It's unrecognizable, so vastly changed from how it looked four years ago.
It isn't the polluted and busy city that Midgar is, nor is it the tourist-trap that Costa del Sol has become over the years, but a small town a little bigger than her base camp had been, complete with a church, post office, and an arms dealer.
Charlie would guess at least a hundred trees, if not five hundred, have been chopped and cleared to make room for the houses in town, houses that are relatively more expensive-looking than she might have imagined, all of them big enough to hold families of four or five, with many windows, most of them made from timber, with chimneys that release tendrils of gray smoke into the blue sky as once the cookfires of base camp had.
While the rocket still stands proud and half-forgotten at the edge of town, slightly tilted a bit more than she remembers, the heart of Rocket Town is a shopping plaza with no less than three bars and a souvenir shop with t-shirts in the display windows that feature an illustration of her rocket and the words ROCKET TOWN are displayed below the picture.
Oster had met her at the edge of town upon spying her plane landing, and had been pleased to realize that the Turk she had come with is much more amiable than he looks at first glance. Some of the townspeople had seen fit to welcome her with a small parade, which Reno had thoroughly enjoyed, and while the music had been nice and the positive reception even better, Charlie had to mask her disappointment upon noticing the conspicuous absence of Cid.
Oster isn't what Charlie had expected—she had expected someone old, someone in charge, someone with slightly more say in what goes on in Rocket Town. Instead, he's a man near Reeve's age that had come to Rocket Town initially to see the rocket, only to find that he never wanted to leave and ended up opening the souvenir shop downtown. His brown hair is turning gray already and there's something about him that gives Charlie reason to believe that he's not all there in the head, but he's friendly enough, and is grateful that she's come.
He speaks for thirty minutes about his life, about the move to Rocket Town, about his love for outer space, about his love of the stars, about his love for the rocket, until he finally steers back on track.
"My business survives because of tourism," he explains desperately to Charlie at a back table in his favorite bar, with Reno sitting a little ways away at the bar, looking over his shoulder every so often. She hadn't wanted to come with Reno, but she refused to return with Tseng, she didn't want to frighten anyone by bringing Rude along (whose social skills leave much to be desired), and her disdain for Elena is known throughout the company. "If the rocket is torn down, no one will come anymore, and all of my merchandise will be useless."
"Don't worry," Charlie assures him with a smile. "I won't let anything happen to that rocket. I'll make sure that supplies will be sent to the construction site, and I'll deal with Palmer when I return."
It's such a simple answer, one she could have given him last night with an e-mail. Regardless, it makes Oster happy. "Thank you, ma'am!"
That's all it takes for Charlie and Reno to have the rest of the morning to themselves, and they walk through the stores for a little while to inspect the goods that are being sold. Most of it is overpriced and the few Materia that's being sold is rather common, but none of the shopkeepers complain of dwindling business.
As they slowly move closer to the rocket, Charlie finds herself transfixed by it. She stands in the middle of town, oblivious to the gurgling fountain behind her or the hushed whispers of passing townspeople, her neck craned slightly backwards to admire her rocketship, once destined to send the first man into outer space.
It's been fenced off, for the most part, and the signs surrounding it read NO TRESPASSING and DANGER and PRIVATE PROPERTY. This is a bit suspect to Charlie, and she dares to wonder, even briefly, if Cid has been caring for the rocket all along . . . if the property is even his to begin with. It's likely that Shinra Inc. had put those signs up upon the building of the town to dismay curious visitors and reckless citizens.
"Don't tell me you're gonna try and climb that thing?" Reno mumbles in her ear. He laughs upon seeing Charlie's glazed-over look when she finally turns away from the rocket.
"Of course I am," she says flatly. "It's my rocket. I want to see it."
Reno crosses his arms over his chest as if in challenge. "I can't let you up there, you know," he replies, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "If you fall, your brother'll have my head."
"I won't fall," Charlie retorts. "Why don't you go have a drink?"
"I'm not supposed to leave your side, y'know."
