Title: Boy Soldier
Author: Neldluva FFVII
Pairings: None, or lots, depending on how you look at it.
Rating: NC17
Don't read this if you don't like: Angst, sex (of the m/m and m/f sort), foul language, underage sex, questionable consent, masturbation, voyeurism (sort of), violence, blood, drug and alcohol use, prostitution
Disclaimer: Reno and FF7-verse are definitely not mine. Please don't sue, I have negative monies. The OC's are mine, though. Don't steal.
What you can expect from the fic overall: This is my version Reno's backstory, or how he got where he was in the various FF7 games and movies. It is a long, difficult journey, sometimes funny, sometimes sad. But hey, that's life.
What you can expect from this chapter: Reno … experiments. And there's a Turk scout. Yay, destiny!
Author's note: And … more of listening to too much Rent. Because it took me months to learn that Mimi wasn't a whore, just an exotic dancer. But there is plot, see? Right there at the end. Progress at last!
Reno shivered and shook, coughing and trying not to vomit as he lay huddled under a blanket. The blanket had been Essie's doing. Technically, so was the shaking and vomiting, but he tried not to think about that. He pressed his fevered forehead against the wall, trying to forget about the discomforts of his body.
"Dammit, Red, you're stronger than this," he whispered, holding his arms tightly.
He'd started using a few months ago, right about the time he'd started blowing guys in back alleys to earn extra money for the drugs. It had been Bones's fault, the way everything seemed to be these days. He'd made Reno roll up his sleeve and tied him off, sliding the needle into a vein and showing him the best rush of his life. Reno was hooked … it was practically better than sex. He started turning tricks to afford his own drugs, though at Bones's insistence he only used his mouth – his ass was off-limits, though Bones was plenty happy to help Reno get over his gag reflex.
"I don't like it, Reno," Essie had said to him when she found out, pursing her red-painted lips. "Whorin' ain't work for a guy like you. And the girls say smack's a bad idea too, yo."
Reno had brushed her off, though. He didn't mind the whoring. It was his choice to do it, and he'd be having sex with Bones anyway. There wasn't that much of a difference, so he kept it going.
It took months before Essie got worried enough to actually step in and do something. She took Reno aside and told him she couldn't watch him get any skinnier and pointed out that his hands were shaking too much to use his gun anymore. It had taken some convincing but she won, as she always did. So she took away his needles and his money and sat and watched him to make sure he wouldn't leave to get more drugs. After a few hours the shaking began, and then he started puking.
The symptoms had started to subside by the time Essie had to go to work, but that didn't make it any easier. Reno was determined to get off the drug. He could feel it killing him, but an addiction was an addiction. It was only a combination of concern for Essie and his own willpower that let him start to kick it.
When Essie came back that night, he was still shaking and covered in sweat. He'd managed to doze on and off for most of the night, and fortunately the nausea had faded into an uncomfortable twinge once in a while. Or that could just be because his stomach was empty.
"Hey, sweetie," Essie said, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. "How you feelin', yo?"
"Like shit," Reno replied through chattering teeth.
Essie smiled as gently as she could. "You're kickin' it, Reno. I know you can do it, you're tough, you're the toughest guy I know."
Reno nodded tiredly, not quite agreeing but taking some comfort in her confidence. "You want the blanket? I don't mind, yo."
"You keep it, you need it more than I do."
Reno would have protested, but she had already curled up and fallen asleep, one hand tucked under her chin. Trying to keep his shaking to a minimum, he pressed close to her and tossed the blanket over them both.
It took a few weeks before the shaking calmed enough for him to shoot with his former proficiency. The craving lasted much longer, but he kept his distance from needles after that. Ignoring the fact that Essie might have gutted him if he started using again, he didn't feel like suffering the long slow death of the junkie.
He still turned tricks once in a while. It was a nice easy way to earn some extra money, for when he felt like finding food better than what was in the dumpsters or when he wanted decent cigarettes instead of the crappy dirty ones Bones supplied. He didn't do it much, though. Whoring was exhausting work, and he found out quickly why the girls all slept so much in their free time. So he limited himself to once a week, at most, and saved the rest of his time for pickpocketing and practicing with his gun.
Monty adjusted the view slightly on his binoculars and shifted to relieve a stiff neck. He'd been watching the gang war avidly for the past hour, and it was finally winding to a close.
His colleagues laughed at him for hanging out in the slums. It was true, they were no place for a civilized man wearing an expensive suit, but it was Monty's personal opinion that the kids in the slums had the potential to become fantastic Turks. They had the kill-or-be-killed mentality that would make the best fighters. After all, Monty thought with a tired sigh, beggars couldn't be choosers. There had been a steady decline in Turk applications and acceptances over the past few years. Kids these days just weren't tough enough, and if they were, they wanted to be SOLDIERs.
His eyes had rested for most of the hour on one particular streetrat. The kid had started off the fight behind the line of overturned trash cans, shooting at the opposing gang with amazing skill, even with the crappy little gun he'd managed to find. Monty continued watching the kid when the fighting turned more up-close-and-personal. He was young and had a small build, but he compensated with being flexible and strong, striking out where he could and finding his enemy's weakness. At one point the kid's hood had fallen off, so Monty was able to keep track of him by his bright, crazy red hair.
By the end of the fight, the redhead kid was one of the few boys standing. He waved at his friends and shouted, and the rest of the boys rushed over to congratulate him. Monty snorted quietly. The redhead kid had no doubt been the reason they won the fight, so no wonder they liked him so much.
Monty smiled to himself. He had just found their next Turk candidate.