Lottie stumbles out of the back room looking half a corpse.
The clothes she's wearing look very much part of her own skin, dirty and crumpled and mismatched, at odds with the prim and proper way Cid is used to seeing her in pictures and from afar. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, loose strands falling on either sides of her face, her face with its dark shadows under her eyes and pallid skin.
"It's polite to stand in the presence of the president, you know," Freyra sharply reminds them all, though there's a small little smile on her face that lets Cid know she's only half serious.
"Is there still a company for you to be president of?" Cid asks, wondering if he's overstepped. He doesn't like the way the grizzly old Turk is looking at him.
To his surprise—and mild pleasure—Charlie offers him a tired smile, despite the wary look casted towards Veld by Freyra at this comment. "You've always been perceptive, Cid." She rubs her eyes and looks around the room. "It's very good to see you all."
Despite looking dead on her feet, Charlie still speaks with her usual grace and refinement, and it's hearing her speak that seems to spurn Yuffie forward. The girl nearly leaps off the sofa and almost knocks Charlie right to the ground, flailing skinny little arms around the new president's neck.
"Yuffie, give the kid some space, would you?" Cid urges her, but again, Charlie smiles and shakes her head.
"It's all right," she says, smoothing down Yuffie's dark hair as if she were no more than a child. Hell, compared to everyone else here, she still is. "I don't think anyone else in this entire city would be so excited to see me anymore."
The gruff old bear scratches at his patchy beard, not looking half as groomed as the other Turks Cid has come into contact with before. But according to Charlie, Veld hasn't been a Turk for some years, a feat originally thought impossible. According to both Charlie and Vincent, once a Turk, always a Turk.
Cid doesn't like the way this particular Turk looks at him, though. At least Freyra appears friendly. It feels like Veld is stripping him bare with just his eyes, unashamed to be caught fucking staring at him. Any sins that Cid has committed are being forcibly pulled to the surface now without his consent, revealing themselves to Veld wordlessly.
"Vince, why don't you come with Freyra and me down to HQ? Got some stuff I wanna show you," Veld suddenly asks, standing up straight and clapping his prosthetic hand on Vincent's shoulder. His eyes linger on the back of Yuffie's head, exasperation written all over his scarred face. "And bring the kid, would you?"
Yuffie turns around, scoffing, but not leaving Charlie's side. "Nah, I'm good," she says, looking very much as if it's the last thing she wants to do. "I'd rather stay here in this shithole with Charlie than set foot anywhere near Shinra HQ."
"Yuffie," Vincent says sternly as Veld snorts.
It only takes a few seconds of Vincent's hard stare for Yuffie to sigh, pulling herself away from Charlie with a groan. "Fine," she huffs and puffs, stomping out of the house after the others, leaving Cid alone with Charlie.
Damn them, he can't help but think.
Charlie wraps her arms around herself, looking around. He's never really seen her look so fucking insecure before, like she's embarrassed to be seen in this place. Cid can't say he blames her, because the place is a goddamn sty, falling apart and freezing cold with hardly any natural light save for what filters through the broken windows. Not to mention it stinks to high heaven, a stink that he almost associates with his war days.
"Shouldn't you be helpin' out the masses, anyway?" Cid asks, a bit shortly. It doesn't seem like Charlie to be hiding out in some shithole house while her city suffers. "Handin' out food and water? Prayer circles? Pretty, morale boostin' smiles? That kinda shit?"
She falters for a moment, eyebrows knitting together. "How long have you been in Midgar?"
"Not long. Landed the ship on some cracked helipad near HQ and headed straight here. Why?"
Heaving a deep sigh, Charlie settles into the only armchair in the room, and it creaks dangerously beneath her. "There's been a disease ravaging the survivors, and no doctor of ours can explain where it comes from, nor can they do anything to save the victims. They don't even know if it's contagious, or how it spreads." She lowers her eyes to her lap, hands clasped together. "And there have been riots outside of Headquarters. Some of them have turned rather violent."
"Don't tell me you've been stuck in this shithole the whole time."
"Yes, I have."
It's then that something flashy catches his eye. He can't believe he hadn't noticed the moment she stepped out of the bedroom, but he supposes he's just used to her not wearing a ring. He scans the empty rooms around him, but there's no sign that there's anyone else in the house.
"Where's Reeve?" he asks.
Charlie averts her eyes again, hesitating before giving an answer. "Junon."
"Business trip?"
"Something like that, I suppose."
"So what're you doin' here if he's in Junon?"
Charlie lifts her eyes and blinks at him, like the answer to that question is the most obvious fucking thing in the world. She clears her throat and sits up a little straighter in the chair. "My people are here," she says softly. "I can't turn my back on them now, not while they're suffering and dying, dropping like flies."
Fuck, she's serious. It's no throne she's sitting in, but it may as well be. "So am I supposed to call you 'President Shinra' now?"
