Final Fantasy VII 1. Chapter 1

_I've been working on this piece for a while now... I've enjoyed it a lot -here's hoping that you all do, too!_

* * *

**Rubber Bands, Super Glue, and Bullet Holes**

**_Fandom:_**_ Final Fantasy VII_

**_Teaser:_**_ "Gaia, and to have actually _shot_ him over something so _stupid_ was so… so… _normal_ for us."_

**_Inspiration:_**_ There's an interesting image I stumbled onto on dA that features Aerith/Aeris removing Tseng's hair-band, Tseng freaking out, and Cissnei rolling around on the floor laughing. That counts as inspirational, right? :P_

_For RisenWarrior (on dA), who couldn't wait to see what madness I would come up with!_

**_Rating: _**_M, for violence, wounds, and possible sexiness_

**_Warnings:  
_**_-Violence/Wounds  
-Rules  
-Uptight Tseng  
-Language  
-Suspicious lack of work getting done  
-Lies  
-Rubber bands  
-Bullet holes  
-Super glue_

**_Main Pairing: _**_Tseng/Reno_

**_Minor Pairings:_**_  
-(suspicions of) Rude/Tifa Lockhart  
-(implied) Cloud Strife/Tifa Lockhart_

**_Setting:_**_ Cannon setting; alternate timeline. For one thing, I'm pretty sure Elena and Cissnei never worked together… but I wanted to have Elena in it ^^_

**_POV:_**_ Elena, Tseng, Reno; First person perspective from all. All changes in perspective clearly marked. _

**_Summary:_**_ Reno made things ever the more lively in the office, but he refuses to explain why there's a memo about hair-bands on everyone's desks… or why he has a few new bullet wounds, yet another knife scar, and a jagged wound held together by sheer will and copious amounts of super glue. How _did_ that redhead manage to piss off Tseng so badly?_

**_Additional ANs:_**_ Apparently, I have a desperate need to hurt Reno every time I write him now. It's… weird!  
Also, I use perspective and events to manipulate your perception of the other characters some… don't get too made at anyone until you read the whole thing, okay?_

**_Universe:_**_ Does this story belong to any particular alternate universe I like to play with? Does it name one?_

**_Word Count:_**_ 3,778 words about an office, the clown, and the rules. The total goes up when you add the bonus chapter, but you'll have to wait on that one :P Bonus chapter is rated M for sexual themes._

* * *

_Elena:_

When I came into work and there was a new memo sitting on my desk, I had no doubt that Reno had some hand in it.

Not that the crazy redhead liked rules. Much the opposite, in fact. While he _was_ the right hand of Tseng, Reno was also an infamous prankster. He loved to push Tseng's buttons until the vein in his forehead became harshly prominent. I'd warned Reno about pushing Tseng too far. I was the newest Turk and therefore still had a bit of leeway when it came to things like rules. Reno, however, had a position on authority and I had no doubt that Tseng wouldn't think twice about making Reno the example for anyone _else_ who dared push at the rules.

However, when Reno walked into the office, all thoughts about the memo, about Reno's frequent pranks, about Tseng's rules and structure all abandoned me.

Reno looked like hell. Aside from his generally battered appearance, there was a wide bandage across his left cheek and a wound on his right hand that was sill flush with its freshness. His wan face seemed ever the more pale and sweat beaded upon his brow. Where his stride was usually marked with lazy grace, his current gate showed something more like careful precision. Someone had definitely worked him over but good. As he drew nearer to me, I could smell the sharp harsh scent of fresh super glue. Even Rude allowed a worried expression to flicker briefly across his features.

Cissnei, not known for her tact, took one look at him and demanded, "What in the hell happened to you, Reno? Date gone wrong? Bar fight?"

Reno glared at her. "None of your business, yo."

Rude stared at his partner for a moment.

I had a feeling Rude was trying to figure out why Reno was so defensive –mostly because I was puzzling over that very same thing. Still, like Rude, I already knew better than to ask him point-blank. He might treat me like his favorite kid sister, but that didn't mean he wouldn't bite my head off if I probed too much.

Swallowing hard, I opened my mouth only to close it again when he removed his suit jacket with a wince. When he draped it over his chair, I could see vibrant red staring his not-always-so-pristine white dress shirt.

"Reno, you're bleeding!" I exclaimed, quickly dripping the pen in my hand and rising to my feet. I didn't remember walking to his side, but the instant I was newly aware found me pushing him into his desk chair and gripping his left arm at the elbow.

He didn't cry out, but I watched that wince turn into something more severe. I held out my hand and one of my coworkers placed a combat knife across my palm. Satisfied with the weapon, I smiled slightly. Gripping the knife with a calm and steady hand, I slit the seams of his sleeve clear up past his elbow. The gauze was soaked in fresh blood, bright as his hair in color. When I unwrapped the gauze slowly, the wound came into view.

One neat bullet hole, of a small caliber, passed through the meat of his arm. It was a through and through, but Reno had obviously tended to the wound himself. Unfortunately, for all his years as a Turk, he still lacked any skill with field medicine aside from digging out the bullets.

Unable to take my eyes off the still-leaking wound, I absently lifted the receiver of the nearest phone and began to dial that familiar number. I had entered half of the ten-digit number when Reno growled and snatched the receiver from my hand. It landed back in the cradle with a loud _thunk_. I thought about reaching for it again, knowing he was still the best when it came to field medicine and the mess before me needed the best, but Reno grabbed my hand when I tried again.

"Don't tell him."

"Reno, he needs to know," Cissnei attempted to reason. "He's your boss. What if you have an assignment? You can't work in that condition!"

Once again, Cissnei's attempts were met with a brick wall known best as Reno's will. He blatantly ignored here and instead turned his attention to me. "Don't tell him. Please, 'Lena," he added, his gaze meeting mine.

I hated it when he did this to me. He knew that I was a sucker for the puppy dog eyes and/or sincere pain and suffering. Then again, I really should have expected it. Reno could be very suave, very smooth, and he had no qualms about fighting dirty, a quality that Tseng had often remarked about how important it was in a Turk.

