"I think I have to go to Rocket Town."
"Rocket Town?"
"At least for a few days."
Reeve takes a moment to consider her. Her face has lost some color over the past few days, ever since she came home and fell back into his arms, assuring him that all was forgiven and she still loved him. He hadn't been entirely convinced of her forgiveness, but she hasn't mentioned it since that night, so he hasn't brought it up.
He opens his mouth and inhales deeply, hesitating, watching her from across the table. "What's in Rocket Town that's so important?"
Charlie stares blankly back at him. "My rocket," she supplies, an impatient bite to her tone.
Right, he probably deserved that.
The idea of her going to Rocket Town under any other circumstances would normally not be something to give him such pause, but knowing that she had been spending an abnormal amount of time cooped up with her brother before presenting this suggestion to him makes him slightly wary. However, Reeve doesn't think he can really picture how a visit to Rocket Town would benefit Rufus, so he really has no logical reason to deny her this without being forced to face her explosive anger.
"Will that make you happy?" he asks, struggling to understand her motives. Just last week she had confessed that seeing her rocket had left her feeling horrible, dejected, and now she wants to go back?
"I don't know," Charlie says plainly. "I've been terribly depressed lately, but I think it might make me happy again to see my rocket."
"Would you like me to go with you?"
Her expression seems to indicate otherwise, while trying to remain polite about it. He can take a hint.
They eat by the light of the gold chandelier that hangs above their informal dining table, and their black-and-white cat (a stray Charlie had aptly named 'Cat' in the hopes of not getting too attached to it, but it's been three years now and the cat loves Charlie more than anything) rubs against his leg, purring. He can still hear the muted voice of the news anchor on the television that's still turned on in the kitchen.
"How long do you plan on being away?" Reeve asks, the idea making him more and more anxious. She's never given much thought to her own safety, and going alone to a town that's on a completely different continent makes him worry enough for the both of them. Perhaps one of the Turks will take to following her on her father's orders, but he desperately hopes that it's not Reno.
"No more than a week," Charlie implores him, and her pleading tone makes him feel guilty for resisting, even slightly. "One week, and then I'll be able to finally put this all behind me, once and for all."
Reeve watches her eat, taking dainty bites of her food and looking as if she's not even tasting it, her mind clearly a million miles away from the conversation. It's odd to see her so distant, and it's a little sad. "I don't see why not," he answers carefully. "When do you plan on leaving?"
"In a few days. I'm going to fly the plane I've been working on," she says, "but Rufus wants to have dinner with me before I go, and I still want to visit the orphanage tomorrow morning."
"You've been traveling a lot to Costa del Sol lately," Reeve notes, looking down at his plate again, trying to sound as casual as possible. It doesn't really matter, however. He could scowl and growl all he wants about her brother; Charlie already knows there is bad blood between the two of them, but it's never been an issue that has bothered her so much that it needed to be addressed with him. "All that traveling is going to catch up with you one day."
"Tell that to my father," Charlie scoffs, patting her face with her napkin. "Maybe he'll finally let Rufus back into Midgar for good."
Reeve purses his lips. The very last thing he wants, in fact, is for Rufus to come back to Midgar. Rufus's attachment to his older sister has always been a cause for concern among their father, he knows, and Reeve himself has even wondered a few times if there were hidden intentions behind Rufus's love for her, a love he shows for no one and for nothing else. Her brother seems to have no sense of boundaries, has no qualms with meddling in his sister's intimate (and sometimes even friendly) relationships, and takes care to spoil her with the most expensive jewelry and clothing he can get his hands on.
It's unnerving at times, the possessive way Rufus speaks of his own sister, the possessive way he treats her.
He remembers the evening he had asked President Shinra to marry Charlie (that had, no doubt, been the most frightening evening of his life)—the president had told him of multiple men that had set sights on Charlie in the past, only to be driven away by Rufus, who would stop at nothing to keep Charlie from relying on or needing anyone else. Reeve had seen that firsthand, however, four and a half years ago when Charlie spent so much time at base camp with Cid Highwind. The lingering memory of their obvious affection towards each other still makes Reeve's stomach roil with jealousy.
