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1.
Rude opens the door to Tseng's office, and almost slams it shut again as he registers that yes, indeed he has just seen Reno sitting in the chair before Tseng's desk, with not a stitch of clothing on him.
He has no problem, theoretically, with inter-office affairs but this would be...
He likes Reno. He likes Reno a lot, and he doesn't need images of his partner and the boss burned into his cranium.
But it's a good thing that he doesn't slam the door, because in the few seconds it takes him to process his indignant embarrassment Tseng has raised a conciliatory hand and issued an order.
“Oh Rude, good. Would you please retrieve one of the mission suits in Reno's size? You see, all of his clothing has been incinerated. I'm sorry to bother you with such a task but as you know, my assistant resigned yesterday.” Rude nods mutely, and goes to get the clothing as requested.
When he returns with the navy blue suit and a pressed white shirt, the two are sitting as formally as they ever do, and Reno appears to be giving a mission report.
“So, she actually confessed, after a couple of drinks. Definitely our girl down in R&D who's been testing the weapon on employees.”
“And why would she tell you as much, if she was really the culprit?” Reno shrugs and grins.
“She was drunk. Besides, they have ideas about me down there, y'know. Think I'm some kind of empty headed moll, 'slept my way into a job.”
“And you decided to use that perception to your advantage?”
“Well yeah, bossman. If I went down there asking questions all professional, she'd have been suspicious right?” At this point Rude clears his throat, as neither of his coworkers seem to have noticed him. “Oh, Rude! Thanks man!” Reno hops out of the chair and strides over to retrieve the clothing. He has no body-shyness whatsoever. Rude is mildly thankful for the sunglasses that keep his expression unreadable. Reno struggles into the pants while hopping back to the chair, and while he's buttoning the shirt he asks “So, between the paper trail we have so far, the taped confession, and my destroyed belongings, that's enough of a case to take before the President, yeah?”
“Yes, I believe we have all the evidence we need.”
“So, uh, about said destroyed belongings.”
“You will be compensated. I'm afraid that this particular strand of the organism is especially virulent. Everything will have to be sanitized and destroyed, and the quarters quarantined until further notice.”
“Everything!?! But where will I sleep?”
“You have plenty of friends, Reno.” Reno turns to his partner and smiles almost sheepishly.
“So, uh, buddy. Can I crash with you for a little while?”
By the time Reno's quarters are deemed habitable, he and Rude have fallen into a comfortable rhythm, and Reno never does get around to moving out again.
2.
Rude is pretty sure he's going to die here, and he is unbelievably pissed about it. He's a motherfucking Turk. Turks don't die at the the whims of the elements. But the alarming current is pulling him away from where he fell through the ice. He still has the fingers of one hand hooked on the edge of the hole, but not the strength to haul himself back. More pressingly, he's running out of air. Suddenly his grip is wrenched free and for half a second he almost prays that his partner had been stupid enough to come after him. Just as suddenly he's being pulled against the current, back towards the surface.
A hand grips the back of his jacket and he's being hauled, gasping and thrashing into the air.
“Hold fuckin' still! You'll drag us both in”. Reno is seated on the ice, feet braced against the edges of Rude's hole, trying to spread out their weight as he drags Rude out of the icy water. Even so, it's cracking. “You're fuckin' heavy.” Once Rude is halfway on the ice, he can pull himself the rest of the way. It's a numb blur after that. They're crawling along the ice towards the shore, cracks spreading around them. Reno is yanking him to his feet in a snowbank, cursing wildly, he cannot feel anything. There's a cabin in the distance, they are walking unsteadily towards it. He thinks he falls, several times, but he can't remember. He can't control his limbs.