Cid doesn't miss the way she flinches at the name. "No," she answers. "The Turks only insist on the name to believe they still have jobs, it seems, but even there, Tseng is really the one in charge."
"So nothin's changed?"
"Excuse me?"
The heat rises to his cheekbones. With the others, with his friends, Charlie had only been Charlie, but here in Midgar, she really is the president. "You left Midgar, saw firsthand what your daddy's company did to people around the world, and then you come back here and don't change nothin'? Didn't any of that mean anythin' to you?"
"Don't talk to me like you understand—"
"I understand better than you give me credit for," Cid interrupts, growing angry at the defensive way she responds, her entire body tensing. "You think I'm stupid or somethin' 'cause I didn't grow up in some fancy fuckin' house with people waitin' on my every fuckin' demand—"
"You're putting words in my mouth," she snaps, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I know damn well what my father and his company have done to people, but Shinra is the only thing that is keeping this city together. Without Shinra, more people would be dead than there are now."
"Why does the company have to survive at all? Why not just do those things without plasterin' Shinra's name all over it?"
"Because the people need to know who come to their aid—"
"Who came to their aid?" Cid scoffs, hardly able to believe what he's hearing. "Lottie, Midgar is in fuckin' ashes and some mystery fuckin' disease is killin' 'em all off—"
"We're doing the best we can—"
"No, you're not," he protests, knowing that he's gotten her good and angry now, judging by the way her face flushes prettily. "You're just doin' the same fuckin' thing your daddy did. Do the bare fuckin' minimum for the people, make them rely on you so Shinra doesn't ever become irrelevant. It's easy to fool 'em when you've got all the money in the world, though I guess you ain't fooled 'em all, judgin' by the riots."
"What is your problem?" Charlie shouts, having heard enough. Her hands grip the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles turn white. "Not everyone is cut out to be some hero, Cid. This is how I can help, with my father's company and name behind me. I'm doing all I can do for the people, and it has nothing to do with a desire to see Shinra Incorporated return to its previous and unethical practices."
"And what's your boyfriend doin', huh? What did he fuck off to Junon for?" Cid asks. There's already an idea planted in his head as to what Reeve might be doing, for Vincent had passively mentioned Reeve's desire to build up a new organization in the near future. "Knew better than to stay here, didn't he? Knew that he'd just end up gettin' sucked back into Shinra?"
"Get out," she says in a low voice. "I don't ever want to see you again."
It knocks the wind out of him, but it isn't the first time Charlie's said something like it, only to backtrack when she cooled down a little. "You don't mean that."
She looks at him for a long time, and Cid recognizes something besides anger in her face. Perhaps it's shame, but he can't be sure. "You could not have any possible idea as to the responsibility that was laid bare at our feet when our father died. How could you? How could you ever understand the burden that we've taken on?"
He listens. Talking will only make her more angry, and he's exhausted.
"Do you have any idea what it was like to grow up in the shadow of my father? Of the most powerful man in the world?" she continues, looking half-mad, looking like her brother. "He built this company up from nothing, and without it, I am nothing."
"That ain't true, Lottie."
"I have a duty I need to uphold—"
"You've been given a second chance," he protests mildly. "And you're gonna squander it 'cause you're afraid."
Charlie shakes her head, and her bright blue eyes shine with tears. "This is my second chance," she tells him. "I can make things right."
"The only way you could make things right with the world would be by burnin' the remains of HQ to the fuckin' ground."
"And then what?" she snaps. "Without Shinra, who would feed the people? Whose doctors would care for them? Who would rebuild their homes? Who would govern the people? Who would provide jobs and income with the economy in shambles? Who would fight off enemy threats and keep the people safe? Who would provide power to their homes?"
Cid can't say he has an answer to that.
"I am not the stupid girl that people like to think I am." Charlie inhales deeply, and just like that, the tears are gone, and her face is replaced by one of the highest professionalism. "Growing up in my father's shadow has taught me many things, and one of those things is that Shinra is necessary for the world to prosper. And now that he's dead, we have the freedom to create something better, and I will not let men like you tell me how to live my life any longer."
"Men like me," he scoffs.
She grits her teeth, not looking away from him. There is something terribly cold about her that seems unrecognizable. "I know what I'm doing, and if I require your advice, I will ask for it." Charlie leans forward in her chair. "I refuse to grovel at the feet of people who have mocked me my entire life, and that includes the people of Midgar. They will see what I'm capable of in time."
It's almost frightening to see her now, slightly delirious and almost mad with power. He has to remind himself that she's likely traumatized, especially after the loss of her brother in such a horrible and violent and unprecedented fashion.
And then, leaning back, she smiles weakly. "I know what you're thinking. People have looked at me that way for a long time," she explains, lowering her eyes to her lap. "But I'm not my father. I may not have the stomach for violence, but I am capable of kindness."