Charlie moves quickly, unsure of what comes over her, grabbing Reno by the collar of his shirt and yanking hard to bring him nose to nose with her. His eyes widen in surprise, but not fear. He's far too close with Rufus to truly be afraid of her. "I said," she repeats slowly, gritting her teeth, "go have a drink, you cretin."
Reno jerks back when she releases him, smoothing out his shirt and jacket, clearing his throat. He doesn't look very happy about it, but then again, he's close enough with Rufus that he knows there will be consequences if he continues to ignore her wishes.
There's no security to stop her from slipping through the crude wooden fence that's been erected around it, falling apart in places and eaten away by insects. She isn't entirely sure whose property she's trespassing on, but she makes her way to the bottom of the first platform, some rusting stairs that will lead her to the first platform and the first ladder of several.
She's not so out of shape that it's difficult to climb up, but it hurts her hands and the wind feels like it's going to blow her right off as she nears the top. The topmost platform, the one that leads into the rocket itself, is high above the town, and Charlie takes a moment to look upon the sprawling mass of homes and shops that have found roots here.
To see a town so green, even in October, is almost alien; there isn't a single tree in Midgar as far as Charlie knows, and even the land surrounding the city is dead and barren, but Rocket Town is almost picturesque. There are still some trees within the town square and every house is equipped with a decent-sized yard, and a stream that had once been used to collect water for her crew and their chocobos still runs through a more heavily-forested area, able to be seen through the thinning leaves.
Ducking into the rocket, Charlie feels the breath leave her all at once.
The cockpit is just as she remembers it, and when she sits down in the seat, it seems as if she's not the only one who's been inside in the past four years. The buttons and levers and screens are free of dust, and some panels are opened, as if someone was doing electrical work on them.
She leans back, closing her eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like that morning, the blue of the sky and the sound of fireworks, the rumble of the rocket's engine as it started and the smell of coffee and cigarettes. She wonders what it had felt like when Cid first sat in this chair and understood what it meant, wonders if he relives that morning every night in his dreams like she does.
When Charlie opens her eyes again, it's only to find her reflection staring back at her from the wide, black screen.
He's not hiding.
He's not hiding.
Cid Highwind doesn't hide, especially not from Charlotte Shinra, a kid, a kid who ruined his hopes and dreams and would have made him a murderer.
Not like Shera had raised any protest at his decision to lock himself in his bedroom all morning. She hadn't been as eager to greet Charlie as everyone else had, probably because Charlie would have killed her to get what she wanted four years ago.
But she has to be gone by now. It's been four hours, and someone like Charlotte fucking Shinra is likely too busy to mosey around for more than four hours in some backwoods country town where the only exciting thing is the rocket in his backyard. He hadn't even considered the idea that she might not even have wanted to see the rocket at all, given the horrible memories she presumably has associated with Shinra No. 26.
Despite the unlikelihood of Charlie having climbed all the way up to the top of the rocket (he had cleaned up after himself last night, just in case she were to climb up and find all the trash on the platform), Cid leaves his bedroom just before noon to find most everyone back in their houses, the decorations that had been put up for Charlie's arrival are being taken down, and his rocket looks perfectly normal.
He climbs the ladders with a cigarette between his lips again, just like always, and flicks the butt over the side when he reaches the top, not wanting to fuck anything up inside with his smoking habits. The last thing he wants is for Charlie to accuse him of tinkering, only to confiscate the rocket like Shinra Inc. had confiscated his airship.
True, he had never called to dispute that pretty little fact, but his last name is painted across the side of the fucking airship, and if that doesn't count for anything among President Shinra's tyrannical company, then nothing will.
Upon entering the cockpit, muttering under his breath about the things he'd love to do to President Shinra, he realizes that he's not alone—someone is sitting in the captain's chair.
Cid stops full in the threshold, catching the sight of that light blonde hair that he recognizes so fucking easily, even after all these years, and when she gets to her feet and turns around to face him with those wide doe-eyes, the only thing he can think is how much she looks like her bastard brother.
But that fleeting thought is suddenly replaced with thoughts that he thought he had buried long ago.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck she's beautiful fuck she's beautiful fuck why did she come here fuck fuck fuck she must think I'm an idiot fuck fuck fuck why does she have to look so much like that fucking moron fuck fuck why is she looking at me like that fuck her ring her ring her ring her ring—
"Cid?"
