A
Shin-Ra Fic
by Teri Stearns
Cast: Tseng, Reno, Rude
Rating: PG-13, can you believe it? Call a doctor. Something must be wrong with me.
Warnings: Language. Mentions of violence.
Spoilers: None. Pre-game. Pre Tough Love, even.
Categories: Humor, Drama, Pre-Slash, Pre-game, Tseng's POV
Notes: The obligatory "How Reno Met Tseng" story.
I hate interviews.
Both giving them and receiving them. In general, I don’t believe they are a true reflection of a person’s abilities. As an interviewer, I am supposed to surmise in thirty minutes or less everything I can about a person, and whether they’re qualified or not for the position I’m offering by asking pointless questions like, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” A question that is entirely irrelevant in my line of work.
There are other typical questions that are just too ridiculous to even ask in this context. Things like, “Describe a challenging situation and how you dealt with it,” or “How do you handle difficult people?”
“Empty the clip,” I’d say. What other answer is there?
And then there are the clichéd questions that I probably should ask. Ones like, “What are your strengths?” “What are your weaknesses?” If I don’t already know that about a person by the time they’re sitting across from me, then they shouldn’t even be there. On the other hand, I have to know what they think. So I ask anyway. Usually.
This wasn’t usual. It was, quite possibly, the most unusual interview I’d ever conducted. For one, the “applicant” didn’t even know he was on an interview. At least not yet.
Also, he’d shot my First Officer in the head earlier that week, which made for a rather awkward first impression. But I had been impressed, which is why he was still alive and sitting in front of me now. The kid was a punk, but he was obviously quite skilled and intelligent...provided he didn’t talk himself out of that image first; he certainly had no reservations about saying whatever was on his mind. In fact, he tended to talk a little too much...which presented a great liability for us. He was skilled and rather cunning—enough to become quite a problem if I were to just let him go.
So as I saw it, there were really only two options, here: either he was going to walk out of here as the newest member of the Turks, or he wasn’t going to walk out at all.
It was just a matter of making him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
* * *
“So, Mister…?”
“Reno.”
“Mister Reno—”
“Just Reno.”
I paused a moment and scrutinized the “applicant,” prompted by the clipped tone of his voice, and felt my eyebrows raise rather imperiously. Without breaking his gaze, I dropped the stack of papers in front of me that I’d been shuffling through for the last five minutes. I’d already memorized everything I’d needed to. It was just a prop now and nothing more.
I stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, and he stared right back at me with the brightest and most exotic aqua colored eyes I’ve ever seen. They subtly narrowed as he watched me, sizing me up, searching me for any telling details, and it was only as I saw him do this that I realized he had just mimicked my own expression. That he had been mimicking me for several minutes now—crossing his legs when I crossed mine, leaning forward or back when I did—and it was only now that I caught it.
Career guidance professionals will tell you there’s a certain reverse psychology to interviewing and usually recommend “adopting a similar posture to the person who is interviewing you.” This plants the subliminal message in the interviewer’s mind that you are comfortably familiar and “in tune” with their ideas and thoughts. After all, like calls to like, and it provides a nice little subconscious ego boost to those you are trying to impress.
He was not boosting my ego, nor was he particularly “in tune” with me. In fact, he was mocking me.
But it was important to note that he was doing it in a very clever way.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” he said leaning forward just a bit.
“So Reno,” I said, deliberately ignoring his question, as I forced myself to keep my posture and tone as neutral as possible now, “do you know why you are here?”
A small and condescending smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “Nah. I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
“Well, perhaps you would like me to refresh your memory,” I said, calmly. “Your recent actions have left me at a slight disadvantage.”
His eyes flickered briefly to the side, prompted by a nearby grunt from the third presence in the room, my rather large associate with an indicative name that described his demeanor rather suitably: Rude. Rude stepped closer behind his chair, where he stood rooted to the floor, hands folded in front of him and staring straight ahead through his dark sunglasses. Rude was perfect atmosphere.
The applicant dropped the mimic act at once and stabbed his fingers in his eyes and rubbed at them wearily. “Look, I said it was an accident.”
“An accident,” I repeated, unconvinced. “You shot him in the face.”