Rufus had seemed equally as jealous, with nothing good to say about the pilot-turned-astronaut and a deep, fervent desire to see Cid and Charlie separated before things escalated to a point of no return. True, Reeve had felt the same, but he wouldn't dare have intervened in something that gave Charlie happiness. He would have said his part and been done with it, but Rufus . . . Rufus has always been jealous by nature, bitter and jealous, cold and callous, believing in his heart that every decision he made regarding Charlie's love life was done out of a desire to see her happy and in the arms of someone who truly deserved her.
"I want you to fire your assistant," Charlie says suddenly, a fitting announcement just after contemplating her brother's possessiveness.
"Hm?" Reeve pauses. The girl had only been relocated to his department two weeks ago, previously under Heidegger's employ before he claimed the girl to be too annoying. The moron no doubt believed the girl to be some kind of punishment in which to infuriate him. "Why? Has she done something?"
"I don't like the way she looks at you, and I'm sure you've noticed those little outfits she wears, like some kind of whore."
The matter-of-fact way she says it, without even looking up from her dinner plate, without any hesitation—it's endearing, even if her words are cruel.
"I'll have her relocated again tomorrow morning," he replies. "Perhaps she would get on well with Scarlet."
Charlie hums agreeably, looking up to smile so innocently at him, to show him what she thinks of that idea.
He had been meaning to do something with her, because Charlie's absolutely right—the girl (he can't even remember her name—Rhea? Rita? Something with an R, what does it matter?) does look at him an awful lot, with an expression that's borderline audacious and too brass, and she has enjoyed needling him several times about his engagement to Charlie, to which he made sure to announce to his empty office (save for the two of them), very loudly, that their engagement is a very happy one. In fact, he hadn't really noticed his assistant's 'whore' clothes; when would he possibly have the time for an affair, even if he wanted to, even one that involves only amorous looks and light flirting?
The fact of the matter is this: his engagement to Charlotte Shinra is a happy one.
How could he not be happy with her? Or completely smitten by her? He's sitting across the table from one of the most—or the most—powerful women in the world, watching her eat the meal he had made for her, drinking her wine and letting him refill her glass, occasionally smiling at him. Sometimes it's so easy during their domestic routine to forget who she is, whose daughter she is, whose sister she is, the weight on her shoulders and the weight her words carry.
However, nothing—not even her name—could change his mind now, not now that he knows what she looks like in the mornings with the sun shining on her bare back with its few light freckles, or the way she looks while she's asleep against him on the sofa after a long day at Headquarters, or the way she wakes him with kisses every morning before getting out of bed, and then he's able to hear her soft humming and singing in the shower (and gods does her shy singing leave him weak in the knees). The image of her spread out beneath him and the sound of her breathy voice whispering his name over and over again and the sound of her true, unfiltered laughter (mouth wide, perfect teeth bared like some feral animal, cheeks flushed and guttural) are things that will never leave him now.
"Would you like to hand pick my assistant this time?" he asks, smiling at the sight of her own little shy one. "I seem to have such horrible luck keeping one for longer than a month."
"I'll just give you a list. I'll even give you a little taste of what you're in for. Your new assistant must be much older than you," she teases him, raising her eyebrows and biting down on her lower lip. "Horrible, ugly old crones with hardly any teeth, to keep you from giving in to such sinful temptation." Charlie lowers her fork, putting her elbows on the table to prop her head up. There's a dreamy, glossed-over look about her (she's drunk again, for the third night in a row), but he can't say the look isn't attractive. "You're mine, you know. I'll call you every night when I'm away, until you're sick of my voice and will have to force me off the phone."
"You'll never have time to sleep, I'm afraid. It may have escaped your notice, but I don't think I could ever really be sick of you."
"Do you remember when you used to go away on those business trips with my father?"