Cid nods slowly. "I know you are, kid."
"I never belonged with you, Cid. I never belonged with any of you. But here . . ." Charlie looks around the home, falling apart and in shambles. "I belong here."
"I dunno," he rasps, sighing heavily. "I ain't ever seen you laugh so much as you did with us. I'd hate to see all the humor get squashed out of you."
"A small price to pay if it means rebuilding Midgar and the company."
"A shame. You got a real pretty laugh."
Her face falls, but a pink tint appears on her cheekbones. "My father never laughed. Well, sometimes, I suppose, but only very rarely, and often at the expense of others."
"Yeah," Cid agrees, happy that she's calmed down a bit. "He never struck me as the type. Get the humor from your mom, don't you?"
"No," she answers, so suddenly and so seriously that it startles him. "Mother didn't have many reasons to laugh."
"Charlie, look at me," he urges, trying his best to keep his voice low, not wanting to frighten her off like some poor deer. "You did belong with us. None of us belonged anywhere. The world didn't have a place for any of us, but sittin' 'round the fire at night, laughin' with each other, jokin' with each other . . . you can't tell me you didn't feel it, too."
"I felt something," she confesses softly, and the tears are back in her eyes, "but it wasn't belonging. There will never be a place in the world for someone like me, not even around a fire with a group of outcasts."
"You're too hard on yourself, kid."
"I have to be," she cries, unabashedly letting tears fall down her cheeks. "I don't have the luxury of being anything less than perfect."
Cid can't believe what he's hearing. It sounds so sad, so thoroughly depressing, that it makes him want to scoop her into his arms. "Who're you tryin' to impress?" he asks. "Your dad ain't here anymore."
"The world is watching me now," she says, "and I have to accept the one place in the world that has never turned me away."
"Look at what the company did to you. Look at what it did to your brother."
"And yet, the company has never turned its back on me. The company was here when I decided to come back. And the company will take care of me until I am old. It's time that I grew up, Cid, and accepted who I am and my only place in this world."
It's there that Charlie decides to put an end to their conversation, and she walks him to the door, giving him vague directions on how to make his way back to HQ with all the debris that still blocks the main roads.
It's a sad good-bye, and a rather disappointing one, but he can't say it isn't fitting. They've had enough good-byes in their past, each one of them unique and entirely situational, but this good-bye only serves to remind him (yet again) of how different they are and the cruel knowledge that nothing would have ever worked between them romantically.
She does linger in the doorway, as if she has something she wants to say, but she holds her tongue. Cid doesn't know what to tell her, only that he's grateful they had met again on the long journey around the world.
"Good-bye, Cid," she whispers, arms wrapped protectively around her. "If you or the others ever need a favor, my door will always be open."
"Yeah," he frowns, wondering if it's even the truth. "See you, kid."
And just like that, the door is closed and Charlie has retreated back into her shitty fucking dump of a home while he's walking down the broken streets towards the half-destroyed building that once served as Headquarters, the Shinra's fucking castle. He digs his hands deep into his pockets, unsatisfied with the good-bye, but too afraid to turn around and try again.
After all, it's not like he'll never get the chance to see her again. But . . . would he want to? It might just be easier for everyone involved for him to stay far away from her, as she's nothing but trouble for his brain and his heart and his entire fucking life.
He's not happy with the way Charlie wants to live her life, either, but that's none of his fucking business, and he knows that her heart is in the right place. With the right people around her, she could very well be the president that she wants to be. Maybe, in a few years, he'll fuck around and come back to Midgar just to see for certain—
"Cid! Wait!"
His heart stutters and he turns quickly on his heels, only to find Charlie racing down the street towards him again. She nearly launches herself at him, grabbing at the front of his fraying bomber jacket to press a hard kiss to his scratchy cheek.
Cid's entire face goes hot when she pulls away, fussing with his jacket for a few more seconds as she smiles nervously at him. "What was that for?" he asks, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" Charlie replies, holding her hands behind her and taking a few steps backwards, back the way she had just come. "You shouldn't smoke as much."
"Yeah, yeah," he snorts, running a hand through his hair. "See ya, princess."
That makes her smile, and Charlie puts her back to him to make her way towards the house once again. He doesn't turn around until she disappears around a corner and out of sight, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket once more as he continues the trip to HQ.
Only, this time, his pockets aren't empty. Something sharp pokes him between the knuckles, and he swears under his breath before retrieving it.
To his surprise, it's a photograph—and an old one, too—that makes him stop dead in his tracks.
Cid holds it up to his face, a picture of himself and Charlie, just a couple of kids working on some fancy Shinra rocket ship, the same rocket ship that had launched them into space only a short while ago. They're both beaming in the picture, sweaty and dirty and not yet disillusioned. She must have slipped it into his pocket while he was so focused on her lips pressed against his cheek.
