconsciously yanked on his ponytail at the thought) At any rate the worst case scenario had him being unable to do anything at all about it. Hojo's experiments were nasty and if his involvement had anything to do with the procedure he'd read about then chances were he wouldn't be getting out of this clean. If he lived (or continued living, he amended) then it wouldn't be scot-free. If there was one thing he knew with certainty about Hojo it was that the man had been categorically insane...and methodical. There would be results of something, somewhen.
Thought two, an unhappy follow-up to thought one, was that the more he knew about Cloud Strife, the less he understood him. That seemed counterintuitive somehow but he couldn't deny that for all their 'chats' things only got murkier and were beginning to border on freakish. Whether it was professional duty or just idle curiosity at this point he couldn't shake the feeling that they were stuck in this together and logic followed that if Reeve had set him upon this errand with Mr. Personality then it meant that their respective goals were linked. He would have to take this up with el Presidente when he returned. The man was an awful lot like Tseng in some respects, but this was cruel and unusual punishment for service done well. Or, done well enough.
With an unerring sense of direction Reno navigated the back streets of Junon on autopilot while his brain juggled "what-ifs". He was therefore caught completely unaware when suddenly he lost his balance and nearly kissed the graffiti splattered wall to one side of the alley. He glanced back, sunglasses sliding down to perch on the end of his nose. There was something attached to his foot, holding him back. Namely, a street man he had thought was a pile of old clothes when he had passed, smelling of fish and suddenly exhibiting new found life.
Reno pushed off the wall and got his balance back but the man stayed fastened to his leg. The hand that held him rooted was incongruously old compared to the face. The skin, while layered with green and black unmentionables, pulled tight over knobby bones and the forehead was wrinkle free under bushy eyebrows. He might have been Reno's age for all the Turk could tell.
"Um...what the hell do you think you're doin'?"
The street man's head drooped down now, chin pillowed on the patchy fabric of his shirt. He made no sign that he was listening at all now. Lank hair obscured the face, but Reno could hear hoarse breathing and thought he caught a hint of brown through the black curtain.
The street man tugged on the ankle, sliding the boot part way off. Reno scowled.
"What do you want? My foot lodged in your esophagus? Let go!"
Dirt and black tar was imbedded beneath the nails that encircled the neck of the boot. A shudder suddenly took the man by force, and the grip grew tight enough to make Reno wince.
"Hey," the Turk said cautiously, not sure why he didn't just kick the vagrant square in the face instead of standing on one foot like a stork.
"I…," the street man suddenly gasped. "I…uurrrraggh!"
And then everything got weird.
"Reno!" The man hissed, but the voice didn't go with the face at all.
The Turk felt something crawl along the edge of his senses and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. The street man's eyes rolled in his head like two mad pinballs until only the whites shown all around. He blinked once and the dark brown orbs came back into focus. He blinked again and they turned cobalt blue. Reno gaped open mouthed at the spectacle. The blue eyes stared hard into his astonished face and the grip tightened even more.
"Reno!" He hissed again. "It's me. Rufus."
Reno stared back, his confusion melting into revulsion. He seemed to be fixating on the drool still escaping through gaps in the street man's broken teeth. If he understood or had heard he gave no sign. The street man tried again, this time giving Reno's leg a little shake to punctuate his words.
"Reno, this is Rufus. Do you understand me?"
"You're…," the Turk began.
The street man nodded encouragement, bits of fuzz and paper escaping as the beard flapped against his chin.
"You're...," he repeated.
The shaggy head nodded vigorously.
"You're…a loony." Reno affirmed.
The street man groaned in frustration and brought his dirty hands to his face. They pulled hard at the scraggly hair.
"I"
"AM"
"NOT"
"A"
"LOONEY! YOU STUPID TURK! I am Rufus Shinra and I order you to address me with respect!"
A bit of drool slid from the corner of the bearded mouth. Reno raised one fire-red brow and grinned.
"You know, you do look like him a bit Pops. You even have his," Reno bent his wrist and wagged it about, "ways."
