Variations, a fanfic by Eagleheart, chapter 6

Midgar is truly a beautiful city. I lived most of my life in Lower Midgar, oblivious to what was above me, but the city truly is a wonder. It’s a marvel of engineering, to say the least. Whoever had the idea of putting all the utilities and things that normally pollute and dirty a city beneath a plate…well, it isn’t so good for the people who are forced to live there, but it sure makes for a beautiful city on top. The architecture of some of the buildings is second to none and those in charge do everything they can to keep the city as beautiful as possible.

The parks of Midgar are incredible. Entire landscapes have been built on top of the plate, rolling hills, forests, even rivers. They’re all artificial, of course, but it makes them easier to manage and no less beautiful. In autumn, the leaves burst into the colors of flame and the last dying flowers all come together to create what’s quite possibly the most colorful landscape in the world, all under a sky that’s never touched by smog and is always a different pale shade of blue. It was another lull. AVALANCHE weren’t trying to destroy the lives of thousand people and I was so thankful that just about everything was beautiful.

One evening, during this beautiful lull, Cyr came by, dressed in jeans and a sweater, to invite me to come have a picnic in the Shinra Memorial Park next to our building.

“We’re all just going to bring a few things and have some fun,” she explained, a heavy picnic basket on one arm. “It’s wonderfully childish, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “My family didn’t really do things like that. After my mother died, it was just my dad and me, and he stuck me in military school at the first chance he got. In any case the slums of Midgar aren’t really very scenic.”

“What a shame…” Cyr murmured sympathetically. “Well, then, we’ll make sure this one is nice for you. Come along, Rosalind. Do you have anything in your fridge you’d like to contribute?”

“Umm…” I hesitated. I really don’t cook much. “Well…I don’t have much, but I did pick up a chocolate cake at the store yesterday. I’d be glad to share that.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Cyr approved. “You can’t go wrong with chocolate. You may want to grab a jacket though. Midgar is chilly in autumn. Come on, now. They’re waiting for us down in the parkade.”

“All right. Just a minute.” I closed the door and ducked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and retrieving my cake. I probably wouldn’t have been able to eat it all anyway. I grabbed a sweater and a denim jacket and pulled both on over my t-shirt, following Cyr down the hallway to the elevator.

Cyr smiled at me, lifting the lid of the basket. “Put it in there. Samantha has the other basket. I wonder if it will be enough, given the way the boys eat.”

“Well, you’ve never been on a picnic.” Cyr winked at me and headed for the elevator. “You’ll see.”

I’m very fond of Cyr. She’s a wonderfully free-spirited person and very nice. We were talking in the lounge, once, and I learned she’s from Mideel, like Samantha is. Except she’s a native of Mideel. Samantha lives there because her family bought a big old manor house, from back in the days when it was a colony of Midgar. Cyr was born and raised there and has a beautiful, rich Island accent, dulled only slightly by her years in Midgar. It’s almost hypnotic to hear her talk. She’s been a mercenary since she was sixteen, taking down poachers in the jungle. For someone as young as she is, she’s had an incredible life. And she knows a lot of things about people.

“Do I need to bring a blanket or anything?” I had this image in my mind of a family, picnicking in a park with a blanket. I’d never had the experience. It’s lucky I’m not a melancholy person, or thinking about it might’ve made me tear up.

Cyr shook her head as we rode the elevator down. “Reno took care of that. He couldn’t cook to save his life, so he said he’d bring anything extraneous.”

“People give him things, mostly.” Cyr shrugged. “A lot of people like Reno. He tries very hard.”

Cyr glanced at me. “You learn things, watching people. If you watch him, you can see he very much needs to have people like him. He covers it up very well, but his self-esteem is rather weak.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened as we reached the parkade, so Cyr just nodded. Two sleek black SUVs were pulled up right in front of the elevators and the back door of one opened up. Reno appeared through the sunroof, beckoning to Cyr and I. “Hey, right on time! C’mon, the other car’s full.”

“Reno, you sit down,” Cyr ordered as she loaded her basket into the back. “You’ll get stuck.” Sometimes, Cyr can be very maternal. I suppose it comes from living in the type of society that Mideel has.

I climbed into the back of the SUV with Cyr close behind. Tseng was driving and he smiled at me in the rearview mirror as he followed the other car out of the parking lot. In the back was a new Turk, older than me, in a polo shirt and dark cargo pants; he smiled at me as I buckled up. “Hello. I’m Rafe.”

I liked him immediately. There was something about his smile that made you feel comfortable. He had darker skin and hair, spiked in the front, and stubble on his chin. To say nothing of the fact that he was as least as well-muscled as Rude, if a little stockier. “My name’s Rosalind.”

“She likes you,” Reno informed him, glancing in the rearview mirror. “She didn’t call you ‘sir.’”

Rafe’s smile broadened and I blushed. “I’m glad. Who’s the pretty lady beside you?”

Cyr smiled warmly. I could tell she liked being called a lady. I’m sure “pretty” didn’t hurt either. “I’m called Cyr. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rafe.”

“What do you do, Rafe?” Of course, I knew what he did. But that’s the way you ask what a Turk fights with. It sounds better than, “How do you like to kill people?”

“Really?” Nothing captures Cyr’s interest more easily than a fellow fighter. Their conversation drifted into the waters of different martial schools and techniques. I only half-listened until we reached the park and Tseng had pulled into the parking lot.

Rafe climbed out and held the door for Cyr and I. I don’t think anyone’s ever held a door for me in my life. “I’ll get the basket you brought, Cyr.” Rafe is definitely a gentleman.

The other SUV pulled into the parking lot and Rude climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Did you have a second picnic basket in your car? We didn’t, and just one won’t be enough.”

“Yeah, Cyr brought it,” Reno announced, unloading the back of the car we’d taken, passing a pile of old, faded blankets to Tseng and picking up a cooler himself. “Did you get a football or anything?”

St. Andrew tossed a football from hand to hand and grinned. “Absolutely. You ready to have your ass kicked?”

Samantha climbed out and latched onto Rod’s arm, looking up at him and giggling. I blinked. This was a new development. I guess they must have been going out or something, because Rod didn’t make a move to shrug her off. “Are you going to play football, Rodney?” she asked kittenishly.