He nods. Her father had been interested in always finding new places to put new reactors, and Reeve had utilized the environment for said reactors, which took weeks of surveying sometimes, requiring an extensive knowledge of the land in order to properly draw up even a rough sketch. He had always missed her so terribly then, with President Shinra always going on about his children and what ridiculous things they've done recently, and even just talking about Charlotte had left him aching at night for her.
"You used to call me every night when you got back to your bed, with your 'status reports' on my father being your excuse to call so often. Believe it or not, I didn't give a damn how my father was doing, but it was so nice " Charlie giggles, watching Cat run off into the sitting room in a streak of black and white after receiving his dues from her. Her eyes linger on the half-open door. "You were so shy, even after we'd slept together."
Reeve feels himself color, growing warm around the collar. It only makes her smile more, her eyes finding his face again. "Charlie, sometimes I think you live to embarrass me," he laughs.
"I hope you're not embarrassed." She shifts awkwardly in her seat, maintaining her adoring smile. "I don't know what I would do without you."
He shrugs his shoulders. "I think you would be just fine without me, Charlie. Better, even."
"Don't say that." He knows how this goes. Next, she'll follow up with something like—"Make love to me."
And he'll smile and say something stupid like—"Yes, Miss Shinra," because he knows that will make her smile, too.
And he'll carry her off to the bedroom while she laughs in his arms, kissing him all over his face and neck until he can deposit her on the bed and begin to help shed her clothes.
Lo and behold, he wakes the next morning to her kisses, feather light on the side of his neck. Stirring, Reeve moves slowly and clumsily to wrap an arm around her, to hold her close, her beautiful mouth pressing kisses further up his neck, on his bearded jawline, on his cheekbone, right next to his ear.
"Wake up," she whispers, kissing him on the mouth. He opens his eyes, still groggy, the sun shining through the windows and illuminating her hair like some kind of angel. "You're coming to the orphanage with me today, aren't you?"
"I thought I might work from here today," he moans, threading his fingers through her soft and tangled hair. "I need absolute quiet to finish the load of work I've been putting off."
She laughs against his skin. "Lazy," she teases, likely knowing very well he'll come with her. He struggles very much with denying her anything. "The kids all love you dearly."
"Do they?"
"I don't know," she answers, her face looming inches from his, her pointed chin resting on his chest. "But I love you, and that's good enough, isn't it?"
"Very well," he replies with a soft sigh, blinking away the sleep that threatens to take him again.
With all of the things Charlie brings with her to the Sector Five slums, they're forced to take a helicopter there rather than fight off the sticky-fingered thieves that are known to patrol the trains.
The slums here are a little more civilized than the small shanty towns beneath the other sectors, and it smells a little less than the others, but still more than it should. Having shown their faces in the slums here many times before, Charlie is most welcome, and very generous to anyone who approaches her, as well, which always makes Reeve wary, as any one of these people could hurt her severely in such a mass of confusion. To gift people such lavish things in public marks her as a target, and sometimes he can't tell if Charlie really is naive to that fact, or if she just chooses to ignore it.
When they finally make it into the slip of sunlight that shines down upon the flowery and dilapidated orphanage, its walls marked with graffiti, the children shriek with joy at the sight of Charlie, especially the little ones. He has long forgotten their names, but he's sure Charlie knows them all.
She drops her trunk at the sound of, "Charlieeeeeeee!", the young and dirty and ragged children filing out of the building and screaming her name, unable to even imagine what President Shinra might say to hear his daughter addressed so boldly.
Seven children surround her in all, asking questions and touching her hair and admiring at her engagement ring. When one of the younger girls expresses a genuine interest in her golden necklace, Charlie laughs and removes it, placing it around the girl's neck and smiling at her expression of pure joy.
"Did you bring us something?" one of the boys asks excitedly.
"You mean besides Reeve?" Charlie jokes, ruffling his hair. "He missed you so much, he absolutely begged me to come along."
They all laugh, and she looks over her shoulder to smile at him.
Reeve hangs back as Charlie shows off the new electric airplane that she had built, showing the orphans how to work the controller. The buzzing propellers start up a bunch of impressed noises from everyone around them, even those who have stepped out of the community center to see what the trouble is.