I sighed heavily. "Rude, would you patch him up? It looks like I get to come up with an excuse Tseng will believe."

The man inclined his shaved head in agreement. There went the one favor he owned me –well, unless he saw it as a favor to Reno. I sort of hoped he would: that favor was from something that had been incredibly difficult for me to complete and I'd been hoping to use it to coerce the quiet man into teaching me how to make certain explosives.

As I watched Rude move toward Reno, a sudden though crossed my mind. I halted Rude's action with a single hand. "Reno, where else are you hurt?" I demanded, knowing that since he had chosen to manipulate me a little, I was the one most likely to get a straight answer out of the man.

"Right thigh. There's another bullet hole." He gritted his teeth as I reached down and explored his thigh. I paused only when I found a patch of wet material that was accompanied by his sharp intake of breath.

I removed me hand and looked up at Rude. "Just patch the holes before he bleeds out on the carpet. Though, I would recommend checking the rest of him. You know how he is.

Rude nodded, easily hauling Reno to his feet.

Rude had known Reno longer than I had known him, but I still hesitated to say 'better than I knew him'. Reno was at times the most private person I'd ever encountered. At other times, he divulged some very private information –though usually with nowhere near enough detail for us to chase down or interview other involved parties. It was like he had embraced the ghost-like life of a Turk and turned practically turned himself into a ghost. At times, I wondered if that was what I would turn into if I survived this job as many years as he had.

"Thanks, 'Lena," he murmured, patting my head like I was a child.

I shook my head with a wry smile and watched Rude and Reno disappear. Then I groaned aloud when I realized I had to lie to my boss. If he caught me –and he probably would– it wouldn't just be Reno's ass in a sling.

Cissnei took one look at me and sighed. "Just let me do the talking, fledgling. After all, you need to survive if you ever want to earn your wings."

* * *

_Tseng:_

When I walked into the office, I found it surprisingly quiet and empty. Only one single pair of my subordinates were present, and both of them seemed to be hard at work on paperwork.

Vaguely, I wondered if any of them had bothered to read the new memo on their desks.

"Good morning, boss," Cissnei sung out like a happy child, her cinnamon hair swishing behind her as she turned her head to look at me.

I eyed the woman warily for a moment. Perhaps it was paranoid of me, but I was pretty sure she only greeted me on days in which she had bad news to share with me. "Where are Reno and Rude?" I inquired slowly, just as wary of the answer as I was of the woman before me.

"Sparring in the training room downstairs." She rolled her eyes. "You know how they can get."

I inclined my head in agreement. Reno and Rude were one of the best teams in terms of effectiveness in combat situations, however, they were otherwise a very volatile combination –like a demolitions expert and all the explosives he could dream of. Actually, that analogy might be too close for comfort. Looking over toward their desks, my gaze came to rest upon the newest addition to our team. Unlike her coworker, the petite blond was utterly absorbed in her paperwork, her eyes flickering between documents as she carefully filled out two documents at once with surprising precision.

Rapping lightly on the edge of her desk with my knuckles and trying not to startle her, I offered a small smile. "Good morning, Elena."

"Good morning, sir," she murmured. She didn't even look up: the whole of her attention was still focused only on the paperwork.

Not wanting to disturb the woman who was probably my only subordinate who was so diligent in her paperwork, I hummed in response before heading toward my office at a somewhat leisurely pace. I pause when I reached the door and looked back at the pair of women. "Let me know when Reno arrives," I commanded them softly.

"Yes, sir," they chorused, neither one even looking up at me.

I smiled and shook my head ruefully. Well, if they kept working this hard, at least it should pay off positively in paperwork. After glancing around the room once more, I slipped into my office and shut the door behind me.

Absently, I ran my hand across the newest scars in the hard-wood paneling and wondered if the cleaning crew had much trouble removing the slugs. I wasn't sure if it was very fortunate or highly unfortunate, but the cleaning crew for this complex had a lot of experience when it came to pulling bullets out of walls and patching the holes. Most of the experience probably came specifically from my private office, but as far as I knew, they had never lodged any complaints about it.

It might possibly have something to do with the fact all of the bullets never seemed to trouble me at all –despite being of two different calibers– and the fact I _might_ have a hair trigger temper, but I appreciated it none the less.

When my hand came away damp and sticky before I noticed the red color, I wasn't all that worried at first though something churned deep in my stomach. After all, the most efficient method for retrieving stray bullets involved a sharp blade and a little maneuvering. It was more than fathomable that the person who had attempted the extraction had simply cut themselves.

Trying to put it out of my mind, I wandered over to my scarred wooden desk. The first thing I noticed was the one thing that had not been there when I'd left my office: a note, written in someone's precise script.

_"Mr. Tseng–  
I'd like to apologize for the inconvenience, first and foremost.  
The new holes and scars should be properly patched tomorrow. We had some difficulty removing the bullets, and my team is not prepared to handle the cleanup of biologicals such as blood.  
As such, sometime tomorrow a bio-hazard certified technician will be by to finish the job.  
Again, I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause for you.  
Sincerely,  
Amai Sara  
of Lifestream Cleansing"_

The note fell away from my hand as I swore hotly in my native tongue. I practically fell into my chair.

That fucking _shit_! How dare he pretend that I hadn't wounded him! I had no notion of how badly he was injured, whether he was in any condition to _work_, how many injuries he'd sustained, if he was alright.

I was more than a little angry that he hadn't told me, but I supposed I was angrier that I hadn't _noticed_. That red-headed menace had pulled one over on me, and that wasn't the way things were supposed to work between us. He'd bitch about the paperwork, I'd cajole or con or force him into doing it –that was normal. For him to actually con _me_… well, at the very least, it indicated a lag in my attention span.

Gaia, and to have actually _shot_ him over something so _stupid_ was so… so… _normal_ for us.

I eyed my closed door curiously. Just how had he managed to convince Elena and Cissnei to lie and cover for him? I had to give credit where credit was due: Elena was obviously improving if I hadn't suspected her lie or her compliance.

