Updated17th May, 2006: Minor edits, primarily changing the paragraphing in places and abit of rephrasing or adding a line here and there.

Updated 12th Dec, 2005: Tried to smoothen the flow a bit and added quite a bit more inner thoughts.

Author's Notes: Thank you agains to the reviewers! Yes, Reno in this story has a decidedly non-angsty past. XD Thought i'd try something a little different from the norm with it. There are other reasons than that for the normal past i constructed, but it might be giving away too much info if i explained everything now. i'm glad that Tseng didn't seem OOC. He's a very interesting character, and quite fun to write as.

This chapter continues the morning after what happened at the end of Chapter 2. The wheelchair girl's name is finally revealed as well, though it's not a big issue... perhaps. i really hope she doesn't come across as a Mary Sue x.x

Disclaimer: Reno, Reeve and Tifa are property of Square Enix. The other characters are my creations.

Islands

Chapter 3: Intrusions and Introductions

Consciousness slipped slowly back across his still half-slumbering mind, along with the start of what promised to be a major hangover.

Reno scrunched his eyes closed even more tightly, as if trying to force himself back to sleep in order to delay the inevitable. It had been a good night, one unplagued by dreams, and he didn't want to surrender to the demands that day brought quite yet.

What day was it anyway?

His groggy brain reluctantly began to sift through his memories of the day before to find the answer. A hamburger. No, not what he had for lunch, the day. Er... Friday. So it's Saturday. Good. He could sleep in. Not that he woke up early even when he was supposed to be in the office anyway. But today was a Saturday, and that meant no Shin-Ra, since Reeve had announced some time ago that they would only have five-day work-weeks. The Turk rolled over onto his side to go back to sleep, and hit his face on... a backrest? He must have fallen asleep on the couch after stumbling home last night; he couldn't remember. Drowsy aquamarine eyes drifted half-open as he tilted his head back to take a glance at the clock. The hell? There was no clock. And he was pretty sure that his sofa was black... or had been, when it was new... rather than off-white. Mold couldn't have grown all over it in one night; and not so evenly either.

His brain groaned in protest as he forced it to go over the previous day again, to try to figure out where he had ended up. Nothing. He remembered heading across the street to the bar in the evening, and ordering a drink, which had turned into a dozen or so while he tried not to think about... certain things. His usual routine. The next memory was of waking up and trying to figure out the day, and then who had stolen his clock and painted the sofa while he was out cold.

Okay, let's see... He'd been alone, so he couldn't be at Rude's place. And this wasn't his place either. So...

Somewhere behind him, there was the soft sound of a page being turned and someone shifting positions.

Shit.

He'd probably followed some random woman home after chatting her up at the bar, although he couldn't for the life of him remember doing so. That wasn't the problem, in his mind. The problem was that she was apparently awake, and would most likely expect him to know things that he had no idea about, such as her name. He couldn't even remember sleeping with her, how was he supposed to remember that? He didn't think that line of reasoning would go down well with her though. Whoever the 'her' was.

Maybe if he could sneak a peek at her face, it would jog his memory.

With Reno, to think was to act. He closed his eyes again and slowly turned over onto his other side, raising one hand over his face in what he hoped would pass for a gesture made while still asleep. He waited a few seconds before carefully opening his eyes behind the shelter of his hand.

There was something vaguely familiar about her although he still couldn't remember her name. SHIT. But he wished she did (though more importantly, he thought, he wished he remembered the sex).

The woman was seated in an arm chair diagonally opposite from him, across a coffee table, her legs curled up in front of her with a book perched on top. She was just shy of thin, but still had a bit of a figure, though she was clearly no Tifa Lockhart. Her features certainly weren't distinctive enough to place her in the model category but she was pretty - well-proportioned features, fair skin, and long, slightly wavy black hair that appeared to reach her hips. She was looking down at her book so he couldn't see the colour of her eyes well through the dark lashes. A set of inquisitive blue eyes hidden behind a hand drifted from her face, down the pale column of her neck, to the simple white tank top she wore, then down a little while later to her rather comical pajama bottoms, and finally to the small, finely-boned feet. Reno noted with a tinge of amusement that the paint on her toenails matched the pale red chocobos gamboling over her pants. She wasn't his usual type, but...

