Work Text:
At first it's just the little things- Reno following Rude around the office like a lost child, chattering away like his mouth is on fire and the only way to batter out the flames is to just keep moving his lips. Suddenly making him coffee when he goes to get his own (at first the once, then twice, then three or four times and Rude has never been so in need of decaf in his whole life). Suddenly expecting to go with him to the bathroom, without even asking. Suddenly Reno being in a habit of flicking pen lids and balled up paper over at his desk, to get his attention in the hopes it might start a conversation, and not just to annoy him, as it had been previously.
It's big things too; waiting for Rude outside the building in the morning - cigarette butts littered about his feet but always miraculously extinguished by the time he arrives, so that only a faint hint of the smell still lingers in the air and he cannot rightfully complain. Waiting until Rude finishes his paperwork before making moves to leave the office himself, because Reno suddenly assumes they'll be going somewhere together, before heading their own ways home - and then asking Rude if they can go somewhere together, if he mentions that he had no plans besides heading back. It's suddenly messaging him outside of work to ask what he's doing. Suddenly asking for his apartment number because all Rude ever listed on his employee details (which Reno shouldn't be accessing, and Shiva knows how he ever did) was the building name.
Rude doesn't get it and he's running out of patience for the odd behaviour quite quickly. He's never been one for putting up with people interfering in his life - never been one for letting people become involved more than he himself allows. Having someone actively pushing - elbowing- themselves into his daily routine...
It's uncomfortable.
"Heeey, partner." The voice that greets Rude as he steps out of the elevator and into the employee lobby is drawling, playful and a little sleazy at the same time. He should have figured it was better to take the stairs- the elevators all lead to this same spot; of course Reno would know where to wait for him. Rude had done his best to avoid Reno for the better part of the day, but there was only so much he could get away with, considering they shared a booth, and Reno had recently rearranged his desk so that they faced each other. His latest fad was just loitering in his chair and watching Rude until he did something. Anything at all, that Reno could engage with. Like he was a display in a zoo, or an intriguing television show. It was not something Rude was at all used to. If he was being honest, it was very unsettling.
"Hey." He isn't sure what else to offer; 'was hoping not to run into you' hardly seems like an appropriate addition to his greeting, after all.
"You done for the day?" Reno sounds hopeful, as he observes Rude from his perch against one of the employee recreation tables; not in a chair, of course - lounging, languid. Rude had been wondering for weeks now if it was even possible for Reno to look anything but lazy. Blue eyes, low-lidded, observe him expectantly, and it is almost tempting to say he has gym that night- to avoid Reno for that little bit longer, and yet... "Was thinking we could go get some pizza or a burger, or..."
There's this little slump to Reno's shoulders that Rude has noticed only seems to appear around him, recently; this sort of inversion to his usual posture. As if some of his confidence has been sapped out of him, and he doesn't know how to act, or how to handle the situation. Insecurity ebbing away inside someone Rude had honestly thought was immune to such things.
A shrug. The tension in those shoulders seems starker for the attempt to play it all off as casual. "I dunno, just somethin'."
"Unless we get called in." Rude means it in response to both queries, and is glad when Reno nods in understanding. But this does mean me hasn't necessarily said no to Reno's request, and the sudden, smug satisfaction in his gaze is evidence that he feels like he has won this one... Rude wouldn't really count this as such, if he were the one keeping score... But maybe one perceived defeat wouldn't be the end of the world. That slump to his posture already looks lessened, after all.
Rude shrugs, nods his head at Reno, and gestures the opposing elevators. "You have somewhere in mind?"
"Hell yeah, now we're talkin'! Knew you'd stop playin' hard to get sooner or later," and to punctuate his self-satisfaction, Reno damn-well winks at Rude as he hops down off the table and begins his backwards saunter towards the general employee elevators, as if he has no intention of taking his eyes off Rude for the whole night.
"Pick somewhere bad, I might change my mind." It's a simple statement uttered as Rude steps into the elevator, cracking his neck a little with a roll of his shoulders. It's habit more than anything, but as an intimidation trick he knows it works wonders on pretty much anyone: Reno's eyeing him like he's a wild animal that might snap at any moment. Thrilling, frightening. Engaging.
