Author's Notes: So I wanted my first evil action of the New Year. And then my fiend… I mean friend, ruined the end of FF12 for me. So many spoilers. I'm going to get her back for that sometime. I promise. So I must take the torture of Reeve to a higher notch. Oh, and for those of you who don't know, Ananke is the greek goddess of destiny, mother to the three fates.

Theme: New Year

Ananke

The tradition at Shin-Ra was an odd one indeed. Every year Hojo and his staff calculated the exact second that the planet would arrive at the exact point in space that would mark the new year. And then a large party would be arranged for the higher ups, the main financial 'backers' of the company, and any one else the President or executives would invite that passed the thorough inspection of the Turks that filled their free time in the month before the party. For hours they would party and celebrate, even if that exact moment would strike at 3:23:07 in the morning like it was this year.

At the exact strike of the new year a large toast would be delivered by the President that would last about another ten minutes while people ignored him and toasted and chatted and shared resolutions as they had been for the past several hours. Couples kissed and Scarlet flirted. Hojo would marvel at his perfect timing once again. And Reeve? Well, he'd ignore Scarlet's words, smile at the wonder of another year of decorations that he'd somehow gotten approved and placed at the absolute last minute, and drank himself silly in attempt to finally go through with his annual resolution.

This year it was actually working. He'd finished about three bottles himself, one before the party began alone while placing the turtle dove ice sculptures at the center of each table with Hojo following him around explaining his pointless and complex math. The one before him was emptying as it was, and his glass was running dry.

If he had to guess, he'd say that lady destiny was trying to drive him to it this year. Maybe the kind woman that controlled all the paths of men was actually taking pity on him for once. Maybe she was making up for having his name being the one Midgar was credited to. Or possibly she was finally paying him back for years of torture by the very presence of Scarlet. Still, no matter what she was up to, it could be no harm to him. She had managed to place the object of many years failed resolutions beside him.

How it happened was anyone's guess. The Turks were most often seated nearest to the President, ever 'ready' to give their lives for him. Reeve, a minor executive if anything, was seated rather far away, among the nameless, faceless masses. Executive or not he was just another check to pay and another voice to ignore after all. No better than those who only qualified in the 'plus one' category. Hell, his own invitation had not even allowed for him to bring another, not that he'd have one to bring.

Still, there he was, their bodies tantalizingly close and both were drunk enough that Reeve wasn't likely to be punched were he to finally go through with it. Five years now it had been at the top of his list of things to do in the coming year. Five years he'd come to this party with all intentions upon the Turk. Five years he'd failed to make that first step towards his happiness. He didn't want to make it six. He couldn't make it six. Another year like this, watching from afar, he didn't think he could handle it.

The man was everything you could want. Strong and silent, but at the same time he was gentle and kind. When not on the job Reeve was very sure he would not even bring harm to Reno, despite the annoyances that Reno inflicted upon all of those around him. Reeve looked up to him, both literally and figuratively. But, most of all, he listened. Ever since Reeve had become part of Shin-Ra, ever since that first time he had tried to do SOMETHING for those in the slums and been laughed at and shot down, his Turk had been there to listen, to comfort. Sure, it had been just resting a hand on his shoulder and pressing a small flask of strong scotch into his hands, but it had been something. The next time he had listened while Reeve had spilled his whole heart, all his pain over his job, his battle of conscious, for who could understand like a Turk?

He didn't know when it had become love though. He'd just woken up one morning and his first thought at been that everything was going to be okay because his Turk was back from a mission. Because he could get that small, almost unnoticeable nod and the vaguest curling of lips. Everything would be okay and everything would turn out fine.

"Happy New Year Reeve," the man said, shaking him from his thoughts. "Or, it will be tomorrow."

Yes, this year Hojo's 'perfect' timing was a whole twenty one hours before the official time, give or take half an hour.

"Yeah. Maybe this one will be worth it. Actually accomplish a few of those resolutions…" Reeve responded nervously. This was it. His Turk would ask what kind of resolutions and Reeve would lean in to kiss him. If the guy freaked or something, Reeve would freak too, brush it off and claim to be drunk. Something he was ready for after all. He could take rejection as long as he got this off of his chest… hopefully.

"Like getting Reno to leave the model alone?"

They chuckled, but it was empty. Whether from the booze or the realization that you couldn't keep Reno from that kind of trouble was anyone's guess.

"Actually…" Reeve started, finally screwing up his courage so that he could lean in when least expected to kiss the man of his desires…

"Happy New Year!" came a shout as Reno somehow managed to insert himself in the limited space between the executive and the Turk that was older than Reeve or Reno alone, and maybe even together (how old could Reno be after all?).

There was little more Reeve could do but watch in morbid fascination, and utter pain as Reno plopped himself down in Rude's lap and leaned in to place a kiss upon those surprised lips. The lips Reeve had been working up the courage to kiss. And it got no better when Rude pressed closer to Reno, seeking more of the contact when Reno finally pulled away. If you listened closely you could actually hear the sound of his heart breaking, if his heart breaking sounded like a chair falling to the floor as its occupant rose hastily and like a champagne flute hitting the marble floors to break into many little pieces. If the sound of his heart breaking was the sound of retreating footsteps in a noisy hall that you had to strain to notice, then you could definitely hear it. And if the sound of a breaking heart was that of Reno and Rude pulling apart long enough to share a shuddering breath, then you could hear a heart breaking.

So here he was, on the top floor of the Shin-Ra building, standing on the President's balcony and looking out at the city. All around there were darkened streets. People should be sleeping now, preparing for their own celebrations at midnight on new year's day instead of three something or other on new year's eve. They shouldn't be dealing with a broken heart and wondering just how high seventy floors was. He'd heard before that you'd die of a heart attack before you hit the ground. Half of him was hoping that was true, because it would probably hurt less. The other half prayed it wasn't because he wanted his body, which was singing with energy and buzzing with liquor, to feel just what his heart was as the moment.

One thing they wouldn't tell you though, was that when you're on the 70th floor here in Midgar, which was more than 70 floors from the earth because of the plates is that it is very windy. There is nothing between you and the winds blowing in from the sea. They don't tell you that when there is a storm at sea the night before the winds howl around the President's office for days. They don't ell you that you can't hear what is said aloud unless it is right there beside you. You can't hear your thoughts in your own head. You can't even hear the beating of your heart. All you hear is the howling and the screaming of the air. It coaxes you to the edge, asks you to let it show you how to fly, to trust it to carry you on forever.

What they don't tell you is that when you're that high up you don't feel like you're on top of the world and like you can do anything. No, what they don't tell you is that when you're that high up you don't even have a life to lose anymore. You left it far below you amid the silly cares and worries of the mortal flesh. Here… Here you were eternal, even if only for one brief shining moment.

The oddest thing was that the only thing that stood between him and that one moment of forever was a strong hand on his shoulder and another hand pushing a small flask of strong scotch into your hands. Then again, memories were fickle things, and this high up you couldn't hear yourself, only the wind coaxing you to the edge, and asking you to trust it to let you fly...