Rod nodded once. What a strange couple they make. I can’t imagine what Rod sees in Samantha. “Let’s go.”

Cyr swept her long dark hair into a ponytail and sighed, relieving Rafe of her picnic basket. “Come on, Rosalind, Samantha. Let the boys tear each other to pieces. There’ll be more for us to eat anyway.”

“Aww, come off it, Cyr. We just wanna have a little fun,” St. Andrew protested, passing the football to Rude as Reno made a grab for it.

Another thing about Cyr is her extremely volatile prejudices. I’m fairly sure St. Andrew was teasing when he said it, and didn’t really deserve to be kicked in the stomach, but Cyr knocked him down and planted a running shoe on the side of his head anyway. “Andrew, dear,” she began sweetly, “because you’ve been in an environment where women are subservient and adhere to your every whim for so very long I’ll assume you’re unused to the true workings of the world and be nice about this. Don’t be a chauvinistic pig. I don’t like it. Understand, dear?”

Cyr helped him up and even brushed the gravel from the front of his sweatshirt. It hadn’t been an unfriendly confrontation. It was just Cyr making a point the best way she knew how. Maybe that’s one of the reasons Turks do better with their own kind. Our conduct would be looked on as unacceptable on other fronts of society.

“Well! There’s absolutely no reason why women can’t play football,” Reno declared brightly. “Cyr, angel, would you be on our team?”

“Involve myself in some Neolithic, testosterone-imbued skull-bashing contest with you sweaty, stinky males?” Cyr wrinkled her nose distastefully. “No, thank you. Come along, Rosalind, Samantha.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I followed Cyr down the hill from the parking lot and to a shady, wooded area, next to a pond. The air smelled so wonderful. It was cool out, but not cold, and I was warm in my sweater. Leaves carpeted the ground and would be nice and soft beneath the blankets we’d brought.

Cyr took charge immediately, organizing things. “Take off,” she commanded imperiously when Reno strayed a little too near her picnic basket. “You’ll eat when we’re ready.”

“Does Cyr remind anyone else of a drill sergeant? We just wanna help set up…”

“Oh, go on and play,” Samantha urged, giggling. “We can handle this. You boys go have fun.”

“Hey, wait!” I yelled as the six of them took off for the field at the edge of the forest. I looked at the tangled heap of blankets that had been dumped on the ground, the two stuffed picnic baskets and the cooler. “They could have helped us out…”

Cyr shrugged and picked up a blanket, shaking it out and laying it on the ground. “Oh well. The lulls never last. We may as well enjoy the peace while we can.”

Samantha tossed her hair and stretched out on the blanket Cyr had laid down. “I agree completely. Midgar is lovely in autumn.”

“Mmm. Rosalind, start unpacking the picnic baskets. I want to see what we have.”

I obeyed, kneeling down on a blanket and carefully unloading the contents. There was an awful lot of food, all of it picnic type things. “Do you go out for picnics, often, Cyr?” I asked. Unpacking her basket made my mouth water. “You seem to be a very good cook.”

Cyr smiled, pinning down the corners of the blankets with rocks. When she’d finished, we had a soft little island, with room for all of us to be comfortable. “I enjoy spending time with my friends.”

Samantha squealed as she opened up the cooler. “Ooh, someone brought wine. Oh, let’s have a glass! Please, it so reminds me of home…sitting on the verandah with Mum and Daddy, having a nice white zinfandel…”

I don’t understand half the things Samantha talks about. A zinfandel sounded like some sort of airship. Regardless, she’d already retrieved three glasses and was pouring a pale pink wine for each of us. “Here you are, Cyr…” Samantha glanced at me. “Did you want some, Rosalind? Or does wine make you sleepy?” She giggled. I refrained from scowling. So what if it makes me sleepy?

“I’ll have half a glass, thanks. I’ve never been all that keen on alcohol.” I’m really not. I avoided alcohol and drugs religiously when I was growing up. I’d seen what it could do to people. It’s too big a risk to get mixed up in something like that, living in the slums. It might take the edge off living in a hellhole, but it’s not worth what you pay.

“Mmm…what a charming bouquet this has.” Samantha took a deep breath and sighed lustily. She makes no sense. In my world, a bouquet is flowers. “Probably about an ’87, from somewhere near Gongaga…wouldn’t you agree, Cyr? Isn’t it just thrilling?”

“It’s lovely, yes,” Cyr murmured, shooting me a brief smile. “But I picked it up at the liquor store down the street. It’s only five years old and from a vineyard near Kalm. Friends of mine own it. I’ll tell them how much you enjoy it.”

Samantha blushed delicately, and then laughed. “Oh well. I never was really all that good at wine tasting. My daddy was, though. He said it was the mark of a cultured man to enjoy the delicate kiss of Chardonnay, or the throaty resonance of Bordeaux.”

This didn’t offend me. I knew my father wasn’t cultured. My father was a military man. Military men, to the best of my experience, aren’t cultured. As such, my father drank hard liquor. Bourbon, mostly. “My father liked his liquor hard. He always said wine was for men who couldn’t handle the hard stuff.”

I hadn’t meant this offensively. After all, it had be something he’d said to me when I was younger. I probably should’ve thought before I said it, because I think Samantha took it the wrong way. Naturally, she answered in kind. “Well, I suppose, if my daddy had had a job like your father’s, I’m sure he would’ve been drinking too.”

“My father is a colonel in Shinra’s military,” I answered coolly. My father and I might not be close, but he’s still my father and I didn’t particularly like Samantha’s tone.

Samantha laughed airily. “Well, of course he is, but it’s more of an honorary title, these days. I mean, since the war, he’s worked a desk job in promotions, hasn’t he?”

I don’t know how Samantha knew these things. Yes, my father works behind a desk now, but that did nothing to detract from what he’d done when the world had been war torn. I hadn’t the slightest idea what her father did. But I sincerely doubted he’d helped fight wars. “What does your father do?”

“Oh, darling, you must be joking!” Samantha exclaimed, laughing at me again. “My father is Richard Emerson Hartigan the Third, owner of Hartigan Steel! He’s been Shinra’s primary supplier for years and years now.”