After shedding my jacket and rolling up my shirt sleeves, I propped my elbows up on the desk. Knowing what I did now, I was pretty sure that Reno and Rude were nowhere _near_ that training room. I wondered where they actually were and if my associate had told them _why_ he was hurt. He was utter _shit_ at field medicine, I recalled with a frown, and that only made me feel worse about the whole situation.

I comforted myself with the thought that Rude was with him. At least _Rude_ knew how to properly care for a bullet wound. That was unfortunately more than I could say for Reno.

With a heavy sigh, I reached for my phone. It was time to check his normal haunts and see if I could offer any aid. His wounds were, after all, inflicted at my hand.

* * *

_Reno:_

"Fucking _hell_, yo!" I hissed out, wincing hard enough that I was worried I might have reopened the wound on my cheek. Y'know, Rude had said somethin' about a 'little sting', but this felt more like someone had set me on fire. I would be the expert in that area: I'd been on fire, in the line of fire, fired upon, returning fire… blowin' stuff up…

Rude grunted at me and gave me one of those looks.

'Stop being such a whiny bitch, Reno,' I translated.

_I can do that,_ I thought wryly. It wasn't like pain was something _new_ to me. Pain was practically my life, at times. I was either in it, causin' it, or bein' one.

He was patching up the second bullet wound, so I was sitting in a cool room wearing little more than a towel draped strategically across my waist. I honestly hadn't thought I could manage to drag two reasonably well-fit garments over the wound that had still been bleeding this morning, so I'd chosen to go commando. If I'd thought that Elena would shred my shirt and then send me away to get treatment from someone much better at field medicine than I was, I would have said 'fuck it' and suffered through the second garment.

Rude had schmoozed his way into the dark room behind the barroom at Seventh Heaven, which had presented me with all kinds of surprises. For one thing, I'd been Rude's partner for a few years now and I had _never_ seen him do such a thing. Whatever human interaction had been required by our positions had been _my_ responsibility: he preferred to stand by and look like the hired muscle. He'd also said more words to the woman who ran this place than he'd uttered to anyone else since training –more than all of his 'conversations' with Tseng _combined_.

I wondered vaguely if he was seein' her or just sweet on her. Then I thought about that mopey blond man that lived here as well, and figured he was just sweet on her –unless there was some kind of kinky AVALANCHE/SOLDIER/Turk ménage goin' on. I would have definitely wanted to be invited to _that_ –if only for the shits and giggles factor of watchin' it.

"Ow!" I exclaimed when he prodded at the opening in my leg.

He gave another grunt and that same look.

"Hey, I'm not _bein'_ whiney. It just hurts," I grumbled, trying to focus on the clock hanging on the wall instead of the pain. It wouldn't be good if Rude stopped what he was doing: these wounds were more serious than I could deal with in my limited experience and skill. I knew as well as he did that I didn't wanna pass out on the floor or anything. Besides, I'd been hurt worse than this before.

I was raised rough, then turned out on the street as a kid. Let's just say there were people out there a lot less tolerant of my mouth than Tseng, and I encountered most of them –then ran my mouth. There had been several times that I'd been left to die in one gutter or another. It had taught me to hate guns and bullets and the like. I also didn't trust them to work, so I refused to be armed with them. It had made Tseng crazy, that straight _refusal_, but he had eventually given in. I wondered sometimes if Legend had told him why I hated them. I usually decided the he hadn't –Legend wasn't exactly loose lipped, and he knew that was private.

When Rude withdrew from the wound, I figured he was close to finished with it. Then he stabbed a needle directly into my thigh.

"What the _hell_, man?! Warn a guy, yo," I protested.

I saw a flash of white teeth before he depressed the plunger.

Fucker did it on purpose. Good _Gaia_, that shit _hurt_ going in –he'd stabbed me in the muscle. The pain would only get worse as I used the muscles and the medicine circulated. I wondered if it was just a stock anti-inflammatory or something else.

For the umpteenth time, I wondered if my entertainment had been worth all this. A grin pulled at my lips. Seeing Tseng get all aggravated when I stole the rubber bands from his hair was priceless… but I probably should have stopped the first time he managed to stab me with the knife I'd used to cut the bands a few times.

Tseng always _did_ say that I had no idea when to quit.

Then again, he also expected me to have sense and give it a rest after minimal injury. That had been where he was wrong. All I knew was that it was so much easier to cut or remove them when he'd expected me to give it up. I wondered when he would ever learn that I never would get the good sense to stop before I had two bullet holes, a graze, and a small knife wound.

That was one of the reasons I hated guns: bullets and guns made you lazy. The damn things were temperamental, but if you shot someone, that didn't mean they were going to stop comin' at you. If the intention was to disable, the legs were the best place to aim –after all, I'd only stopped yesterday when I had a bullet in my thigh. At least with a stun-weapon, even if it was friendly fire, all you had to worry about was a bit of unconsciousness. If it was an enemy… well, a period of unconsciousness was one hell of an opening.

Rude disappeared from the room for a few moments, only to come back with a glass of familiar glowing liquid.

I grimaced. Potion á la Mako. The damn things were disgusting and they burned all the way down. If I actually managed to swallow it, I would spend the next ten minutes shivering –and that was _if_ there wasn't enough mako in it to give me mako poisoning. That shit was more miserable than a hangover.

Still, I took the glass from his hand and tossed it back, wondering if Tseng had caught the girls in a lie or if he was hunting for us.

_It always felt so wonderful to be wanted,_ I thought with half a smirk as the tremors began to wrack my body.

* * *

_Elena:_

Tseng hadn't come out of his office at all.

I worried my hands beneath my desk, concentration evading me at all angles. I wanted to know if I was so busted for helping Reno out today, if I was going to be busted back down to the most basic level of trainee, if Reno was giving Rude any trouble… My mind was constantly pulled in six different directions, and none of them had anything to do with my paperwork. Cissnei, however, seemed to be perfect fine with things, if the way she continued to go about her paperwork was any sort of indication.