“My gun went off,” he said evenly.
“Nine times,” I added, my tone rising slightly. “At point blank range. You, in fact, reloaded your weapon and shot him again. Just wanted to make sure, perhaps?”
He sat still a moment and seemed to consider this, as he, I imagine, chose his next words carefully. “It wasn’t personal,” he said, and for a change, he actually appeared sincere. “He just...got in the way. Like I said: an accident.”
I believed him. I’m sure my new candidate’s enthusiasm in ridding of my ex-associate was more to ensure that he couldn’t be identified, rather than having to do with any sort of personal grudge. It was a sloppy method, but extremely effective. Had we not been tailing my now-deceased associate ourselves, it may have taken us weeks to discover his death.
But this was all completely irrelevant.
“Mister Reno—”
“Don’t call me ‘mister—’”
“I don’t particularly care what your reasons were, Mister Reno,” I said, overriding him. “That is not my concern. I invited you here to discuss your employment situation.”
“Oh, invitation. That’s what you call it. Gee. Thanks for thinking of me.” He rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. “So that’s it? You wanna grill me about the Don?”
I shook my head. “Not really. We’ve been keeping an eye on Don Corneo for years. There’s very little he does that we don’t know about.”
“Well. I feel so much better knowing Shin-Ra is just on top of every-fucking-thing,” he said, his grin widening into something that looked significantly more feral. “Total shocker there. So what the hell d’ya need me for?”
“I’m understaffed,” I patiently rephrased myself.
“Well, whaddya want me to do about it? Apologize?” He sat back and smirked arrogantly at me. “I am very, very, very fuckin’ sorry for your loss.” This time I did not believe him.
I released a controlled sigh, exposing my own aggravation just briefly. “My ex-associate was wanted for treason. We’d been monitoring him for some time. He was selling insider information, which I believe you’re already quite aware of.” I folded my hands calmly and placed them on my desk, leaning forward just a bit. “So, actually, you saved me the trouble of having to do the job myself. I suppose I should be thanking you.”
He seemed to be caught off guard by this. He paused a moment, pulling an expression of slight puzzled amusement. “Uh...you’re welcome. I’ll send you my bill...” His fixed me with a cautious glare. I could see the wheels turning in his brain, attempting to read me, discerning. Once again, I didn’t provide any answer. His grin slipped and his expression darkened. “Where are you going with this?”
This time I was the first to look away. I glanced down at my prop, the report in front of me. “You have quite an impressive record, Mister Reno.” I didn’t look up to see his expression this time, but I paused to make sure he changed gears with me. I recited the list of numerous indictments as I flipped through the lengthy report: “Larceny, grand larceny, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault and battery, destruction of property, identity theft, racketeering, extortion, postal fraud…” I looked up questioningly at the last charge I’d read. “Postal fraud?”
He was less than pleased. He was highly annoyed and he had turned nearly the shade of his hair—a vibrant red that stuck up in every direction and hung in his eyes. A long red tail trailed down his back completing the look. He wore baggy jeans and a black t-shirt with a neon green skull and crossbones symbol on it. It was an...interesting look. I tried to picture him out of it. Something a little more professional. Orderly. Say...in blue suit, instead. Something where others would take him seriously rather than a random punk kid.
He was good. Skilled. A remarkable shot and a resourceful henchman for Corneo, despite his lengthy record. He took chances, but usually managed to accomplish the job, which is why I’m assuming Corneo kept him around as long as he had. Corneo doesn’t forge personal relationships with anyone—people are as disposable to him as the sheets at his Honeybee Inn. My applicant had been in his employ for five years. Apparently, he was doing something right.
Still, I had a difficult time seeing him actually wearing a tie.
“I was experimenting,” he snarled. “What are you, my fuckin’ parole officer? Gonna tell on me?”
“Not in the least,” I said lightly. I continued to flip through the stack. “And you currently live at 1100 South Capra Drive, Apartment number 3?”
He pursed his lips together in a flat line. “I dunno. You tell me.”
“So, how do you like working for Mister Corneo?” I asked, steering the conversation in a slightly different course.
“Puts a roof over my head,” he muttered.