Samantha arched an eyebrow at me, but shrugged. “I suppose, knowing where you grew up, you might not have…”

This was too much. It was one thing for her to insult my father, but it was entirely another for her to know and be disdainful of me because of where I grew up. It wasn’t my fault I’d grown up on the streets of the urban third-world. I was going to say something and it wasn’t going to be nice, but Cyr interjected smoothly.

“My father was a fisherman. I grew up in a tiny village on the edge of an island with nine brothers and five sisters. We were very poor, but we were very happy. I have no idea who Richard Hartigan is either.”

That made Samantha shut up. It made me feel a bit better, too. I didn’t know Cyr had come from a background of poverty. It wasn’t quite the same (she’d had a family to share it with), but it was nice to know she knew what it was like to be poor.

I didn’t know where to steer the conversation from there, but it turned out there was no need, as Reno suddenly ran up, vaulted over the three of us, and scrambled up a tree.

St. Andrew and Tseng caught up seconds later, wheezing and panting. “Wh-where’d he get to?” St. Andrew demanded, doubling over with his hands against his knees and gulping air.

Samantha giggled and pointed at the tree. I shot her a dirty look. If Cyr hadn’t said anything, I certainly wasn’t going to.

“Ah. Right. Thanks.” St Andrew went over to the tree, a big old monster with low, thick branches, and squinted up into the canopy. “C’mon, Reno! Get out of there!”

“Hell no! How come whenever I get the ball it’s all of a sudden tackle football?”

St. Andrew sighed exasperatedly. “Because you run damn faster than any of us!”

“And you think having the three of you tearing after me, out for blood is supposed to give me incentive to slow down?”

Tseng sat down on the blanket next to me to catch his breath. “He does run very fast,” he told me, massaging a stitch in his side and accepting the glass of wine Cyr handed him.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” Reno protested. “And I’m not coming down until Rodney learns that there are no switchblades in football.”

Reno snorted derisively from up in the tree. “Oh, right. I saw it. He’s got a switchblade and he’s looking for an excuse to stick it in me. I’m not coming down.”

Rude and Rafe climbed up the low slope to where we were sitting, evidently having realized how futile an endeavor it was to chase Reno. “When do we eat?” Rafe questioned, sitting down next to Cyr.

“Now, if you boys are done with your game,” Cyr answered, handing out more wine to Rafe and Rude.

St. Andrew kicked at Reno’s tree sullenly. “Well, we’ve got no choice, if Reno’s not going to give back the football.”

“You want the football? Well, why didn’t you say so?” Reno pelted the ball down at St. Andrew. I’d like to think he wasn’t really aiming for him and that the football bouncing off St. Andrew’s head was a fluke, but I don’t believe that was the case.

Rod had joined us, sitting down next to Samantha and putting a hand on her hip. She giggled and looked up at him adoringly. “Would you like some wine, Roddy?” she asked girlishly.

Rod shook his head and took a flask from his jacket, unscrewing the lid and taking a long drink from that. I suppose a girlfriend like Samantha would make me reach for the hard stuff too.

“Well, I’m hungry,” Tseng declared, glancing up at the sky. “The sun’s already starting to set. We might as well eat while we can still see what we’re eating.”

Cyr beckoned to St. Andrew, who was still glaring up at Reno. “Come on, Andrew. Reno isn’t going to come down with you glowering at him like that. You may as well come eat.”

“Hmph.” Reluctantly, St. Andrew came over and joined us, sitting down beside Cyr and rubbing his head. “Throw a football at me,” he grumbled, accepting a glass of wine. Cyr had opened a bottle of something dark and red. “He can stay up there ‘til he starves for all I care.”

“I’m sure he’ll come down sooner or later,” Cyr said placidly, helping herself to coleslaw and potato salad. “And you leave him alone when he does.”

“I’m not your mother, St. Andrew. I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, ‘the face only a mother could love?’ Well, I am not particularly fond of your face, and thus, I must not be your mother.”

Rafe chuckled. “And so, through a series of logical proofs, we learn that Cyr is in fact not St. Andrew’s mother.”

We all ate in silence for a while, until Reno finally climbed down and came over, sitting beside me and eyeing St. Andrew cautiously. “It’s cold up there.”

Cyr smiled benevolently and continued to pour wine. “It’s getting kind of chilly, yes. Maybe we’ll have a fire, when it starts to get dark. Midgar is very beautiful at night.”

Samantha giggled. She was on her second glass and I don’t think she’s entirely used to a strong red wine. For me, even the pale stuff had been a little heady and I’d quickly switched to water. “Who’s heard about the party Shinra’s giving?”

“Darling, I’ve known for ages,” Samantha laughed, waving a hand. I thought I heard Rod sigh. Once again, I wondered why on earth they were together. “I get all kinds of news from Daddy’s executive friends.”

“Oh. I only found out yesterday. Well, yes. Shinra are throwing a small dinner party for the exec. We’re all invited.”

This was news to me. There had been nothing about party-going in my job description. I couldn’t think why we’d been invited. None of us had anything to do with executive decisions. “Why are we invited, sir?”

Reno grinned at me. “Because we’re armed and dangerous, but we look good. Parties are good targets for terrorists. Sure, SOLDIER is tough, but they really detract from the atmosphere of a party.”

“Well…I guess you could go in uniform if you wanted, but a little black dress would be a lot cuter. You’ll be expected to mingle and make conversation.”

“You’re kidding aren’t you, sir?” I asked skeptically. “Where would I put my gun?”

St. Andrew nodded in agreement. “Something simpler and less bulky than a regular holster,” he clarified. “They make some pretty nice ones for ladies.”

Samantha giggled again. “Rufus Shinra’s going to be there. He’s so gorgeous.”

I glanced at Rod, but he didn’t seem bothered by this. Maybe they weren’t actually a couple and Rod just had his hand on her leg to be friendly.

“It’s not really a party for us. It’s more like a standard job,” Tseng explained. “You’ll be briefed, just like anything else.”

Cyr shivered and looked up at the sky. “I would say it’s dark enough for a fire. Let’s pack all the food up.”