Her smile is so wide and genuine and beautiful, her eyes following her airplane as she passes off the controller, laughing as the boy struggles to maintain control. Charlie had spent days attempting to make the airplane nearly indestructible—the last three had been broken very quickly by overeager children.
She is so warm, so patient, so wonderful and maternal with the children, and Reeve feels a pang of longing in his heart. She'll be a wonderful mother, if he ever gives in to her. The idea of having his wife birth their son, only to have it taken under the wing of President Shinra is nearly unbearable and something he wishes to avoid at all costs. To have his own son grow into another version of Rufus Shinra would be a very cruel punishment indeed. But a daughter . . . Reeve wouldn't mind having a daughter like Charlie, free-spirited and independent and, through it all, realistically optimistic about most things.
The children are overcome with excitement at the other things she's brought, as well—enough candy to last them weeks, old clothes that she's grown out of that have been stuffed in her closet for years, little trinkets for them to keep under their beds, toy weapons to spar with, games for them to play with the others (though Reeve knows her well enough to know that she'll likely play them all before they leave here today).
"It's so good of you to come again," says a voice in his ear, making him jump. It's only Ms. Folia, her square-shaped glasses resting on the dirt-stained bridge of her nose. "They've been asking after her." She elbows him gently in the arm, friendly and personable. It surprises him. "And you."
Reeve reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, removing two fat coin purses that instantly relieve the discomfort against his chest he'd been feeling, offering them to Ms. Folia. "This one for the orphanage," he tells her, gesturing with his chin towards the first purse with the Shinra logo on it, watching her face soften as he places the money in her hands, "and Charlie said you would know what to do with the other one." The other pain is a plain brown thing that seems to be bursting at the seams.
"Thank you," she whispers, clutching his elbow with gentle fingers. "The children simply adore her. They were so thrilled to hear that she would be visiting again."
They both look towards Charlie again, her skinny arms wrapped around another girl who's giving the airplane a test run, her little hands covering Charlie's as they both attempt to maneuver the controls. So used to her feigned and polite and reluctant smiles around Headquarters, Reeve can easily tell this smile is one of actual joy, a smile borne from the humming propeller in the air, and it strikes him then that the plane looks very familiar to him, a biplane that he had once seen in . . .
Maybe he's imagining things. Charlie has made so many airplanes over the years that perhaps it just looks very similar to a previous model.
"Sometimes I can't believe that she's President Shinra's daughter," Ms. Folia says quietly. "We don't get many high-profile visitors here, but to have her come personally, and to be so charitable . . . how could I believe it?"
Reeve snorts. "You?" he asks, crossing his arms across his chest and sighing. "I've known her for about twelve years, I'm marrying her, and I still have trouble believing it."
"It would be a joyous day for everyone in Midgar if she were to be made president after her father. One of the boys has dreams of being an astronaut, you know. He thinks Miss Shinra will give him a job in her old department when he's old enough."
He smiles warmly. "I have no doubt she would, if she were president."
"I hear you and Director Tuesti are to be married soon."
Charlie smiles slyly over her chipped cup of what's supposed to be coffee. "Mireille . . . you and your gossip. How are you so well informed?"
"It's hard not to notice the rock on your finger, Miss Shinra," says Mireille, gesturing slightly at Charlie's left hand. "And I'm not the only one. It's not wise to wander around the slums with a ring worth millions. You're only asking for trouble." They step to the second story window of the orphanage, looking down to observe the children, who attempt to scale Reeve's sturdy body, laughing as he falls to the ground with a puff of dirt, groaning as he collides with the hard ground, but still in good spirits. "Congratulations. He seems a fine man."
"He really is," Charlie assures her, smiling down at him. A good man with a good heart, despite his fellow directors preferring to call him a cowardly man with a soft heart (sometimes even to his face). She can't deny that he's perfect in every single way, the best man to work at Headquarters, and her best friend. She looks back at the old woman standing beside her. "What can we do for you? There must be something we can bring you."