I flipped to another page of the report. “Hmm. It doesn’t sound like for long. According to this, you’re twenty-eight days late on your rent.”
“Jesus Christ!” he said, ramming his hands in his hair. “You gonna tell me how many times a day I take a piss, too? If you’re trying to scare me, fine. I’m scared shitless. Is that what you want? I get it. Big Brother is watching. Duck and cover. Now get to the fucking point!”
I pinned him to his chair with my gaze. “What if I told you I could erase all these charges against you?”
His eyes flared and then narrowed. “Oh, so you’re blackmailing me.”
I paused for a thoughtful moment and then shrugged lightly. “I prefer to look at is as a protection of my assets. Insurance.”
“Insurance,” he echoed. Slumping back in his chair, he folded his arms and then exhaled sharply. “Fuck. That. Just shoot me and get it the hell over with.”
“You haven’t heard my offer,” I said.
“I don’t have to. I know that’s why you dragged me here—I know too fuckin’ much. You Shin-Ra monkeys are no smarter than a small-time crook like me, ‘cause that’s exactly what I’d do. Hell, it’s what I did do when I shot your partner. I’m not stupid.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I said. “That’s why I’d like to give you a choice instead.”
“Oh yeah? And what could that possibly be? Choice of wood for my goddamn coffin?”
“If death is what you choose, then there won’t be a body left for burial,” I explained my tone suddenly very cold. “According to our data, you have no living relatives, no close relationships, and you live alone. Don Corneo won’t miss you. And neither will anyone else,” I hissed. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought my own tongue was forked.
His eyes turned down, staring at the floor. He seemed to utterly shrink. They were cruel words, I knew. But I had to deflate his ego to make him susceptible to other suggestions. I had to make him realize he had nothing left to lose. Only when you’ve lost everything are you free to do anything.
“Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered bitterly.
I stood up and leaned over my desk, staring at him intensely. “I know the slum you live in, Mister Reno, I know the cesspits you hang out in, I know your pathetic lifestyle. I also know for a fact that Don Corneo treats you like a dog and that you’ve been evicted three times in the last eighteen months because he pays you dirt. I know you steal from his clients to earn supplemental income. Is that really how you want to live?”
“Maybe I like the challenge,” he gritted through his teeth. “What difference is it to you?”
“I want you,” I said very slowly as to underscore my point, “to come work for us.”
There was the offer, plain and simple, right there on the table in front of him, like a shiny red apple waiting for a bite. I could literally see the words sink into his brain. He sat there, quietly brooding, and then slowly it began to make sense to him. His eyes sharpened again, and looked back up at me. “So that’s my choice? Die or work for you?” He snorted sharply and shook his head. “Yeah right. Who says I’m any better off with you corporate bastards than with him? I make my own hours, I don’t gotta wear a suit and tie, and I don’t gotta answer to nobody. Even Corneo doesn’t ask me about shit, he just gives me the job and leaves it to me. Between death or being a corporate Shin-Ra monkey, I say shoot me.”
“We can offer you twenty thousand gil a year.”
He looked not at all impressed. “I could make that if I worked harder. I just don't wanna hafta bust my ass all the time for a few extra bucks.”
“Thirty thousand,” I amended.
His lips puckered just a little bit in thought, and his ruddy eyebrows unknotted above the bridge of his nose. He seemed to actually contemplate this. Now, at least, I had his attention.
“Forty-thousand gil a year.”
“What am I, E-bay?” he said with a sarcastic snort.
“Forty-two thousand gil a year,” I said, giving him the final pitch. “Tax free. Paid in cash. You understand why this is due to the nature of our business, of course. And after your first ninety days, you get a minimum three-thousand gil bonus.”
“And Health Insurance, I suppose?” he quipped sarcastically, still doubting the validity of my offer.
I reached inside my blazer and pulled my nine millimeter handgun from its holster, and laid it on the desk in front of me. “This is your health insurance.”
