"He's got a clinic in Kalm, but it's crawlin' with refugees. Doesn't look too happy about treating 'em, though. Looks a little sick, if you ask me."

"If it's stimulants he's after, he could very well be addicted to them. This might work well in our favor, if he's fool enough to risk being followed by us."

"So we're gonna just give him what he wants?"

"Charlotte is certain the handwriting is her brother's, and I'm inclined to believe it is, as well." Tseng looks down at the letter again, a short and succinct thing that asks only for more stimulants. "We can only hope the doctor leads us right to the president."

"He ain't in Kalm, that's for sure. I've been scoping this clinic out for hours, and if the president was here, I'd know. The doc is due back tomorrow, that's when I told him to come back."

"Very well. You can come back to Midgar. We need to make sure we can find as much of the stimulant as possible. I don't want these drugs lying around for any other scavenger addicts to come across." Tseng stops his pacing, looking down at the dusty floor of the half-collapsed house in Sector Five they've been using as a base. "Reno . . . what is it that the doctor is treating?"

"Looks like all his patients got that disease. You know the one? The one where black shit leaks from every orifice."

"He knows how to treat the disease?"

"He knows somethin' about it, but I don't know what."

"I have a feeling we'll find out soon. Good job today, Reno. I'll see you soon."

HERE HERE HERE HERE HERE

"Tseng, be careful, don't you recognize who that is?"

Tseng looks at the doctor lying on his side on the debris-strewn ground outside the Shinra Building, looking perfectly incapable of doing anyone any harm. The stimulants haven't yet seemed to start working, his face pale and sweaty, dark circles underneath his closed eyes.

In truth, the man isn't familiar to him at all, but judging by Charlotte's voice and the rapidity with which she had called him after receiving a picture of the man's face, he thinks it may be an immense failure on his part to place the man.

"You know him?" he asks quietly, standing out of earshot of the doctor.

"Of course I know him. I knew just about everyone who worked for my father," Charlotte replies carefully. "He isn't a doctor, not really. He's a scientist. He's worked for Hojo since I was a little girl. A low-tier assistant, to be sure, but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous."

"Hojo? Charlotte, are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive. He's called Kilmister—" That aligns with the name that Reno gave him, so Tseng has a sinking feeling that Charlotte is right about the entire thing—"and he was very interested in the SOLDIER department especially."

"He's an addict." Tseng thinks carefully for a moment.

"Depending on the knowledge he has, he's still dangerous, addict or not. Keep a close eye on him. The world doesn't need another Hojo, nor another Hollander if he has slightly more stability than Hojo."

He hums, never looking away from Kilmister. "He knows something about curing the disease that's been ravaging Midgar. It's possible that the stimulant is important to creating a cure."

"I would make certain to double-check what he puts in that cure."

"We'll keep an eye on him. I think he's looking slightly better. I'll call you later when I find out more information."

"Be careful, all of you."

"We will." The call ends and he pockets his phone, stepping back up to the doctor. Kilmister rolls onto his back and stares up at the gray sky, breathing heavily. "Get up, Doctor. We have questions for you."

"Questions?" Kilmister asks them, not bothering to move from his position on the ground, instead closing his eyes as the sun peeks out from behind some clouds.

Tseng kneels down beside him, holding up the letter that had been written by the president. "This note," he begins, wondering if any progress will be made this way, "where did you get it?"

"From the president," Kilmister answers, rolling onto his side again and pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. "And might be, if you help me, I'll tell you where you can find him."

"And I'll bet we can coerce that information out of you with a few well-placed gunshots," Reno scowls, already reaching for the gun on his hip. "You don't really seem like you're in any condition to outlast an interrogation, Doc."

Tseng holds a hand up to stop Reno from doing anything rash. Kilmister almost looks smug at this sight, as if he knows he isn't going to die today. Tseng regrets that, but knows that finding the president is the priority.

"We're willing to strike a deal in order to secure our president," Tseng says, hating himself for it, but Kilmister has far too much leverage over them, and Charlotte would never forgive him if he let anything happen to her brother.

Kilmister looks up at him through droopy eyes, getting slowly to his feet. Tseng rises with him, watching the doctor cough and wipe himself off to the best of his ability, glancing shiftily at the boxes of stimulants the Turks had procured for him.

"Need these stimulants brought out of Midgar first," Kilmister tells them, blinking rapidly and seeming a bit manic. "And I need a place to work."

"What's wrong with the place you're keeping the president?" Tseng asks flatly.

"It's hard to describe."

"What will you be doing for work, Doctor?" he asks again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Research," Kilmister answers, raising his eyebrows in that cocksure way that infuriates Tseng. "I need somewhere isolated, somewhere big enough that will accommodate some patients, and a place where I will be able to study the disease that's currently killing off half the citizens of Midgar."

Perhaps sensing a bit of tension with everyone watching him, Kilmister holds his hands up as if in surrender.