"More food," the woman replies. "Money is good, but it's impossible to grow our own food under the plate, and we're left eating scraps when the shipments come in for the top-side residents. The children, especially, need hearty food to keep them strong."
"I'll have some food delivered tomorrow morning, and I'll talk to Reeve about building a greenhouse once our housing complex is finished. He was having some of our botanists researching the development of genetically modified plants in the surrounding area, but . . . well, you know the cost of comfort here is a dead and dying wasteland."
"You're too young to remember when it was still green, child, but I remember." Mireille smiles tremulously, placing a warm and wrinkled and spotted hand on Charlie's wrist. "Bless you, Miss Shinra. I hope your generosity and compassion does not give you trouble on the top-side."
"I wouldn't tell you if it did," Charlie says, grinning.
When Charlie makes her way out front of the orphanage again, Reeve has a little curly-haired girl called Megga dangling from his neck, one of his arms supporting her as he points with his free hand at the airplane flying above their heads. He gives her an exasperated smile as she walks out, looking—as he always looks—completely exhausted.
"Are you leaving already, Charlie?" asks the girl hanging from Reeve's neck, dropping to her feet. "You're going to stay for dinner, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, my love. We really love playing with you, but we have to go back and do at least some work," Charlie replies, placing a hand over her heart and kneeling down in front of her. "Listen, I'm taking a trip to Rocket Town soon. Should I bring back a souvenir for you?"
"Yes, please!" The girl becomes suddenly shy, moving closer to whisper into Charlie's ear. "Is he going to come next time? He promised he'd play with me more next time."
"I think you've worn him out, sweetheart," Charlie laughs. "But if he promised, we can't let him break that, can we?"
"Oh, Charlie!" she sighs dramatically, clasping her hands together as if in prayer and skipping around Charlie in a circle. "I can't wait to see you in your wedding dress! You're going to look like a real princess! Are you going to have babies? If you do, can I babysit them?"
"That's enough, Megga," Ms. Folia says urgently, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder and flashing Charlie an apologetic glance. "Leave Miss Shinra and the Director alone now. You've had your fun. It's not polite to pry."
They're able to sneak away after Ms. Folia distracts the children with some of the candy Charlie had brought, leaving the trunk behind in order to move more quickly through the makeshift streets. She drags Reeve by the hand back towards the outskirts, where they'll be able to catch the helicopter again, greeting people on the street as they pass.
Anywhere else and the people of the slums might try to steal from her, or hurt her, or spit on her, but not here in Sector Five. The rumors of her kindness and good deeds spread quickly throughout this particular part of the slums, and Charlie doesn't at all fear for her safety the way Reeve does, judging by the way his eyes dart back and forth suspiciously. The hand holding hers tightens, and Charlie squeezes back to let him know silently that all is well.
The orphanage is a great source of joy for her, and it always has been, since first visiting three years ago. The children are all so loving and kind and sweet, always eager to play with her (and sometimes Reeve when he isn't looking too horribly sullen), and keeping it funded and full of books and furniture makes her feel good, like it's a terrific way to rebel, like she's breaking away from her family name. But most of all, it makes Charlie desperately want a child of her own.
She knows that Reeve is more than hesitant about that prospect. They've spoken of it before, vaguely, when Charlie had told him what her father would expect from them after marrying, but that had been a long time ago, right after President Shinra found out they were already living together. Since then, the point hasn't been one either of them are eager about returning to. The both of them are smart enough to know that any son produced by them will not technically be their son, but the company's son, groomed from a young age to run the company after Rufus.
"Charlotte—" (he only calls her that when he's swallowing the habit of calling her 'Miss Shinra') "—this isn't the way back to the helicopter, is it?"
"It's the scenic route," she tells him, pulling him down a tight alleyway that's certainly not very visually pleasing at all, but out of sight from the other people crowding the streets. "All right, not quite the scenic route, but . . . the private and dark route."
"Charlotte . . ."
"Shh," she whispers, stopping in a shadowy alcove and pressing him against the wall with a gentle push, their chests touching. "You worry too much."