He laughs softly to himself, turning it over just to see if there's anything else he's missing, and he's pleased to find writing on the back of it in neat handwriting.
Captain,
Thanks for the adventure of a lifetime.
Love, Lottie
Cid repeats the last two words to himself a few times, clenching his jaw to suppress whatever emotion the note brings him without his own consent.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he places the photograph back into his jacket pocket and continues on his way, lighting up a cigarette to keep a triumphant smile from gracing his face.
Veld and Freyra still aren't back by sundown.
Vincent and Yuffie had come a few hours ago to say good-bye, and while Vincent had promised they would likely meet again soon, Yuffie hadn't been as sure. Charlie had sent her on her way with a bag full of gil to bring home to Wutai, in the hopes that it might feed others in need or help rebuild any structures that had been damaged with the aftershocks that followed Meteor.
Considering how protective Veld has been since they've been hiding out in this little shelter that Charlie has been calling 'home', it's unlike him to leave her alone for so long, but she knows the HQ is probably teeming with refugees that need help, and with many Shinra employees missing, the Turks have been left to pick up many of the pieces.
Not for the first time since Rufus had left behind in Kalm, Charlie finds herself thinking of him.
It must be a lonely life for him right now, crippled and confined to bed, stuck in a house where Turks are the only company he has. It must remind him of house arrest, and she genuinely feels sorry for him, wondering how difficult it would be to visit him when she gets the chance.
It would be nice to get out of Midgar, to breathe fresh air again, to check-in on Elmyra and Marlene, if they're still in Kalm, that is.
If Veld were here, or if Charlie had a phone, she might even call Reeve to see how he's doing, to see if he's adjusted. He hadn't returned her call from the night Veld had found her atop the rubble of her old apartment building, but she doesn't mind. She knows that he's probably very busy settling into a new home and finding a new passion, and it's not like she'll never see him again.
Besides, she shouldn't bother him. There's enough going on in her life that he doesn't need to be involved in. She would only frustrate him further with talk of Shinra and the Turks, and that's the last thing she wants to do.
It had been good to see her friends again, even if Cid had challenged her. Yuffie's enthusiasm had almost been contagious, especially in a city where no one was happy to see Charlie anymore. No one has ever really been happy to see her when she wasn't flashing her tits on the covers on magazines.
And the confidence with which Vincent had promised they would meet again was sweet, as well. She had grown very fond of him on the road, especially interested in the fact that he was once Veld's partner, and though he had seemed a man of few words, Charlie found that Vincent was full of stories and anecdotes, willing to speak after so long of silence, shut away in a coffin in the bowels of a dusty old mansion with her last name stamped everywhere.
She almost feels sorry for not telling them the truth, that Rufus is alive and relatively well, recovering in Kalm from an accident that should have killed him.
Cid would have been pissed off, she thinks. He always did hate Rufus, and hearing that he'd survived would have been the straw that broke his back. It's better this way, better that only a few trusted people know of Rufus's whereabouts. Anything could happen to him if his survival was made public knowledge, and the people aren't very happy with him or Shinra currently.
Charlie rolls over onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. It looks like it's going to cave in at any moment, burst pipes sticking out, lacking any water.
The city is loud, despite the reactors being destroyed and shut down, and despite there being no traffic.
She can hear two or three helicopters circling the area, likely looking for anyone in need of assistance or structural damage that could potentially cause more casualties. She can even see the distant spotlights through the shattered windows, casting shadows into the bedroom.
In addition to the helicopters, she can hear the buildings and the plate creak and shift warily, threatening to drop at a moment's notice. It frightens her, but Reeve had worked on the plate, and she trusts Reeve's work. The infrastructure of Midgar is renowned and admired, even by faraway places such as Wutai.
Heaving a loud sigh to fill the silence within the home, Charlie closes her eyes and tries to give in to sleep, but it seems hopeless.
After nearly thirty minutes of lying very still, she hears the front door open with a creak, a few pairs of heavy footsteps making their way inside. She curses Veld and Freya for being so loud, but when she hears the whispers, a surge of dread overcomes her, sending chills down her spine.
Those voices don't belong to Veld or Freyra, and they don't belong to any Turk she's familiar with. Feeling as if she's been drenched in icy cold water, Charlie remains completely still, casting about the room for a place to hide, trying to hear what the voices are saying just on the other side of the bedroom door.
". . . don't need the girl . . . the brother . . ."
". . . leverage, he said . . . that motherfucker will . . . have his sister . . ."
". . . bargaining chip . . . do what we say . . ."
Rufus? What's happened to Rufus? How do they know he's alive?
Charlie's heart suddenly clenches and, as quietly as possible, she shifts upon the bed to reach beneath her pillow, where Veld's handgun is kept while she sleeps. She isn't entirely certain she has the courage to use it, especially since it sounds like she's outnumbered.