"You guys should be thanking me, you know," he continues, scrunching his nose. "I was the one that saved Rufus Shinra from that burning mansion in Kalm. You should have seen the state of him . . . ribs all broken, leg messed up, a bunch of bruises from the beatings that military man gave him. If not for me, your president would be dead. Who do you think has been taking care of him?"

"If you saved the president from such a fate, then why didn't you say anything?" Tseng cocks an eyebrow. Surely a man such as this, an addict no less, would want a reward for his good deeds. "Why didn't you come to us or another Shinra employee immediately? The president's sister likely would have given you enough money to live the rest of your life in peace."

Kilmister shrugs, a slimy smile creeping onto his face. "I guess I just wanted to get on the president's good side."

Tseng is quiet for a moment, taking all of this in. "Rude, bring the doctor and his medication to the car and wait for us."

Wordlessly, Rude lifts the boxes of medicine and escorts Kilmister away from the shadow of the Shinra Building, leaving Tseng alone with Reno and Elena, who immediately huddle closer.

"We kinda know a place like that, don't we, Boss?" Reno asks, but he doesn't sound very excited about it.

Cliff Resort, Tseng thinks, and he knows that both of his colleagues are thinking the same thing, but he's uncomfortable with the idea of Kilmister being at the same place as Charlie, even with Freyra there to watch over her.

"Even so, he'll have to return for the patients, so as long as we can follow him there, we won't need to follow through on our promise." Elena frowns, running a hand through her hair. "Do you really think he'll be able to make a cure with all of that medicine?"

"Charlotte says he's one of Hojo's," Tseng tells them, watching Reno physically recoil at this knowledge. "We must be careful with him, and we must find out what game he's playing at. If he's Hojo's, he has some ulterior motive, and I can only imagine what his end goal is."

Reno scoffs. Clearly the mention of Hojo has rubbed him the wrong way. "You're not gonna really bring that son of a bitch to Cliff Resort, are you? C'mon, Boss, Charlie's there. Who knows what'll happen when someone isn't watching for even a few seconds."

"I'll give Veld a call, and his former partner, the ex-Turk that Charlotte was gallivanting around with. She'll be happy with the both of them there, I think."

And if she requires anything else, Tseng will happily provide it to her, given that she likely won't be happy with her new living situation.

"You're late."

"Sorry, kid. It's a long drive, you know."

Tseng grinds his teeth, immediately regretting his clipped tone with his former superior. Veld and Vincent walk side-by-side up to the car carrying Reno, Rude, and Kilmister, the latter eyeing the facility with a bit of wariness.

The sun is beginning to set over Cliff Resort now, and Tseng can only hope that the doctor finds his temporary home acceptable, in the hopes of finding the president as soon as possible. He tries to catch sight of either Charlotte or Freyra in the frame of a window, but there aren't any lights on in the front windows.

"How many rooms?" Kilmister asks casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep his fingers from twitching, no doubt.

"Enough," Tseng replies shortly, glad to take his frustration out on someone. "You're already trespassing upon someone's living space. You can make do, I'm sure."

Kilmister turns to face Tseng, eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't you going to give me the tour? Who lives here?"

With a sigh, Tseng nods to indicate to the others to bring him up the ramp that will lead them to the main building. "You'll soon find out. Keep him in the foyer until I speak to her."

"You got it, Boss."

"What did you bring him here for?" Charlie hisses through gritted teeth, running her hand through her hair and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I told you he's dangerous, and you've welcomed him into the place you planned on using as temporary headquarters."

"We had no choice, Charlotte. He knows where your brother is, and this is the deal that we struck." Tseng glances over his shoulder to make sure the door to her bedroom is still closed. "He's researching the disease, and needs a place to conduct his research. This is the only place large enough for him to do so, and for him to house the patients he's been treating in Kalm."

"Research, he calls it," she retorts bitterly, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm sure it's more akin to experimentation."

"We can at least keep an eye on him here and make sure he isn't using all of the stimulant for himself," Tseng counters. It sounds as if he understands this situation isn't completely ideal, and even Charlie has to admit that their options are very limited. "I've had Veld and Vincent come until we've retrieved your brother. I want someone watching him at all times of the day while I'm not here."

Charlie purses her lips, sighing. "All right . . . if it's for Rufus, then all right."

"They're in the foyer. Come see for yourself."

Accepting defeat, with a slight skip in her step at the knowledge that she might see Rufus again very soon, Charlie puts on something a little more expensive, something that will give a good and intimidating first impression.

She makes her way towards the foyer a few minutes later with Tseng at her side, and is pleased to note that Kilmister seems surprised to see her. His eyes go round as saucers, and he snaps to attention, back straightening and jaw clamping shut.

"The vice president of Shinra Incorporated," Tseng says, introducing her with a gesture of his hand, "Charlotte Shinra."