Holy fuck. Reno stared at the large meat cleaver resting next to her on the chair, which he had just spotted. She was going to kill him. Literally. And maybe eat him. Just his luck; he'd followed a freaking psycho home, and he wouldn't even know what name to scream when she plunged that big-ass knife into him. His eyes flickered nervously to the book on her lap, wondering if it was a cannibal cookbook.

One might have thought he was exaggerating, but being acquainted with Elena had taught him that it was not a good idea to underestimate an angry, small-sized woman. This woman was no Turk, but that didn't mean she couldn't be dangerous...

The corner of his mouth twitched. Though the cheery pastel pajamas replete with dancing chocobos and the words "Happy Chocoday!" scattered over the material did make it hard to take her seriously.

He wondered if he should just continue pretending to be asleep until she left the room to do something, and then make a break for freedom. But what if she didn't leave? What if she was looking thorough her freaky cookbook for the last time before starting her preparations for lunch?

Hell, I'm a Turk, I'm not going down without a fight.

It was at about this time that Reno realised his electro-mag rod was missing, and that he'd left his gun at home.

"Awake at last, I see."

AffdRedtghhsA!

Reno sat up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that would worsen his rapidly growing headache or give Crazy Chocobo Girl a reason to slice his head off. Though she's crazy so she doesn't need a reason does she? Fuck. He looked across the table at his murderer-to-be. With his eye-level raised in this position, he was able to see a large object beside her, previously obstructed from his view by the arm of her chair. Metal, cloth, plastic and rubber. Recognition came at last and he blinked. "You're the wheelchair girl."

He knew, before the words had completely left his mouth, that it had been the wrong thing to say. For a moment she looked like she was going to lunge across the table at him. He could see the headlines of the evening paper already: "Shin-Ra Ace Turk murdered by crazy, chopper-wielding woman in chocobo pajamas".

He observed her for signs of an impending pounce. In all seriousness, he knew he could have handled her even if she had truly tried to attack him; but he'd rather it didn't come to that. He doubted it would go down well with the others or the public if they heard that he'd manhandled a handicapped girl, even if she had been the one wielding a knife. They'd probably argue she was just defending herself. That wasn't exactly the kind of reputation he wanted to cultivate. There was a difference between being feared for his skills and being just seen as a bully; and whatever anyone else may have thought, Turks weren't supposed to be the latter. Well then, first priority: Prevent angry woman jumping -

His thought was suddenly sidetracked by another part of his brain commenting that angry women could look kind of hot, what with the (non-literal) "I'm going to eat you alive" look and the heaving chest. Eheh.

His thoughts were soon broken into again, this time by the woman's sigh. The anger seemed to drain from her with the exhaled breath, leaving behind an expression of resignation instead. "I have a name, you know."

She usually wasn't quick to anger, but this had always been a touchy issue for her. Be nice, she scolded herself, I'm sure he didn't mean it in a degrading way. And like it or not, it is true anyhow. You are "the wheelchair girl"...

"Yeah, but I don't know it. So you're still Wheelie Girl to me," the red head grinned, feeling far more at ease now than he had just a short while ago. From their brief previous encounter, he had surmised that she wasn't the homicidal sort. Nah, she seemed more the "Love thy neighbour", "Turn the other cheek"type.Plus she definitely wasn't the sort to frequent a bar, so he figured that nothing had happened, so there was little to fear on that front either. Besides...His gaze drifted back to the empty metal chair.

He still wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up here but that seemed like a minor issue at the moment. Maybe he'd collapsed outside her door and she'd let him in. It might explain why she was so wary around him. Reno knew he did and said some pretty stupid things when he was drunk, though he seldom remembered the actual contents afterwards. That was the way he liked it.

But he was sidetracking.Reno tilted his head and looked at her appraisingly. "Not keen on that, huh?Do you prefer Chocoday Girl?" Evidently, his earlier plan of avoiding her wrath had been forgotten in the half-minute that had passed since.

She looked irritated again, and then perplexed for a moment. "'Chocoday' Girl?" Following the man's aquamarine gaze to her own pants, she blinked, before her cheeks flushed and mumbled an excuse for her attire. An embarrassed pause followed as she self-consciously pulled a cushion she'd been leaning on into her lap. "Isla," she said at last. " My name is Isla."

"Reno." He leaned back against the sofa, watching her fidget slightly in her seat like a nervous rabbit. He eyed the cleaver again. "You're not planning to eat me, are you?"