No one's ever really looked at him that way before. No one's ever looked at him like they want to try pressing his buttons- try getting closer... Not until this redheaded idiot. The fool who he observes, slamming buttons and controls with too much force and no real precision. He hits the lobby button, as well several buttons for floors above, too, then laughs sheepishly at Rude, as he quirks an eyebrow.
"Long day, s'not like anyone's gonna tell me off for messing up the buttons, yo." He leans back against the mirrored wall behind him, as the doors close and the elevator judders into life. Rude holds his shoulders square; tries not to think about how enclosed the space is, or focus on the unpleasant motions and sensation of vertigo. "Was thinkin' somewhere we could get a drink, too. Think I need one..."
"If you're buyin'."
"Guess I do owe you for everythin'..." He smiles that stupid lopsided smile, as he leans his hips forward a little. "So drinks on me, sure thing."
Rude can't help that somehow this guy makes him feel kinda playful, maybe... and it's nice to have someone to talk to, to take his mind off the unpleasant sensation of the elevator hurtling them ever downwards towards the lobby. "And food too. Don't cheap out on me now."
"Jeez you trying to bleed me dry here? I got bills to pay, yo." But it's good natured complaining, so it hardly seems to matter. The elevator jolts to a stop two floors above the lobby, and Reno shoots a glare at the button panel in response, as if he hadn't just pressed several of them at once.
The woman waiting in the doorway doesn't bother getting on, when she sees the attire of the two men inside- just glances the other way for an uncomfortably long time, and let's the elevator doors close once again.
Reno snickers. "Bet you a beer the guys on the next floor don't get in either."
Rude isn't one for accepting losing bets, but he has a good feeling on this one. "You're just cuttin' further into your pay-check."
He wins- just. He was pretty sure that the first floor was not a button Reno had simply pressed himself to be a nuisance - the light appearing when they were on 20th, approximately - and for the time of night, Rude is almost certain he knows exactly who would have called the elevator. There is one, hapless, sad looking sap who gets on the elevator at the same time every evening - low-level ShinRa tech support, and skittish as all hell. The doors slide open and, of course, once the poor guy makes eye contact with the pair standing against the back wall of the elevator, he can't stop himself from feeling obligated to get inside. He eyes Reno nervously for a moment too long, but manages to hop on just in time, barely avoiding being crushed by the closing doors... Though he practically jumps out of his skin when Reno flat-out groans in defeat as the doors clack shut, a loud ping sounding, and the elevator judders back to life. Rude pretends not to be proud of himself as Reno sulks at his side, and the poor nervous ShinRa employee quivers in his boots before them.
As it turns out, Reno's idea of a 'nice bar', is a seedy dive just off the main streets of Sector 8's LOVELESS Avenue. Certainly not the seediest bar Rude has ever set foot into, but certainly seedier than he would choose to inhabit himself... at least, he figures, it's in a somewhat reputable area. It does, in fact, feel a little out of place because of this - down several shady steps beside one of the larger theatre buildings, the door is nondescript save for a small red neon sign on the wall opposite which simply reads 'BAR'. When Rude looks at Reno skeptically, he just shrugs and grins, and ducks inside without ceremony. At least, he thinks, following Reno inside, that is isn't below the plate - which was more in keeping with what Rude was expecting of Reno's taste in bars... though he doesn't doubt that Reno is likely playing it safe, and that choosing one of his less offensive haunts likely seemed a sensible choice for the first occasion Rude had agreed to join him for after-work drinks.
It's low-lit on the inside, neon reds matching the sign outside in some passable attempt at at aesthetic. The bartender seems to know Reno, as he greets him with a silent nod of affirmation. There are only, at most, five other patrons in the bar, but Rude supposes it is a work night. They each look about as seedy as Reno himself; like they would steal your first born if you took your eyes of them for too long.