"Miss Shinra!" Kilmister breathes, inclining his head awkwardly in greeting. He's a skittish-looking thing, a bit pale and sweaty, hands clasping and un-clasping in a way that seems almost unconsciously. "Forgive me, I had no idea that the property I was trespassing upon was already inhabited by you!"

"Where is my brother, Kilmister?"

He hesitates, bottom lip quivering. "You know my name?" Looking around at the Turks that surround him, he chuckles nervously. "Of course, I'm sure they already told you I was coming."

"They didn't have to tell me who you were," she answers with a frown. "I remember you from Headquarters. You were a glorified assistant to Professor Hojo, were you not?"

"I—" Kilmister clears his throat, hollow cheeks coloring. "If you say so, Madam Vice President, then yes, a glorified assistant."

"What do you want with this place?" Charlie asks, looking him dead in the eye. He can't seem to keep eye contact for longer than a few seconds, eyes seemingly searching for an exit. "And where are you keeping my brother? I'd like to know why you've decided to kidnap him, as well."

"An interrogation, is it?" From his breast pocket, Kilmister retrieves a dirty handkerchief, mopping his forehead. "I've struck a deal with them. They promised—"

Unwilling to play games with her brother's life at stake and without missing a beat, Charlie speaks a single order. "Grab him."

Within milliseconds, both Tseng and Veld have grabbed Kilmister by the arms, holding them behind his back. The scientist lets out a pained yelp, suddenly looking very fearful.

"Wait! Wait a moment!" he cries, struggling fruitlessly. Elena gives the back of his legs a kick, forcing him to his knees. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not a Turk, and I didn't strike a deal with you." Charlie kneels before him, squeezing the sides of his damp face to keep him from looking away this time. "They do as I say, and if I tell them to shoot you right now, they will not hesitate. In fact, it seems as if Reno is already jumping for the chance."

"Miss Shinra, please—mercy—I beg you—"

"Mercy?" she scoffs, seeing red. The very sight of this pathetic man ignites a fire in her, the idea of Rufus being held by someone so incompetant something that makes her seethe. "Have you shown my brother any mercy, Kilmister?"

"If you kill me, you'll never find him. You need me."

"Perhaps," she sighs, releasing her grip on his face and standing up, "but I don't need you completely whole." Watching Kilmister's eyes go wide, she says, "Tseng, break his arm."

There's a CRACK! followed by a strained cry of pain and heavy grunting. When Tseng lets go of Kilmister's arm, it's bent horribly and broken, already swelling fast. "Please!" he screams, trying to free himself of Veld's grip. "I swear! Your brother's alive! The president's alive! I didn't do anything to him! I've been helping him!"

Finding some solace in the sight of Kilmister in such pain, Charlie lifts her eyes to meet Veld's. The second she looks right at him, the entire world seems to stop, and for a moment she senses hurt and disappointment in Veld's soft brown eyes, like he hardly recognizes his little princess.

But this man has been keeping Rufus hidden away from the world and from her, and it's only fair he gets roughed up a little bit, isn't it? The arrogant bastard is strutting around making deals with her Turks, using Rufus as leverage, potentially preparing to experiment on humans who desperately need saving.

"Let him go," she says, looking quickly away from Veld and watching Kilmister drop to the floor, trembling and cradling his broken arm. "Where is my brother, Kilmister?"

"I'll tell you, I swear it," Kilmister rasps, still whining on the ground. "I swear to all the gods, I'll tell you . . . once you bring my patients here from Kalm . . . I'll bring you to him, I promise, please don't kill me . . ."

Charlie and Tseng meet eyes. He doesn't seem half so disappointed. In fact, it's difficult to read his expression right now, but his jaw is clenched tight and she can tell he's grinding his teeth.

She gives him a slight nod. "Start bringing the patients here."

Tseng doesn't hesitate. "Yes, Madam Vice President, right away."

The patients are all inflicted with the sickness, all ranging from young to old, covered in black bruises and groaning and limping. Some of them seem very near death, but they're all extremely grateful to Charlie for safe haven, for a place that isn't a rundown and abandoned home, a place where there are enough beds for everyone and food to go around.

It's a long process.

With only a few cars and a few available seats, the Turks are only able to bring back a few at a time. Vincent and Charlie get them settled in guest rooms while Veld and Freyra provide hot meals and clean water. Many of them fall asleep almost right away, the moment their heads hit the pillow, but until Kilmister's things are brought back and unpacked, there is nothing to help stimmy the symptoms of pain they all complain about.

It's tedious work, but Charlie is glad to have something to occupy her mind, to distract her from the look that Veld had given her. And besides, in a few hours, the Turks will be on their way to Rufus, to bring him home. That thought excites her, as it's been just over three months now since he had first been abducted from Kalm, but part of her is afraid to see the state that he's in.

Kilmister had claimed to have been treating the wounds Rufus suffered in the hands of his prior captors and the lingering wounds from Weapon's attack, but she isn't keen on trusting the scientist at all. Regardless, she'll see for herself soon and then she can decide what should be done with Kilmister.