The cobalt blue eyes hardened on the Turk's face and the headache was back ten times stronger than before. Reno winced and rubbed one temple while edging away from the huddled figure.
"Look old man, I don't have any scraps to give you and I've places to go, people to make disappear, so have yourself a pleasant day and go find someone else to bother. Especially blond guys. Go bother any blond guys with big swords and pissy attitudes you can find."
"I'm not looking for a handout you alcoholic, impertinent-wait a second. Are you talking about...about...about...bout...t..t..tt.ttttttt..."
The street man broke off suddenly caught in a stutter that ended with his teeth chattering furiously. His eyes began to dart everywhere once again and Reno, sensing a meltdown, did the practical thing and buggered off.
He skipped down the rest of the alley, took a hard left and jogged a couple of blocks before he caught himself and did a little shake of his own. Goose pimples had broken out all over his arms and he rubbed them as he walked. Maybe Nibleheim wasn't the center of weirdness. Perhaps that title had grown legs and now followed Reno Delaney wherever he went. But wasn't he also going back to Nibleheim...?
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A short time later Reno found himself by the water and in sight of the port. He paused there at the entrance to the docks, something in the warm salt air smoothing the fatigue from his face. The faint bruising underneath his eyes evaporated beneath the morning sun and he inhaled deeply, willing away the remains of the headache. Gripping the flaking handrail he gazed out over the shipyard. The docks, ever the heart of Junon, were fairly choked with all manner of ships from fishing cutters to pleasure steamers to ShinRa gunners. The latter of course weren't in use nor had been since Meteor. With the portholes empty and decks vacant they had a closed, listless look about them. Reno wondered briefly what Reeve had in mind for them figuring war wasn't it. Yet.
The tall ShinRa cruisers were parked side by side with less imposing boats and just past a pair of fin-sailed Wutai junks he spied the Costa del Sol ferry. He was a few minutes early yet so he lit a cigarette and strolled over to the ticket counter to browse the pricelist.
He hedged there, not really reading the numbers, his mood shadowed by the encounter with the bum. He'd had his share of weird experiences, plenty definitely more bizarre than this, but it left him in a queer frame of mind. Ever since the night before he'd been having a ringing headache that didn't seem related to obnoxious amounts of alcohol because it was simply still there. Hangovers were difficult to hold onto (he tried very hard indeed to hold onto them) but the gap left in their wake was usually the only sure bet. This thing didn't hurt per say, save for the occasional twinge, but it was very distracting. When he'd run into the filthy bagger everything had gone quiet for a second then flared like a match had been put out on his eye. Then it was gone again into background noise. Dead unsettling if you asked him, not to mention all that nonsense about being Rufus. That old bum was probably an ex-employee with a bitter streak and weird sense of humor. Reno blew a wobbly smoke ring and wondered if he should go back and drop the poor wanker a gil or two. He could empathize with that kind of feeling. ShinRa inspired all sorts of wackos. He considered himself among them.
Speaking of weirdos…
Light bag and limp still in attendance, Cloud Strife was making his way up the docks. He looked washed but also unrested, and Reno was secretly delighted to note the squinting of the eyes against the too bright morning light. Mornings after were always more tolerable in like company. He shaded his own sensitive eyes and leaned insolently against the ticket counter. A small old woman examining the schedule sniffed at him and left, her blue-gray hair bun flouncing.
"'Morning," he said cheerfully as the swordsman approached, Cloud's obvious pain buoying his spirits greatly.
"It is morning isn't it?" The other said in a dry voice.
Reno peered down at him. Sarcasm already? Maybe it was the blond hair but Strife was suddenly reminding him sharply of Elena on certain mornings-after ShinRa events when her normal professional, serious and to the point speech devolved into something much more fun. At least until her first Bloody Mary. Then she just glared.