She gave him a weird look. "Excuse me?"

"Er, heh, nevermind."

The woman just shook her head slightly and closed the book she had been reading earlier, after placing a bookmark on the page where she'd left off. He must still be drunk, she thought to herself.

She didn't understand why some people liked to indulge - and overindulge, she thought with a mental tip of the hat to the disheveled, red-haired Turk on her sofa - in drink. It impaired your judgement, it made you do foolish, dangerous things that you might later regret, "Or give others cause to regret" she added, her eyes alighting on her legs momentarily; and there was the risk of developing an addiction. Plus, it was unhealthy.

Excessive consumption of anything was. Isla believed strongly in moderation. She liked balance and order, routines. She liked knowing exactly how her day was going to progress. Feeling safe. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting existence, but everything has its price.

She glanced at Reno, who seemed to be staring at nothing in particular. He looked like a man who embraced life's extremes, and enjoyed letting people know that. Her eyes took in the (no doubt carefully) tousled hair, the goggles (which she was sure were there solely for effect, instead of any practical purpose) and the dark blue suit, which had been crumpled long before he'd laid down on the couch.

She found her gaze lingering on the twin marks along his cheekbones. Isla was careful not to stare or look for too long despite her curiosity, knowing too well how unpleasant staring could be. They looked like the type of marks that ancient warriors would paint on their skin before entering battle. I suppose it is fitting; Turks are Shin-Ra's warriors, aren't they?

Bloodthirsty, merciless... yes, that sounded like the image of the Turks that she had built up from various sources over the years. She was still having trouble making Reno fit into the picture however. He seemed too... human.

"So," Reno started conversationally, after noticing that the silence was becoming prolonged, "you live here by yourself?"

Isla looked up, startled from her thoughts by the voice. She paused a moment before nodding. Then a slight frown crossed her face and her eyes narrowed slightly again. "Why? You don't think I can take care of myself?"

"Hey, i didn't say that." He raised one eyebrow at her defensive tone. Talk about mood swings.

Perhaps due to his experience with the matter, Reno had developed the skill of knowing how to estimate just how far someone could be pushed before they snapped, and used it liberally at both work and play. It was a useful skill. He liked to dance close to the line, near enough to the fire that he could feel the warmth lick his skin, but beyond the actual reach of the flames - something that all his coworkers could attest to, loudly and at length. And since he was still alive and in one piece, it could be said that he was fairly good at it.

Isla, he estimated, was veering rapidly towards true anger. It seemed that her handicap was a very sensitive topic with her, despite how calm and accepting of life she had appeared the first time they had talked. He found that he didn't really want to make her angry; he wasn't that much of a jerk to purposely piss people off completely just for the hell of it. Not anymore, at least. Heh, getting soft in my old age.

"I'm sure you can." He gestured at the meat chopper on the seat beside her and gave a playful grin, to ease the tension.

The embarrassed flush returned to her face. She still looked annoyed, but a little bit less so, Reno observed. Funny how much something as insubstantial as words could affect a person, for better or worse.

"You did climb in through my window... I wasn't sure what to expect next."

He laughed and scratched his head. "I did? That's a new one. Surprised you let me stay here instead of kicking me out." Reno smirked lavisciously"Guess you wanted me to spend the night."

The dark haired woman glared at the winking Turk, outrage and embarrassment simmering inside her. How dare you suggest that! You're such an arrogant, insolent man. After I helped you too! If she had known he was such a pervert, she would never have allowed him to stay. He hadn't seemed that bad when they had spoken the first time. But then again, one five minute encounter was hardly a solid basis for accurate character judgement. "Believe me, it wasn't for a lack of trying that you didn't wake up outside my closed door," she replied tartly, crossing her arms across her chest.

Both eyebrows shot up this time. Out of the pan and into the goddamn fire. This woman seemed to be a minefield of triggers. Everyone was though; you just needed to know which buttons not to push. He certainly had his share of triggers, concealed beneath the laid-back surface.

"Chill, it was just a joke, Issy." Wonder if she was raised in a convent or sumat.

"Well I'm sorry that I didn't find it funny." Isla bit out crisply.

She was sleepy and the familiar tone Reno was using with her made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. It usually took people she'd just met a long time to warm up to her. While she'd often wished that people would be more friendly, she thought he was being somewhat too friendly. I guess this is what they mean by saying "Be careful what you wish for", she thought wryly.

