Author's Note: Well, you can all thank Fanfiction-net for the delay in update, but here you are; and hopefully it is worth the wait.
I could almost feel the electricity in the air for the rest of the day. Every time Yuffie so much as glanced in the direction of my office, my nerves were set off in a dizzying barrage of excitement and, truth be told, fear. Your average man did not just go running into battle against Yuffie Kisaragi, especially when the name of the game was to play dirty and the dirtier you played, the more honour you gained.
She was good, I would give her that. In simply the course of the morning, I had put salt in my coffee, been locked in the men's bathroom (this time not by choice) and came back from a meeting to find all of my filing cabinets filled with blank pieces of paper.
As difficult as this game was for getting any real work done, I had to admit it was worth it. Every time I saw her she had a grin of utter triumph on her face, and the only trouble she was getting into was anticipated, and so made her regular pranks look like nothing at all. More importantly was the fact that she didn't have that pained look of sadness, longing and worry on her face. Her expression now was one of pure mischief, but to me it was a one hundred and ten percent improvement from the sallow look of grief that had once masked her innocence.
I was busy relocating all of my actual paperwork when, out of breath, Yuffie burst through my door. "Reeve!"
"I'm sorry, Yuffie," I said without looking up, "But everything is fair game."
"Gum? In my HAIR!? What kind of monster are you?"
"Where's my paperwork?" I shot back, eye snapping to her face.
"Where's my materia?" She asked vehemently, a glint in her eye.
"Salt in the sugar container?" I questioned.
"Glue on my chair?" The small grin on her face was growing wider, and I couldn't help but smirk back.
"Admit it, that one was funny."
"So third grade, Reevey." There was even laughter in her voice.
"And locking the bathroom door isn't?"
She laughed outright, slipping inside the door and closing it behind her. When she turned back around, I pretended like I hadn't seen the wad of gum matted into a lock of her hair, although I may have over-played my innocence, because she gave me a withering look in response to my smile.
She was quiet for a moment, eyes shifting to the floor. The way she had her head slightly bowed made her bangs fall in front of her face, and I couldn't see her eyes for her long sweeping dark lashes. It stirred something within me, and the only description I could possibly offer was beautiful. Not beautiful, as in pretty, like she always had been; but beautiful in a new, slightly terrifying way.
"Hey Reevey?"
I cleared my throat and blinked, trying to re-envision her as the sixteen-year old who had somehow managed to steal materia from my brilliantly programmed Cait Sith. "Yeah?"
She looked up again, and the discrete little way she tossed her hair out from in front of her face made me clench my jaw. "I just wanted to know what this is all about."
I swallowed awkwardly. What was all about? I mean, I know she called me lonely and frequently told me to go get shagged, but was she aware of who was foremost in my thoughts when such desires arose? I gripped the bookshelf behind me. "Uhh..."
"The pranks," she clarified.
I recovered quickly, my spine straightening as I rose to my full height. It was then I vaguely acknowledged that fact that I had been cowering from her like some kind of dog being punished for something he knew he was guilty of doing.
"Revenge," was my swift reply.
"Revenge," she repeated; a hint of questioning on her voice.
"Simply put; yes."
She gave me a look that was entirely unbelieving, and I arched my eyebrows in response, begging her to explain to me why I had no right to want revenge, when I so obviously did.
"I... guess I can handle that." She straightened considerable and folded her arms across her chest, throwing her shoulders back indignantly. "Just so long as you're not being a douche again."
"Douche?" I repeated. What a thing to call someone. "When was I being a... one of those..?"
"Oh Yuffie you must be so sad, so I'm going to let you get away with all of this bullshit, just because you are a pathetic little girl," she mocked.
I blinked at her. "That's called sympathy; but next time you're looking for it, I shall remember this conversation and completely skip that part and get straight to the firing you."
"The only reason I have this job is because you wanted a spy."
"Really? Because you're not that good of one, so that must not have been it," I drawled, only half hoping she knew I was teasing her.
She bristled and stepped toward me, eyebrows drawn together. "Fine then, fire me! It's not like I need this job, I'm a fricking princess, for frick's sake."
"You could have fooled me," I returned.
"Oh don't act like you're not jealous of the fact that I live life the way I want to and not the way some old ass-hole decided I should."
"You think that's how I live my life, is it?"
"Yeah, man! Why else would you be so boring? I know there's a funny exciting guy lost somewhere inside that thick skull of yours."
"Maybe you're wrong," I argued.
She closed more of the distance between us and poked me hard in the chest. "You just challenged me to a game of pranks, Reeve Tuesti. Only a man with the heart of an eleven year old would do something like that."
I cracked a wry grin.
