". . . recent intelligence states that Wutai has been backing the terrorist group Avalanche, in the hopes of destroying our great mako city of Midgar, in the hopes of seeing our dreams turned to ashes . . ."

She looks so fucking beautiful that he hasn't heard one word that's come out of her pretty mouth . . . until that last sentence, which reminds him cruelly that she's only spouting her father's bullshit lies and conspiracy theory like some kind of puppet.

He and Shera watch in silence—Shera with her hot tea and he with his cold beer. He hasn't even showered yet, his hands still greasy from the work he had been doing on his Tiny Bronco, his hair still sticky with sweat and sticking up all over.

". . . we want Wutai and Avalanche to know that Shinra Incorporated will not be cowed, especially not when the people are being threatened . . ."

She's standing behind some tall podium with the Shinra logo on it, her back to a wall with another logo on it and looking into the camera, a digital banner at the bottom of the screen reading CHARLOTTE SHINRA. It makes Cid feel like she's talking directly to him.

Her hair looks almost golden in all the yellow lighting, sleek and straight and tucked behind her ears with their sparkling diamond earrings. Her eyes are pale, almost gray, and sometimes she moves her left hand just right and he's able to catch a glimpse of that ugly fucking engagement ring on her finger.

". . . any threat to the people's safety, comfort, or wellbeing will not be taken lightly, and any misdeeds will not go unpunished . . ."

Charlie almost looks damn presidential, with a face not unlike her father's, stoic, compassionate even in her ferocity.

". . . anyone found to be part of the terrorist group called Avalanche will face execution, and anyone found guilty of associating or sympathizing with the terrorist group called Avalanche will be faced with severe sentencing as befit their crimes. Let it be known that Shinra does not negotiate with terrorists . . ."

Something about the speech being given by her makes him sick.

". . . why President Shinra has authorized the use of lethal force in the apprehension of known Avalanche members . . ."

How can she possibly be so calm? How can she not show any sign of frustration, of fury?

". . . we expect full cooperation in our efforts to destroy the terrorist organization that threatens our city and our lives. Those unwilling to cooperate will also face punishment . . ."

Fuck, he's glad he's not in Midgar. Not that he keeps close tabs on Midgar, but he's still in touch with a few people he went to the academy with, and according to them, Shinra keeps the city on a tight leash.

". . . Shinra's number one priority is the safety of Midgar's people, and this is why we have therefore decided to dispatch more security officers to regularly patrol the slums. Any suspicious behavior should be reported to an officer immediately, so further steps can be taken to ensure the city's survival. A reward will be given to those whose information will lead to the arrest of known terrorists . . ."

Whoever this is giving the speech, it can't be Charlie, it can't be Lottie.

". . . by cooperating with our security officers, you may be able to make a difference in the greatest city in the world. We at Shinra work tirelessly to continue to promote the growth and prosperity of Midgar, and it is our greatest honor to witness what our hard work has accomplished and provided for so many people . . ."

Cid grunts, almost laughing.

". . . we will not be defeated, quelled, or subdued with the power of the people behind us to protect their families and their livelihoods . . ."

Her face is cold, her painted red lips moving slowly to get her point across.

". . . by combating the seeds of terrorism now, we may prevent another long war with our enemy, Wutai . . ."

Another long war? As far as Cid knows, the war was only put on hold.

". . . as always, the Shinra Electric Power Company thanks the citizens of Midgar for promoting its constant betterment, as well as those watching from around the globe, and we sincerely hope that you enjoy the rest of your day."

In the milliseconds in between her farewell and the broadcast shutting off, Cid witnesses the corners of her lips quirk upwards, her eyes moving quickly to something off screen, but before her smile can truly widen, the channel is replaced with black, nothingness, quiet, before a movie starts from somewhere in the middle.

It's a moment before either of them speak, still digesting what they've just heard come from Charlotte fucking Shinra's mouth.

"What a load of steaming bullshit," Cid grumbles, his heart racing just thinking about it. "At least we didn't have to look at that fuckin' piece of shit they normally have on. Ain't you glad we live in Rocket Town? Far away from that fuckin' company, and if they ever try to put a reactor here, I'll die tryin' to stop 'em. Greedy sons of bitches."