"You don't worry enough."
"We're in the slums," Charlie breathes, kissing him to stop him from talking. "I'm sure it happens all the time. No one is going to see us in the dark and feel the need to walk up to see who's back here fucking."
She can feel his body tense when she touches the front of his pants, raising her hand slightly to toy with his belt buckle. "The last thing you need is for someone to catch Charlotte Shinra doing such—" He shudders visibly as she untucks his shirt, unbuckling his belt—"vulgar things to her father's employee."
"My father's employee?" she repeats, and he finally cracks a smile for her, but it's a nervous one. "You're my fiancé." Charlie holds up her ring, showing it off to the man who bought it for her. "Besides, didn't that girl you used to meet up with live in this sector? I bet you did this all the time with her in these disgusting alleys."
"Gods, woman," Reeve groans at her, placing his hands on her hips and digging his fingertips into her flesh, pressing through the thin fabric of her blouse. "Fine, if that's what you want."
"It is." He maneuvers her around, her back coming to rest against the wall instead. With one arm braced above her shoulder, Charlie begins to breathe heavily. "You were so sweet with those kids—I can't stand it, you sweet old man." She's interrupted by the sudden ringing of her phone, groaning audibly, but surprised when she sees it's her father.
"Char, where the hell are you?"
"I'm in Sector Five. I had some business to take care of. What's wrong?"
"I need you here, immediately. Meet me in my office the moment you get here."
Charlie lowers her phone, pensive for a moment. "Fix your pants, my love. I need to get back to Headquarters quickly."
Scarlet is coming out of the President's office as Charlie and Reeve approach. She wrinkles her nose at the sight of them, sauntering closer before stopping completely, impeding their path.
"The stink of the slums is still on you, the both of you. Where have you come from, anyway?"
Charlie frowns at her. "We went to visit the orphanage in the Sector Five slums."
"Leaf Orphanage? Is that the one?" Scarlet laughs, turning bodily to face Charlie, raising an eyebrow. "A real advocate for the people, aren't you? It's no wonder Reeve is so taken with you." She smiles sweetly at Reeve, but he quickly averts his eyes. "I heard there's some sort of thieving vigilante running about calling themselves the Angel of the Slums. Is it you, Charlie? Stealing from daddy's company to give to the poor and needy?"
"Enough, Scarlet," Reeve tells her, before Charlie has the chance to speak again. "Charlie, I'll see you later." He kisses her cheek quickly outside the double doors to her father's office.
"Good luck," Scarlet coos, looking Reeve up and down with disinterest. "Aren't you at least going to tuck your shirt in, Reeve?"
He blushes, a sweet sight even in such unlucky circumstances, grumbling under his breath and storming away from Scarlet, the person Charlie knows he hates the most in this entire building.
Upon entering President Shinra's office, the horrible smell of his cigar is the first thing to really affect her. It causes her stomach to turn, and his very serious demeanor makes her heart beat very fast. While she walks closer to him, she tries to remember every little thing she's done in the past few weeks that her father might be prepared to scold her about, but in all fairness, she's been rather well-behaved lately.
President Shinra regards his daughter with careful consideration as she steps up to his desk, her hands held behind her back. She hates coming here, hates standing here, hates being reminded of that day all those years ago when her father had stripped her of everything she had ever wanted. It had been the most humiliating moment of her life, except for the actual failed launch. The look on her crew's faces when they realized it was over was the single most humiliating thing she had ever lived through.
"Char, I have an important task for you," the president announces after a moment, puffing on a half-burnt cigar. "One that needs handled . . . delicately."
He gets to his feet to walk around the desk, and Charlie then feels the absence of Rufus more than she expected to. Without her brother—or even Reeve—here to stop their father from doing anything rash, she feels very vulnerable. Fortunately, he only gives her a few sheets of paper, and she takes them warily, flipping through the pages and skimming over the material with her eyebrows furrowed.
"Tomorrow afternoon, you're going to read that speech to the world," President Shinra continues, "word for word in the press room."