They stumble through the door, into the cabin were they've been stationed. Rude falls to the floor, leaning against the door, and Reno lets him. He can hear Reno stomping around the room, fiddling with lights, and heat, the whole while spewing a litany of curses. Rude is shaking violently, but he feels very warm, and very sleepy. He thinks he must have blacked out for a moment, because when he comes back, Reno is naked, and has removed his wet jacket, and is ripping off his shirt, buttons ignored and falling to the floor. It seems inappropriate to Rude, all this undressing. He doesn't know what Reno can be thinking. But he lets himself be pulled out of his soaked clothing, attacked with a towel, and dragged into the middle of the room. It starts to make sense when Reno shoves him to the floor, wraps himself around Rude, and then wraps a blanket around both of them. They just stay, sitting there, for what feels like an eternity. Slowly, Rude's shaking starts to subside, and the cold seeps back into his limbs. Even more slowly, he starts to feel warm again, and awake, and very, very aware of Reno's face buried in his shoulder, breath fiery hot against his frozen skin.
“Reno?”
“Shut up. You fuckin' suck.”
3.
Rude and Tseng can hear shouting in the medical ward, even before the electronic doors whiz open. That just gives the words form. When they walk in, the director, a short, black woman with her hair close cropped is bellowing at a sandy-haired technician twice her size. The technician is, wisely, shrinking in on himself against the hallway wall.
“It's a simple question! Can you, or can you not, read!?!”
“I can ma'am.” the technician squeaks. This seems to only incense the director further.
“Then explain to me how you dosed him with not one, but two substances that are explicitly forbidden in his chart notes. One of them is highlighted!”
“I'm sorry ma'am.”
“You're sorry!?! Tell that to- Tseng, good you're here.”
“I am. Inform me.”
“This incompetent....sack, gave your man a hypnotic sedative to which he has a documented atypical reaction and...”
“And?”
“And the painkiller from which the street drug bliss is derived.”
“How is he?”
“That's why I called you up here. I wish I knew, but he broke out about twenty minutes ago. Hyperactivity, paranoia, and vivid hallucinations from the hypnotic.” Tseng closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“How much time do we have?”
“Before the hallucinations wear off? Should be done by now. Before he's coming down and looking for a hit of bliss? Thirty minutes. Probably less with his metabolism.”
“Right. Was he at least clothed?”
“Not when he was defending the nurses from an invisible assailant, before barricading himself in the bathroom, at least.” Tseng sighed heavily, pulled a small, watch-like device out of his pocket, pressed a button and handed it to Rude.
“I've activated his emergency locator. Find him. I have to go call every known bliss dealer over and under the plate.” He turns and strides hurriedly down the hall.
Amazingly, Reno is in their quarters. That's where the GPS pegs him when Rude looks down at it, and that's where he is, fifteen minutes later when Rude's gotten down the stairs. How he's managed to lock the bathroom door from the outside is anyone's guess. Rude knocks. No answer. He clicks the lock open, loudly, but doesn't open the door. Still nothing.
“Reno, I'm coming in.” To his relief, there's water sloshing, and a muffled noise that sounds vaguely like assent.
Reno is in the bathtub, shaking violently, and staring into blank space. When Rude kneels down next to him, the water is freezing. Reno doesn't look at him, but responds to the cocked eyebrow.
“Feel like I got busted glass under my skin, man. Thought it'd help.”
“Does it?” He shakes his head.
“I, uh. I threw up in the kitchen. Sorry, yo.”
“I saw.”
“Sorry.” Rude carefully leans over, and pulls the plug, letting the cold water drain. Reno doesn't make any move to stop him. Or any move at all, really.
“How long had you been clean?”
“How long've I been a Turk?”
“Four years.”
“ 'Bout six months before that, then.” Rude is pulling one of the towels of the rack, wishing now, absurdly, that he'd paid for fluffier ones, and starts to dry Reno's hair. “Shit man.” He sounds helpless, and disgusted. “I really need some bliss.”
“No you don't. Now get up.” Surprisingly obedient, Reno does. He even let's Rude steady him as he steps out of the bath, and dry him.
“Yeah, I really, really do. S'why I locked myself in here, right?”
“Well, you can't have any.”
“I know.” When Rude is satisfied that Reno is sufficiently dry as to not make himself sick, he hangs the towel back up and stalks back out into the living room. The couch, as always, is strewn with blankets. He grabs one, stalks back to where Reno is hovering listlessly between the kitchen and the living room, looking like he'd like to clean up his mess, but afraid he'll be sick again if he tries.