Since I obviously couldn't get any work done, I decided to watch Cissnei instead. Hey, I might learn something. As she finished the three sheets of paperwork she'd been working on, she absently reached for another. She squinted at the paper for a moment, then made a puzzled face. When I was about to ask what was wrong, she burst out laughing.

She looked at me and tried to say something, but she couldn't stop laughing. She pushed her chair back from her desk and tried to stand, but ended up on her knees on the ground behind her desk, laughing hysterically.

I walked around her desk, wondering if she was okay. "Cissnei?" I inquired.

She couldn't even stop laughing long enough to tell me she was okay. Instead, she handed me a sheet of paper.

It had Tseng's letterhead on it and it looked quite official. I skimmed it quickly.

_"Rule 346:  
Those that steal, remove, or destroy the hair-bands that belong to the Turk Commander will find themselves on the least savory duties available."_

The document was signed by Tseng and dated the previous day. I figured Tseng had written it up and left it on our desks last night before leaving the office.

"G-Gaia!" Cissnei stuttered out between bursts of laughter. "Fucking _Reno_! This _has_ to be how he got injured."

I shook my head. She was right. Reno was the only person who managed to piss off our boss so badly that he _shot_ at him. And that was generally the only conceivable reason that he wouldn't want Tseng to know he was injured.

He'd been in and out of Tseng's office all of yesterday. I'd noticed off-hand that the number of hair-ties around his wrists seemed to multiply, but I'd considered it unimportant at the time. But with this new rule, things made a lot more sense.

I began to laugh as well. A morning full of rubber bands, super glue, and bullet holes, and just one man to blame: the red-headed menace himself.

* * *

_There's something that I kinda want to do since introducing the concept in this story... How on earth did they get to 346 rules, and what are they?  
Anyone intersted in a Turk rule-book for this 'verse?_

_Anywho, this was really fun to work on. Glad I got it done in reasonable time..._

_There will be a bonus chapter coming soon -a smexy bonus chapter!- but that may lag a bit. This is the main story in and of itself ^^_

_I'd love to hear what you liked, what you hated, what you giggled hysterically at... that sort of thing._

_Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello, my doves. _

_I know I promised you a two-parter, but unforutnately my muses -and Tseng and Reno- wouldn't cooperate for that. So, now you get to look forward to  
_more_ chapters. Donno if that's good or bad for y'all._

_So! Some notes for the chapter:  
-I suffer from the delusion that Reno is a lot more intellectual than he lets on.  
-"Der Willie zur Macht" was written by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, a nineteenth-century German philosopher and classical philologist. The title literally means "The Will to Power". It's kinda grazed over in the text, but both titles (and the author's last name) are mentioned._

_Alrighty, then. On with the show!_

* * *

_Tseng:_

I wanted to growl in frustration.

I had called _everywhere_: every strip-club he had casually mentioned, every bar we'd had to fish him out of, every restaurant he liked to eat at or have take-out from, the jail to see if he'd ended up in the drunk tank _again_, every bar he visited when off duty, all of his usual contacts, his normal stop for groceries and cigarettes, every former sexual partner or one night stand or booty call that I could come up with. No one had seen or heard from him today.

The clock chimed to mark the quarter-hour and I looked up. It was 6:45, and I hadn't even caught a single break when it came to finding him.

Much as I loathed to admit it, I was genuinely worried. I knew he was hurt –had no clue as to the severity of things, but I knew he was definitely hurt. And much as he routinely annoyed the hell out of me, that little shit was _mine_: my subordinate, my responsibility. On the odd occasion I even liked to consider him a friend, despite his abnormal enjoyment of getting a rise out of me.

Not expecting an answer, I dialed the number for his apartment. The phone rang five times before it hit the machine. I sighed. "Red, call me back as soon as you get this. Where in the hell were you today? I know you had Elena cover for you." That was an educated guess; he was more likely to get the blond to cooperate. Though, I could see Cissnei getting really concerned if he came into the office severely wounded, and for all I knew, he _had_. "Do you really want her busted down to junior trainee?" An empty threat –I was really quite pleased with her for managing this without breaking down and blabbing to me.

The phone was picked up before I could say anything else. "Sir," a curt voice answered.

Ah. Rude, who'd _also_ been absent all day. "Rude," I greeted.

"Reno came in hurt this morning. Elena sent him with me to be patched up."

I tried to keep my tone completely calm. Inside, I was screaming, _Please Gaia, don't let me have killed that little shit._ I was unfortunately attached to him. Plus, training a replacement would utterly _suck_. "How badly injured?"

"Two bullet wounds, a graze and a knife wound. He's resting. He'll recover."

Fuck, I'd hit him three times? How exactly had he manages to hide that from me yesterday? "Go home, Rude," I directed. "I'll be by in ten minutes and I'll keep an eye on him."

"…"

I knew that that long silence. It meant there was a wrench in the works, that I was getting too far ahead of myself. I wasn't going to let him stop me this time, no matter the consequences of my actions. Not this time, when I was still feeling guilty for disabling my own man. "What is it?"

"He didn't want you informed of his condition."

Who knew that eight little words could prove to me that I still had a heart? It couldn't be a _gentle_ reminder –no, those eight words practically tore it out. I wanted to hurt someone, something, _anything_ –that red-head sounded about right. "You informed me of his condition to protect Elena and yourself. Is that clear?" I told him tersely.

"Yes, sir." The quiet man knew his out clause when he heard it, and he wasn't about to let his career go down in flames because of Reno being a stubborn shit.

I sort of wanted to salute him. "Get some rest, Rude," I said instead, knowing that the big man had spent the entire day with Reno, who could be obnoxious when well. He was utterly _insufferable_ when he was hurt.

"Yes, sir."

I hesitated for a moment. "Did he… did he ever say how he got hurt?" I inquired, going out on a limb.

"No, sir. He refused to talk about it."

"I see."

When I hung up the phone, I looked around my office at the piles of paperwork. Thank Gaia we hadn't had any sort of assignment today. I had been too caught up in locating Reno to even _file paperwork_, and I practically did _that_ in my sleep.

I frowned. I thought about paperwork even in life or death situations. What hold did that menace have over me that he actually managed to push paperwork out of my mind?