If it's possible that Kilmister is able to make a cure, however, he's more useful to them alive. It's unlikely he'll be eager to share his research with them, likely planning on using that as leverage without Rufus hidden away somewhere.

"It hurts," whines a young woman, probably no older than twenty. Her hair looks unwashed and the black bruising has begun to creep up the side of her neck and face, hands shaking violently as Charlie attempts to lower her into a bed. "Gods, it hurts so badly."

"It'll be all right," Charlie whispers, one of the girl's arms slung around her neck. "Get some rest and the doctor will be back shortly."

"It hurts," she continues, over and over and over again, her eyes closed.

"I know, I know," Charlie tells her sympathetically, cradling the back of the girl's head and moving the pillow underneath it. "I know it hurts right now. Do you want something to eat?"

The girl doesn't answer, lips slightly parted and eyes still shut. Glad that the pain has settled briefly enough for her to sleep, Charlie moves the limp arm around her neck, only for it to fall awkwardly and dangle off the bed without once waking the girl.

Suddenly unsure of herself, Charlie puts a hand on the girl's shoulder and shakes gently, but there is no response. The girl doesn't wake, and her chest doesn't look to be moving anymore. She shakes her shoulder a little harder, but still nothing, and when she feels for a pulse in the girl's wrist, there is no subtle beating.

The breath leaves her all at once, and she stays there with the girl for a few moments, kneeling on the hard ground beside the bed and looking upon her pretty face, marred by the dark bruises caused by the illness.

And when she finds she can no longer look upon the pretty face of a dead girl, Charlie stands, covers the body with the blanket, and makes her way back out of the room to help the next patient needing relocating to a room, hoping that not all of these people will meet the same fate.

The transferring of patients lasts hours, and the final patients arrive as the sun is setting.

Kilmister deposits his things and leaves the clinic immediately, followed by the Turks, who wholly expect to be taken directly to Rufus. Veld and Freyra remain behind, but Vincent decides that he should leave before the president returns, and bids Charlie a quick good-bye before promising to check-in again if she feels the need to see him soon.

The main building is completely full now, nearly every bedroom sleeping two, and some of the sicker patients have been given private units, the ones scattered among the treeline that had been built for long-term stays. More lights are on than she's used in the past three months, and it almost feels like a proper resort when looking upon the place from the outside, still beautiful and picturesque, yet full of sickness and death.

Charlie had had the foresight to leave a few bedrooms empty. While she had decided to keep the presidential suite for herself, she cleaned the room beside it in anticipation of Rufus's return, and the Turks will have to split rooms, but there are beds for the four of them, as well, as Veld and Freyra plan to leave again once things return to normal.

She can't stop pacing the interior of the resort, and when she grows tired of the moans and complaints that she can do nothing about, she makes her way to the outside, walking back and forth in the loose dirt and waiting for the cars to make their way back.

If something was seriously wrong with Rufus, Kilmister surely wouldn't be so ready to lead the Turks to him. He must know that his life will certainly be forfeit if Rufus was gravely injured or near death.

But Kilmister would not tell them anything about where Rufus was, only promised to lead them there, so Charlie genuinely hasn't the faintest idea of when they might return. It might be tonight, in a few minutes, or it might be a few days from now. She had tried to call Tseng, but her call went unanswered, which isn't a terribly uncommon thing.

It's then, pacing in front of the entryway, that she debates whether or not to call Reeve and let him know what's going on.

In the end, she decides not to, but only because Veld comes outside to interrupt her thinking, slowly making his way towards her with a slight limp, getting older every day.

Charlie stands still, waiting for him to approach, half-afraid of what he might say to her. Thankfully, he dispels her fears with an easy smile.

"Anxious about seeing your brother again, are you?" he asks, smiling knowingly when she gives him a small shrug in return. "Liking the resort all right?"

"It's been quiet," she admits, looking down at her feet. The influx of traffic has affected the parking grounds, leaving behind deep tire tracks that remind her of the route to base camp all those years ago. "But I suppose I'm used to a large and quiet home."

Veld's smile falters. He reaches out to her, placing his good hand upon her shoulder and gripping it firmly, giving her a slight shake. "Listen, what happened back there—"

"I know I shouldn't have taken it so far," she says quickly, feeling a little ashamed of herself. It had felt good in the moment, and she had felt powerful, but the twinge of guilt she had felt when meeting Veld's eyes hadn't felt good at all. "I was upset."

"You had every right to be upset. The fucker's been keeping your brother from you and he's a goddamn egomaniac, that one." He lowers his hand and frowns, the creases in his forehead defined. "I'm worried about you, princess."

She offers him a sad little smile. "Why?"

"Well . . . what happened a few months ago in Midgar, and what happened today, as well as everything in between." There's something very sad and serious about him. Charlie remembers Veld as a man full of smiles when she was younger, but now that she thinks about it, she wonders if those smiles had only been put on to keep her from worrying. "I'm worried about what's going to happen in these next few months, and the path you're going to take."