"Why me?" Charlie asks, bewildered. "Isn't Heidegger in charge of these sorts of . . . messages?"
"Heidegger isn't really the sort to inspire hope or confidence in anyone, don't you think?" If Charlie didn't know President Shinra hates jokes, she might think he's making a joke. "But you . . . not only will people want to look at you, but they will listen to you, as well." He frowns, his eyes fixing on her face. "You think I made you Communications Director because I thought it was funny? Do you think I gave you that position out of spite? As some sort of joke?"
To be honest, she knows exactly why her father gave her the position. Rufus and Charlie have discussed it before—the public's general favor for Charlotte has not been lost on their father, and her voice is certainly one the people will listen to over someone like Heidegger.
Charlie continues to read quickly through the pages, her eyebrows knitted together. Slowly, she lifts her head to face her father. She knows better than to comment on the subject matter, despite how badly she wants to.
President Shinra, sharp as a whip, doesn't fail to notice her long pause. "Is there something wrong with the speech, Char?"
"No, sir," she replies softly, feigning a smile. "Nothing at all."
"Good." President Shinra checks his thick, glittering watch. "Then I'll meet you in the press room tomorrow morning." He looks back up at his daughter, touching her chin with fat fingers to raise her face. "I put you in your position because I trust you to do your job well. You hold one of the most important positions in the company, despite what you may think about it. You are in charge of providing the people with hope, with comfort . . . you are the one holding their hands through difficult times, through times of war. Are you capable of doing that, Char?"
"Yes, I am."
"Good. Now listen very closely to me, because I'm only going to say this once." The hand touching Charlie's chin is lowered back to the president's side. "Whatever humanitarian mission you think you're on . . . Reeve will have no part of it. The last thing I need is for my own daughter and her husband to rise to power on the shoulders of the people living in the slums. Stay out of the slums if you know what's good for you and for the people. You know that boy will do anything you ask him to, trailing after you like some beaten and starved street pup."
"Scared, Father?" she almost says, but Rufus isn't here to defend her, and the last thing she wants is to crawl from her father's office beaten and bloodied (though he hasn't really hit her for several long years, ever since she became an adult). Instead she settles with, "Yes, Father. I'm sorry."
He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, but Charlie lingers. President Shinra sighs very heavily as he sinks back into his chair, resting an elbow upon the arm to prop his head up. "What do you need, Char?" he grunts, hardly looking at her, too busy watching the monitors that are lined up on his desk. "I can only assume you're going to ask me about your god forsaken brother."
Charlie blushes. "It's been so long, papa—"
"Nothing you say will change my mind." He seems exasperated at the mere thought of his son. "If it were up to me, I would keep him a world away from you always. The boy has no sense sometimes, and there's no telling the lengths he might go for you." The words are not spoken with any warm sentiment. Finally, President Shinra looks up at her. "Maybe I should make you Vice President instead. Defiant as you are, you don't look for a way to spite me every time the opportunity presents itself." And then, as an afterthought, he adds, "And you don't call the Turks your friends."
"I don't quite think that's exactly how Rufus would describe them. I think even the Turks would be surprised to hear that."
"At least Rufus knows when to be serious," President Shinra snaps, giving her a look that indicates her mild humor is not welcome in this office. "Your mother liked to joke. I don't know if you remember much of her."
Charlie nods slowly. Her father never talks about her mother, but Charlie finds herself curious now, leaning forward slightly as if to hear him better.
"She loved to laugh and smile. Determined, defiant, disobedient . . . adventurous. Sound familiar?" He looks away again, scoffing through his nose. "Sooner or later, you need to grow up, Charlotte. One day, it might be you running this company, and if it is, I won't have you making a mock of the company."
Charlotte swells with fury. As if she would ever run the company the way her father would, with money and secrets and lies. Smiling is the reason people like her so much, the reason that it's her that needs to read the speech, and not Rufus. All she can say is, "Yes, Father."
"Go practice your speech now, and leave me to do my work."
"Yes, sir."