A/N: Lady Aurora Nocturne, this one is for you.

Of Reno

~ 3 Doors Down

"So I Need You"

The Better Life, 2000

© Republic Records

His PHS rang.

He didn't move. Every part of him hurt. His head. His stomach. His teeth. His damn eyeballs.

Muffled by his pocket as it was, he couldn't name the ringtone. It went on for a full thirty seconds, sending stabbing pains through his aching head, and then abruptly shut off. The caller gave him exactly six seconds before trying again.

"You gonna get that?" Rude asked the fourth time this happened.

For an answer, he blindly fished the buzzing PHS from his jacket and lobbed it at his partner.

It bounced off Rude's shaved head with a solid thwack – damn it, he'd known it was her calling, why hadn't he recognized that dippy song? – and landed facedown on the carpet. Rude didn't react. He was lying on the couch with his face buried in a cushion. Rude's large, brown hand lay near the PHS, lit from underneath as Elena's ringtone merrily started up again.

And then the door crashed open, admitting Elena herself.

"What are you doing?" she screeched, her cornsilk hair wild, her PHS clutched in one tiny fist, which was poised about a foot from her ear. What had she done, run up all sixty flights of stairs? "Answer your PHS when someone calls, sir!"

Then she gagged and took quick steps backward, her cuff pressed to her nose, and gasped, "It stinks like alcohol in here!"

He covered his eyes with an arm to block out the light from the hall. "Should have put the privacy lock on, Rude."

"Sorry," Rude grunted into the cushion.

"Were you up drinking all night?" Elena asked, softer. Dodging empty bottles and cans, she edged into their hotel room and, mercifully, shut the door behind her. She then slipped the extra key to their room into her wallet. Tseng always made sure they had extra keys. With good reason.

"Chief gave us the night off," he said, rolling his throbbing eyes up to watch her approach, upside-down. He was sprawled on his back on his own couch, but he seemed to be too big, his legs spilling off it at one end. "It's my birthday."

She snorted, an obscene sound from such a pixyish face, and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "It is not, sir. Your birthday is in four days."

Trust her to know that. It felt good that she did. He held up a hand, toasting her with an invisible glass. "Happy week of my birth."

"Congratulations," Rude said, and then made a sound like a bear coughing up a hairball. Laughter.

He snickered, letting his hand drop.

Elena gave a delicate sigh. Brows creased, she pointed at his foot. "Did you know you have a dead lizard wedged under your shoelace?"

"I do?" He sat up so fast his head spun, but even in the darkened room, he could see the sad little corpse. "Huh."

"How did that happen?" she asked.

"I have no idea." He started snickering, harder this time. His stomach gave a huge roll, and he lurched off the couch as if he'd been tased.

Elena caught him before he faceplanted on the floor and helped maneuver him upright. "Come on, sir," she said from somewhere near his armpit, sounding resigned. "Let's get you to the toilet. We can give the lizard a burial at sea while we're at it."

"Congratulations," Rude said again, but by the time Elena got him through the door and his knees hit the bathroom tiles, his partner was snoring.

"Thanks, Elena," he whispered before she grabbed his hair to keep it out of the way. Her only answer was to rub his shoulders gently until the worst passed.

..::~*~::..

The Turks.

He took his place to the left of the President when Rufus stood, Rude falling into step next to him, Elena and Tseng flanking them from the right. Wearing his customary white suit, President Shinra acted like he couldn't see them, laughing and shaking hands as he closed yet another deal. His bodyguards were there to impress, dressed in black, tough, silent, and very, very deadly.

Everyone knew of the Turks.

Rushing to shake off the hangers-on, Rufus made it outside. He stepped into the wind on the shiny new skyscraper's roof, his fair hair gilded by the sun. The new mayor of Vanaheim had followed them out with a small retinue. He called out to the President, obviously reluctant to let him go. Sloe-eyed Tseng fell back with Rude. Unobtrusively protecting Rufus Shinra.