Tseng cleared his throat. “Hang on a minute, Cyr. I suppose now is as good a time for this as any…” Tseng reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gray jewelry box, passing it to Rude. “Congratulations on second class, Rude. Sorry I wasn’t very official about it, but you know how things are.”

Cyr laughed and saluted. “So you’re Rafe’s commander! Well, a toast to Rude, then!”

Samantha clapped delightedly. “Oh, how delightful! A second-class commander will look wonderful on my record. Congratulations, Rude!” She nudged Rod in the ribs. “Say congratulations, sweetie.”

St. Andrew reached over and shook Rude’s hand warmly. “I was wondering how long it would be before you were promoted. Good work, Rude.”

“Thank you everyone. But it’s really not that big a deal,” Rude said firmly.

“Aww hell, Rude. Of course it is. You’ve been waiting a long time for this, partner. You deserve it. I’m happy for you.”

I glanced over at Reno. You wouldn’t have been able to tell from the sound of his voice, but there was something decidedly melancholy in his eyes. I remembered what Rude had told me in Costa del Sol. I guess this must have been hard for him.

“Thanks.” Rude cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed. Samantha looked a little confused, but seemed to at least have the sense not to say anything.

Cyr drained her wine glass, sighed, and resumed tidying up. “St. Andrew, if you’d be so kind as to go get some wood?”

“Oh. All right, sir.” I sat back down and Reno headed for the trees, moving out of sight in the darkness.

Rafe got up and helped Cyr move the blankets around, closer to a low fire pit, lined with stones. “Am I missing something, here?” he asked lowly. To his credit, he picks up on things very well.

Cyr shrugged. “It’s a complicated thing. Don’t worry about it. You and St. Andrew go get some wood.”

I’ve mentioned before how it makes people feel lousy when Reno’s depressed. I felt the beginnings of that starting. I’m sure everyone else must have felt it too, because of the silence that had fallen. I got up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

I got up and headed in the same direction Reno had taken. It was darker beneath the trees, and quieter. This was a manmade forest, but you’d never know it. The trees were tall and thick, and the ground underfoot was carpeted with leaves that whispered and crunched as I walked. I caught up to Reno at the edge of the woods, wandering down a concrete pathway, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. “Sir?”

He looked up sharply, then relaxed when he saw it was only me. “Oh…hey, rookie.”

I caught up and walked alongside him, up the winding concrete path. It was one of the trails that cyclists used, during the day, and it just led deeper into the park. It was quiet, except for the faint chirping of crickets, the occasional rustle of the wind in the trees, and the muted noises of traffic across the park. Eventually, I spoke up.

“Your dog tags, sir. I noticed when we were playing poker, the other night. They just have your first initial, not your first name…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s legit. Didn’t they ask you when you got yours whether you wanted your full name or not?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir, they did, but that’s not my question. Well…if you don’t mind me asking, what is your first name?”

Reno gave me another sidelong glance. “You want to know my name? No one’s ever really asked me that.”

Reno shrugged. “Well, a few people. I’ve never told anyone, though. Did you want to know?”

“Oh…well, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, sir,” I objected. “I was just wondering, is all.”

“No, it’s all right. I don’t mind if you know. What do you think it is?”

“Hmm…” I squinted at Reno. There are certain names that fit certain people. For example, I don’t think Reno looked like a “James.” Rude could maybe be a James, but not Reno. “Jason?” I guessed.

For some reason, it pleased me that he understood how different people fit their names. “All right…Joshua?”

I don’t know what he meant by “easy” exactly, but I kept guessing. “Jack?”

“Jonathan,” I repeated. It hadn’t been entirely what I was expecting, but it suited him, somehow. I would’ve expected Jonathan for someone a little quieter, a little less assertive, but it worked for Reno. “Why don’t people call you by your first name, sir?”

Reno shrugged. “Same reason people don’t call St. Andrew by his. They don’t know it. No one I felt like telling ever asked; I’ve never felt the need to tell people. Honestly, rookie, the only person who ever called me by my first name was my mother.”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen her in years. Not since long before I left the slums.”

I blinked, surprised. I didn’t know Reno had grown up beneath the plate, like I had. He didn’t seem like it. “I grew up in the slums, sir,” I told him hesitantly, not really sure how he’d react.

He didn’t believe me. “Really, rookie? A nice kid like you?” he asked dubiously.

“Well…I guess, but you can’t really’ve been that bad if you cleaned up so well. I mean…goddamn, rookie, you’re a sweet kid. I’ve still got sharp edges.”

“I don’t think so, sir. You’re very nice to me. Most of the guys I met when I lived with my mother were terrible people.”

“Oh.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Terrible people…can I go out on a limb and guess that your mom was a…?” he trailed off and left the end of the question open. I knew what he meant, though.

I looked up. “Really, sir?” I asked tentatively. I wasn’t entirely sure he knew what I’d meant. It’s hard to find people who know what it’s like to have a prostitute for a mother. No one ever wants to admit it and if you tell anyone, they look at you differently. My mother wasn’t a bad person. People have to resort to desperate things to survive in the slums of Midgar.

Reno grinned. “Hey, we were neighbors. How ‘bout that? You knew your father?”

I shrugged. “Kind of. Just what my mom told me about him. I knew he was in the army.”

“Mmm. I know what that’s like. I didn’t know my father. I don’t think my mom did, either. Umm…well, they must have known each other, of course. What I mean to say is that they didn’t know each other personally. Er…well, yeah, pretty personally. Not well, though. They weren’t much more than passing acquaintances, I don’t think. In any case, I didn’t know him, and she took off when I was about fifteen. Just up and left.”

“Oh.” I didn’t quite know how to answer that. My mother had died, when I was fourteen. Just the thought of her leaving me was painful. “That’s terrible, sir.”

Reno shrugged. “Not really. We weren’t that close. Once I was old enough to manage for myself, she decided I was bad for business and went to set up shop elsewhere.”

“I wasn’t her only child. She had a bunch of others. I met some of them. But I never saw my mom again.”

I was quiet for a little while, wondering if I had brothers and sisters I didn’t know about. I decided I probably didn’t. If my mom had kids before me, she would’ve taken care of them, like she had taken care of me. “My mom died, when I was fourteen.”