"Huh?" He blinks at her, uncertain exactly how long he's been lost in thought. She looks so goddamn nervous, standing there with her hands held in front of her, as if preparing to be reprimanded for sitting in his seat. He has no idea what to say to her, how to address her, what to do, how to act, should he bow? shake her hand? hug her?—no, don't hug her—"Hi, princess."
His heart is pounding in her ears, but he doesn't fail to miss the small, upwards tick of her lips. "Hi, Cid," she answers, looking fucking gorgeous with her hair pinned back out of her face like that, looking windswept and flushed and ravished.
"I—um—" Cid swallows thickly, his mouth very dry. "I thought you left."
One of her eyebrows jumps up. "You were avoiding me?"
"No! No, I wasn't—I wasn't avoidin' you, I just—um—shit—"
What is it about her that makes him feel like a kid again? Why is it so easy to hate her when she's half a world away? Why does she make him so sweaty, so nervous, so inadequate?
"Come to steal back the rocket, then?" he asks, too roughly.
Charlie's face is suddenly very cool, her small smile gone completely. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the chair, looking more like her dipshit brother than ever. "I've come to save it, actually," she corrects him sharply. "At the request of one of your townspeople."
"Right." He knew that, of course he did. Cid rubs the back of his sunburnt neck. "Heard you're gettin' married."
Something flickers in her eyes, but she smiles again. This time, it seems forced, though it might just be wishful thinking. "Yes," she says, twisting the massive fucking rock on her finger. "And you?"
"Me what?"
This makes her laugh. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"No," Cid scoffs, almost laughing in her face. "No, I'm not . . . no."
They're quiet after this, looking awkwardly at each other. He has to be quiet for at least a minute, just to look at her face not on a screen or on paper, but in front of him. She's still a skinny little thing, but tall, her hair longer than he remembers and her lips stained bright red—she never wore makeup to base camp, never bothered to do her hair all fancy, but he thinks he likes the makeup, too.
He remembers, in vivid detail still, all these years later, when she'd wear those little tank tops, showing off her muscled arms, toned and long with her deft hands. Sometimes Charlie would reach up high and her shirt would ride up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her stomach, toned and flat and shimmering with sweat. She would always catch him looking, too, and there would be nothing to do but blush and accept his shame.
"So," he starts again, straightening up and stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Charlie cocks an eyebrow again, waiting patiently for him to continue, but something in his gut tells him she's teasing him. He knows that look. "What are you doin' now? Head of the Damage Control Department?"
When she laughs this time, her mouth widens to reveal her perfect fucking teeth. "Yeah, something like that," she tells him. "Communications Director."
"Did you see the wall of you in the bar?"
"Yes, I did," she giggles. "It was very flattering." Charlie looks around the cockpit, picking up a pair of pliers off the floor and putting them on the vacant chair. "You've been taking care of the rocket all this time?"
"As much as I can," Cid replies, his chest puffing out at the pleased sort of look she gives him. "Between playin' handyman for the town and messin' around with the Tiny Bronco, I got a little time to play 'round in here."
"I've drawn up some new sketches," she informs him happily, and this takes him by surprise. "You might not agree, but I think they're better than this old piece of junk."
"Junk!" he shouts, placing a hand over his heart in mock outrage. "How could you say such a thing? Do you have any idea what went into the buildin' of such a beauty?" Cid slaps a hand against the inner wall of the rocket. "Blood, sweat, and tears, darlin', and more money than I'll ever see in my entire lifetime."
He thought it might make her smile again, but she just looks at him with the saddest expression he's ever seen.
"Er . . . was it somethin' I said?"
Charlie inhales deeply. "Look, Cid, I—"
"Don't," he grunts, and when she continues to look wary, he adds, "Just don't, all right?"
After another minute or so of silence, Charlie claps her hands together and puts on her happy face again. "I should probably go, then," she says, taking a few steps closer to him. His body blocks the way out, and she isn't about to slip through beside him. "Are you going to keep me trapped here? I'll have you know that I brought a Turk with me today."