"If you're going to give me the same speech that Tseng has already given me—"

"Tseng wants you away from danger," Veld says, holding a hand up to stop her rambling. He moves closer, placing a cold metal hand on the back of her neck and squeezing again, fingertips digging into her skin. "Charlotte, you're my girl."

"I know."

"I want things for you, things you won't get here." He swallows hard. "I want to walk you down the aisle and see you get married. I want to hold your newborn child in my arms before I get too old. I want to see you smile again, kid."

"Veld . . ."

"Look, I'm leaving when Tseng brings your brother back. But I just . . . want you to think about it, all right? Because the way you're headed . . . I don't want to see you turn out the way your brother did, even if it wasn't entirely his fault he turned out the way he did."

"Okay," she agrees quietly, and that seems to appease him well enough. He lowers his hand from her neck, looking partially convinced, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I'll think about it."

"Rufus needed a lot of love when he was a child," he continues sheepishly, as if this is a topic he doesn't want to bring up at all. "That responsibility should not have been placed entirely on your shoulders, and I am sorry for that, little one."

Charlie blushes, averting eye contact for a few moments.

"I know you love him, but at some point you've got to let go. You can't go on letting your love for Rufus control your entire life."

"It's difficult for me sometimes," she whispers, half-hoping he doesn't hear.

"I know, I know." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

Charlie nuzzles into his chest, wondering how much Veld truly knows, wondering how it might feel to finally admit it after all these years. Telling Cid about her and Rufus had been nerve-wracking, but Cid had been an outside party, whereas Veld was a very intimate part of her life.

"I let him do things to me, Veld," she forces herself to say into his chest, immediately feeling the burn of tears springing to her eyes. "I let him do things to me, and I let myself do things to him."

"It's all right, Charlotte," he answers softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You're safe now, and nothing like that will ever happen again to you, I swear it."

And for what may be the first time in a long time, she believes him.

The water is cold, lapping against his jaw and still rising slowly.

Looking around the flooded cave, Rufus knows that everyone here has accepted defeat, silently reflecting on their regrets and triumphs, likely thinking of their family and friends and loved ones, wishing they had been given more time to say good-bye, to come to terms with this terrible end.

To drown in a dark cave, sick with a mystery illness and far from their own homes, clinging to pieces of wood in order to keep them afloat, too tired to tread water. Even their grip on the debris seems slackened, as if half of them are considering just letting go and letting the water take them, ending it before the anticipation drives them mad.

Rufus can see no way out. The doctor had taken the ladder to prevent anyone from escaping, and after hours of being submerged in cold water, it's entirely likely they might die of hypothermia before drowning.

How pathetic, dying alone with strangers who couldn't care less about him. Is it his fault they're in this position in the first place? If he hadn't been here, if he hadn't needed to be hidden away from his sister and his Turks, would Kilmister have brought them someplace else? Some place that wasn't underground, at risk of flooding during the next rain storm?

Growing weak and bone-tired, a severe chill running throughout his entire body, Rufus allows his eyes to flutter closed. There's no point in looking around for an escape anymore; they are all well aware that there is no escape, that they're trapped unless someone decides to come save them at the last minute.

His sister's face swims behind his eyelids, beautiful and worried and angelic, like she's there to guide him through this, to be with him while he falls asleep and sinks slowly to the cave floor.

In fact, if he listens hard enough, it almost sounds as if she's calling out to him, calling his name. At first it sounds like it's coming from far away, but each time his name is repeated, it gets closer and closer and closer until it sounds like she's whispering Rufus right into his ear, making his eyes snap open, half-heartedly hoping to wake from a dream and find himself looking up at his sister.

"Charlie?" he rasps weakly, hardly able to breathe. The cold is so heavy and pressing on his chest, and when he looks around, there is no sign of his sister, no sign that anyone has spoken at all, and no sign that anyone has even heard him call for his sister.

Rufus almost closes his eyes again, but something catches his attention, sending a chill down his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.

For a moment, he thinks it's only a shadow, shifting light against the surface of the murky water, but that's impossible in this dimly lit cave, and shadows don't move so fluidly like that, like something alive.

With terror suddenly surging through him, a burst of adrenaline causes him to attempt to push away from the squirming black shadow that's getting nearer, that's staining the cuffs of his white suit, seeping up his sleeves and not stopping.

It's more than a shadow. Not quite water, but not quite something solid, it creeps up his arms with hardly anyone noticing, all of them half-conscious. The closer it gets to his neck, the better he's able to see it—black ooze similar to the discharge that leaks from the wounds of the infected, and that revelation causes his heart to race.

It's warm as it makes contact with his bare neck, moving as if trying to suffocate him. Soon his jaw is covered, his chin, and when it touches his bottom lip, Rufus closes his mouth as tight as he can, refusing it entry.