“In the long run, it got me off the streets. My dad came and put me in military school. It worked out for the better. We got to be closer, in some ways.” Well, closer in that I actually saw him from time to time. It gained me some eminence with some of the instructors, to have a colonel for a father.

Reno nodded, squinting up at the sky and the clouds overhead. “I guess that’s how you got into the Turks?”

“Yes, sir. I got myself straightened out, and went into the Academy when I graduated. What about you, sir?”

Reno grinned. “I was given the choice between prison and the military. Naturally, I took the military, because I had no idea about all the geopolitical maneuvering that was going on between Shinra and Fort Condor. I mean, you know how it is on the street…the only thing you worry about is the next time you’re going to eat.”

I nodded ruefully. I knew what that was like. It was odd, it had been ages since I’d thought about life in the streets, never mind talked about it. No one who hadn’t had the experience could really understand. But it was different, talking with Reno, who’d been through the exact same thing.

“Anyway, I had no idea I’d gotten myself signed up right on the eve of a war. The next thing I knew, they’d thrown me through basic training, stuck me on a truck, and shipped me off to Fort Condor.”

“I’m getting there, rookie, keep your shirt on. In any case, long story short, I got shot in the middle of a mission then booted back to a medical camp. And then they chained me to a bed, because I’d had my fill of the war and was trying to desert.”

“Well, that’s understandable, sir.” I refrained from expressing shock at the thought of desertion. Reno feels differently about the military than I do. However similar we are, there are some differences in our upbringings. “What happened then?”

Reno grinned in the dark. “Veld got me out. Came by the base one day and caught me trying to hotwire a jeep. He told me if I really was that serious about leaving the army, I could join the Turks.”

I was quiet for a little while, glancing back down the pathway. We’d walked quite a long way, just talking. I didn’t recognize where we were until we stopped on a bridge, over a softly babbling stream. Reno leaned over the edge with his elbows on the wooden railing and watched the water in silence, apparently lost in his own thoughts. “Sir…”

“Well…not really sir,” I answered, wondering if I should attempt to explain. I hesitated. “Rude…was telling me something, when we were in Costa del Sol…but he never really…I mean…I was wondering…” I trailed off, not exactly sure how to continue. Reno didn’t answer and just stood there, in the pool of yellow light cast by one of the lamps just beyond the bridge, just looking at me.

Nervously, I shifted, regretting the question. “Rude says you have a ‘condition.’ Is it serious, sir?” I asked finally.

Reno snorted. “Nah, rookie, it’s not serious. I wish Rude hadn’t told you, because now you think there’s something wrong with me. Well, there’s not. He tells everyone who meets me, you know. Everybody knows. Never for one-minute does he think that maybe I don’t want people to know. I manage well enough.”

I flushed. I hadn’t meant to make him angry. “I…I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…”

Reno sighed. “I know you didn’t. It’s not your fault. I’m just… I was really a mess when I started with the Turks…I’d just come off the streets and stuff. I didn’t do so well at first. I couldn’t remember directions, or the orders I’d gotten, I made a lot of mistakes. That’s why I ended up with a partner; because I couldn’t do missions on my own.”

“Yeah. It didn’t really help. I still messed up a lot. Commander Veld finally had some kinda shrink talk to me. Apparently I’ve got ADD.”

“Oh.” I didn’t really know what to say to that. Although it did explain a few things. His behavior, for one thing, and the pills I’d seen him take in Junon. There had been a boy with ADHD in one of my classes at the Academy. I knew at least a few things about his condition.

Reno watched me for a few minutes more. “You don’t sounds surprised,” he observed morosely.

“Sorry, rookie,” Reno apologized hastily. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just…I dunno. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me…not really. I always just figured it was the way I was.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just tell me so, sir? I didn’t mind hearing it from Rude, but I would’ve felt better if I’d heard it from you,” I admitted.

Reno shrugged. “I guess I didn’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me. But…I guess you must’ve, when you met me.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, so I just said the first thing I thought. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with you when I met you, sir. I thought you were headstrong and a little impetuous, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong with you.” That was a bit of a white lie. When I’d first met Reno I’d thought he was crazy. I guess I know better now.

“I think you’re headstrong and a little impetuous…and maybe just a bit crazy. But I like you very much all the same, sir. My father always used to tell me I cried too much. I always thought maybe there was something wrong with me. But…you told me it was ok. So…maybe if there’s nothing wrong with me, then maybe there’s nothing wrong with you either, sir.”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with you.” Reno grinned. “Except for the fact that you’re too damn nice.”

I shrugged. “Not really, sir. I was just curious as to why you couldn’t get second. I’m sorry you can’t, sir.”

“It’s not that big a deal, I guess. I mean…I can’t do the stuff I’d need to be able to, for second-class. I know I can’t be promoted and I’m all right with that…but it still feels like I’m getting passed over all the time. You know Loretta, rookie?”

Reno laughed. “I don’t really, rookie. Loretta’s just an old friend. We were in the Academy together. She came in at fifth class when I did at third. And in two years, she passed me. And…I don’t mean to sound like this, but I’m just as good as she is, probably better. But she gets more money, she gets a better apartment, and I’m the exact same place I was two years ago. I’ve never been promoted.”

That made me feel bad. It’s a wonderful feeling to be promoted. No Turk with Reno’s skill and capacity (he had to be pretty good if he’d entered the company at third class) should’ve been denied it. By all rights, he should’ve been first class by now. “Why do they make the administrative duties mandatory, sir?”

“The company needs strategic administrators. People…like Tseng…who have worked in the field and know how to get Turks to perform. A second class Turk has the experience needed to do that.”

I blinked. “If that’s all it is, then surely you have that experience. I mean…I haven’t worked with you for very long, sir, but I can tell you know what you’re doing. You’ve been a Turk for five years, haven’t you? And they won’t promote you just because you can’t manage paperwork?”

Reno spread his hands helplessly. “It’s the way the company is, rookie. I can’t change it.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair, sir,” I declared. “They have a lot of administrators. They don’t need any more.”

