There is something comfortable about hate. Something serene and eternal, something solid about that ever present, dark, deadly, rotting little emotion that makes one feel like he has a purpose in life, even if the purpose is the emotion itself. And for one lucky individual that chose to flaunt himself as Reno the Turk, all that hate was focused on him, the convenient and accessible target for every frustration and failure, every fault and missed chance. Not that Reno ever considered himself a target of the ever fickle lady of luck.

He also never considered that running his Mag Rod against the walls irritated the HFIL out of half the inhabitants of Shinra Inc. Not that he would have cared. Taking a moment out of his loud wanderings, much to the relief of office grunts everywhere, to lean against the wall and light up a cigarette, Reno brushed back the unruly mess of his hair and undid another button on his shirt, smirking to himself. Time to go and take on the most holy one himself ...

Still smirking, he pushed off the wall and returned to his former amusement while he headed down the hall, straight into the proverbial jaws of the wolf.


He was in rare form today. Indolently lounging on his desk, twirling the rod, clothes more rumpled than usual, and giving his back a very insolent look. Rufus was not amused. If he had been facing him instead of watching his reflection in the windows that overlooked Midgar, Rufus would have been hard pressed not to strangle the Turk himself.

Why had he called him in here anyway, a perverse masochistic whim, the urge to mangle something, summoning a chew toy for Dark Nation? Unproffesional.

"Reno. Get your person off my desk. Now." The Turk barely even bothered to glance at him as he lounged back on the desk, picking up a sheaf of papers and ruffling through them curiously.

"Whoa, didn't know Scarlet could be that graphic," he whistled, grinning insanely at his back, "Ok, maybe I did." Rufus stiffened and turned, giving Reno a look. Mako bright eyes smirked at him as he lazily tossed that sheaf back onto the desk and happily started rifling through his desk drawers, rolling onto his stomach to be more effective. He felt a twitch developing as the Turk dumped a canister of paper clips onto the floor and followed it up by a pen and a glass ashtray.

"Reno, get your shabby self off my desk and out of my things," the ice in his voice was enough to lower the temperature in the room by five degrees. Reno ignored him, pulling a 10 by 10 glossy out from a file cabinet and admiring it, "Awwww, it's the mutt from hell, how cute. Is that chibi Rufy?"

A click sounded in the room as Rufus leveled his shotgun and brought it level with Reno's neck, pressing the cold metal cylinder against skin viciously, cocking back the trigger, "Must it always come to this?" A pleasant image of blowing Reno away came to mind, almost pleasant enough to make him want to pull the trigger just to see it occur.

"Gotta do somethin' to liven up this black hole of cleanliness," Reno chirped, pushing a pile of papers to the floor, "Whoops!"

A cold rage filled him. No, dying was too good for the Turk, he wanted to see him suffer, see him whimpering in agony and begging for mercy at his master's feet. Rufus pulled the gun away and brought in down on one of Reno's shoulders hard enough to break the bone. The second blow threw the Turk to the floor in a tumble a papers. Calmly, the gun resting comfortable on his shoulder, he strolled to the pile of limbs and rumpled cloth, smirking coldly.

"I rather like you like this, Reno. Helpless at my feet." He bent and tilted the Turk's chin up, smiling coldly into pain washed blue eyes, "You're almost humble."

He smirked. Reno just lay there and smirked at him, opening his big mouth and daring to say something, "What? Feeling turned on?"

"Over you? Don't make me sick." Rufus eyes narrowed as he jerked the head up and kicked the impudent little smartass. The effort was gratified by the moan that was ripped from Reno as he flinched, involuntarily curling up to protect himself from further blows. That won't save you. He raised the gun to strike again --

-- and a knock sounded on the door. DAMN!

The knock was followed by Tseng stepping inside, "Sir, I -- " He came to a stand still, door ajar, as he took in the scene; Reno a boneless heap on the floor, Rufus standing over him with the gun raised for another blow, the now messy office ... the head Turk narrowed his eyes, shutting the door as an afterthought, "You better have an explanation for this, Rufus."

"It's none of your concern, Tseng, I was simply dealing with some insubordination," he glanced down at the Reno pile and slammed the butt of the gun into the center of it, pleased to hear another muffled groan of pain ensue. With that, ignoring Tseng's look, he turned and brushed his hair back, cool and unconcerned, "You can take the trash out now."


Yes, hate was the best response for things not wanted, for things that were better stretched in the noon day sun to die, things best left buried and dead ... For a moment, he pictured Reno's body stretched out in death, bright eyes dull and lifeless. He shuddered from the sudden intensity of the emotion that image conjured up. Something comforting about the dark emotion, something soothing for the inner turmoil. Hate was the best response for things one didn't want to feel ... or admit. No, he would never, ever admit ...


Final Fantasy VII   |   Fanfiction