Shera is still looking at the screen, eyes glazed over behind her glasses. "Did you see her? When she came?"

Cid scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he admits. "She ain't changed one bit." He pulls a soft pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket, lighting one up, even as Shera wrinkles her nose. "Fuckin' princess, walkin' around with an engagement ring worth more money than I'll ever see in my fuckin' life."

His counterpart is quiet for a few moments, looking down into her teacup. "But that speech . . . doesn't sound like her," she says, not even confident enough to fucking look at him while she's talking.

"Are you stupid?" he snaps, swallowing the urge to laugh in her face. "That's the same girl who gave me the order to kill you. She's a cold-hearted daddy's girl, whose daddy happens to be President Shinra."

Finally, Shera lifts her eyes to meet his own. "I know it wasn't personal."

"Not personal?"

"You were so eager and willing to sacrifice yourself for that launch . . . for her," Shera protests, getting to her feet. The way she speaks, so plainly, so boldly, so harshly, surprises him. She hardly ever speaks to him like this, and it reminds him of when Charlie would get all fucking bossy and controlling, telling him what to do in a tone that brooked no argument. "You should have respected my decision to do the same!"

Cid stands up to hover over her, putting his hands on his hips and cocking an eyebrow. She's just talking nonsense now, just like always. "Don't be stupid, Shera. I wasn't gonna kill you. No sacrifice of yours would've been remembered fondly."

"Speak for yourself!" Shera huffs, bending over to pick up a lone pillow off the floor, some decorative pillow she'd bought to sit on their couch and look nice. He doesn't expect her to throw it at his face. Cid puts his hands up too late, feeling the cool cotton against his sticky face. "Like she would have remembered any sacrifice you would have made! The minute you were dead, she would have trained another astronaut and moved on!"

She storms out of the sitting room, leaving Cid bewildered, holding the pillow in his hands that'll need to be washed now, after his sweaty face had rubbed all over it. He attempts to brush it off, throwing it back onto the couch, half-heartedly promising to clean it later.

She almost cries, until she sees Reeve smile at her from just behind the camera directly in front of her, missing his suit jacket to look terribly handsome in his blindingly white undershirt with his skinny tie, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His presence is enough to cradle her comfortingly for a fleeting second before the words of the speech come back to her and, as the broadcast shuts off, he seems to recognize something is terribly off.

He rushes to her side, the small crew parting for him without a word. Charlie looks around as his arms envelope her, and President Shinra watches their 'celebratory embrace' with a face that could be carved from marble. It takes her a few seconds to realize her arms are being held awkwardly in the air.

Having been painted with makeup beforehand, when Reeve pulls away from her and their cheeks brush, he comes away with some glitter along his cheekbone and in his beard. Charlie attempts to brush it off, but it's no use, and he doesn't seem to mind so much.

As he praises her (something she will certainly never get tired of) softly for the wonderful job she's done (it's unlike him to miss a globally broadcasted speech of hers), Charlie's mind is far elsewhere, and all she can offer him in reply in a nervous and dreamy smile, eyes occasionally darting towards her father, his lingering gaze on his daughter on and future son-in-law making Charlie very nervous.

She had been such a stupid, idiotic, and hypocritical coward.

Upon returning home last night together, Charlie had read Reeve the speech in its entirety, and by the end, it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The authority of it all, the sugar-coated message for the people, the lies lies lies lies lies lies . . .

It isn't like Reeve hadn't expressed any concerns. The moment she had finished, he had tilted his head like a little puppy dog, narrowing his eyes at her, and asked: "You don't actually believe that, do you?" And the moment the words had left his mouth, his entire body had tensed, as if he had momentarily forgotten who he was speaking to, as if he knew he had crossed a line. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

But Charlie wasn't angry. "No," she had said, putting him at ease once more. "I don't believe it."

