Possession

Title: My Companion
Author: londonbelow
Pairing: Reno/Rude
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Once again, not mine. Never were, never will be. They simply wanted to play and I obliged. Lyrics at the beginning taken from Possession, by Sarah McLachlan.

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Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide
Voices trapped in yearning
Memories trapped in time
The night is my companion
And solitude my guide
Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied?

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Typical night, typical bar, typical people. The rowdy drunks in the corner telling each other stories competed with the angry drunks in the other corner trading increasingly insulting epithets until one crossed the line and said something about the other’s mother, at which point the entire establishment would degenerate into a massive brawl. The girl behind the bar had a fresh face, but already the strain of living in the slums was beginning to take its toll; there were dark cis uns under her eyes and her mouth had twisted into the same defeated grimace that everyone else wore, conciously or not. The waitresses were in worse shape than the bartender, any beauty they had once possessed hidden now under several layers of trashy makeup and squeezed into clothes that did not fit.

He had seen it all before. Indeed, he had grown up among it, his mother one of those very same waitresses and his father the drunken thug in the corner. Both of them had been desperate to get out, but neither had possessed the strength, intelligence, or drive to do so. His father had eventually deteriorated from a strong, able-bodied working man to a beer-soaked sot and he had whiled away the last years of his life in the bar or en route to it. His mother, who hadn’t been born into the squalor of Midgar’s slums but had moved there seeking opportunity, instilled in him a fervent desire to lift himself above the rabble that had surrounded him all his young life. All he could ever remember wanting was to be rid of the stench, the filth, and the overwhelming ignorance. As a child, he had curled under his single shabby blanket and stared into the dark, feeling the weight of poverty like a hundred cinderblocn hin his chest.

But for every five unread yahoos, for every ten drunken bums, for every twenty grunt workers, the slums bred one who would make it out. One who had not only the skill and intelligence to avoid the traps that others fell into, but was possessed of the singular trait that defined the world of the slums: strength. Be it physical, emotional, or mental, strength was prized above all else in the world he’d come to manhood in and he, one of the lucky few, had the capacity for all three. Being poor, of course, he didn’t have much opportunity to stretch his intellectual wings but there was an astonishing untapped potential in him that made several people sit up and take notice. They made sure he had access to technology and information and they watched as he absorbed it as eagerly as a sponge absorbs water. They watched as he hardened himself against the horrors of everyday life, building high walls around himself and hunkering down inside them to control his destiny from there. They watched as he grew older, stronger, and meaner. He thought nothing of taking what he wanted and needed because, after all, how else was he to get it?

The only person he cared about at that time was his mother; he stayed close with her, protecting her as best he could from the ravages of life. Whee goe got too old to work, he quit his job in a factory and turned to murder and theivery to keep the money coming in. She never knew, of course, as it would have broken her heart to see her baby cutting throats for cash and robbing weaker men blind. She thought that he bee been promoted to a managerial position and so she died a happy, proud mother. Her last words to him were that she loved him more than anything else in the world and that now she was gone he could leave the slums for good and never look back. After he buried her, he had mourned for a few days and then set about doing just what she’d told him. That’s when they’d approached him.

He knew of Shinra, as did everyone who lived in Midgar, but he’d never taken a particular interest in them. The extent of his knowledge about them was that they ran the mako reactors and owned the city. His concern had always been for more immediate matters and as long as Shinra stayed out of his way, he stayed out of theirs and hardly considered it beyond that. But they came to him and told him that they’d been watching him for some time and had a job offer for him. His first instinct was to turn them down; he’d never trusted anyone stronger than himself and Shinra was the strongest presence in the city. But the fact that they’d taken an interest intrigued him, and he let them talk. They told him then about the Turks, how ostensibly they recruited for SOLDIER but in reality did quite a few jobs for the President. Murder, extortion, kidnapping; he’d done it all before and if they were willing to pay him for it, he considered it worth looking into. He was seventeen at the time.

After a few tests, they’d hired him immediately. His training period was short and focused on adding a bit of finesse to his fighting style and expanding his working knowledge of the technologies available to him. They put him in a suit, patted him on the back, and assigned him a boss and for the first time in his life, he found himself lacking nothing. Shinra paid well and provided him with living quarters that might have taken up half his salary if he’d attempted to pay for them on his own. They gave him food and transportation and weapons. In fact, all they expected of him was to keep up appearances, so he’d gone to an expensive tailor and had several suits made, all in black and with severe lines that emphasized the power in his 6’3” frame. Instead of shoes, he’d bought a pair of black leather, steel-toed motorcycle boots and, to complete the ensemble, some designer sunglasses that had cost him as much as his old home was worth.

His boss, Tseng, had soon saddled him with a partner. He approached the situation with caution, testing this new co-worker with a healthy dose of suspicion. His new partner had immediately slapped him with a nickname (Rude) and won him over by winging an expensive vase at the head of Shinra’s space program in a fit of pique. Reno, as he insisted on being called, was charming and a little on the impulsive side, liquid to Rude’s stone, and the two of them got along famously. Apart, their respective records had been excellent. Together, their performance was stellar and soon drew the attention of President Shinra himself. He assigned them a long term task of the highest priority and set them loose to do what they did best, upping their salaries in the process.