She jumps, moving to the corner of the bed and turning the safety off on the handgun when someone pounds on the bedroom door, shaking it on its hinges. "You in there, pretty girl?" comes a rough voice, pounding three more times. "Better be decent because we're comin' in . . . but if you're not, that's okay, too."
"I'm armed," she calls back, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "And the Turks are due back any minute. Turn around and leave, if you know what's good for you."
There's a gruff and rasping laugh. Charlie lifts the gun to aim at the door just as it's kicked in. There are three hulking men in the doorway, all three of them armed with weapons far more dangerous-looking than her gun. The balding man in front brings with him the scent of gin, pointing his gun right back at Charlie, but she doesn't lower her weapon quite yet.
"Put the gun down, sweetheart," he grins, a malicious thing that unsettles her. "Even if you shoot, one o' my boys'll kill ya."
"Walk away and I'll give you whatever you want. I have gil, and plenty of it," she tells them coolly, though she's sure they notice her trembling hands.
"Listen here, girl," the bald man spits, stepping forward and swinging a meaty hand at her, making contact with her arms and spilling the handgun onto the floor and across the room. "We don't want your fucking gil. What are we supposed to do with it?"
Charlie inhales deeply and kicks her leg out, her foot hitting the man right in the throat. He chokes and coughs and stumbles backwards into his equally beefy companions, who immediately raise a cry.
Hoping to take advantage of their momentary distraction, Charlie makes for the broken window, trying to climb through it, but as she lifts herself onto the windowsill, one of the tall companions grabs her ankle and pulls her backwards. Her chin lands painfully on the windowsill and she cries out, falling awkwardly to the floor and landing on her kneecaps.
"Let me go!" she screams, silently begging that someone will hear her in the streets, silently praying that Veld will hear her desperate cries and come to save her. "Get off of me!"
"You're comin' with us," the bald man rasps, looking down at his friend as he pins Charlie to the ground, even as she continues squirming and kicking. "I ain't got any problems roughin' you up, so be a good girl and cooperate, yeah? It'll save you a lot o' trouble, it will."
Disregarding this advice, Charlie spits in the man's face that looms above her. Most of it drips right back onto her forehead, but it distracts him enough that he loosens his grip on her wrists and allows her a swift kick between his legs.
"Fuck!" he shouts, falling backwards and giving Charlie room to begin to crawl towards the bedroom door. Before she can make it and get back on her feet, the third man nearly tackles her, bowling her over towards the opposite wall, where Veld's gun lies close by.
"You'll pay for that, you will," the third man spits, inches from her face as she tries to regain the wind that was knocked out of her. Spindly fingers clutch at her neck, pushing her from her side and onto her back. "It's not like we need you in tip-top shape, y'know, and your brother'll probably comply if he sees we've done a bit of damage to that pretty face."
Charlie feels the blow before realizing it's happening. The third man's palm connects hard with her cheek, immediately making tears well in her eyes. "What are you doing?" she cries, trying to inch subtly towards Veld's gun, growing more terrified as all three men circle her, fingers still clasped around her throat, growing tighter. "Let me go!"
"Heard some funny rumors 'bout you, Miss Shinra," the bald man breathes, still touching his throat where Charlie had kicked him.
"Like what?" she hisses, attempting to reach a hand out for the gun, but the man atop her slams her wrist to the floor. The broken floorboard digs into her back painfully.
"Funny rumors 'bout you and your brother," he continues, kneeling down beside Charlie and looking right into her face. "Don't play stupid with me. You know what I'm talking 'bout."
"Stop fucking about now," the tallest man tells her, holding up a dampened rag to show it off. "This won't hurt."
Charlie screams again, as loud as she can, until the third man's hand releases her wrist to cover her mouth. She bites down hard, grabbing skin and clamping down until she can taste blood.
Once again taking advantage of this distraction, Charlie rolls over onto her stomach, attempting to reach for the gun again, but she can feel multiple pairs of hands on her and can go no further.
"Bitch!" shouts the bleeding man.
The moment she feels fat fingers tugging at the waistband of her sleeping shorts, she almost freezes with terror. "No!" she shouts, making one last lunge for the handgun as her shirt is pulled up, the cool air hitting her exposed back. "Stop it! Get off me!"
Her fingertips touch the barrel, barely pulling it closer while the three men are focused on getting her clothes off. If she reaches just a little bit further . . .
Someone grabs her shoulder roughly, flipping her onto her back. It's the man whose hand she had bitten, and his blood is on her sleeve, and before he's able to do anything further, there's a CRACK! that splits the night and echoes throughout the room, making everybody freeze, unsure as to what just happened.