And then there was the fact that she'd hardly ever been flirted with before, and certainly nothing as blatant as this. She wondered if he was mocking her. Guys like him simply did not flirt with girls in wheelchairs. They probably didn't even usually chose to speak with them, unless forced to by circumstance. Like, perhaps,waking up in their homes after wandering in blind drunk the night before. If that was the only kind of attention she could get, she would gladly go without it, thank you very much. She didn't want pity. She just wanted to be treated like a normal person. Why was that so hard for everyone?

She was so caught up in her mental tirade that it took a while for her to realise that he had called her by another name. "Wait... What did you call me?"

"Issy," Reno repeated, beaming innocently as a cherub. He was watching her expression even though she didn't realise it. Tseng wasn't the only one good at secretly observing people.

She looked bemused, but not angry. "You could just use my proper name... It's no longer than that."

"I know. But I like Issy better," he grinned. "Isla makes me imagine some girl in a bar in Costa de Sol with a frilly skirt and fruits on her head." He could tell from her expression that she wasn't sure whether to laugh or to roll her eyes at him. Back on safe territory.

"I think a few of my kids are more matured than you are," the woman sighed at last, rubbing her temple.

Now it was his turn to look bemused. "Kids?" She didn't look old - mid-twenties at most, he thought. And didn't she say she lived alone?

"Yes." She smiled faintly, perhaps guessing his thoughts. "I'm a teacher. Elementary school."

"Oh." He should have guessed. Hey, wait a minute. "Should I be insulted?"

"That I compared your mental maturity to that of ten-year-olds?" There was a teasing lilt to her voice.

Reno grinned. "I'm just young at heart." He let his voice drop low in a conspirational tone. "Though if you want, I can show you just how matured I am..." He grinned even wider, knowing that the flames might flare up again. He never could resist playing with fire.

Her face was trying to mirror the hue of his hair again, he noted with a silent laugh. This is fun. Almost like baiting Elena, except he hadn't gotten a black eye yet. "As... inviting as that sounds, I'm afraid I must decline the offer."

"Come on Issy, you know you want to," he teased, dancing almost up to the flames.

She turned to look out of the window. She knew now that he meant no harm, but it was still uncomfortable for her. It's pathetic, really, I'm twenty-four and I still act this way. Isla kept her eyes focused on the scene outside, trying to regain her composure. The cafe was open again. It looked so different by day, she thought distractedly. "I... I don't think this is a very appropriate conversation to have with someone I hardly know, jesting or not." Pathetic.

He sighed in mock defeat. "Anyone ever told you you sound like their grandma?"

Her face turned back sharply and she narrowed her eyes at the red head. "Better than sounding like a prepubescent boy who's just discovered the opposite gender."

"Touche." Reno leaned forward and met her gaze, his trademark half smirk twisting his lips. "Tell me, are you always this cranky in the mornings, or am I just that special?"

For a second it appeared that he had finally gone too far and that she was going to either give another angry retort or slap him; but it passed, and she closed her eyes. "I... I'm sorry. I'm a bit tired from staying up all night." Isla ran a small hand through her hair and averted her gaze. She felt genuinely bad for snapping at him so many times, when all he had been doing was being friendly; yet she couldn't seem to help it.

She did look tired, he noticed after looking more closely, only now seeing the slight bags under her eyes and the weary tilt of her head. Violet, he thought suddenly,she has violet eyes.

Isla smiled. It was warm, if tentative. "Would you like some coffee? Or tea?" An apology, he realised.

"Yeah, sure. Coffee sounds good." He flopped back against the couch, slightly relieved that she hadn't really been offended, and muttered a curse as his head spun after the sudden motion. "Aspirin too, if you have any."

Isla nodded as she carefully transferred herself from the armchair to her wheelchair in an oddly graceful manner for what Reno would have presumed to be an awkward movement to perform. "I'll be back soon. Um, you can watch the TV if you like. The remote's in the holder beside you." He watched from the corner of his eyes as she wheeled herself to the kitchen, the meat chopper balanced on her lap, before reaching for the controller. He flipped through the channels, but his eyes strayed more around the room than focusing on the screen.