Shoving my hand through my loose, disheveled hair, I thought about it a little deeper.

This wasn't the first time I'd seriously injured one of my subordinates. I'd personally trained Elena in hand to hand, and I'd left serious bruises. I'd accidentally shot Rude, Cissnei, _and_ Reno in combat situations when they were in my line of fire. Hell, when I'd been captured by one group of terrorists or another, I'd had to stare Rude in the face and shoot him. I'd even broken Reno's nose once!

My subordinates had all been seriously injured on my watch before, even! But I hadn't lost my concentration or my ability to function as the Commander when either of them clung to life in a hospital bed. I'd never even had the desire to sit in vigil at their hospital bed or even particularly care about the wounds they sustained. What in the hell was so _different_ here?

I'd always been so careful to view my subordinates as cogs in the well-oiled machine that was the Turks. Knowing that I was capable of caring way too much about each member of my team, I'd taken pains to distance myself from each of them in the smallest ways.

Perhaps the problem was that Reno had refused to allow distance between us. He refused the strictness of the uniform. Instead, he would show up disheveled and missing an element or two. He slipped into my office for the sheer purpose of seeing how long it took me to notice –he liked to say he was keeping me sharp, that too much office work would dull my senses and ruin me. He _liked_ to rile me on purpose and kept pushing until I was violent in my anger.

If I thought about it too hard and gave Reno credit for motives, it really seemed that he was intently trying to draw out my true self. He didn't seem to mind that my true self seemed to be incredibly violent. He was strangely alright with insults and knives and bullets and fists flying his way when he pushed too far.

Just like that, he refused to be just another Turk, just another ghost employed by ShinRa. Somehow, he had slipped past my defenses just as easily as he slipped into my office.

_Fucking hell_, he had made me actually _care_ again.

Quickly, I slipped into my jacket. Pulling back my hair into a messy pony tail, I surveyed my office briefly before deciding that work could wait. That red-headed menace obviously couldn't.

* * *

_Reno:_

I surfaced from unconsciousness full of righteous indignation and anger.

Rude, that _fucking fucker_, had slipped me a tranq. He _knew_ how much I hated the damn things!

Taking inventory of my body –its parts, its aches, its symptoms– was slow going through the leftover haze of the drug. When I realized that the aches from my injuries and symptoms from Mako poisoning had subsided some, I grudgingly admitted to myself that Rude _might_ have had the right idea when he had given me the tranquilizer –but I would never own up to that aloud, even if it killed me.

When I opened my eyes and my mouth to chew Rude out royally, I was so stunned that I actually closed the latter without saying a damn thing.

At some point, my partner had abandoned me. That, I could have lived with: I'd actually slept through the worst of everything.

It was his replacement –the first sight that greeted me upon waking– that was nothing short of shocking. And it was that sight that would be incredibly hard to get over.

Tseng, the Turk Commander himself, was sitting sideways in my favorite easy chair, his long legs dangling over one arm. Not a strange position, truly, but completely against his nature normally. In his lap, he held one of my books. With a wince, I realized it was my well-worn copy of "Der Willie zur Macht" –in the language it was originally written in, no less.

Fuck. I really hadn't wanted him to find out that I found Nietzsche intellectually stimulating. Or that I read German. Or that "The Will to Power" was my favorite of his pieces. That one little worn-out paperback book was going to ruin my entire life.

What's a guy gotta do to fool his boss into thinking he's a lazy, sex-obsessed maniac anymore? There was no way to negate that knowledge –not even an intentionally crashed helicopter.

What in the hell was he doing in my apartment, anyway? He _never_ associated with any of the Turks outside of work, and he made it a personal mission to stay away from _my_ apartment in particular. It had been a long time since I'd let that fact hurt me anymore. It was safer that way.

My books should have been _safe_ here, damn it! I was the only one who ever came here! Why oh why did my sexy boss have to come over here today of all days? Having him here, in my home, made me want to pounce on him and hold him here –none of which was a particularly _good_ notion with my condition or a _sane_ notion with who my boss was.

I tried to console myself. Maybe he hadn't realized I'd woken up yet.

"Red, Red, Red. Who would have thought you actually had _taste_ in _literature_?"

Well, there went _that_ particular pipe dream.

"I have taste in porn mags, too, boss," I replied lazily, still hoping to draw his attention from the book. "However, I keep _them_ under my bed. Wanna see?"

He clicked his tongue at me. "How like an adolescent male."

"It's convenient, yo. You ever tried crossin' the room to fetch something when you're hard? Not fun."

Unfortunately, I didn't get the pleasure of watching his feathers get all ruffled this time. Nope, this time he radiated calm effortlessly. Surprisingly enough, I found it soothing –hell, it was strange enough that I found his _presence_ soothing at such a time. When I was hurt, laid low by my least favorite kind of injury, and he was the one who'd hurt me, shouldn't I be wary of his presence? Shouldn't I feel alarmed by more than him picking through my reading material?

"You didn't tell me I'd actually s_hot_ you."

Oh, great. Now we got to have that stupid conversation I'd been trying to avoid all day. Gaia knew, he would never let this one go until I answered him, much like a guard hound on the leg of an intruder.

"It didn't matter." Immediately after I spoke, I winced, knowing I was going to catch all kinds of hell for it.

He raised a brow at me and swung those long legs around to set his feet on the floor in front of him so he could face me. "Why do you get to decided what matters and what doesn't matter, Reno? It would have mattered to _me_."

Well, _that_… certainly wasn't what I had expected him to say to that. Honestly, I had expected a full lecture about how my opinion really didn't matter in this situation, that I was his responsibility –that would have been his careful side-step around 'Property of Shinra', which he knew would set me off like one of Rude's explosives– and he should be informed of which Turks are out of commission… that sort of rant. Tseng was always very attractive when he ranted.

Instead, I got _'It would have mattered to _me.'