The man collapses onto her, dead weight and pinning her to the ground. It isn't until she pushes him off her that the others realize what she's done, looking at his rapidly bleeding torso and seeing the smoking gun in Charlie's hand. His blood is smeared across her abdomen and the white shirt that's pulled halfway up her torso, and her hand shakes violently, her mind blank.
"Fuck it," the bald man growls, holding up his gun to aim it down at Charlie's forehead. "We don't need you."
His index finger moves to the trigger, but before he can pull it, there's two more gunshots and both the remaining men drop dead to the floor, eyes wide open and holes in their temples.
Veld and Freyra shuffle quickly into the bedroom, kicking aside the dead men to get to Charlie. She pulls her shorts back up, throws the gun aside and pushes herself against the nearest wall, sweating and panting, trembling and on the verge of fainting.
"I shot him," she whispers, afraid to look at the casualties. "I killed him."
"Good thing, too," Freyra sayd with a hint of cheerfulness, smiling weakly as she wraps a blanket around Charlie's shoulders. "You okay, Miss Shinra?"
Veld holds out a hand for her and Charlie takes it, allowing him to pull her slowly to her feet. Her knees feel weak, and the sight of three dead bodies makes her want to vomit. It's not like she hasn't seen dead bodies before, but those three bodies had come unnaturally close to violating and killing her, and one of those deaths had been caused by her.
"It's not safe here anymore," Veld sighs, pulling her to his chest, sounding slightly emotional. "The people know you're hiding here."
It's only then, through her foggy mind, does she remember something. Charlie pulls away from Veld, looking up into his face. "Rufus is in trouble," she breathes, heart pounding wildly against her chest. "I think someone's taken Rufus."
Veld lowers his eyes to the bodies again. "Shit," he mutters, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. "Wish I would have known that before killing them." He holds the phone up to his ear, and Charlie can hear it ringing for a little before a deep voice answers. "Tseng, go check on the president. There's been an incident . . . everything's fine now . . . listen, I need a place to put Charlotte . . ."
The ride to the cabin is rough and bumpy, full of hairpin turns and steep, climbing up a massive cliffside.
In the back seat, all of Charlie's belongings are shuffled and jostled around, and she's lucky that she decided to pack all of her valuables wrapped in her clothing, otherwise she isn't sure they would survive the trip.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Charlie can see two other black cars following behind them. Veld and Freyra are in the car directly behind them, driving a bit more cautiously and giving them a decent lead, and she knows that Rude, Reno, and Elena are bringing up the rear.
The sun is beginning to go down, and the evening sky is dark red and orange and pink, reminding her of Meteor, but when she looks for the ominous ball of fire, it's nowhere to be seen. Some days she's afraid that if she blinks for too long, she'll find it hanging there, looming over Midgar and coming to wreak havoc on the world once again.
"Are we almost there?" she asks Tseng quietly, fiddling with the radio. All of the stations are full of static, and in any other circumstance, she thinks he might ask her to shut it off.
"Yes," he answers, "just a bit higher."
"How do you know no one will come here?"
"The only people who know about this place are high-ranking Shinra employees, and besides . . ." Tseng circles around another jagged cliff, the engine revving. "The drive alone is enough to deter visitors. That is, if they even have the fuel for a car."
Charlie rests her head against the window, but it rattles against her forehead and makes her uncomfortable. "I don't want to be left here."
"No one is leaving you here. Once we find your brother, we intend to make this our central base of operations," Tseng says, glancing in the mirror to make sure their companions are still behind them. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll be more at home here than you were in that sty in Midgar."
"At least that sty was in Midgar," she mumbles.
"Speak louder, Charlotte. I can't understand you when you mumble."
"I said," she repeats coldly, turning to face him and raising her voice, "'At least that sty was in Midgar.'"
"If you'd like to return to Midgar and spend the rest of your nights worrying about whether or not someone will break into your beloved sty and rape or kidnap you, then we can turn around right now. Is that your command, Madam Vice President?" Tseng asks in a mild tone, never once taking his eyes off the road ahead of them.
Charlie sighs heavily, knowing very well she's acting like a child. It's hard to be angry with him, however, when she knows that he's right. She looks away from him and out the window again. "I killed that man. I shot him right in the stomach," she says in a low voice.
"You had no other choice," Tseng reassures her gently. "That's why we're bringing you here, to avoid further incidents."
He's right again, of course. It wasn't as if the man was entirely innocent, and had she not shot him, things could have turned out much worse for her. "I don't want you to tell Reeve," she says. "I don't want him to know that I killed someone."
"Very well."
"Are you going to look for my brother?"
"Once we reach the cabin and move your stuff into it, finding the president is our highest priority."
"And you will find him?" she asks sharply.
Tseng looks sideways at her, all cool professionalism and courtesy. "Yes, Madam Vice President."
"If he is hurt when you bring him back to me, I will have you all skinned alive."
"Of course," he replies flatly, as if this isn't the first time that threat has been issued. "We're here."