The layout was exactly the same as his own apartment's, except it was a mirror image. In more than one way, he thought, cleaner than a fucking Ikea showroom. He looked at the weighted cloth draped over the arm of the sofa, with its compartments for a few remote controls, pens, and magazines. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen his own TV's remote. There was something about the apartment, other than the aforementioned neatness, that struck him as odd. It took him a couple of minutes to realise what it was: everything was arranged or placed at a certain level. No high shelves, no pictures on the walls (though he did spot several framed photos on a side cabinet). He was about to get up and take a look at them when Isla returned, a tray resting on her legs. She set the items on the table, sliding a packet of Aspirin and the red mug over to Reno, and picking up her own cup.

The coffee was thick and strong, and he felt his head clear a little as the aromatic liquid slid warmly down his throat. Reno watched her over the lip of his cup as she took a sip from her tea. She looked much happier than she had earlier, almost relaxed.

After a while, she started telling him about what had happened the night before. Nothing very out of the ordinary for a drunken Reno, if what Rude and Elena told him was the truth, but he supposed that it must have been a rather alarming experience for someone as straight-laced as Isla. She admitted as much, with a rueful smile, adding thatit'd never even occurred to her to call the police.

A minute later she set her mug down and fished out something from behind her. Reno took his EMR back from its temporary guardian.

"I hope you don't mind that I relieved you of it when you fell asleep. As a safety precaution."

He slid it back into its usual place, and looked at Isla, lips quirked faintly. "So you trust me now?"

She picked up the blue mug and cradled in her hands. "If you had wanted to harm me, you probably would have by now."

It was true, of course. Few people could resist the will of a Turk bent on terminating them. He wondered what she would say if he told her that he knew of at least twenty ways to kill someone with his bare hands.

All of a sudden, he was seventeen again, back home in Kalm to tell his parents that he had joined the Turks. That had been the last time he had gone back to his former home.

He imagined, as it had been with them, her soft smile fading into horror, the mug crashing to the floor, ruining the pristine carpet. The anger and fear afterwards.

You couldn't really compare the weight of such a reaction from family with one from a relative stranger, but... No point scaring the girl.A pause. She makes good coffee.

So he merely grinned the famous Reno grin that said so much and yet revealed nothing, and smoothly changed the topic.

Reno walked out from the kitchen into the hall, followed by the wheel chaired form of Isla. He looked back and grinned. "Thanks for the coffee and you know, not throwing my drunk ass back out the window."

"You're welcome." Her mouth quirked. "But if you feel the need to drop by again, I'd appreciate if you used the door, the next time."

Reno grinned as he leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "Where's the fun in that, yo?"

He was in a good mood now, with both his headache and the awkward tension between him and his accidental hostess little more than a memory. She had become markedly less crabby once she had had some food and drink in her system, even managing a laugh or two, although she had still looked disapproving at a few of his jokes.

Isla sighed and shook her head. "Well, take care. And try not to drink so much, it's not healthy."

He gave a mock salute. "Yes m'am."Reno straightened up from his perch and turned to walk towards the elevators. "See ya around, Issy."

She nodded and gently closed the door.

The apartment suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet. Which was a strange observation, she thought, since she rarely had visitors, so quiet should have been its normal description. ... I need sleep, my thoughts aren't even making any sense to me. She started towards her bedroom for some much needed rest.

She had wheeled herself to the doorway when a familiar ringing filled the air. Isla winced at the volume, unable to fathom how such a small gadget could produce such a loud, piercing sound. A quick glance at the caller ID was made before she flipped up the cover of the PHS. "Good morning, Sheila." Isla stifled a yawn with her free hand. She hoped that the other woman didn't intend to have a long chat - she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't doze off within half an hour.

"Hey girl." There was an audible yawn from the other end of the line. "I just woke up and I'm starving. Want to meet up for brunch? I'll swing by and pick you up."

Isla glanced longingly at her bed. "Actually I... Sure." She had promised herself that she'd try to be more sociable; and she supposed that she could always sleep after lunch. Anyway, she knew her friend wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Great! I'll be by in about twenty? Meet you at the front. Oh my god, I had the craziest night..."

Isla turned her body to look back at the living room; her eyes drifted towards a particular window near her dinning table and she laughed lightly. "You have no idea."

Not sure at this point whether i'm satisfied with the way the chapter went or not, but i think it'll do for now as i need sleep XD; i think it doesn't run that smoothly because i didn't write it in sequential order, and shuffled parts around a bit. But hopefully it's understandable. Comments are always welcome!