I'd admit that the statement was quite charming in its ambiguity. On one hand, he might have simply realized that I _relished_ his rants and the way his face flushed and the way his accent became all the more pronounced when he was flustered. Gods, he was beautiful when he was irritated! On the other, it might actually mean that he _cared_. Based on the ratio of personal desire for an option versus the way the universe and Fate liked to fuck with me, I decided that the outcome that I most desired was probably the furthest from the truth. In other words, I figured Tseng had realized how much I enjoyed his rants.

Considering that the day had serious sucked from the start, it was pretty par for the course.

For once in my life, I didn't have a smart answer or a pithy comeback to retort with. I had absolutely _no_ idea what to say in this circumstance.

Which pretty much meant I was fucked –six ways to Sunday, a seventh time on Saturday, and the fucker would catch up with me again Wednesday– and none of it in a fun way.

* * *

_Okay, my favorite line from this chapter is that last one ^^_

_I really want to know what you all think about this crazy chapter, any ideas you might have, how hard it made you laugh, if you thought it was rushed or stupid or something... I appreciate all feedback as long as it is encouraging and/or constructive._

_Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you, thank you, thank you to the lovely __**CreatedInFyre7**__! She reminded me of a few very important things –and of the fact that I really want Tseng on top this time around (this is only my... third or fourth story with this pair, but Reno's topped every time .)._

_...I may have to own up to something, my doves..._

_Yep. I gotta. Can't fight it any more...  
The album that made chapter three of "Rubber Bands, Super Glue, and Bullet Holes" possible was "BTR" by Big Time Rush.  
I know, I know. You'll never be able to read my work the same way again. It's just got great rhythm and some awesome harmonies._

_Alright, hope you all giggled at that. While it's true, it's not nearly as dramatic as I made it sound, ne?_

_Before we get down to it, there's one more thing I'd like to mention –this is about the story.  
Uh, Reno is pretty much naked. There's a strategically draped blanket involved. Just... keep that in mind? I didn't think about it for a while there and it all but smacked me in the face..._

_Alrighty then! Enjoy, my doves. Sorry it took me so long!_

* * *

_Tseng:_

I looked at him, waiting for him to respond, because, Gaia knew, he always had some sort of come-back for _everything._

As his silence stretched on, I realized I had genuinely surprised him with my answer. Unfortunately for me, his lack of reply left me to just _studying_ him for once.

He looked pretty good, considering. Then again, Rude had tranquilized him and given him something for the pain, so I wasn't sure how long that would last. The scrape on his left cheek was familiar enough, but it took me a moment to remember fighting him for the knife and leaving it. Feeling ashamed of myself, I shifted my gaze to other territories.

His dress shirt was probably covered in blood and balled up in some corner –it was sort of the way Reno was, and I knew how bad he was at field medicine. Still, I supposed it wasn't all that surprising that he hadn't managed to throw on an undershirt today. There was a rough-looking wound on his right shoulder that remained unbandaged, and I figured that was probably the graze. I knew that Rude would not have left a bullet hole uncovered: a graze was a much less severe wound and he wouldn't have even thought about covering it. My gaze was then immediately drawn to the white gauze on his left arm. _That_, I was fairly sure, was a bullet wound. Continuing down the rest of his barely-covered form, I finally recognized the wound in his right thigh as the other bullet hole.

Scanning back up his body, I checked for other things I might have missed and found a minor scratch on his right hand, as well. That one, I remembered very well: he'd been trying to cut away my hair-band and I'd slammed my hand into his. He'd lost his grip on the knife and fumbled to catch it. Still, I was proud that he hadn't made so much as a sound when it pierced his hand.

_Wait a minute. Proud?_ I looked over his body again. _I did this much damage to him and I'm _proud_ that he deceived me? How do I see this and feel anything but ashamed of myself?_

Trying to distract myself from the shame churning in my stomach, I looked over his body again. I frowned slightly as I recognized the age in those eyes, the strength of those shoulders, the definition of those abdominal muscles, the power of those legs, the elegance of that musculature.

When had all of these things happened? When had these changes occurred?

Had it been all at once or over a long time?

Had I been too distracted by paperwork and missions and my own boss to notice the changes in him?

_Fucking hell_, when had Reno stopped being so _young?_

When Legend had first introduced me to him, Reno had been nothing but a street punk suddenly plucked off the streets. He had been all sharp angles, gawky spindly limbs, and sarcasm. To see that he'd filled out –the skinny arms becoming muscular, the shoulders broadening with maturity, the chest filled out with hard work, the long slender legs becoming lean with muscle– should have changed my perspective and my opinion of him.

But I hadn't seen it, not at all. I'd noticed his improvement as an operative and properly rewarded him for it, but I'd never looked at him –_really_ looked at him– and saw that the kid I'd met in the first place was no more.

For some reason, I still saw him as the impulsive clumsy kid that liked explosions a little too much, hated guns and refused to even carry one, and _lived _to push my buttons. Obviously, he'd grown up into an attractive man, a man who had taste in literature as well as porn, a man who could follow my orders because they were _orders_ and get the job done, a man who could actually hold some semblance of authority and train new operatives, a man who could reveal a lot about himself while hiding even more.

It unnerved me a bit that it seemed he was modeling himself off of me: hiding behind that persona –though I figured his was mostly because people always underestimated him because he seemed reckless and ignorant; keeping his distance from everyone else so as not to hurt them, not to be hurt by them, and not to be missed by them; honing his body and mind to be his deadliest weapons; and not getting attached to anyone or anything –not even the inanimate things.

The carbon copy of the original Turk ghost, the 2.0 edition now better than ever, copyright of the Shinra Electric Company.

When had this man stopped being devoted to his own originality and become a shadow of his former self?

If I really thought about it, his provocations no longer held any bite, his sarcasm was more of a reflex, and most of his 'accidents' were intentional. I knew it instinctively, but I had never paid attention to it. Hell, I had willfully ignored it, because he was easier to handle that way!

Only a few hours ago, I had believed he might be seeking out my true personality with his annoyances and incitements. Now I wondered if he sought it out only to prove to himself that he still had his own personality lurking somewhere deep in his core.

Had I somehow inadvertently broken the spirit of this once vivid man?