Taking care of an Ancient proved to be a little difficult. On several occasions, they’d been ordered to attempt her capture and although it had never panned out, they had never received a reprimand for it. Their prime concern, after all, was keeping her safe and if they had to endanger her life in order to kidnap her it would obviously have to wait. They’d watched her and protected her for seven years and eventually had come to think of her as a little sister. The men of the slums knew not to mess with Aeris Gainsborough unless they wanted a broken face courtesy of the Turks and she, for the most part, treated them as exasperating older brothers
R
Rude considered all this with the same dry detatchment that he employed daily. Not even the thought of his dead mother awoke an extreme emotion. Thoughts had always had very little relevance as far as his emotions were concerned, which had been quite the asset in his line of work. It meant that he could look back on an event without feeling anything except cold curiosity and evaluate what, if anything, he had done wrong. People were a little different; if he thought solely about his mother dying he felt nothing, although at the time it had grieved him greatly. But if he thought about *her*, it became altogether different. He remembered everything she had ever done or said and the way she felt and smelled and sounded and then every emotion he had associated with her came crashing back, upsetting his frame of mind.

So he didn’t think about people. At least, not when he was on the job, which he was right now. In a few minutes, as soon as Reno returned, he could go home and ponder the people in his life all he wanted. But for now he had to stay sharp in case something happened. He sipped his drink quietly, slowly, determined not to get even the slightest bit tipsy. He’d been in the bar well over half an hour and he was hardly halfway through the glass of gin. Discipline, he’d found, was the only way to get things done. Discipline and a cold disregard for his fellow man.

He heard Reno before he saw him, as was often the case. His partner’s smooth voice raised above the din of the crowd, greeting old friends, met his ears and he sat back in his chair. He could have stood up and waved to Reno, but he was a patient man and he knew Reno would find him without a problem. He appeared through the press of bodies, grinning cheerfully at Rude and shouting an order to one of the waitresses before making his way to the table. Reno, Rude had always thought, moved like a snake, all fluidity and grace and hidden strength but acted like a peacock, displaying his beauty for the world to admire.

“Don’t look so sour,” Reno said by way of a greeting, twisting his chair around and straddling it. He always sat like that and Rude, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why. Reno brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, flipping it back into its place in the wild crest that rose over his narrow face like an exploding firework.

“I always look sour,” Rude replied, drinking more liberally now that he was officially off duty. Reno smiled, his green eyes flashing like jewels, and reached over with a long arm to rub Rude’s bald head.

“Its cause you don’t have hair,” he laughed, flipping a thick auburn ponytail over his shoulder. Reno was exceedingly proud of his hair and took great pains to keep it shiny and attractive. Rude rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and Reno smirked. “You’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you? I can tell.”

“Yes, I am. You’re the most ridiculous, vain, arrogant little prick in the entire world,” Rude said, his voice devoid of rancor. Reno chuckled a little and gave a small shrug of acknowledgement. The waitress set his drink in front of him and he winked at her, sending her running off in a fit of giggles to tell the other girls about it. Women inevitably reacted that way to Reno and it got on Rude’s nerves like nothing else.

“So maybe I am,” he admitted, tossing back a shot of some clear liquid that smelled like paint thinner. Long, white fingers deftly pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering one to Rude. He accepted, leaning forward for a light and catching Reno’s wrist as if to hold the lighter steady. His thumb met his partner’s pulse and he shivered inwardly at the delicacy of Reno’s bone structure. Almost like a woman’s.He withdithdrew quickly, drawing hard on the cigarette to quell the slight tremor in his hands. Reno watched him, amused, his pointed chin resting on the back of his chair. Rude was glad, and not for the first time, that his partner couldn’t see his eyes; the sunglasses had paid for themselves many times over by hiding him in situations just like this. He took another sip of gin and when he spoke, his voice was its usual deep monotone. “She get home safe?”

“Of course.” Reno snorted and slammed back another shot. There was a wounded expression in his eyes that suggested Rude had insulted his pride by questioning his ability as chaperone, but Rude knew better. The first thing he had picked up about Reno was that the man was a consummate actor and as such, everything he said or did should be taken with a grain of salt. “You just have to trust me sometimes, Rude. I may not be quite as big and intimidating as you, but believe me, I’m capable of walking a lady home.”

“You walked her home?” Rude chose to ignore the rest of what Reno had said, knowing it to be useless posturing on his part. Of course he knew that Reno was capable, otherwise he would have requested a new partner immediately. And while Reno was indeed not as physically intimidating as Rude, he had an air of confidence about him that, while not cocky, nevertheless conveyed the impression that he could do just what he said and more and was not to be messed with. So Rude seized on the one part of Reno’s response that struck him as odd.