“I appreciate your support, rookie, but there are a hell of a lot of people who question the justice of it all and it’s not like it does any good.” He shrugged. “Nah. It’s just something that gets to me every once in a while. It’s all right.”

“Hey, don’t go getting all bent outta shape on my account. I’m okay, rookie. Like I told you, I was just clearing my head. It helps to have someone to talk to. Thanks.”

I was a little surprised by Reno’s willingness to move past this, but I guess he’s used to it. I was still stuck on the issue. “Well, you’re welcome, sir, but…”

“Rookie, you can drop it,” Reno told me, not sternly, but with a certain amount of firmness. “I think it’s very sweet that you’re ruffled by the whole thing, but drop it. It’s not really such a big deal.”

I started to protest again, but fell silent. Reno was fully aware of the injustice of the situation and my being indignant about it probably wasn’t going to make him feel any better. “All right, sir.”

“That’s a good rookie,” Reno approved. “C’mon, let’s head back. It’s getting kind of late, and everyone probably wants to head home. Believe me; they have no problem with leaving without us.”

I went straight to bed when we got back from the picnic. We had gotten back just as everyone was starting to pack up. Samantha had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. Rod picked her up and loaded her into the back of one of the SUVs. Cyr was wearing St. Andrew’s jacket and St. Andrew was trying to look like he wasn’t cold. Tseng was on the phone, telling his daughter a bedtime story, and Rude and Rafe were each driving.

I was surprisingly tired from a day full of indolent lounging, but I spent half the night awake, still upset by what I’d learned from Reno. I woke up the next morning and I was still upset. I stayed upset as I got up, showered, dressed, ate, watched some TV, tried to read a book, and then finally decided that maybe going for a workout might take my mind off things. It didn’t, so I decided I had to go talk to someone.

My father does work a desk job with Shinra. He’s on the thirty-ninth floor, in the Promotions department. I haven’t seen my father since he gave me a cursory congratulation at my inauguration. We really aren’t close. Nevertheless, after an hour or so of training and a quick shower, I went down to his office to have a word with him.

He handles promotions. For company officials, for the military, for SOLDIER, for the Turks. He’s one of a dozen other former officers who have stayed on with Shinra, and been shafted off into various pencil pushing jobs. I felt for him, but there was really nothing I could do. He wasn’t cut out for today’s military.

In any case, his office is a small, cramped space, with a stuffy waiting room and a snotty secretary. I came in around one in the afternoon and went to talk to his secretary. “Excuse me, miss? Could you tell Colonel Kramer that Rosalind is here?”

The secretary, a thin woman with a narrow face, looked me up and down appraisingly. I glanced down at what I was wearing. It was just jeans and a baby doll t-shirt, but apparently this made the wrong impression.

“Hmph,” she sniffed. “If you’re another one of those call girls, come to beg more money out of the colonel, I suggest you leave now, or I’ll call security.”

Call girl. I’ve been called a lot of things, but this was a new one. I sighed. “I’m not a call girl. I’m a Turk. Please, just tell him I’m here.”

“There are other people here, who have been waiting for their appointments with Colonel Kramer. You have no right to jump the line,” she informed me huffily. “You can either make an appointment or wait and see if the colonel has the time to see you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m telling you, he’ll want to see me. Just tell him I’m here.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll want to see you. Colonel Kramer is immensely fond of young women, but he has no right to call them to this office! Now leave, you wretched young hussy, or I will summon security.”

“Hussy” was also a new one. I pulled my dog tags out from beneath my t-shirt and displayed them. “I am a Turk and I want to see Colonel Kramer! Please, it will only be a few minutes. Just tell him that Rosalind is here.”

The secretary snorted. “I don’t care who you are. You can wait your turn. Now there is a chair by the door. I suggest you go wait there.”

I sighed and reached over, pressing the intercom button on her phone. “Colonel Kramer, it’s me, Rosalind. Your secretary won’t let me in.”

The woman’s eyes bugged and she swatted my hand away furiously, picking up the receiver. “Oh, you’re in for it now, missy,” she snapped.

“Thank you,” I said triumphantly as the secretary’s jaws worked the air furiously. I ignored her and proceeded into my father’s office, small and lined with shelves of personnel files. He didn’t look up from his paperwork as I entered.

My father is about fifty-six years old, with graying brown hair, a thick body, and a decidedly brusque manner. He treats everyone as though he were still in the military. It was he who taught me the appropriate precursors of rank.

“What is it you wanted, agent?” he asked shortly. He doesn’t treat me like a daughter, when we’re both at work. He doesn’t even treat me like a daughter when we aren’t. I don’t think he ever wanted children. He has a wife, I think. I’m sure she’s a nice lady, but frightfully naive if she doesn’t know about all the affairs he has. My mother knew from the first time she saw him that this was not a man who would be tied to one woman.

I decided to get right to the point. There’s absolutely no point in beating around the bush with my father. “I’d like a promotion, sir,” I told him, lapsing back into the familiar formal address. It sounded more fitting than “Dad.”

“Denied, agent,” he answered, not bothering to look up from his work. “Was there anything else?”

“Rosalind, I cannot do ‘special favors’ for you, merely because of our relationship.”

“Our relationship” was how he referred to the fact that I was daughter. If someone overheard, I guess it would be better for them to think that I was a call girl than his illegitimate offspring. “Please, sir, I don’t ask you for much,” I persisted.

I shook my head. “No, sir, it’s not for me. It’s…it’s for a friend of mine.”

My father snorted. “Oh, well, that makes all the difference. If he wants it, he can work for it.”

This was getting irritating. “He has worked for it. This company has passed him over dozens of times and promoted people who aren’t half as deserving. All I’m asking is for you to consider it. Please, sir, I’m begging you…”

“Reno, sir. My superior,” I answered eagerly. I hadn’t honestly expected results this quickly.

My father muttered something and heaved himself out of his desk, going over to a shelf and taking out a binder, bringing it over to his desk, sitting down, and thumbing through it. “Reno…Reno…J. Reno?”

“Yes, sir. He’s third class, but he’s been so for two whole years now. He really, really deserves second. His partner just got promoted and he’s terribly depressed about the whole thing.”