She had hardly slept last night, wondering what she might say if she had the opportunity to say anything. She could stand up in front of that camera and denounce her father's company for its many war crimes and crimes against humanity, for the fraud committed, conspiracies woven, bribes made and accepted, not to mention the pollution and damage against the Planet that comes from the reactors alone.

Charlie is certain there are more examples, but so much is kept from her, even by Reeve, she knows.

And when she stepped up to the podium, she had been reminded of a saying Rufus liked to say when they were children, when it became clear that President Shinra had no intentions to give Charlie the position of Vice President.

"Don't worry so much about it," he would tell her at night, lying beside her in her bed at the beach house, eleven years old and already a man, it seemed, so detached and cold. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

What she hadn't expected, the morning following her meeting with President Shinra, was her father himself to join her in the press room, waiting stoically and threateningly by the back wall, puffing lazily on his fat cigar, looking as if he knew exactly what she was planning on doing and making it clear that he will not allow it.

Seeing her father had broken her resolution, and she had read the speech given to her as best she could, so as not to give President Shinra anything extra to complain about.

"Listen, I'm going to have to work late tonight," Reeve says again, placing his hands upon his shoulders as she blinks rapidly, trying to remember what it was he was even saying in the first place. "But I had Pia make us reservations for tomorrow night at eight."

"What? No, no, no!" Charlie whispers, frowning. She should have seen something like this coming. "I thought we were going to leave early to have dinner with Rufus!"

He smiles not-so-apologetically. "I have yet to hire another assistant. Why do you think I had Pia make the reservations?"

She sighs, nodding. "All right. It's probably better that you don't come anyway. No offense."

His relief is palpable. "None taken."

They make their way towards the door together, and Charlie desperately hopes that her father will let them go without stopping them, but that hope is dashed the moment Reeve opens the door for her.

She freezes in place as President Shinra walks slowly over towards her, as if they all have all the time in the world. Holding her breath, she watches her father raise his hand, fighting the instinctive urge to flinch wildly away from him, but the hand that touches the side of her face is gentle, giving her cheek a small, approving pat.

"Excellent work today, Char," he says, slipping through the open door that Reeve still holds open.

"Thank you," she says softly to his back, letting go of her breath and allowing her heart to start beating again. Turning to face Reeve, she smiles. "Can I do my work in your office?"

"I'll never get anything done with you in my office," he teases, leading her down the corridor towards the elevators.

"I swear, I'll only be working."

"I know what that means," he continues, pressing the button for the glass elevator to bring them up a few floors. They lower their voices as others begin to gather around, waiting for another elevator to take them down for lunch. "You'll work for five minutes before finding a cozy little place in my lap, or on my desk."

"I can't help it," Charlie sighs, wrapping her hands around his arm as the elevator dings, and they enter alone, leaving everyone else out in the lobby. "You look so handsome while you work." When he shakes his head, smiling shyly to himself, she holds onto his hand, leaning into him to admire the cityscape sprawled out in front of her as they rise through Headquarters, just until the sixty-fifth level, where his office is located. "How did I get so lucky, marrying some kind of genius?"

"Is that what you think?" he asks, raising an eyebrow playfully. "High praise, coming from a genius herself."

Charlie holds her hands behind her back, smiling innocently and giving him a slight shrug. As the elevator dings to let Reeve off, Charlie waves as the doors begin to close slowly again, leaving her alone. "I'll see you in a few minutes, then!"

She knows how this goes. By the time she gathers her things out of her own office on the sixty-sixth floor and enters Reeve's own office, his desk will be cleared off and his important sketches and reports and manuscripts will be piled off to the side, far away from the desk, where they run the risk of being crumpled or damaged or torn.

And that's exactly how it is when she lets herself into his office, his assistant missing and her desk cleared out (Charlie recalls seeing her working the reception booth at the main entrance this morning) and empty. While Reeve is seemingly hard at work already, squinting at the screens on his desk and looking half-disgusted by something, he's moved all the files and paperwork that are normally stacked on the corners of his desk, even the cup of fountain pens all labeled with golden writing that reads Shinra Electric Power Company on the sides.