Rude follows Reno's example, sitting at one of the stools around the main bar; watching as he gestures for two beers from the guy cleaning down glasses by the counter. It is a practiced motion - fluid and easy, as if he has done it a thousand times before. There is one brief moment of pause, where the bartender looks from Reno, to Rude, and back again with query in his expression, before he shrugs and sets about getting them their drinks. Rude wonders how many people Reno has ever actually shown up at the bar with in the past - or, perhaps - if those people usually look considerably different from Rude himself. Not colleagues -no, never that. Clearly there for a different intent.
It wouldn't really surprise him; a blonde in the back booth, way across the other side of the bar, beneath one dimly lit neon light, idly stirring a martini with one perfectly manicured hand, has been eyeing both of them hopefully since they set foot in the bar. There's something predatory in her gaze, and Rude hunches his shoulders to deflect the interest; glances sidelong at Reno, to see if he has noted the woman's interest.
Reno is staring at him; and his shoulders stiffen a little more under the scrutiny. He doesn't even glance away to catch the beer that hurtles across the marble surface of the bar-top - just holds out his hand and lets it slide into his grasp... and he doesn't know what to say. Never does - shyness was a trait he had never grown out of, and as the minutes pass by in uncomfortable silence, Rude nurses his beer and wishes he had even the slightest hint of Reno's confidence. The gaze doesn't shift, and even the tuneful clinking of glasses nearby is not enough to distract from the fact.
"So, what's your story anyway?"
"Story?" Rude looks up from this beer (caught in his hand less gracefully than Reno's, when it came; slid over haphazardly by their bartender who, now that his glasses were cleaned, looked about as interested in his job as you would expect in a mostly empty bar on a weeknight), and quirks a brow.
"Don't look at me like that - everyone's got a story. 'specailly in ShinRa. So what's yours?" He grins, sly and sleazy. "Let me guess; you were a merc. Hired gun. Put on the wrong contract and ended up catching ShinRa's eye?"
"Nope." He swigs his beer, feigning disinterest.
"Bought your way in?" Reno leans forward hopefully.
"Not on my salary."
"Well- what did you do to wind up here?" For what it's worth, Reno really looks like he is trying. And that has to count for something.
"Club bouncer. President got shot at by a patron during one of his Private Parties - I managed to knock the guys' gun off target and take him out. Lucky break, I guess." He swallows the last suds of his beer, and slams the bottle back down, gesturing for another. Anything to give him an excuse not to talk. It isn't exactly an unhappy memory; the bullet hurt like hell, but it had only grazed him, and other people had taken worse hits that night. Most especially the guy who had taken the shot in the first place... But Rude has never been a talker, and he's only here to show a little willing. Laying all his cards out flat on the table? He isn't like Reno. He can't do that.
"You're kiddin' me? That's like somethin' out of a comic book." Reno laughs, slaps his knee and takes a long chug from his own drink. "Should'a guessed. You've got that 'VIPs only past this point' look on your face." With a snort into his beer bottle, Reno glances over at him.
Rude keeps his expression neutral.
"See, there it is! I swear they must give club bouncers training in that look." Looking to the bartender as if he might offer some confirmation of this, Reno raises a brow to see the man distractedly typing away on his phone, ignoring the impatient glare of one of his customers across the bar. With a shrug, Reno leans back a little; gestures Rude with the neck of his bottle, almost empty now. "Okay so, before that? You're not Midgar local, I can tell that much."
"Junon, lived with my dad." He chases away memories of salt-bitter air, and aching bruises, by downing half of his second beer without ceremony.
"Your ma too?" Reno eyes him throughout the motion, prying with a loaded question that Rude can see from a mile off.
"Nope." He doesn't invite questions. That is not a conversation for a work colleague. Even Sal had never asked, before.
They had boundaries. They had rules.
Work-talk only. At least until the fifth or sixth drink; even that was infrequent. Keep things as professional as possible... and even then, it had hurt like hell when Sal had died.
Getting friendly, and attached? It seemed like asking for trouble.