Taking a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, my father quickly skimmed the record, muttering to himself as he read. His eyes skimmed the lines several times over, before he snapped the binder shut. “Nope. Sorry. Can’t do it,” he refused bluntly.

My father sighed and reopened the book, running a finger down Reno’s profile. “Right here. He’s mentally unfit for command and the responsibilities of a second class Turk are beyond his capacities. Besides, any agent who sticks his tongue out at the camera when having photo ID taken is unfit for a position of authority. If I were any kind of a father, I’d have you removed from his command.” Thankfully, “worthless-deadbeat” doesn’t seem to be a kind of father. “Now, I have an appointment at one thirty and I’m nowhere near prepared…”

“But, sir, why couldn’t you just strike the administrative duties from the promotion requirement? There are plenty of commanders out there! Please, sir, he really does deserve this…” I pleaded.

“No, Rosalind. This discussion is ended,” he said firmly. “Now, get back to whatever duties you have.”

I clenched my fists angrily. I wasn’t beaten yet. I was positive I was justified in my request, and I wasn’t leaving until I made sure of that. Concentrating hard on the injustice of it all, I felt tears spring into my eyes. “I’m not leaving, sir,” I refused bluntly.

My father sighed and got up, placing his hands on my shoulders and propelling me out the door. “I can’t help you, Rosalind. I’m sorry,” he told me curtly.

He slammed the door behind me. Perfect. I hadn’t really intended to cause a scene when I came in, but I had thought of it as a last resort. I whirled around and pounded my fists against the door. “You can’t help me? Or you won’t help me?” I shouted angrily, loud enough for my father to hear, and definitely loud enough for the rest of the people in the waiting room to hear.

“I don’t ask for much! Not much at all! I think about you all the time, how my life would’ve been if you’d stayed to take care of me! But do I ever ask for anything? No, I don’t!”

I was definitely giving the people in the waiting room a show. The intercom on Bernice’s desk buzzed sharply and my father shouted for her to call security. Oh, dear. I didn’t need anything like that. I decided to wrap things up.

“It’s bad enough that you went and knocked my mother up, but you could at least have the decency to provide for me! You’ve been a damn lousy father and I…”

The door opened and my father yanked me into the room. He was furious. “This is blackmail,” he hissed angrily.

My father scowled at me. “Fine, I’ll give your stupid friend his promotion, but if he doesn’t have the capacity to hold onto it, it isn’t my fault.”

“I want the administrative duties taken away,” I declared stubbornly. “And I want you to rush this one. I want him to know by this evening.”

My father spluttered indignantly. “I can’t do that…” he began. I interrupted by screaming at the top of my lungs. He started violently and clapped a hand over my mouth. “All right, all right! I’ll rush it! Now get out of here, and don’t come back!”

I shrugged diffidently. “They taught it out of me when I went into the Turks.” Pleased, I threw my arms around my father’s neck and hugged him. “Thank you,” I told him sincerely, and then I headed triumphantly out of the office, ignoring the stares of the people in the waiting room.

It was much later when the news came. I’d spent the day worrying about whether my father would keep his word, and what I would do if he didn’t. I considered telling his wife about his indiscretions, but I was already twenty-three years old. Something from that long ago wouldn’t matter…unless my father had been married for more than twenty-three years.

We were all in the lounge…well, not all of us. Reno, Rafe, and Rude were shooting pool, Cyr was reading, and St. Andrew and I were watching a movie on the couch. Samantha and Rod were off somewhere. I wasn’t really concentrating on the movie. I kept chewing on my nails and glancing at the clock. The mail was due to be dropped off in a few minutes time. We get it every night at midnight, delivered to our doors. It’s an odd time to get mail, but then, Shinra’s an odd company.

“Are you waiting for something, Rosalind?” St. Andrew asked, glancing at me.

St. Andrew gave me a strange look and squinted at his watch, comparing it to the time on the wall clock. “At midnight, same as always.”

I blushed. “I just want to pick up my letters, before I go to bed,” I explained awkwardly.

“You can wait and get them tomorrow, you know,” St. Andrew assured me. “You’re up past your bedtime. Aren’t you usually in bed by ten?”

“Well…yes, I am, but…uh…I just wanted to…watch a bit of this movie, I guess,” I answered, trying to decide whether or not that had been a good excuse.

St. Andrew stared at me. I was sure he was getting suspicious. “You haven’t paid any attention to this movie. I doubt you could tell me who’s even in it!”

“Leave her alone, St. Andrew,” Cyr admonished, not looking up from her book. “Maybe she just wants company tonight.”

“Oh. Well then why didn’t she just say so?” St. Andrew grinned at me and winked.

Cyr threw something at St. Andrew. “Because your definition of keeping someone ‘company’ is probably less than appealing to her. Leave Rosalind alone.”

I was spared from any further comment as the elevator chimed and the mailman stepped off. “Mail call!” he announced, digging in the canvas bag at his side and pulling out a handful of letters.

The mailman wandered over to St. Andrew and I, handing us each small handfuls of bills. I fidgeted nervously as he continued around the room, passing out mail to everyone. “Well, that’s all! G’night, folks!”

St. Andrew snorted and tossed his aside. “All bills,” he said disdainfully, glancing at the letters I had. “Did you get anything interesting, Rosalind?”

I blinked and glanced down at my letters. They were just bills. “Oh…uh…no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? You must have something, if you stayed up two hours waiting for the mail…”

“R-really, I don’t…” I protested, inching away as St. Andrew leaned over.

“Leave Rosalind alone,” Reno admonished distractedly, putting up his pool cue and squinting at one of his letters. “You want something interesting? I got a letter here from the thirty-ninth floor…”

This got St. Andrew’s attention. “Our thirty-ninth floor? Well, open it up!”

Reno shrugged. “It’s probably just a mission notice or something…except I thought all our orders came from higher up floors.”

I turned around on the couch and watched as Reno tore the end of the envelope open and tipped the letter inside into his open palm. He unfolded it and scanned it quickly. His eyes widened and I watched as he skimmed it again. “If this is someone’s idea of a joke,” he said finally, “it’s not goddamn funny.”

Cyr’s curiosity had been aroused. She got up and went over, taking the envelope and examining it. “It looks legitimate…the thirty-ninth floor…hmm. What goes on there?”