“Leave it.” Rude commands, and bundles him up, easily carrying him to the couch and sitting them both down. “We'll wait this out together, okay?” Reno just nods, and huddles into him, still shaking, from cold or something else. Rude flicks on the T.V. Warning himself to be prepared for any manner of strange behavior.
Still, he has no idea what to do when Reno kisses him.
4.
“What, exactly, are you doing?”
“Diffusin' this mother fucker of a big-ass, complicated bomb. Whazzit look like I'm doin'?” His eyes are bright with fear tinged elation, and he's slipped completely back into his slum dialect in his excitement.
“It looks like you're naked in the sewers of sector 8 molesting a primitive computer.”
“Damn right I am. Now get naked and help me or get out.”
“Why?” Reno rolls his eyes, like he thinks Rude is being intentionally difficult. He jabs a finger at a circuit-board.
“Static. I haven't seen this set up before, and I dunno know what triggers it. Not takin' any fuckin' chances, yo. This baby could take out half the sector.” Rude sizes up the sprawling, car sized monstrosity of wire, circuitry, and explosives, and determines that this is probably an accurate damage assessment. As he silently folds his jacket next to Reno's and starts to loosen his tie, his partner has already re-buried himself in the things innards, completely fixated by this new and deadly puzzle.
5.
There is something eerily familiar about the red-headed young man when he walks, or staggers, really, into the sector 3 brothel. Her first thought is that he's drunk, like so many of their patrons. But while he's swaying on his feet, there's no smell of alcohol on him, and his speech is perfectly intelligible.
“Yes sir, you can book a girl and a room for a full night. Payment is do up-”
“Not a problem.” He produces a billfold from an inner pocket of his crisp blue suit, and hands the manager enough for two nights. “I know you're running an honest business here, so you go and divide any extra among your staff. Call it an advance tip for not disturbing me.”
“Of course. Most generous of you sir. As to your company this evening, as you can see a number of the girls are waiting around the parlor, or I can get you the catalo-”
“Her.”
“Ah, Abbie is an excellent choice sir. One of our most beautiful.” She sighs inwardly. It has been a slow evening, and she's tired after the weekend rush. She had hoped not to have to work again tonight. Especially not all night. But, she consoles herself, as she puts on a smile and sidles toward the customer, he is very, very pretty, and clearly has money to spend. He doesn't say anything as she leads him to her room. Then again, they almost never do. The very first thing he does when they get to her room is sit unceremoniously on the bed, and start to fiddle with his shoelaces. A little insulted, she locks the door and turns, her best bedroom eyes and voice sliding into place with the bolt. But before she can even begin, he holds up a hand.
“You don't need to do that. I'm not here for sex.” he keeps struggling with the same shoe-lace, but it's defeating him utterly. Looking at him closer now, than in the lobby, the dark rings under his eyes look like they've been growing for days. “Help me with this, yo?” He smiles at her, and it's so full of genuine friendliness that she does find herself bending down, and helping him out of his shoes, then his jacket, then his tie. With that done, he simply roles himself into the corner of the bed near the wall. “Don't if you don't want to, but this is your bed, and I wouldn't mind the company.” Confused, but not about to refuse an easy job, she does join him. When he makes no move after fifteen minutes, she decides that maybe he really does just want to sleep, and finds herself drifting off too.
When she wakes up, the first thing she hears is “You know what, you really are beautiful. Look kind of familiar though.” There's early morning light streaming through the curtains, and the client is wide awake and bright, doing up his laces and shaking out his jacket. “Thanks for that, by the way. Don't think I've slept in a proper bed since I was sixteen. Don't usually like them.” There's a wad of much-too-much money on the night stand, and she can't help but shoot him a questioning glance. “Oh, yeah. See I used to do what you do. Been workin' the last few days, and my place wasn't exactly friendly last night, so I figure someone better benefit. Hey, I know where I know you! Did you used to work at Mr. Alders, sector 7?” She nods. “No shit. Me too. They treat you alright here?”
He still has about an hour on the room. They just talk. By the time he leaves, she feels like maybe she's made a friend.