But his mouth isn't the only point of entry, and it crawls to his nostrils, but he blocks that opening, as well, preferring to drown and lose consciousness that way rather than let himself be infected like the rest.

What would Charlie think if she saw me like that?

Rufus closes his eyes, afraid that the ooze will attempt to penetrate him there, but he can feel it on his cheeks, on his forehead, on his temples, and with the water still rising, the black ooze slips inside of his ears.

He cries out, a name that he's certain everyone hears, the only person in the entire world he wants to see right now, and even as he slips out of consciousness, her face is still there behind his eyelids.

"You're very beautiful, you know."

Charlie smiles weakly, lifting her eyes for a split second to meet the man's face. He looks younger than her, emaciated and sickly. "Thank you," she whispers coyly, making the corners of his mouth twitch as she continues to clean the mess on his hands left behind by the disease.

The man is quiet for a bit, watching her work, gently wiping at the black ooze. And then—"Am I going to die?"

She hesitates, looking him in the eyes and cradling his hand between her own. Unsure of what to say, she chooses to say nothing for a moment, wondering if it will be better to tell the truth or lie.

"It's all right. You can be honest." He pulls his hand away from her, tugging carefully at his collar to show off the bruising that covers his chest and is slowly overtaking his neck. "Last week, it was only on my hands."

Charlie sighs, unable to pull her eyes away. "Kilmister says he's working on a cure."

"He's been saying that for months."

Pursing her lips, she reaches for the bandages on the nightstand. "He may have some more luck with a proper facility to work in now, and with a larger supply of the medication he needs."

"Aren't you afraid it's contagious?" he asks her.

"They told me that it's not. And besides," she says, sighing again, "wouldn't I deserve it?"

"No one deserves this," the man replies quickly, very seriously.

Charlie begins to wrap his right hand, wincing at the sound of him inhaling sharply. "Is it terribly painful?" She feels stupid for asking, but the man doesn't snap or scoff, only closes his eyes and nods. "Do you need more of the medication?"

"No, I can't sleep on it."

The facility is dark and quiet tonight, and every so often, Charlie can hear Veld's heavy footsteps pacing up and down the hallway outside of this particular bedroom. "It's for the best," she tells him. "You'll get addicted if you take too much of it."

When she finishes wrapping up his hand, he takes her own in his unwrapped one, squeezing tight. Charlie pauses, squeezing back. "If I die," he rasps, "I want you to promise me something, Miss Shinra."

"Call me Charlie."

A weak smile tugs at his lips. "Charlie," he repeats, testing the name on his tongue. "Short for Charlotte. Has anyone ever called you Lottie?"

For a moment, the nickname knocks the wind out of her. "One person," she confesses, thinking of Cid and only of Cid for a brief few seconds. "Only one person . . . two, if you continue to do so." That seems to cheer him very slightly. "What's your name?"

"Tripp," he says.

"A pretty name."

"Not as pretty as Charlotte." Tripp hesitates, squeezing her hand harder and bringing it to his chest while attempting to prop himself up a little straighter in bed. He coughs, a hoarse cough that comes from deep in his chest. "Promise you'll do something for me when I die, Charlie."

His wording makes her uncomfortable, as if he knows he isn't going to live for much longer. "What is it?"

"I want to be buried somewhere beautiful," he continues, eyes shining with tears. "Somewhere where the sun will continue to shine on me long after I'm gone. Don't let that man have my body . . . let me rest, Charlie. Will you do that for me?"

The request catches her off guard, making her want to cry. Suddenly, it's difficult to swallow with the lump in her throat. "Yes," she answers softly, heartbroken. "I will."

She buries him the next morning by the largest waterfall, in a grassy patch of land that catches the sun beautifully. Charlie cries as she digs deep into the earth, blisters forming on her hands and chest heaving, all while Veld and Freyra watch from the balcony of Cliff Resort, waiting to bring her Tripp's body.

It takes her hours to dig a hole deep enough, and Veld helps her lower Tripp's blanket-wrapped body into the ground carefully before beginning the process of piling the dirt back on top of him.

The grave is marked with a few rocks, aligned in a formation that will be recognized as something unnatural, a formation that will attract the eyes of people who come to gaze at the waterfalls.

She can see the fresh pile of dirt from her bedroom window, the sun shining directly on it when the clouds shift.

He was just a boy, she tells herself, changing his bedsheets later that afternoon and clearing off the nightstand of the very few personal items he had kept—a small book of poetry, a picture of himself and what looks to be his father, and a golden necklace with a symbol attached to it she doesn't recognize.

Charlie keeps them, hiding them away in a dresser drawer. She would prefer never to look upon those things ever again, but she can't bring herself to throw them away. She can't bring herself to do something that might offend Tripp from beyond the grave.