Charlie walks around his office for a few minutes, smiling when she catches him looking away from his computer at her to watch her for three or four seconds before smiling and going back to his work.

There are a few framed photographs of Reeve and Charlie together, as well as Reeve with other business partners, personal heroes, and old architect friends. On the corner of his desk is one of the more professional photos of the two of them, taken shortly after they had gotten engaged.

On another wall is a sketch of the home Reeve had once promised Charlie, framed with a gilded golden frame. It had been redrawn three times to feature a massive library, two large office that sit side-by-side and are connected with a secret passageway in case they want to talk to each other, a wine cellar (that had been Charlie's idea) and a garden in the backyard (that had been wishful thinking, but he allowed Charlie to paint some small flowers on the parchment paper to make her happy, and it did). Beside it is the latest magazine cover he'd taken from her office, a smiling Charlotte Shinra on the front.

"Construction is going well," he says after a moment, and Charlie walks around his desk to look at what he's referring to. It's a long e-mail with plenty of spelling errors, to be sure, but the picture attached to it is of the freshly leveled ground in the Sector Seven slums, the foundation almost ready to be poured. "Unfortunately, I had to send some reinforcements to keep watch. There have been more people out on the streets now that construction is started."

She smiles at him, running her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back out of his eyes. "Excellent work, Director," she replies, and he rests his head against her stomach, closing his eyes. "You're not sleeping well, and you're working too much."

"Speak for yourself." Reeve leans back to look up at her. "They're not going to take kindly to you after that speech you gave. Half of the Sector Seven slums are at least sympathetic towards Avalanche."

Charlie's smile fades and she stands up straighter, wandering away to the other side of his desk. "I'll be fine," she tells him. "Don't worry about me." She sinks into an empty chair, rubbing her temples. "I never should have given that speech. I told myself after reading it once that I wouldn't, that my father couldn't make me—"

"Don't be ridiculous. You didn't have a choice." Reeve turns back to his computer monitor, clicking distractedly and typing painfully slowly.

"Of course I had a choice," she replies. "I could have chosen not to read it."

"And your father would have stripped you of your title, your office, your duties. Is that what you wanted?"

"No, but now I'm complicit."

Reeve gives her a steady look, wary, knowing, understanding. "We're all complicit, Charlie, so long as we continue to work here at Headquarters furthering Shinra's goal of undermining Avalanche," he reminds her softly. "Avalanche is a terrorist group, even if they have good intentions."

"They fight for the Planet," she counters, knowing that she shouldn't be talking like this in his office, but she wants to say what she wants to say now, before she doesn't have the chance. "It's your reactors that are killing the Planet." He looks at her pointedly, as if he doesn't want to be reminded of this little fact. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"What do you want me to do, Charlie?" he asks defensively, lowering his hands from the keyboard to lace them together upon his desk, leaning forward towards her and lowering his voice again. "Shutting down reactors means that people won't have any electricity or comfort. The power will be knocked out of an entire sector with one reactor shut down, and if it were to be shut down, your father would just have it turned right back on." He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm not the bad guy here—"

"No, no, no," she says quickly, mentally kicking herself. "I know you're not." The more she thinks about it, however, the more it makes her sick. "My father, my brother, my family. Me. We're the bad guys, aren't we?"

"I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant."

"Why don't we talk about this later?" Reeve raises his eyebrows in warning, shrugging his shoulders.

Charlie wordlessly agrees. By the time she makes it home from Costa del Sol tonight, he'll likely be fast asleep and in no mood for talking, and then she'll be in Rocket Town for at least a week before they have the chance to really discuss things again.

He's right, she thinks. All this traveling is catching up to her. She's become far too accustomed with the inside of a helicopter or the private plane she uses that takes her from Midgar to Junon to Costa del Sol.

But it's all to see Rufus. All of it has always been for Rufus.

There's a bullish few knocks on the door of Reeve's office, and he hesitates before calling them in. To Charlie's great displeasure, Heidegger swaggers in through the narrow door frame, his dark beard a wild, uneven tangle of coarse hair, his beetle eyes glittering in the yellow lighting of Reeve's office mingled with the muted sunlight.