By way of response he inhaled a lung full of smoke and lovingly released it through bared teeth and flared nostrils. Rude had often remarked that it made him appear like a devil with a snoot full of brimstone. He particularly enjoyed affecting that kind of look during interrogations. In the Turks there was no 'good' cop 'bad' cop routine. He played 'scary' and Rude was a kind of intimidating backdrop. Rude did his thing, which was usually standing there and looking sinister while Reno made sure to make his eyes go white around the edges to convey that "human, the other white meat" kind of mentality. He wasn't sure why he got the urge to do it now except that Cloud in this vulnerable state was too good to pass up. As it were AVALANCHE's boss-man was looking up at him with a kind of narrow-eyed grimace.
There was a long pause as both men stared at each other, Reno's manic grin fading into a kind of injured pout. Cloud remained impassive, his haggard face dark about the eyes. He broke eye contact first, seemingly bored with the exchange.
"So, when's the ship leave?"
Reno glanced back at the schedule. "In 10. We just have to get tickets."
Cloud set his bag down and on toes, leaned onto the sill of the ticket counter. He opened his mouth but oddly Reno's voice came out.
"Costa del Sol! Two tickets, business class!"
"50 gil!" The clerk shouted back.
Reno looked expectantly at the swordsman. So did the clerk.
Cloud snapped his jaw shut and glared at the Turk from out of the corner of his eye.
"What makes you think I'm paying for you? And we don't need business class. What's wrong with-"
"Ch-" Reno said, gesturing for Cloud to come closer.
"What?"
"Ch-ch-ch!" The red head spat out rapid fire under his breath, hand still beckoning.
Cloud exchanged a raised eyebrow with the clerk and leaned into Reno's space.
The Turk whispered into his ear almost conspiratorially.
"In business class the drinks are free."
"What? Why the hell do we need more to-"
Reno touched the black shades perched atop the fringe of red bangs and a reflected shaft of light shone right into Cloud's wide aquamarine stare. The smaller man gasped in pain and his gloved hands flew to defend against any further damage. He made a kind of hissing moan as he rocked on his feet.
Reno straightened up and made a V of victory to the clerk.
"Ag," Cloud said.
"I'll take that as a yes."
The fingers parted slightly and a single eye squinted out.
"Still doesn't mean I'm paying for you."
Reno clicked his tongue.
"There's the matter of your half of the bill for last night."
Cloud pursed his lips and made a sort of shrugging gesture.
"I don't recall not paying." I don't recall not not paying either he added mentally.
Reno leaned down and smiled sweetly. "Jaz wants a word with you, if I got the message right. She remembers even if you don't."
"When did you say that boat leaves?"
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The ocean was an unmarred expanse of blue that divided the continents and made for swift passage between Junon and Costa del Sol. Up on the second deck, business class as it were, the two men lounged in chairs a good distance from one another but still within sight. Neither felt disposed to talking and each sat in silence with only a mumbled thanks or grunt to the bearers that brought them drinks.
Cloud leaned back on his deck chair and stared up into the cloudless sky without focus. He steadfastly ignored any clear thought that tried to break through the mindless zen of his rest and simply 'felt' the world around him in no more complicated terms than hot and cool.
When some time had passed and his drink was empty he scooted off the chair, hand brushing unconsciously over the Buster sword, and wandered over to the edge of the deck. He stood at the railing for some time and let the salt air blow over the myriad of tiny cuts and scratches that remained from the day's before events. They stung a bit still but were fading fast. Tomorrow they wouldn't even be a memory. He ran a gloved finger over what had just half a day ago been in need of stitches and urged his leg to come along as quickly. Soon he'd be back among things familiar to him only in nightmares and for that he would need every bit of strength. Strength enough to face the ghosts typed out in the graying print of the report given to him by Reeve, strength enough to go back into that mansion, and strength enough to come back out whatever he found there.
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Costa del Sol is everything Junon is not. For one there are no cracked shells of once imposing defenses breaking the costal view. There are no buildings taller than four stories. There is definite lack of all things metal and rusting. There are also no, as the residents stress quite vocally, ShinRa outposts. Even the bums seem happy in their healthy looking tanned little bodies.
Nestled against the edge of a dense palm grove the Costa del Sol port is more like a parking area than a trade spot. Wutai junks, skivs from the Bone village and a few yachts are the usual customers. With the exception of the Costa del Sol ferry the only cargo-sized ships that run along the inner coast are from Gongaga and they deal in the happy commodity of grain, which inevitably makes its way more often into beer than bread.