Is this my punishment? she can't help but wonder, making the rounds after taking a long, hot shower to ensure that no one else has died while she was outside, to care for the patients who need bandage changes and medication, food and water. Am I to bear witness to all of these peoples' suffering and deaths?

It's a difficult and bitter pill to swallow, knowing that she will likely have to come upon more dead bodies in the mornings, and all of them seem to have accepted the end is coming. It breaks her heart, but they express gratitude towards Charlie's compassion and the tears that she sheds for them, even when she tries to keep those tears private.

Veld approaches her when she's washing black ooze off her hands that afternoon, having just cleaned up a woman who had leaked all over the floor while attempting to use the bathroom. Thankfully, the disease hasn't spread to Charlie yet, but that's the very least of her concerns.

"You're going to give yourself fatigue if you carry on this way," he warns her gently.

Both Veld and Freyra have been keeping a safe distance from the patients, she's noticed, but Charlie just assumed it was because they were wary of putting themselves in positions where they might be infected.

"They need help," she counters, not unkindly, shaking off her hands and drying them, checking her skin for any sign of black bruising.

"They're all going to die," he says, incredibly bluntly. "Getting close to them will only hurt you in the end, just like with the boy you buried."

"I'm not getting close to them. I'm only helping them while Kilmister is gone."

"I still think it's a bad idea."

"And if I order you to assist me?" she asks, feeling petty.

"You know that I am bound to follow any order you give me, even if it meant my death." Veld pauses, frowning and exhaling loudly through his nose. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to offer you my own thoughts."

Charlie shakes her head. "These people need me," she insists, unsure if it's true or not. Surely these people need someone, but they likely need a doctor, not a girl who can hardly administer medication without wanting to cry for them. "I can help them. I can give them comfort."

He doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. Instead, he just looks at her like she's gone crazy, like she's suddenly grown a second head. There's something pitiful in his eyes. "I know you want to help, Charlotte, but there are other things—better things—that you could be devoting your time to. Your help will go unappreciated here and it will mean nothing in the grand scheme of things."

"Unappreciated?" she repeats, almost offended. "Why? Just because they're all on the verge of death? What does it matter if anyone besides these people appreciate what I've done?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffs. "I don't want to be just another Shinra anymore, Veld. I like being . . . just Charlie."

"You'll never be just Charlie if you stay here."

She knows. She doesn't need anyone to tell her. "It's the closest I'll ever get to be."

They arrive at Cliff Resort as the sun begins to set.

As far as hiding places go, Rufus can't help but think this place an excellent choice. Surely no one would make the drive or climb all the way up here, as the resort has always been private and known only to high-ranking Shinra employees. Tucked against the mountainside and partially obscured by the ever-creeping forest, he silently commends Tseng for putting Charlie in a place like this.

He looks down at the backs of his hands, the disease already beginning to spread against his ghostly-white skin.

His heart is beating faster than expected. It's been about three months or so since he's last seen his sister, and the idea of her greeting him as a sickly man frightens him.

What if she doesn't want to see him at all? What if she recoils in disgust at the very sight of him? What if she remembers all of the horrible things he's done to her and asks him to leave? What if she packs up all of her things tonight and leaves on her own, just to put distance between them?

Rufus can recall coming here only a handful of times as a young boy with his father. They never stayed long; the rumors said that President Shinra typically brought a whore with him when he did stay nights at Cliff Resort. Whenever Rufus was brought, it was only to meet with one or two important men or women, shutting themselves into the library or dining room until a deal was reached.

The place doesn't seem to have changed since Rufus was a boy, but he doesn't mind. The simplicity of the resort puts him at ease, not at all the high-tech skyscraper that the Shinra Building used to be, all clean-cut edges and high-end security systems.

"There are patients here already, so I must ask you to try and be a little quiet," Tseng explains as they park close to the front of the resort. Several lights are on inside, but Rufus can't see anyone watching through the windows, if they even notice headlights approaching at all. "And your sister has graciously had a bedroom made up for you already."

He turns to face Tseng, surprised by this information. "That's kind of her."

Tseng seems rather taken aback by this show of softness, but Rufus finds it difficult to maintain the cold mask he had worn for so long, especially after the events of the past few months. Being around trusted people is a relief now, allowing him to relax and be vulnerable.

He needs help walking up the ramp. His legs ache and his wounds still haven't fully healed, but he'll have plenty of time to heal up in the next few weeks. There will be no one here to bother him, to hurt him, to deny him medical care.

Once inside, he's greeted by Veld, who claims that Freyra is serving dinner to the patients and also claims that Charlie has fallen asleep early for the night, having had an exhausting morning. When Rufus inquires about what she was doing this morning, the Turk's face takes on a very dark look.

"She was out burying some kid," he responds grimly, seated on the sofa and cleaning his gun very methodically. "Dug the hole all by herself. Said that's what he wanted."

This strikes Rufus as very odd and ominous, but there is not much else to say on the topic.