Cid doesn't want her to go, not really. He wants her to stay, to talk to him, to laugh with him, to be silent for an hour as they work side by side in such perfect fucking unison.
He doesn't want her to go back to Midgar, back to her ivory tower, back to her handsome and rich and perfect fiancé.
"Is there something you want to say to me?" Charlie asks again.
Damn! Lost in his own thoughts again, Cid gives his head a shake, dragging rough fingers through his coarse yellow hair. "I hope you're happy," he says, bitter and gruff, "with that fuckin' prick."
Charlie doesn't seem amused in the slightest. She puts her hands on her hips, and it's endearing enough to soften his heart temporarily. "You haven't changed," she replies in a disinterested tone. "Get out of my way."
But he doesn't. His legs refuse to move, despite his brain telling him to move move get out of her way before she hates you even more.
Charlie purses her lips, looking up at him. "Will it make you more comfortable if I tell you that you can speak freely around me?"
"If I wanted to speak my mind, I would, with or without your permission."
"Then you are braver than most men I know, I think." Charlie smiles politely at him, gesturing vaguely towards the exit. "May I pass now?"
It just now occurs to Cid how long it's been since he's seen her—a little over four years, but it certainly seems like a lifetime. He's gotten old, and lines have begun developing at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, and sometimes he falls asleep on the couch and wakes up with a pain in his back so bad that he can't move for hours.
But Charlie is still so young, and that realization strikes him so suddenly that it must show in his expression.
She waves a hand in front of his face. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." He steps aside for her, watching as she begins to climb onto the ladder. "Shera's livin' with me, you know."
Charlie falters, pausing mid-climb. Only the top of her is visible from his position, from her shoulders up. "I hope you two are very happy together," she replies with obvious contempt, the same way she had spoken to him when she thought he was off fucking that Turk.
"It ain't like that," he confesses quickly, starting forward.
She moves her hand, but remains very still for another few moments. "Why didn't you ever call?"
The words come too easily to him. "'Cause you're still one of 'em. A Shinra."
If Cid thought his answer would faze her, it seems he's wrong. Charlie nods, too accepting of it, and whispers "Good-bye, Cid" before descending down the multiple ladders.
He watches her the entire way down, watches her until she's completely out of sight, and only then does he remember that he'd completely forgotten to, at least once, call her Lottie.
The anger still burns inside of her when she returns to Headquarters, the flight back with Reno having been completely silent.
Cid, living with Shera! Living with the woman who had destroyed both of their dreams, the woman who had been stupid enough to stay behind at the risk of dying . . . the woman who had gotten Charlie kicked off the project and as the head of her department, the woman who had shattered whatever respect President Shinra still held for his daughter.
The woman who would have been killed on Charlie's orders.
It feels like a massive betrayal, but she reminds herself that it has been four years, and if Cid wants to spend the rest of his life with that stupid, incompetent woman, then so be it. It's his life, and Charlie has her own life now, a life with Reeve and a life in Midgar and a life devoid of science and rockets and space.
Why had she ever gone to Rocket Town in the first place? She should have known it would be a terrible idea. She should have known that sitting in the captain's chair would bring horrible memories flooding back, and would intensify the burning regret she still feels.
To see Cid again had been bittersweet. In the last four years, he's gotten older, but still not so old as Reeve. She hadn't minded the lines in his face, the nicotine stains on his teeth, the way he got so sweaty when he was talking to her. He had seemed bigger, more muscular, than before, but his beautiful arms had been hidden beneath his jacket—no, not his beautiful arms—why would she say that, why would she think that, she can't think that—
She slips into Reeve's office the moment she gets back, closing the door and locking it while he speaks into the phone at his desk, smiling at the sight of her.
Reeve's office is massive, three times the size of her own cramped little thing, with far more windows (Charlie's office has one big one on the wall behind her desk) that cover the entirety of the wall, overlooking the cityscape. The leather furniture that had been provided to him was courtesy of her father, a gift after his recent promotion, but it serves mainly for decoration, as Reeve hardly ever entertains in his office, preferring to be alone for most of the day unless he absolutely must be with someone else.