Cliff Resort is just that—a resort—so it isn't altogether entirely unpleasant to look upon. The building itself is slightly dated, with rusting pipes fitted around the white wooden walls and dirty windows, tucked into the mountains and surrounded by the first sign of a true spring—crashing waterfalls that were likely frozen until a few weeks ago and a small amount of green where wildflowers are growing from the ground, two things that would be missing in Midgar.
It's a tall, rounded cabin, with a wooden ramp that leads to the entrance, about two stories above the ground. It doesn't look like anyone has been here in years, as the greenery doesn't seem taken care of and there are no recent tire tracks or footprints in the dirt.
"It's not your father's estate," Tseng tells her, almost apologetically, as they both exit the car. He reaches instinctively for her things in the backseat, slinging her back over his shoulder and gesturing for the others to bring the rest of her stuff inside. "Nor is it your penthouse, but it's bigger than it seems from the outside. Come take a look."
Reluctantly, Charlie follows Tseng up the ramp. The rest of the Turks give them some space, unloading the cars in the dirt lot. They've brought food and utensils, toiletries and blankets—anything she might need to live here for several weeks to months.
The front door is unlocked with a bulky key and Tseng pushes inside, holding the door open for Charlie.
The first room she walks into is a round little foyer with dusty hardwood floors and paneling on the walls. There are fluorescent lights upon the walls that hurt her eyes, but Tseng promises to replace them with something a bit less harsh when he gets the time. Large windows line the back wall, promising lots of natural light during the day.
The kitchen is slightly hidden away, through a hallway and down a set of narrow stairs. It makes sense, as guests wouldn't be cooking for themselves here, but rather an array of personal cooks and low-paid kitchen staff. There are no windows in the industrial-like kitchen, and the pantry is full of expired food that will need to be thrown away.
Charlie follows Tseng silently, trailing after him like a child. She can't imagine behind here on her own, even if it is currently the safest place for her.
There are several bedrooms, all of them the same except for one, a presidential suite at the very back of the lodge that was probably used for people like her father, or other directors who decided to forgo beach trips for quiet relaxation in the mountains. The bed is double the size of the others, stiff and dirty, placed beneath two wide windows and with an attached bathroom. On the right side of the room is a door leading out to a small balcony that overlooks the largest waterfall.
It's the room she chooses, and the room where Tseng puts her bag.
In addition to the bedrooms, foyer, kitchen, and a once luxurious dining room, Tseng shows her a rather decently-sized library with a beautiful mahogany desk that was meant to be a workspace for Shinra employees who could not resist their duties while on vacation. Charlie looks through the window of the library to find several other small cabins scattered around, hidden near the treeline, more rustic than the one she is standing in with their log walls.
"I don't want to live here, Tseng," she admits uncomfortably, wrapping her arms around herself and moving away from the window, not before closing the blinds.
He cocks an eyebrow, glancing around. "Perhaps Junon would be preferable to you? I've heard that Reeve is currently residing in your brother's old apartment."
Junon would be preferable, but she knows that if she were to go to Reeve, it would mean cutting her ties with Shinra, which is something she's not quite prepared to do yet, not while her brother is missing and the world is still in chaos.
"It will need a bit of cleaning up," he continues, as if already aware of how she feels, "but Freyra will be staying with you. She can help. There is running water here, though be sure to boil anything from the tap before drinking it. I'll return with a few water filters the next time I'm up this way."
Charlie slinks into the chair behind the desk. Tseng sits on the edge of the desk, clasping his hands together and holding them in his lap.
"You will not lack for company. With your brother's current whereabouts unknown, the Turks will be reporting to you and you alone."
"I don't care about your stupid reports," she snaps, frowning. "I care that my brother is found and unharmed. Giving me reports isn't going to make that happen any faster."
Tseng inhales deep, getting back to his feet. "Very well," he says, his face stoic and blank, giving her a curt little bow. "We'll restart the search immediately, Madam Vice President."
Before leaving, he reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving a few things to place upon the desk. He gives her the keys to Cliff Resort, a cellphone that he promises has not been bugged with everyone's phone numbers already programmed into it, and then he unclips Veld's handgun from underneath his jacket that she thought she left behind in Midgar.
"Call me if you have need of anything," he tells her.
Charlie looks down at the phone. "And what about Veld?"
"I've given him leave to return to his daughter," Tseng answers. "He has done what I needed him to do, and admirably. If the time comes when I need him again, I trust that he'll do the right thing and return to us again."
She scoffs, turning her head away and folding her arms across her chest.
"I'm not passing you off, if that's what you're huffing and puffing about." There's a coldness to his voice, and she curses him silently for knowing her so well.
Charlie lifts her eyes, meeting his own dark ones. "If I have to stay in this place, shouldn't I at least get a say in who stays with me?"