While the other Turks take care of Kilmister, Tseng continues to lead Rufus down the hallways, past bedrooms where disease-ridden patients are either asleep or moaning softly to themselves in pain, many of them sharing rooms.

Is that what I am to become? he can't help but wonder, the very thought making him sick to his stomach.

"This is your room, Mr. President," Tseng says, stopping in front of a very plain bedroom.

The sheets look clean enough and there's a writing desk in the corner and, thankfully, he doesn't have to share with anyone else. But he isn't going to complain, not after all that's happened. It wouldn't be right for him to set foot in this place that Charlie has been using and immediately start complaining about how he fits in here.

After all, she could have very well told him to go somewhere else. She didn't have to make up a bedroom for him, and she didn't have to offer him a place here.

"Where is Charlie's bedroom?" he asks, turning around before entering his room completely.

Tseng looks slightly wary, but Rufus understands. "She's in the presidential suite, Mr. President, where your father used to stay."

Rufus nods slowly. "I suppose I'll . . . see her in the morning."

"On the contrary, sir," Tseng replies, shaking his head. "I think your sister would take severe offense if you did not greet her right away. She's been waiting for you to come home."

He swallows loudly, trying to ignore the sudden lump in his throat. "She was . . ." His voice comes out shaky and raspy, like he hasn't used it in months. "She was waiting for me to come home?"

One corner of Tseng's mouth turns upwards. "Shall I show you to her bedroom?"

"I can make it. I know where it is."

His heart only beats faster the closer he gets to Charlie's bedroom. He has to keep a hand to the wall to keep him standing, and each step he takes sends a shooting pain up his legs, but he ignores it all to get to Charlie. He would crawl through hell on his hands and knees to get to her, and the distance here is not half that.

Standing outside of her closed door, he debates knocking, but is afraid of waking her. Instead, Rufus turns the doorknob quietly, just to peek inside. He opens the door a crack to find a floor lamp still on, but Charlie fast asleep underneath her blankets.

Though he can only see her from the neck up, she is radiant still. Her white-blonde hair is fanned out against her pillow, and she looks a little paler than usual, but it could very well be the stress. She breathes so quietly that she might be dead, but Rufus knows her better than that.

He's been dreaming of her face for months now, having thought he might never see it again. Just looking upon his sister is enough, knowing that she's here and has been waiting for him to come home . . . knowing that she's possibly shed tears for him . . . knowing that she's safe and hidden away from people like those who had taken him . . .

It's enough to bring him to tears, and it nearly does.

His eyes begin to sting, the lump in his throat growing larger and making it difficult to swallow at all. He can't quite bring himself to walk inside or back away. All he can do is look at her and try to imagine the peace she must be feeling while sleeping, lips slightly parted and expression dreamy.

Finally, after a few long minutes, Rufus straightens up and clears his throat, rapping three times on her bedroom door and watching her stir.

"What is it?" she murmurs, eyes still closed as she shifts, rolling onto her back and pushing the blanket down a little, revealing round little breasts pressed together in a snow-white tank-top.

He feels very guilty for the lustful and sinful thoughts that cross his mind, but he can't help it. Everything about her is absolutely perfect, even upon waking from sleep. "Charlie," he whispers, and watches her eyes flutter open in surprise.

Charlie sits up straight, her hair a wavy mess and eyes opened wide. "Rufus," she breathes, chest heaving. "Rufus, is it really you?"

She throws the blankets back, long legs stretched out in front of her. She moves quickly to slide off the side of the bed, walking tentatively closer to look him up and down. Her eyes move to the spots on the back of his hand, all over his dirty suit, to the bruising on his neck, and her hand covers her mouth.

"Oh, Rufus . . . what happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm home, Charlie."

She nods slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. Her soft hands cradle either side of his face, thumbs stroking his sharp cheekbones. "You're burning up," she says in a shaky voice. "I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so much."

Within seconds of hearing her say the words he's been desperately hoping to hear, sobs rack his entire body, and Charlie wraps her arms around his neck, holding her to him. Her fingers thread through the back of his unwashed and greasy hair, matted with dried blood and still slightly damp from the cave water.

He's sure that he smells something awful, and he's sure that he looks like a ghost come back from the dead. There's nothing endearing or attractive about him, but Charlie doesn't seem to care about that. She's never cared about that, never cared about his looks or how he presented himself. She's always cared about him, about how he feels, about his well-being.

Rufus struggles to stand straight, but he allows his eyes to close, nuzzling his face into the top of her hair. She smells clean, like something flowery, and her hair is just as soft as he remembered it to be. It almost seems unreal, but the mere scent of her keeps him grounded, reminding him that this is real and no one is going to take him away from her again.

"I love you," he murmurs into her hair, clinging to her like letting go means being brought back to that cave, to the torture basement, to the house in Kalm where there was no one to keep him company.

"I know," she answers, and though she doesn't say it back, he can feel her squeeze him tighter, and the kiss she presses to his cheek is enough for him.