He hangs up the phone as she approaches his desk, standing on the other side of it. Reeve leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together, resting them on his stomach. The chair groans at the shifting of his weight, but holds steady.
"I went to Rocket Town this morning," she confesses softly, glad to see him offer her a sympathetic smile.
"I know," he replies, and Charlie narrows her eyes at him. Laughing, he adds, "Pia told me. I brought you breakfast this morning, but . . . unfortunately, your assistant ate it for you."
She can't help but smile at him, at his kindness and thoughtfulness. Moving around his desk to get closer to him, Charlie slides into his lap, draping a leg on either side of him and letting her arms resting lazily on his shoulders. "I feel horrible," she says again, wanting to melt right in his arms, to press her cheek to his chest and close her eyes and feel his arms wrap around her. "I went up to see the rocket, and it's just how I remember it."
Reeve takes hold of her left hand, admiring the ring on her finger and kissing her palm. "Why don't we take off early today?"
"I have a better idea," she answers, placing his hand to her cheek and replacing her arm over his shoulder.
When he continues to look blankly at her, Charlie kisses him hard, feeling both of his hands suddenly jump to her waist, keeping her firm in place in his lap. They break apart, only for Reeve's lips to attach to her neck, leaving warm kisses up and down her jaw and throat.
"Let's get married tomorrow," she whispers, inhaling sharply when he kisses the hollow of her throat.
"Tomorrow?" he murmurs between kisses.
She hums her assent, breathing heavily. With sudden strength, Reeve wraps both of his strong arms around her waist, lifting her to sit her down upon his desk, pushing papers and pencils and pens and his keyboard off to the side. Charlie grins playfully, the desktop cool against her back, through the thin fabric of her blouse.
"Your father would be very disappointed to find his only daughter has eloped," he teases, working on the buttons of her shirt. "Doubly so to know that I'm about to make love to you on my desk."
"Well, it's the best possible use of it, I think," she says, unable to wait patiently for him to finish unbuttoning her blouse, wanting to claw at his pressed suit, but not wanting to ruin it.
He pauses, looking down at her with a fond smile, a smile that stretches from ear to ear. He shrugs, unabashed, before opening her blouse to reveal her bra, her stomach, her heaving chest. Placing a soft kiss to her sternum, he mumbles, "I think you're right."
Charlie runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, his beard tickling the soft skin of her stomach, his mouth hot against her flesh. The sunlight shining in his office hits her diamond ring just right, nearly blinding her for a moment.
She's happy, she thinks. She's happy in Midgar, with Reeve, and that's all that matters. And in a few months, they'll be married, and she'll be Mrs. Reeve Tuesti, Mrs. Charlotte Shinra, Mrs. Charlotte Tuesti.
She'll have everything—a perfect husband, a perfect apartment, and when they have children, they'll be perfect, as well. She'll have more money than she knows what to do with, a job that keeps her busy, and her children will grow up running around Shinra Headquarters just like she and Rufus used to.
And in four more years, maybe she'll finally be able to forget about Cid Highwind.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. She had been standing right in front of him, and he had fucked it all up, just like always.
The tea (now half-full with whiskey, as well) Shera had made for him sits untouched in front of him. He stares out the kitchen window, at the rocket that leans mockingly towards his house.
Why did he tell her he was living with Shera? Maybe it was a last ditch effort to get her to stay, to make her jealous, to see that look on her face and realize she might still have some long buried feelings for him. It's not like he and Shera are sleeping together—they're hardly friends, and the very sight of her makes Cid's stomach roil with unwelcome feelings of bitterness and anger and regret and the memories of the morning he lost both his dream, his status, and his girl.
At least she hadn't forgotten his name. She remembered his name, remembered who he was, remembered that they were once friends.
Maybe she only came to see him, to claim the rocket as hers and to remind him that Shinra Inc. only takes and takes and takes and takes from him. First it had been his father, killed in action in the war in Wutai, and then it was his innocence, by sending him to Wutai when he was hardly more than a boy. After that, it had been his airship, the Highwind, and then it had been his job and his paycheck, and then it had been the best days of his life with the girl he loved the most, and now his rocket.