It was sort of peculiar, I guess: Reno had always been hard to handle, but I'd... _relished_ that about him. I liked that he had his own opinion, that he challenged me. How had I not noticed when he just... _stopped_?

Was there anyway to bring it back in him, anyway to resurrect the intensity that had once belonged to him?

Was there any hope that my own individuality still lingered somewhere inside of me, too, that I could bring back that which he sought out in me?

I knew it was strange that I wanted to fix him –that I wanted to _please_ him– but for some reason, it just didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter except _him_.

And what should have been frankly _alarming_ was simply accepted.

Because it was Reno. Because he _mattered._

* * *

_Reno:_

"When did you go and grow up on me, Red?" he asked me, breaking the long silence with his sudden question, a slight frown on his face –the same look he got when he was confronted by some sort of puzzle he was having trouble solving.

I blinked, completely lost. "What?"

"When did you grow up on me?" he repeated, his voice soft, dulcet, conversational. "When did you stop being that cocky, smart-assed kid, and how did I not notice, Reno?"

Swallowing hard, I tried to process the whole thing. What in the hell was up with these questions _now_, of all times?

After all these years, I still did not get this man at all!

_Heh, after a million years, you still wouldn't understand everything about him,_ taunted a voice in my head, which I chose to blatantly ignore

Instead, I shrugged. "I donno. Time passes, even if we don't wanna acknowledge it at times."

I thought about it often enough, even though I hated to think about it. It had been close to ten years since I'd met him, and I had loved him from day one. Of course, I would never have admitted it –not as the self-assured hot-head I'd been– but as I grew older, I could admit it to myself. No matter how many people I slept with, no matter how many times I tried to tell myself I hated the confident smooth-talker who held my leash, it had always been him and he had always had my heart. He just had no interest in it.

So I slept with strangers, I got drunk, I tried all varieties of drugs, and I went out on suicide missions. All the while, I tried to pretend that all of those things brought me the blissful numbness I craved, that I could somehow forget him. Yet when darkness fell and I was all alone, I knew it was all an elaborate lie. But I kept that lie going as long as I could, because letting it go meant things had to change.

"Careful, Red. That sounded almost philosophical," he remarked.

There was something... different in his tone. Biting back my sardonic reply, I tried to figure out what was so different about it. I about bit my tongue off when I recognized the tone of his voice. He was _teasing_ me, like I was almost... a _friend_ of his or somethin'. I got the feeling that Tseng really didn't have many friends, which was probably why I was so stunned.

He sighed. "I suppose that if you've grown up on me, that makes me ancient."

_Oh, are we fishing for compliments?_ inquired the nosy voice in my head.

I laughed, surprised to find the sound was all natural and not at all forced. "Tseng, you're sorta... _timeless_. It's like you and you alone somehow managed to exist outside of the boundaries of time. Trust me, you'll still look young long after I've gone gray."

He frowned at that and my thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Why _was_ he here? I'd been injured often enough –hell, he had been the one to injure me often enough– and it had never summoned this reaction in him. He would sort of... ignore me until I got better, then put me back to work. It had sort of stung until I had realized that he treated all of the Turks that way, even our newest operative.

A gentle hand laced into my loose hair and my gaze shot to his face. His expression was thoughtful as he slid his hand across my hair.

I thought I was going to die –whether of embarrassment, shock, or arousal, I didn't know.

Tseng would have no frame of reference to know, but my scalp was one of my... _spots,_ as one of my previous lovers had called them. Suffice to say that the skin was _very_ sensitive. Since his elegant dexterous fingers were taking a luxurious trek through the brightly colored strands, there was a subtle, gentle pull against it that stirred heat I had no business feeling at a time like this.

I suddenly felt a hell of a lot more naked than I had before. I still wore little more than a blanket draped over some tactically important areas –I just felt more nude than I had ever felt around him in my life. Hell, I felt more nude than I had felt before anyone in my entire _life_, and I wasn't shy about my own naked body. I figured it might possibly have something to do with some physical responses I couldn't control and the physical proximity to the man I had always wanted but could never have.

So distracted was I by the stirrings and the sensations that Tseng's soft statement startled me. Then again, if I _hadn't_ been distracted, I would still have been startled.

"It would be a shame to see all of that vibrant color disappear."

His voice was soft, the statement itself was half murmured. It took me a few seconds to convince myself that I _hadn't_ been hearing things, that he had _actually_ said such a thing to me.

A soft smile I didn't know how to interpret pulled at his lips and I forgot how to breathe.

_Oh, c'mon, Tseng! Help me out here. Yell at me or poke at me or pull your gun or tell me I'm being a kid again or something! _I plead in my mind, swallowing hard. _Do _something_ that makes me think you hate me. Please!_

I wasn't sure how I would manage to contain myself if he didn't remind me that he was a bastard.

_A repressed, calm,... sexy,... kind bastard... A_h, hell, that wasn't helping _any-fucking-thing_!

"Why don't you get some rest, Reno? I'll stay and keep an eye on your injuries."

_Fuck me,_ why couldn't he just be a bastard this _one time_ when I needed him to be one?

"I... I need a shower," I admitted slowly.

He arched a brow. "Do you need my assistance?" he asked kindly, sensibly.

Fuck. Rational, kind, sensible... _why, Tseng, _why_ can't you just help a guy out and be a bastard?_

I licked my lips and hoped he wouldn't bite my head off until he heard the reason behind my request. "Uh, yeah. Can you leave the room?"

* * *

_Tseng:_

I'm certain I looked as though he had slapped me across the face. Well, I certainly _felt _as though he had, even if it didn't show through. "Could you repeat that?" I inquired serenely, carefully shoving my instinctive response down as low as I could.

I didn't get it. _Why did it hurt?_ Why did it hurt that he wanted me out of the room, away from him?

It didn't make any sense. One of the things I had always liked about him was that he was unpredictable, that he would fight me even knowing it was not a smart idea. Why was I hurt? Why was I feeling this way when he just... continued a behavior that had been natural to him as long as I'd known him?