Charlie stands at the sight of him, brushing herself off and fixing her hair. She has no desire to stay here and talk to the fat moron, or listen to the laugh of his that drives Reeve so insane. Heidegger seems resolved to speak to her, however, stopping her before she's able to leave by blocking the door with his massive body, nearly two or three heads taller than her and two or three times wider.

"Your father was right, you know," he says gruffly, his voice akin to nails on a chalkboard, making her cringe, "you did look much prettier delivering that speech than I would have."

He bursts into laughter, but neither Charlie nor Reeve laugh along with him.

Heidegger looks towards Reeve, who has resumed his work at the computer, taking care to keep his eyes fixed on one monitor in particular. "What happened to that assistant that I sent to you? You didn't fire her already, did you, Director? She was begging me to be transferred to Urban Development."

"I'll thank you now not to send any other begging women to my office," Reeve says sharply, and Charlie shrugs innocently at Heidegger, who seems to understand the situation far more than he had let on at first. "I don't want them."

"Are you going to move?" Charlie interrupts, putting her hands on her hips, unable to sneak past Heidegger to exit.

"Where are you going, little lady?"

"I'm leaving early to have dinner with Rufus. Should I pass a message along to him?"

At the mention of Rufus, Heidegger quickly takes a step to his left, giving her room to access the door. "Tell your brother I said hello, Miss Shinra."

"Why?" she asks Heidegger, who seems to inflate at the mere question. "Rufus doesn't miss you." Charlie laughs, smiling sweetly at Reeve before she leaves.

"Excellent speech today, Charlie. I could hardly take my eyes away, it was . . . invigorating."

Charlie lifts her eyes from her plate, unamused.

Despite the winter months coming on them, Costa del Sol is still hot—hotter than he likes it, personally, but at least he's still able to have dinner with his lovely sister atop a dimly lit balcony with a perfect view of the deep blue ocean, being poured wine and fed fresh seafood by waiters dressed all in white. The breeze that comes off the water is salty and cool, blowing Charlie's hair into her face at times and giving her a rather disheveled look.

He can certainly see why Reeve is so attached to her in particular. Even when she was sixteen and still growing into herself, it was clear she was going to grow into a beautiful woman. Besides being beautiful, Rufus sincerely believes Charlie one of the smartest people he knows, and even he has to (grudgingly) admit that Reeve is one of those people, as well.

If their mother had been so invested in his education, as she had been in Charlie's, maybe he would be just as intelligent, able to build a plane with his bare hands, able to build a rocket. Mother always did love Charlie best.

But instead, their father had made sure Rufus was introduced to and brought around the company since he could walk, teaching him the ins and outs of Shinra Headquarters and the job of president that Rufus would one day have.

His sweet sister, made more beautiful by the naive innocence she still has left to her, not knowing that her husband-to-be still holds many secrets about the company that she's still blind to, and not knowing that Rufus knows far more than he likes to let on. The daughter of President Shinra, receiving information that mere middle managers might receive—not quite enough to change their view of the company, but enough that it's clear the company is not the most ethical, not the most moral, but still effective and still with an infinite amount of funds and still able to give comfort to the people of Midgar.

"I thought Reeve was going to come tonight," Rufus says again after his sister refuses to answer him.

"He had to work late."

"It's probably for the best it's just us, anyway."

This seems to pique her interest, one of her eyebrows arching. "Why?"

Rufus shrugs, smiling as he sips at his wine. "Why not? Why shouldn't I enjoy a beautiful dinner with my beautiful sister?"

Charlie doesn't seem as thrilled as he does. Things like this always get to her, things that seem to cast doubt in her mind in regards to the company. But he also knows that in a few days, she'll be herself again, and she'll be all smiles and genuinely happy to be with him and want to help the company again the best she can.

"Reeve and I set a date for the wedding. Did Father tell you?"

This gives Rufus pause, lowering his fork and clutching at the cloth napkin in his lap. "No, he didn't tell me."

"The first of May."

He forces himself to smile at her, reaching across the table with his free hand to squeeze his sister's comfortingly. "I can't wait."