He should have known he would never have been good enough for her. He should have known from the start that he was too blunt with her, too friendly, always wanting wanting wanting from her even after it was made plain he would never have her.
Cid sips at the tea. It's foul, watery, bitter, tasting heavily of whiskey, the dregs getting in his mouth. Four fucking years, and Shera still makes his goddamn tea with leaves instead of a fucking bag, just like he likes it.
He replaces his tea with a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, falling onto the couch and trying to enjoy the quiet while Shera's out for a few hours. She always comes back early, but he still has some time left to him. Turning on the television, he swears loudly, the first thing to pop up on the screen being Charlie's face, an old speech she had made a few years ago today.
Cid doesn't change the channel right away. He slinks back into the couch cushions, propping his muddy boots on the coffee table and kicking aside one of the rifles he'd meant to clean earlier. He's quiet as she speaks, gritting his teeth and working the muscles in his jaw.
She's all grace, all professionalism, looking like the spoiled brat she is, with President Shinra standing slightly to her right and that arrogant bastard Reeve standing on her left.
". . . today is the start of a new life for those of us living in Midgar . . ."
Cid sits up straight, the light from the screen casting shadows on the dark curtains that keep the light from coming in through the windows. Slamming his drink on the table in front of him, he holds his head in his hands and listens to her voice, really listens to it.
He remembers how low her voice sounded in his ear, her hot breath against his skin. He remembers her laughter, hearty and sweet and contagious. He remembers her giving commands, everyone's full attention on her.
". . . will make Shinra Inc. a brand that can be trusted by the people atop the plate and the ones below . . ."
The end of her sentence is drowned out by enthusiastic applause.
". . . continue to protect the people around the world, and we are dedicated to ensuring everyone is able to live comfortably and affordably with the services provided by mako refinement and Shinra Inc.'s reactors . . ."
He sighs heavily.
". . . we will make Midgar a proud city, and aspire to promote Midgar's comfortable lifestyle with other quickly developing towns . . ."
Looking back up at the television, Cid leans back again, his heart throbbing and his breath shaky and heavy. He swallows hard, eyes fixed upon the face of Charlotte Shinra, standing between her husband-to-be and her father, speaking so passionately, speaking so boldly and warmly to the people . . . who fucking adore her.
With a trembling hand, he unbuttons his pants, sliding a hand down the front of them to cup himself. His lips part of their own accord, a soft gasp escaping him. Charlie's hands certainly wouldn't be so rough or so big, and her mouth would be even sweeter, hot and wet and—
Cid closes his eyes, letting her voice wash over him as he touches himself. He thrusts violently into his fist, grunting and groaning and tensing and fuck fuck fuck fuck it feels like she's right here, climbing into his lap, straddling his waist and sitting down on him, and her hands touch his chest and her lips touch his ear and she's whispering to him, whispering to him about . . . about . . . Midgar . . . and mako reactors . . .
He opens his eyes again to find that Charlie isn't even speaking anymore—Reeve is.
He understands, then, his hand stilling as he listens to Reeve talk. Charlie is watching him with a smile, with a dreamy look on her face, and Cid gets it.
Reeve is well-spoken, professional, handsome, could afford a good education, rich, powerful, successful.
All of the things that Cid isn't.
"Fuck!"
He stands abruptly, taking hold of his beer bottle by the neck, and throws it at the wall, where it shatters. Beer runs down the wall, foamy, dripping onto his carpet.
"What are you doing!"
Cid flushes as Shera peers into the sitting room, her arms full of brown paper shopping bags. He must look very suspicious, his cheeks pink and his pants unbuttoned and his forehead damp with sweat. When she looks at the television screen and sees what he's been watching, Shera purses her lips.
He doesn't even have the energy to be angry with her. "Leave me alone, woman," he sighs, pulling his pants up to keep her from seeing anything unsavory, despite the evidence right there in front of her, his pants pushing uncomfortably against the front of him.
"Captain—"
"I said leave me alone," he repeats, waddling awkwardly past her and to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and finishing, quickly and painfully, to the thought of Lottie.