"Right... well, my story ain't half as cool." Reno leans against the bar, ankle crossed over one knee. All sly grins and low-lidded gazes as his fingertips tap against his bottle of Midgar's finest. "I wanted to join SOLDIER - or at least, I thought I did." Rude watches a strange, wistful look come over Reno's features as he looks down at his own beer - but it disappears almost as quickly as it had appeared in the first place. He knows the look, though; hope. Something childish. As Turks they have to push that sort of foolishness away. "S'what you get for buyin' into all that ShinRa propaganda about 'creating a better world' and whatever... and the pay. I wont say the pay wasn't the major reason." He laughs, and this time it is a bitter sound. "My ma 'n pop were so excited. Thought I was gonna be on the straight 'n narrow, finally." A swig of his beer. A roll of his eyes. "Figures."
Rude grunts, to fill the gap Reno leaves in the hopes of assuring he is still listening.
"So I get like- I dunno, half way through the first round of tests, they give me a few Mako infusions to get me started, and then I realise this is really not the career path for me." He swigs one more mouthful of beer, draining his bottle, and shrugs. "Plus those infusions always left me feelin' hungover." A grimace. His beer is wordlessly replaced by the still-phone-distracted bartender, and Rude ignores the irony. "Turns out leaving SOLDIER isn't half as easy as gettin' in - so I hack a couple of systems, swipe a couple of files from some archives, 'misplace' a few documents, and figure I'm in the clear- I mean, until Tseng's got his knee in my back an' my head's between the barrel his gun and the floor." He snorts out a laugh, breathy and half-hearted. Rude watches the way he twirls his beer bottle around with nimble fingers. "Thought I was a goner but turns out they were kinda impressed up in head administration. Offered me a job."
"Pretty lucky," Rude grips his beer bottle in both hands, elbows on the bar and posture hunched, only sort-of glancing Reno's way as he speaks. "We definitely get better pay than SOLDIER for starters."
A snort. "Fuck yeah. An' I don't have to get up at five A.M. for drills, or fold my uniform every night."
Rude side-eyes him from behind his shades. Have to and should are very different things, he supposes.
"I saw that, jackass."
He looks back to his bottle instead; gloved fingers scraping at the edges of the label where the condensation has caused it to lift. He isn't used to people picking up on his behaviour so easily, but it feels as though Reno has been actively watching out for all the quirks and mannerisms other people tend to overlook in favour of thinking him 'stoic', or serious... not that he isn't. It is, of course, how he gets by in his line of work. How he presents himself to his colleagues, interrogation subjects, targets. Yet... It feels strange to have someone find him interesting enough to look out for the little falterings. The breaks in that pattern. The humorous moments, or instances where he cant quite keep a straight face. They are few and far between, especially at work, and the idea that Reno has been putting some real effort into seeking them out is a little...
Jarring.
The silence stretches on longer than he means it to, but Rude cannot think of a word to say.
Somewhere across the bar, he hears the clack of heels, and supposes the blonde who had been eyeing them up has also grown bored of his awkwardness, and decided to seek more interesting avenues.
"Look, I..." Rude glances up, at that, not expecting the silence to be broken. People usually just leave him to himself. "If I'm makin' you uncomfortable, partner, you don't have to stick around." It is Reno, who looks away this time; gaze fixated on something across the bar, though Rude cannot possibly think of what. His bony fingers tap against the neck of his beer-bottle, and Rude notes a small, barely visible freckle on the third knuckle of his left hand. "Just thought it'd be cool to actually talk to you, after everything, and you... not tellin' them to reassign me." He shrugs, but his whole body has turned away from Rude now - back toward the bar, hunched over his stool. Rude thinks it oddly similar to his own posture, and the realisation that this probably means Reno - talkative, loud mouthed, cocksure Reno - is feeling as out of his depth as Rude himself feels, is oddly relaxing. "Just thought we could hang. You know. No work involved."
Rude can feel himself relax a little; pushes back from the bar just slightly. A small show of willing. "First night at the club, some guy took a pop at me."
Reno glances across to him, startled. It's an expression that seems foreign on his features.
"Greenhorn syndrome or somethin'." He twirls his beer bottle around a little slower between his hands. "Thought since I was new, I would be an easy target. Wouldn't hit back. I ducked and socked him in the jaw."
"Some guy thought he could take you out?" A raise of eyebrows. Easing of posture. Reno suddenly looks a little more himself, and Rude feels himself relaxing in-turn. "Knock him out in one punch?"