Reno looked absolutely bewildered, reading the letter again. “This doesn’t make any sense…I mean…goddamn, I don’t get it. Rude? Could you take a look at this?”

Rude took the letter and examined it, reading it over quickly. “Hmm. The same as mine, except…well, I don’t know. You’re right. If someone’s messing with you, it isn’t funny.”

This wasn’t precisely the response I’d hoped for. I climbed over the couch and went over to the pool table. Reno looked troubled and confused. “What’s the matter, sir?” I questioned.

“Well, I…the letter…whatever the hell it is…says I’ve been promoted, but it makes no sense because I can’t be.”

Reno rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’d be great if it was, but it’s not. I mean…it can’t be.”

“Goddamn, rookie, quit getting my hopes up. It’s not legit. It can’t be,” Reno insisted, but I heard the note of hopeful doubt in his voice.

“Hmm…I don’t know. It really does look official,” Cyr pointed out, peering at the letter.

Reno looked over at St. Andrew, who was grinning at him like an idiot. “Damn you, St. Andrew, if this is one of your twisted jokes and you’ve bribed everyone into playing along…” he said threateningly.

“Hey, it wasn’t me!” St. Andrew protested, holding his hands up. “And do you honestly think I could get any of these people to play along with one of my schemes?”

I shook my head and suppressed a smile, even though I’d had everything to do with it. It was a little white lie.

Reno took the letter back and stared at it. “M-maybe we could call Tseng…I mean…if it were legit…and I’m not saying it is…but if it were, he’d know about it, right?”

“Yeah,” Rude agreed. “That’s a good idea. I think he’s still up in his office…”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened and Tseng spared us the trouble of calling him. He had a similar letter in his hand and a slightly perplexed expression. “Reno, did you just…?” he trailed off, seeing the letter Reno was holding. “Huh. Well, I suppose this must be legitimate, then. Hmm. Oh well. Welcome to second class. Congratulations.”

St. Andrew vaulted over the couch and slapped Reno on the back. “Hey, there ya go! Damn, I hate having a shrimpy little kid like you outranking me, but…well, I’ll get there. Way to go!”

Rude clapped a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said simply, but I could tell he was pleased.

“I think you people are all losing sight of the issue, here. I can’t be second class,” Reno insisted. “It would be nice, sure, but I’ve known for years now that I’m not cut out for those kinds of duties. So it’s gotta be a screw up. Sorry to get everyone worked up.”

This was not at all what I wanted to hear. Though I suppose if Reno was so firmly entrenched in the belief that he couldn’t be promoted, it could be a bit difficult to get the idea through his thick skull. “Well, what does the letter say, sir?” I pressed.

“How would you know? You’ve never seen one,” I pointed out. “Let Tseng see it.”

“Mine looked legitimate,” Tseng added, taking the letter and reading it over. “Yes…it’s exactly the same as a standard promotion letter…except it exempts you from all administrative duties. It’s buried in legal language and formalities, but the way I understand it, it’s just like a regular promotion. I’ll check with Commander Veld…but I think it’s safe to assume this is legitimate.”

“I say again, congratulations, Reno!” Cyr repeated, kissing Reno’s cheek fondly. “We all know you deserve it.”

He finally smiled. I think he’d been hesitant to celebrate before, because of the chance of it being wrong, but it made me so happy to see him accept it. “You really do, sir,” I added.

“Well…shit. Talk about being blindsided by something, eh? Christ, I never would’ve expected this in a million years. Who put me up for it, Tseng?” Reno questioned.

I paled slightly. I didn’t know Tseng would have the name of the promotion officer on his copy, but I suppose it only stood to reason. Quietly, I started to sneak away, back to my apartment as Tseng scanned the letter.

“Let’s see…by order of…ah, here it is. By order of Lieutenant-Colonel Joseph Kramer.”

The statement fell on dead air and I winced, freezing as I felt my colleagues staring at me. I found myself sincerely wishing I hadn’t opted to take my father’s name when my mother died.

I turned around and blushed bright red. I fidgeted and stammered and stared at my shoes. “W-well, s-sir…I j-just thought…” I trailed off. I hadn’t counted on Reno finding out I’d gotten my father to finagle his promotion. I had a horrible thought that he might be angry for getting him a promotion he hadn’t earned. “I…I’m sorry, sir,” I mumbled.

No one said anything. My cheeks were blazing. I was so ashamed. I should’ve known it was a bad idea. Reno came over and put his hands on my shoulders. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Rookie,” he began gently. “I’m going to do something, and you’ll probably get mad at me for it, but I really think I have to do it anyway, all right? Don’t be mad.”

I was sure he was going to lecture me. I nodded and closed my eyes tightly, bracing myself and praying I wouldn’t cry. That’s probably why I was thrown completely and caught totally off guard when he pulled me close and kissed me firmly on the lips.

I haven’t ever kissed anyone before. Well, not seriously. I messed around with a few boys when I was growing up, but my mother caught me with a seventeen-year-old when I was thirteen and gave me the thrashing of my life. That helped me decide to put things on hold until later. Needless to say, this was a shocking (though not entirely unpleasant) experience for me.

The bone-crushing hug he gave me left me slightly winded, but it had been better than a lecture. “Rosalind, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life,” Reno told me, grinning widely. “Thank you.”

Cyr laughed softly. “Don’t let Samantha find out about this,” she cautioned teasingly. “We chided her for trying to use money to get promotions.”

St. Andrew apparently found the entire thing hilarious. “Well, then how’d you do it?” he demanded, chuckling.

“It wasn’t really that big a deal, sir…all it took was a little pushing,” I objected shyly. I glanced over at the clock. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” I added.

“All right. Good night, Rosalind,” Rude said, reaching over and shaking my hand.

“Right. See you in the morning!” St. Andrew continued cheerfully. “I knew it was past your bedtime.”

I blushed. “Yeah, well…good night, everyone.” I scurried off down the hallway to my apartment. I felt really good, as opposed to how lousy I’d felt going to bed last night. And my spine still tingled when I thought of having Reno’s arms around me.

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Variations

Chapter 6: A Major Interlude