“No, not as such,” the other Turk replied, flicking the ashes from the end of his cigarette. He made a semi disgusted face, which Rude also ignored. “I know better than to be seen. Honestly, Rude, sometimes I wonder if your opinion of me is as high as you claim.” Rude leaned across the table and gently slapped his partner on the cheek.

“Don’t be stupid, Reno. You know how I hate stupid people.” He finished off his gin and motioned for another. Reno chuckled and rubbed his cheek ruefully, pouring himself another shot. Rude wrinkled his nose slightly. “What the hell is that? Smells like shit.”

Reno shrugged eloquently and threw his head back, pouring the stuff down his throat. After shuddering and smacking his lips a few times, he replied, “Dunno. I told them to bring me the strongest stuff they had and this is what I got. Its not bad, really, if you can manage to pitch it past your tongue and straight down your throat.” Rude hid another shiver by turning and taking the bottle of gin from the waitress, who hurried off after glancing fearfully at his unsmiling face. A nice straight shot should do the trick; anything to get the image of Reno and things going down his throat out of his mind.

“What’s our orders for tomorrow?” he asked casually. Reno gave him a sharp look and rolled the shot glass between his fingers. Rude allowed his eyes to linger there, but only because Reno couldn’t see them. He’d been fascinated with his partner’s hands for a long time; they were abnormally long and thin which lent them a strange spiderlike grace. And paletouctouched by grime or sun, with perfectly manicured fingernails, not too long but long enough to feel so nice against the skin. Long enough to leave red marks down his back when he finally, finally talked his way into Reno’s bed…

“Same as always. Rude, are you okay?” Rude blinked several times, repressing the reflexive jerk that often accompanied a crash back to reality. Reno was leaning forward, looking at him in concern. His hand hovered an inch away from the side of Rude’s face and, inwardly regretting it, Rude calmly moved back.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” he replied, rising. Reno followed his lead, dropping a few coins on the table. “Tseng’s been worried lately.” Reno nodded, trailing Rude as the larger man pushed a path through the crowded bar.

“Yeah, I noticed that. I wonder…” The two of them stepped outside and the cool air hit Rude like a freight train. Felt good, refreshing, and he could feel his head clearing as he breathed. So maybe it stunk a little. He was used to it and he’d found that fresh air, real honest to goodness fresh air, scared him a little bit. He remembered one time when he had tracked a target out of Midgar; the clearness of the air had almost hurt his lungs and he had been glad to get back to the smog and dust of his home. “You think maybe it has anything to do with Sephiroth?” Reno’s voice had lowered considerably now that they were away from the cacophony of the bar and it dropped to a near inaudible whisper on the last word.

“Sephiroth is dead,” Rude replied shortly, brows drawing down briefly. He’d met the great Sephiroth once and the man had given him chills. He was a cold bastard and he knew it, but the look in Sephiroth’s Mako eyes went beyond that. Beyond even psychosis, to the sinister, dark realm that haunted a person’s nightmares. Rude had been glad when he’d heard Sephiroth was dead and, although he hadn’t deep down believed the story, he was content to leave it at that. Now, though, rumors that the warrior had lived were circulating through Shinra at an incredible rate and Rude found himself looking over his shoulder at the slighest noise.

“Rude, you know you don’t believe that,” Reno sighed, and Rude gave a little half shrug. “And you know if he is alive, we’ll end up dealing with it. We’re the best that Shinra has to offer, after all. And its not as if they have anyone else to send. Sephiroth would eat members of SOLDIER for breakfast.”

“Think that’s what’s upsetting Tseng?” Rude murmured as they boarded the train bound for the upper plate. Reno shrugged and nodded and the train ride ed ied in silence, each of them considering the possibilthatthat sometime in the near future they’d be hunting Sephiroth himself. A ghost of a smile touched Rude’s lips as he contemplated it. It would be a hunt to remember, that’s for sure.

The train ground to a halt and the two of them stood up simultaneously without realizing it. Several of the commuters exchanged glances and let the two men exit the car first, which they also didn’t notice. Rude’s mind was working a mile a minute trying to figure out the logistics of hunting down the greatest SOLDIER who’d ever lived. It was a habit of his to anticipate everything and to be prepared for every eventuality, so even though they hadn’t actually been assigned to find Sephiroth yet, he was already working out ways to do so. That way, when the time came, he’d be ready for it. And if the time never came…well, it was always better to be prepared for something and not have it happen than to have it happen and take you totally by surprise.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Reno said absently, slapping his partner on the shoulder. Rude nodded silently, patted Reno on the back, and began to walk. His apartments were a fifteen minute walk from the train station, which he had always appreciated. It gave him time to think and he’d always felt that his brain functioned more efficiently when his body was engaged in mindless physical activity.

He glanced back once at Reno’s retreating figure, allowing himself a slight smile at his partner’s lithe swagger, before he turned his mind back to Sephiroth. Reno hovered on the periphery of his thoughts, however, and he took a moment to reflect on the situation he found himself in. Another fleeting grin ghosted across his stern lips and he thought to himself that when the time came Reno, too, would be a hunt to remember.