He sat there quiet for a moment. I saw the conflict on his face—the struggle to stay nonchalant against being overwhelmed. I watched him carefully and suddenly it occurred to me how young he really was—barely legal drinking age, in fact, though I’m certain that never stopped him in the past—his eyes seemed to brighten again, the muscles he’d been clenching in his face relaxed, and I noticed under the scruffy exterior that he was actually rather attractive. He was also quite obviously not at all practiced at concealing any of his emotions. They were as plain on his face as the two twin I scars on his cheeks. He must have had some very painful lessons for someone so young. I could very much identify with that...
And now I was offering him a yearly salary that was easily more money than he’d seen in his entire life. It was, understandably, difficult for him to remain cool under the circumstances. I remember it well, myself. This was the part of the interview I rather liked. Call me sentimental.
He shook his head lightly as if waking from a daydream and taking faculty of his senses again. It was obvious that he was stunned. He had passed the point of doubt and became suddenly fidgety and nervous. I knew the thoughts running through his head: Was it real? Why me? Do I even deserve this?
Ah, I wish we all stayed this humble...
“Can I...can I think about it?” he stammered, raking his hair back again off his forehead.
“Sure,” I answered lightly with a cavalier shrug, perching myself on the edge of my desk. “You have forty-five seconds.”
“Forty-five seconds, you’re kidding me!”
I gave him a calculating blink and then looked down at my watch. “Thirty-nine seconds.”
“Jesus Christ,” he barked. “And I suppose if I say no, the Incredible Sulk back here will shoot me.”
Rude grunted like an annoyed bull at his quip. “Actually, he’ll break your neck,” I corrected. “It’s less mess.”
The applicant dropped his head back and stared up at Rude. “You don’t talk much, do ya?”
Rude looked down and shot back at once, “You don’t shut up much, do you?” The kid snorted his response.
“Twenty three seconds,” I reminded, breaking up their little comedy act.
“What about Corneo?” he asked heavily. “He will come looking for me, even if it’s just to kill me himself.”
“Corneo won’t even have to know,” I said. “We’ll relocate you to new living arrangements, we’ll wipe all your records, we’ll give you new identification documents.”
He smirked arrogantly,. “Isn’t that illegal? I wouldn’t wanna get caught for identity theft again.”
“Mister Reno,” I said, “In this town, Shin-Ra is the law. As will you be.”
He stared at me completely neutral and blinked.
“Eight seconds,” I prompted.
A slow devious smirk crept over his mouth. I nodded to Rude. Rude stepped forward to him closer, stretching his gloved hands and then clenching his fists briefly to produce a series of rippling cracks through every joint in his fingers, poised for my final order. The applicant just sat forward and stared at me, crossing his arms.
“Three...two...” I nodded to Rude.
Just as Rude closed in to grab the kid’s head, he spoke up. “All right, all right. I’ll do it,” he groused. I nodded to Rude again and he stepped back, and I stared for quite a while at my newest team member.
“Nothing like waiting until the very last second,” I mused.
He shrugged. “Like you said,” Reno grinned, “I wanted to be sure.” I knew then I’d made the right choice. “Where do I sign?”
I snorted softly and smirked, shaking my head. “There are no papers.” I picked up the receiver on my desk telephone as I punched in an extension.
“Security Desk,” said a female voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, could you send two security escorts up to my office?”
“Right away, Mister Tseng,” she said, and I hung up again.
Reno suddenly frowned and looked baffled. “Security?”
I nodded. “Yes. They’ll be taking you to your new station at the SOLDIER base in Junon.”
“Junon?! Now? You’re freakin’ kidding me.”
“All new Turks are required to go through SOLDIER’s basic training program,” I explained. He sputtered and grew very nervous again. “Relax,” I told him. “It’s not a permanent station. It’s only for three weeks. SOLDIER is a privately funded military and training is just a fraction of the time it would take for a government funded military. They’ll bring you right back here to Midgar when you’re finished.”
Reno scoffed and shook his head, appearing as if he’d just been punched in the nose. “Basic training?” he repeated, incredulous.
I shrugged. “It’ll fly by faster than you think. After two weeks of basic training, you will be given one week of Special Forces training.”
“One week?” he echoed in disbelief. “That’s all it takes to train me in Special Forces?”
“Hardly. You’ll continue your training with us when you return. This is simply an introduction.”
“I’m not really the military type.”