Still, he licked his lips again and swallowed hard, like what he was going to say was making him anxious. "Ah, boss? I'm _naked_ under this blanket. Unless you wanna see all of me, you might wanna wait in the living room until I manage into get into the bathroom."

Reno looked _embarrassed_, something I'd never seen before in the entire time I had worked with him. More than that, he looked like he was prepared for me to fly off the handle at him for making such a request.

Instead, I turned bright red. How had I not realized he was so, so... _naked_ before, when I'd been busily taking note of his injuries?

"I... I didn't realize," I stammered, pulse pounding in my throat. "O-of course. I will go into the living room, then."

A thoughtful wrinkle creased his brow and he reached out with a soft expression that bore –dare I say it– empathy. "Boss? You okay?"

I wanted to hide my face. Gaia, what about him got me so far off my game? I was the Turk Commander –and I just _stammered_ like some love-stuck school boy at the notion of my subordinate being naked under that blanket of his!

Doing my best to make it covert, I took a deep soothing breath. It didn't help. "Red, I'm fine. I'll be perusing the bookshelf in your living room if you need me."

He winced at that. "Anyway I can convince you the music collection is more interesting, yo?"

_That_ nearly made me laugh. "I'm incredibly selective when it comes to music, but I'm more open to other influences when it comes to books. So, probably not, Red."

"...That just makes it worse, boss-man."

This time, I did go ahead and laugh as I turned and left the room, careful to keep my stride measured and precise so he wouldn't think I was running away.

"Stay away from the novels. I mean it, Tseng!"

I started. Was that the first time he'd called me by name since I'd been here? I had to think about it as my fingertips graced the spines of his well-worn collection of books. He might have said my name once before, but he sounded almost _warm_ when he used my name, like some of the distance between us had evaporated.

Then again, my nickname for him was becoming more and more affectionate each time I used it. Maybe a little distance would be prudent, seeing as I had to work with him after this. I wasn't sure I could separate it out with him any longer. If I let Reno in, it was sort of an all-or-nothing deal.

Swallowing hard, I tried to distract myself with the book under the pads of my fingers. To my surprise, I hadn't even noticed that he separated the philosophy from the fiction earlier. My head had been a complete mess, so I guessed it was a byproduct of that. It was something that was unacceptable of the Turk Commander, so I took note this time around.

He was surprisingly intellectual for a man who fought so hard to convince me he was nothing but a hard-drinking sex-obsessed accident waiting to happen. A faded copy of "Tao Te Ching" was wedged in at the end of the shelf with all of the Nietzsche. Remembering that he hadn't wanted me to look at the novels, a smile graced my lips as I shifted my attention to the other shelf.

A duel volume of "Alice in Wonderland" and "Through the Looking Glass", a copy of Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye" that had been read so much the spine had to be taped up, a thick volume that claimed to contain everything H.P. Lovecraft had ever written, three thin paperbacks by Ray Bradbury, every well-known play by Shakespeare, a few hit-and-miss books of poetry, and more I didn't even recognize filled the shelf. As I glanced over the others, I recognized a few of the authors were best-sellers, but I still hadn't read anything by Christopher Rice, Kim Harrison, or any of the other prolific authors who dominated the shelf.

With a half-smile, I pulled out his copy of "Fahrenheit 451". While I succeeded in extracting the novel, I unfortunately knocked down "The Martian Chronicles" and "Something Wicked This Way Comes". It was a bit of artless clumsiness on my part, -not a normal occurrence at all, and a definite testament to how much being here in Reno's apartment was screwing with my head– but as I bent to pick it up, I noticed that the bottom shelf was full of nothing but non-fiction. I had to admit, it made me curious, so after replacing the three novels, I perused the other shelf.

It was impossible to contain my smile when I saw that he owned "The Complete Book of Mixed Drinks". That a well-worn copy of "The Complete Illustrated Kama Sutra" was beside it wasn't much of a surprise either. The surprise was the collection of memoirs that butted up to the others –"The Glass Castle" and "Never Stuff Your Dog" being the two primary titles that stuck out to me.

A loud _thunk_ and copious, loud creative swearing yanked my attention from the bookshelf.

Nervously, I hurried through his bedroom and to the bathroom door and knocked three times, noting that the shower was still running. "Reno, are you alright?"

He made a slight sound that I didn't quite catch. "I-I'm fine... Don't worry about it."

A quizzical expression pulled across my features. He certainly didn't _sound_ alright –not that anyone other than a stubborn Turk would ever try to use that word when they had two bullet holes in them.

"Are you sure?" I inquire lightly, pondering whether or not I should check on him anyway. My throat constricted at the notion of seeing him naked and my hand barely touched the doorknob.

"Yeah. I'm fine, boss."

His voice sounded stronger this time, so I withdrew my hand. "Alright, then. Call out if you need me, Red," I returned before wandering back into the living room, wondering what in the hell was wrong with me.

* * *

_Yeah, I know: I promised that chapter two would have the smuttiness, and here we are at the end of chapter three..._

_The problem is my muses are fascinated with the whole "realizing they like each other" scenario and I couldn't keep out of it... If I'd started this whole story with an established Tseng/Reno relationship, it would have been okay to jump to the smut, but it also would have lacked a lot of the awesome moments... like Reno embarrassing Tseng and being embarrassed by his own nudity (FOR ONCE IN HIS LIFE! Lol)._

_Also! Reno's taste in books (well, fiction and philosophy books, anyway) has come straight from my own bookshelf –and a few of the books I currently have out from my local library. His non-fiction was thrown in for fun, but the memoirs mentioned are some that I either own or have read. Do mind the fact that technically speaking, these books shouldn't__exist in this universe. But they do. Because I am the author, and I'm taking creative license!_

_So, what do you think Reno is doing in the shower? You get three guesses -the first two don't count._

_I would have written it up today, but I always feel weird about writing that sort of stuff on Sunday..._

_Let me know how you liked this chapter. Was there a funny moment you loved? Paragraphs that seemed pointless? Something that didn't make sense? Something you can't wait to see happen in this story? _

_Then write me a review and let me know!_

_Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~_


End file.

Final Fantasy VII, Drama, Humor