Nothing must ever happen to the President. It was their sworn duty as Turks. Accepting the invitation to Vanaheim, one of the new cities that had taken root after the planet-wide cure of geostigma and that now rivaled Midgar Edge, had been a risky undertaking. There was something wrong in Vanaheim. Corruption, glaring at them from beneath every polished surface, through the cracks of every gleaming street. Vanaheim had sprung up overnight like a forest of concrete mushrooms. Where had they gotten the materials? The manpower? Did they think no one would notice? President Shinra had agreed to come here at Reeve Tuesti's request. The WRO, focused as it was on rebuilding the world, could not have a hand in tearing part of it down, no matter how small or polluted a part. That was where the Turks came in.

He jogged over to the waiting helicopter emblazoned with the Shin-Ra Inc. logo, a sight that never failed to fill his chest with pride. Easily, he swung himself aboard and put on his headset. He was surprised when Elena joined him at the controls. Rude's chunky headset, when she put it on, made her look tinier than ever.

"What do you think?" she asked as he started the engine. Her eyes, childlike and blue, were steady on his face. Although she was no longer the newest Turk, she still looked up to him. Even after witnessing his weakest moments, to her, he was one of her mentors. To her, his judgment was paramount. It had been that way since the day he had eliminated Don Corneo. What a satisfying job that had been.

Considering his answer, he leaned back, lounging in his seat, and glanced out the window. The familiar thrum of the rotors was soothing, and he thought, if the mayor detained the President much longer, that he might get away with a nap. The windshield was tinted so dark no one could see inside, anyway.

Drowsily, he watched the mayor cycle through rehearsed roles and faces: conspiratorial, businesslike, aloof, pleading. He finally dropped the façade, sweat standing out on his forehead, when the President failed to fall for any of them.

He smiled. He thought this part was funny. Guilt always made them say too much.

Then he sighed, his humor fading. Damn. To be this hungover and still have so much work to do. Still, he preferred work over the blank emptiness that was time off. Last night, the bartender in the swanky hotel where the President had been set up had been a strawberry blonde with curls, curves, and a pretty face, though her eyes had been wrong. Blue instead of the green he craved. Which was why he and Rude had finished their bender by themselves up in the room.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. He knew what she would think of him losing control like that. What she would say about him getting fall-down drunk. Again. How she would tell him how lucky he was to have someone like Elena to take care of him.

As if he needed her to tell him that. He was a Turk, and Turks never faced the nightmares alone. They were closer than a family, partners until death, trusting each other with their lives.

But not her. She was something else, something special in a way that he couldn't explain or reconcile. He knew everything about her. Especially how it would feel to hold her in spite of her harsh words, to kiss her despite her disappointment in him. To make angry love late into the night, gradually earning her forgiveness. The way they always did. Time and time again.

He turned the crooked smile on Elena.

"Looks like we'll be working overtime tonight."

A/N: Greetings and salutations, Dear Readers!

Gosh, where do I even begin? :3

A few years ago, I wrote my first ever fanfic, StCB. I liked it at the time, although I knew how many issues it had. I finished it, and I never looked back.

But I received two reviews, one from heavenslilagl420 and, years later, one from Lady Aurora Nocturne, who both expressed the same concern.

The ending was too ambiguous. Did Reno and Cristobel get their happy ending, or not?

The answer to that was that I didn't know. Honest. But now, I feel like I can address that question. So please, join me on a short trip to find the answer. (I originally planned for this to be a one-shot, but yeah, that plan went out the window as soon as I started committing words to the screen! I do promise it's not full story length, though.)

A little thoughts on the setting: This takes pace after the events of "Dirge of Cerberus," but at an undefined time. I won't say how much time has passed. I have created Vanaheim for conflict, but this story does not focus on action-adventure and Vanaheim's part to play is small.

Please, if you've read this, won't you leave me a review? Pretty please? I really love them and I would love to hear what you think so far. Do you have any questions? Suggestions? Thumbs up, thumbs down? :3 Let me know!

Thank you for giving this story a try.

Ever yours,

Anne