I paused a moment and gave him a falsely pleasant smile, “We’re SOLDIER. We’ll take anyone.”
Reno shook his head as if he’d just heard a bad punchline, rolling his eyes and his gaze shifted to Rude, my extremely bald associate, who had stepped to his side. “You’re not—you’re not gonna make me cut my hair, are you?” Reno asked with a sudden flash of anxiety.
I shook my head and suppressed a smirk as I saw Rude’s brow knot tightly above his glasses. “We don’t care what you do to your hair,” I said.
“Do I get to stop by my apartment for anything?” he asked, hopeful.
“SOLDIER will provide you with everything you need for the next three weeks.”
“Yeah, but, I uh...think I left my iron on.”
I gave him a reproachful look. It would be a shock to me if he even owned an iron. “We’ll send someone over to check it out,” I remarked dryly. “And upon your return, we’ll have you already set up in your new apartment.”
Reno scoffed and gaped. “You’re picking out where I live for me? You mean I don’t get to choose?”
There was a knock on my door, and I nodded to Rude to answer it. I looked at Reno again and grinned, the proverbial serpent offering the apple. “You already did,” I said meaningfully.
Rude opened the door and two burly security guards stood in the entrance waiting to whisk Reno away. I gestured to Reno to stand and lightly motioned toward the door. He shook his head again and with a resigned smile, stood up and offered his hand to me. I extended mine and grasped it. He gripped me firmly but not painfully, and I mused at how cool and dry his palms were. I’d have expected them to be sweaty and warm after the last few minutes. Perhaps he’d been more composed than I’d initially thought, and it left me to wonder just how much he’d been acting and how much he’d actually been expecting. It’s not often I am easily bluffed. I’d definitely made the right choice...
He looked me in the eye, holding me with that cool aqua gaze and continuing to give me that knowing little smirk as he shook my hand. “Don’t disturb the rats that live in my old place. They’ve been good to me. I think I’ll kinda miss ‘em.”
“You’ll meet all knew rats now,” I drawled.
Reno broke the handshake with an ironic snort. “See ya in three weeks, boss.” I inclined my head slightly in concurrence.
“Hey Boss,” he said turning to me one last time before walking out with the security guards, “I never got your name.”
I paused and gave him that snake-like smile once more, extending that apple just a little farther. “You will,” I said.
* * *
Rude sat down in front of me in the chair Reno had just left. “Annoying little punk,” he said, conversationally.
I shrugged. “He has potential.”
“You never made me go through basic training.”
I turned and lifted the receiver on the phone again, hovering my finger over the keypad. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to?”
Rude gave me a dry look. “No,” he said. “Just wondered what all that was about.”
“I thought he could use the discipline.” I began to gather the papers up on the desk in front of me and stack them together to throw in the recycle bin. I had left Reno’s report behind at my home this morning and had printed out Shin-Ra’s annual sales report first thing to use as a prop. I was amused that it had worked so well.
“He’s gotta mouth on him.”
“Yes, well, he’ll make up for your lack of one, I’m sure. He is amusing, you have to admit. And now that you’re First Officer, you realized you’ll be doing half the training. Try not to kill him the first week, would you?” Rude grunted and then fell silent for a moment as I finished cleaning up my desk. “Who knows?” I remarked. “You might even end up being pals. You two seemed to have a little repartee there for a moment.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Rude grumbled. “I don’t work well with sidekicks.”
“Maybe you’ll end up being the sidekick,” I needled him. I rarely banter with Rude, but once in a while it’s entertaining. He’s much smarter and wittier than he looks.
Rude gave me a warning look. “Let’s just see if he works out first.” He fell silent once more. Another reason I don’t mind Rude’s company.
I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs, thinking about the young red-head that had just left my office no more than ten minutes ago, replaying the conversation to myself. I imagined those brilliant eyes again, that sharp gaze, his face, his confidence and his arrogance, and that quick witted wicked sense of humor that I could either grow to like or loathe. Probably both, depending on the circumstance. Nevertheless, “I have a good feeling,” I answered him, and then said nothing more about it.
I checked my watch. Not bad: twelve noon exactly. Lunch time. And good thing too...
I had an odd craving for apples...