As a rule Costa del Sol residents sport brightly printed shirts and shorts. Their smiles are as white as the beach sands and, as part of a vast (and quite calculated) marketing scheme, many of the women wear flowers and know your name before you step off the boat. For most people, this combined with the alluring scenery and welcoming lanterns of the local establishments, causes a very warm and inviting atmosphere. For Reno Delaney, city-dweller and favorer of the color black, it caused a combination of sunburn and outright Agoraphobia.
As they stepped from the ferry with the throng of other passengers Reno and Cloud quickly threaded their way through the crowd and ducked the garlands of flowers lobbed at their heads. To avoid attention in general they agreed, with sidelong looks at the packed causeway, to cross the beach and make their way into town by less populated routes.
"So," Reno ventured, the first word spoken in over four hours.
Cloud raised an eyebrow as he trudged through the sand dunes but said nothing.
"So, are you going...home first?"
"If you mean to Tifa's bar, then yes."
"Well then, I'll come along."
Cloud's answering look was puzzled, amused, and had the open question of, Are you mad? all in one.
"It's not like she'll try to kill me."
"..."
"I mean, we're not friends or anything, but at the end of that whole mess things fell on the side of us not being, well, enemies at least."
"Speak for yourself."
"You AVALANCHE guys sure see things in black and white don't you?" Reno murmured under his breath.
Cloud shot him a quick look then gave the ground ahead of him a lot of attention.
They reached the main avenue of the town and via Cloud's direction and he guided them swiftly to a two story establishment of white stucco and green ivy. They paused outside the painted red door and Reno considered it gravely as a man might study a particularly ominous looking cave. Cloud looked at him, took a deep breath and said (as though he might regret it later),
"Come inside."
He knocked and they waited.
A moment later the door opened and some long strands of dark hair escaped before the tanned face of Tifa Lockheart peered out. Seeing who had come she cried and threw open the door the rest of the way. Out she bounded and had him in a tight embrace before the swordsman could even raise his arms. Reno looked on with no small jealousy as Cloud's face was lost somewhere between Tifa's shirt collar and bare naval.
She looked up suddenly, aware that he was not alone. Her red eyes narrowed.
"Reno," she hissed. Reno opened his mouth to say something and found her boot lodged in it a moment later. He could do little but fall over and pass out for a few inky seconds.
When he came to again he could hear the sound of their arguing.
"-ith me."
"You never said that-"
"I just told you, it was a surprise to me too. Now I've invited him in. Can you just not kill him for a couple of hours?"
"Ng," Reno said distinctly through a copiously bleeding nose.
They looked down at him. He looked up.
"Sorry," Cloud said.
"Not sorry," Tifa said, "but come in, I guess."
Cloud bent down and hauled him up. Reno for his part simply wiped the blood away with his shirt cuff and tried to look more dignified than he felt.
Tifa frowned at him and Cloud looked from one to another as not sure of what side to join. He put his hand in the small of Tifa's back and guided her gently back into the bar. He beckoned to Reno and disappeared into the building. The Turk followed more slowly, pressing one hand to his aching nose. He stopped in the doorway with a sudden revelation.
"Pink!" He declared. "Pink with lace on the edges!"
The door crashed back with such force that he was thrown to nearly the same spot as before. He lay spread eagle on the ground once more.
"Tifa!" Cloud cried.
"Sorry!" she screamed at the now closed door.
"Not sorry..." Reno gurgled and then passed out again.
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-Ho ho ho. Some strange developments in this one and they're going to be moving along a lot quicker now that I've got most of their inner monologues out of the way. (yes, I am very guilty of too much of that) As for the usual request, please, please leave at least your email so I can either thank you and know you've gotten it, or add you to the mailing list if you like. I do update infrequently, but this story is not dead. So, let me know what you think and any weirdness or inconsistencies do point them out. It helps me greatly. Thanks.
-Moira 02/01/05