"No, you don't," Tseng retorts, opening his mouth to say something further, but closing it at the last second. After a few moments of silence, he ends up continuing. "Not if you want your brother found alive, but if you are unhappy with your living conditions, I should remind you that there is another option—"
"I'm not going to Junon!" she shouts, tired of being reminded of it constantly. "So stop bringing it up. I'm not going."
Tseng purses his lips, nostrils flaring. "There would be more happiness there for you than you will find here."
"Don't pretend now that my happiness is high on your list of priorities—"
"Your happiness has always been a priority, Charlotte, don't pretend otherwise. If you are dissatisfied with the way I perform my duties—"
"I am dissatisfied," she interrupts him, quieting him immediately. "You allowed Rufus to keep me in a cell in Midgar, allowed him to keep me in a cell in Junon, and more recently, let Rufus slip through your fingers."
"And in case you've forgotten, I came to rescue you from that cell in Junon. I went against everything I believed in to rescue you. Your brother thought I was dead, and yet I still went back for you, and I let you go with that band of heroes you admired so damn much." Tseng places a palm upon the desktop, hunching over in order to place his face closer to her own. "I spent years covering your tracks, committing myself to ensuring—firstly—your safety and happiness. Do you think I am someone who is able to easily portray my affection and emotions?"
Charlie maintains eye contact with him. He doesn't look incredibly angry, but he sounds offended and she feels sorry about it, but it's too late to apologize now without sounding like a fool.
"I am a Turk first, which means my ability to express such things was beaten out of me a long time ago, but I assure you—" He moves his face closer to her, softening slightly and lowering his voice. For a few seconds, it seems as if it's painful for him to say what he wants to say.
"What?" she prompts him after it takes him too long to follow up.
Tseng straightens and moves to the window, holding his hands behind his back. "I had a sister once, did you know?" His voice is unusually quiet.
Charlie twists in her chair to keep her eyes on the back of his head. "No."
"Our father was a renowned general in Wutai, at the height of the war," he explains, standing so still he could be a statue. "He won every battle that he led and was known as one of the fiercest men in the country, so threatening that Shinra knew he needed to die. Without him, there was no way his unit could defeat Shinra troops so easily."
She remains quiet. The only time Tseng had ever spoken of Wutai, it had been fondly, as if he had left willingly and always longed to go back. He had never told her about his past, his family, the war.
"So they sent troops into Wutai undercover one night—a dishonorable and filthy tactic, but efficient, I suppose. A tactic that we Turks are not entirely unfamiliar with." Tseng's right hand curls into a fist behind his back, his left hand still holding onto his wrist. "And they butchered my father in his bed, and my mother, who was sleeping beside him."
Charlie feels the breath leave her.
"And after they cut my mother's throat, they moved into my sister's room, an innocent little girl of eight, but that didn't stop them from suffocating her in her sleep, as well. A less messy murder, but still murder." He clears his throat, is quiet for another few seconds. "They came to my bedroom last. I still remember their faces. I was of fighting age, you see, and the eldest son. The commander thought I might be ransomed by one of the other generals in Wutai, so they took me, but no one came forward to pay my ransom, not after what happened to my family."
"Tseng . . ."
"I was fifteen." He closes the blinds. "And it was only on Veld's orders that I was spared from the same fate as my family. The Turks needed as many able-bodied men as they could get, and I was still young enough to be shaped into the cold-blooded man the Turks required."
"But why did you stay?" Charlie can't help but ask. "If Shinra troops did so much harm to you, why haven't you tried to leave?"
He finally turns around, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. There is no sign of tears on his face. "When I told my story to Veld, he promised me revenge. What the troops did was criminal, he said, even for an enterprise such as Shinra. Slaughtering children . . . even the Turks would not stoop so low. The Turks would be my new family, he told me."
"Did you? Did you get revenge, I mean?"
"Yes," he whispers, the corners of his lips twitching. "They were the first men I ever killed. It made the task that much easier."
"I am so sorry, Tseng, I had no idea—"
"How could you? How could you have any idea what was going on on the other side of the world? You were only a girl, slightly older than my sister." He moves forward a few paces. "I will not let that same fate befall you, Charlotte."
Charlie nods slowly. She understands. "What was her name? Your sister?"
"Zhen," he says.
"Zhen," she repeats, not quite so perfectly as Tseng.
"Yes, very good." Giving his head a shake, he gives her one more bow. "I will call you if anything comes up. Feel free to do the same."
"I will."
Tseng lingers at the door, leaving her still in the chair. He looks at her for a long time, narrowing his eyes. "I don't blame you, Charlotte, and I never have. None of it was your fault, and you should not bear the weight of your father's crimes on your shoulders."
Charlie doesn't know that she'll be able to keep from crying much longer. "Be careful, Tseng."
"And you," he nods. "I'll see you soon."