"I wish Vinnie would lighten up like you can, Reeve. Every once in a while you down-right amaze me with some stupid joke or mentally retarded prank... and that fucking cat." She looked up at me with half of a smile. "So, I wanted to know why you do it."
"I already told you; revenge."
"That's all?"
To make her laugh, make her smile, make her forget the world, forget herself, forget about him. "Pretty much, yep."
"Well, I guess there's still hope then," she remarked, shifting her weight to one side and placing a hand on her hip. "Just don't forget how to be a dorkus, okay? I don't need two mopey ass-holes around here."
And suddenly I understood what this was all about; why she cared that I joked and smiled and teased her.
"He's a different kind of guy, Yuffie," I offered helplessly as she moved back toward the door.
She tossed me another look over her shoulder and a smile almost surfaced on her lips. "Yeah—a sad one."
I had a file sent to her office describing a mission she was to complete that afternoon, by acquiring important information at the Woman's Institute weekly meeting (she would find nothing); made sure there was hair in her grilled cheese sandwich; and had Cait tie sixteen different knots in her shoe laces while she sat at her desk, so that when she stood up and tried to move, she would fall over.
She retaliated, of course, with deft skill. I came back from a meeting to find several models of Cait Sith dressed in doll clothing; mostly pink, with his crown replaced by tufts of hair and ribbon.
It was when I caught her in the act of doodling on my white-board images highly inappropriate for a work setting that things really got interesting. Her eyes got wide as she slowly replaced the cap on her dry-erase marker, taking three slow steps backward before bolting off through the side-door into my secretary's adjoining office.
It was after I heard he sing a cheerful "Hey, Pamille!" that I overcame my shock and gave chase, darting around the desk and taking off in a sprint behind her.
"Too far, Kisaragi!" I shouted as we took off down a mostly empty hallway. It's meagre population stopped whatever they were doing to stare at us as we flew past, and for a fleeting moment I wondered what magnitude of damage this was doing my to my credibility and respectability, but the thoughts fled when Yuffie tossed a grin over her shoulder; a teasing, enticing grin.
"What do you mean, Reevey?" she shouted. "I always thought you and Cid would make a beautiful couple."
"Yuffie!"
She shrieked when she rounded the corner and found herself trapped at a dead-end, and I half tackled, half shoved her against the offending wall, my head close to hers as my arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Our breathing came heavily, but among the pants she found air to say "At least I drew you top."
A breathy laugh escaped me. "I will remember to thank you for that once I've convinced you I'm not gay."
"And how to you plan on doing that?"
I could think of a few abstract ideas, most of which were fuelled by the sick state of my mind as I was pressed against her, feeling her wriggle against me in a half-hearted attempt to escape. Surely she had no idea what she was doing; and I was certain that if I enlightened her to my reaction, she would no longer find this game very fun. "A firm lecture," I answered, although the irrational side of me protested loudly.
"That's it?" He voice was not her own, but I couldn't tell what was changing it: Fear? Excitement? The mere fact that she was still out of breath? "I don't know if that's going to be enough, Reevey. I think I need proof."
My rational side was suddenly pushed entirely to the side, and I found I was every inch pressed against her, my lips brushing the shell of her ear when I asked; "what kind of proof?"
She managed to turn around in my arms, and I felt my heart rate double when she looked up at me with eyes I could easily find myself lost in. If I had been paying attention to any of the 'good man' left in my soul, I would have acknowledged the innocence and youth in those eyes, but since my decency was in a far off land surrounded by a box that I refused to open, all I saw was an exotic, entrancing, beauty.
"The only kind of proof, silly."
I swallowed hard as her hand reached up and brushed my jaw, and I watched, intrigued as a strange look crossed her face. She looked surprised, and fascinated, and pleased as her fingers took in the texture of my facial hair. Ruining the moment, however, I was distantly aware of my rationality pounding on the inside of the box I had put it in, demanding that I recognize who this was, and realise exactly what it was I was doing.
Oh, but maybe this wasn't so insane after all. I remembered her smiles from earlier that day, and the same hopeful flutter had floated through me.
When her fingers moved onward, curling into my hair at the base of my neck to pull my head closer to hers, it was safe to say that no matter the amount of screaming my brain was doing, I was quite happy to ignore it.
As I closed my eyes I could feel her breath on my face, and my stomach clenched in anticipation. One of the arms around her waist lifted to brace against the wall, in fear I would fall over from the overwhelming sweetness of it all. Yet when our lips should have met, there was something else: A whisper. I opened my eyes and saw an evil little smirk on her face.
"Just kidding."
I had challenged the queen to a battle at her own game, and I wondered why I was so surprised when I found myself trampled and defeated beneath her feet.
Author's Note: There ya go! Don't forget that your reveiws are really important: I'm still trying to shape where this story is going, and your responses have a lot to do with the content. Suggestions are very much appreciated!