"The guys nicknamed me One-Hit-Wonder."
Reno snorts, chugs the last of his beer and slams the bottle down onto the bar, gesturing for another. "An' here I would have thought that was your love of Karaoke, shining through..."
A pause, just slight, before Rude decides to throw the guy one last bone.
"Only if there's whiskey involved."
Reno's jaw slackens slightly.
"You're kiddin' me?"
Rude simply hums around his beer, downing the remaining suds and nodding when the bartender moves to replace the now empty bottle.
"So next time we hang out, karaoke?"
Rude just hums. He doesn't really want to commit to that, but Reno looks... happy. Ecstatic even. The slight Mako tinge to his eyes - one of Rude's many silent questions now answered - seems to brighten with his expression, and Rude... he likes that. It is a far cry from the narrowed, disdain filled glare of the first months of their partnership, or the insecurity of recent weeks. It is honest. Forthright. Unabashed.
He had first worn that expression the day Rude walked out of Veld's office - well, limped, still recovering from their botched safe-house break-in - followed closely by the Director of the Department of Administrative Research himself. When Veld had calmly and firmly stated that their partnership would continue for another six months. 'Pending one final review, of course', he had added, with a look that could have cut glass... but to Reno, it hadn't seemed to matter. Someone was sticking around. Someone had decided he was worth another try. Rude had decided he was worth another try. Apparently, that meant something. Really meant something to him. He had elbowed Rude excitedly in the side as they rode the elevator back to the office, proudly muttering 'just can't live without me, right yo?', before noticing Rude's grimace and suddenly greenish complexion and laughing maniacally over having jammed his elbow into still-bruised ribs. He didn't ever apologise, but Rude was learning that he simply wasn't the type for apologies; it didn't matter if Reno liked you or not.
Sometimes, getting along with Reno actually seemed to do him more harm than being at odds with him ever did.
But then, he does those stupid little things, like making Rude coffee without being asked, or trying to join him in the gym and failing miserably even on just the treadmill, but hanging around, groaning and sweating and yelling mock-workout cheers to just... be there.
And yes, Rude would like if it happened a little less, because this is a lot all at once, but it's... different.
Less dull.
It's sort of like how he and Sal used to be, though Sal had much more upscale taste in Bars, and they had very specific limits on what was and wasn't appropriate interaction outside of the job... but it's similar, in a way. Someone wanting to be around him, not because they have to, or because of work. Just... because.
"So, what'ya say we go grab some food, then drink some more? I know some places way cheaper than here." Reno's grin is sly, but his eyes are still bright; something playful teasing behind the sleaze. "If I'm buyin' you've gotta at least let me pick where from. I ain't made of money."
Rude silently gestures for the bartender to bring him the whiskey he had just served to the glowering gentleman in the far corner; it looks expensive, and Reno - by this point, probably owes him at least this. "Sure, but you owe me at least one decent brand." If he's going to spend the night, from the sounds of it, drinking the watered down monstrosities they serve in the cheaper Midgar dives, or even below the plate, he is going to start the evening right.
Reno snorts. "Yeah right, the watered down stuff'll do, Partner. You never go out drinkin', and you're some kinda health nut. Like hell you can handle your-"
The bartender appears, pours him three fingers of whiskey, and slides him the glass so fluidly, that it seems to take Reno a moment to register that Rude had even ordered the other drink without his knowledge. Probably figured he was gesturing for the bill; but now he is more than aware, and likely working out the cost of the drink he is about to cover. Without a pause, Rude grips the glass, and knocks it back. One swig. Glass empty. He pretends not to notice that Reno is staring, mouth open, as he slams the glass back down and slides it right back into the bartender's hand. Stands up, completely steady and sober, and politely pushes in his bar stool.
"Y-yo, Rude, that was Minerva's Mark... man, one glass of that's like-"
"A thanks for me taking that bullet for you." His delivery is deadpan, and there, again, is that brief flash of something in Reno's gaze, before he glances at the bill that slides his way across the bar, and back to Rude once again, utterly dismayed.
"...I changed my mind, I don't want to be your friend."