To his credit, Reeve isn't particularly a bad man. If Charlie had settled for someone like Heidegger or Cid or whoever their father had in mind, Rufus might take slightly more issue with it. In truth, Reeve is very nearly perfect for his sister, but the idea still doesn't sit well with Rufus.

He had been thirteen or fourteen when he had first been introduced to Reeve during a board meeting, sitting at his father's side. Initially, Reeve had been hired on by their father as an architect who had promised to build machines that would harvest mako in order to use it to power Midgar.

Rufus hadn't dreamed of the possibility of he and Charlie striking up the most unusual friendship, mostly built around their shared love for building, sketching, tinkering, and theater.

After Reeve had come to work for President Shinra, it seemed like the only thing Charlie ever wanted to do was go to his office, to talk to him, to trail after him like a little puppy dog, not that her infatuation with him had been completely one-sided. She was still young back then, sixteen or so, but Reeve had still done everything she ever asked him to, never failed to procure with some item she had been looking for, made sure that she was informed of what was going on during meetings she was barred from.

And when she turned eighteen, when she finished her education and matured a little and secured herself an actual engineering position within President Shinra's company, Charlie and Reeve had become, to Rufus's great displeasure, inseparable. She would watch him sketch out useless old buildings for hours, never growing bored, and Reeve would watch her work in the hangar in silence, never tiring of asking her questions.

Whenever he went away on business, all of his free time was spent on the phone with Charlie, and when he was in Midgar, they spent their free evenings seeing plays together and having dinner and going to fundraisers and galas and public events, and with every passing month, Rufus was able to see that Reeve was, without a doubt, and in his father's own words, courting her.

That's when Rufus began to watch them a bit closer, noticing more clearly their stolen moments of intimacy. Charlie always clutched at his hand when she got really excited about something or other. He would see Charlie leaning into Reeve's body almost instinctively, would see them smile at each other from across a table, and he took notice of the small touches he would give her—a touch on the arm, a touch on the small of her back.

To have his own sister, his own responsibility, stolen away from him by someone who had only come into their lives so recently (though, it has been about ten years since their first meeting), had been the greatest insult. Charlie, his greatest and closest friend, the person he loved most, the person who loved him most, taken from him by Reeve Tuesti, the slimy, arrogant, soft-hearted son of a bitch.

"More wine?"

"No," she says. "I have to go home tonight."

"It will be too late to go home tonight. We have a house here." Rufus signals for a waiter, snapping his fingers. "Bring us another bottle."

Charlie looks more than annoyed, but he doesn't care. She'll do anything for him, anything he says, especially if he's buying more wine. "I told you, I'm going home tonight."

"Why? Reeve can't sleep without you?"

"If you ever decide to settle down, you might finally realize how nice it is to sleep next to someone."

"I've slept with women before, Charlie."

He smiles when he catches sight of his sister's expression. A little bit of anger, a little bit of jealousy, a little bit of irritation. The same way he might look at her if their roles were reversed. "I hardly think those whores you've paraded around with can be considered women."

This makes Rufus smile wider. As long as he can remember, Charlie has always had some vendetta against the women in his life, and women in general. True, their father had perpetuated the idea that she was, as a girl, as a woman, lesser than her male peers—lesser than Rufus, lesser than President Shinra himself.

Rufus doesn't quite see it that way. Charlie is more than capable, having beaten out many of her male peers in both her education and career field, certainly earning the title of 'genius'.

"Are you jealous?"

"Why should I be? Because you choose to shower those girls with affection instead of me?"

No, he thinks. Affection is always saved for Charlie, always saved for his sister.

"There's nothing you can give me that Reeve can't."

Scowling, Rufus feels his chest fill with fiery rage at the sight of Charlie's insolent little smirk. She knows that she's touched a nerve, knows that she's made him angry. "He can't make you Vice President when I finally become President."

"Oh? Does the position come with terms, now?"

"You're being a brat, Char."

Charlie sticks her tongue out at him. It's all just a game to her.

"You can't fool me. I know that it's the pilot you want to marry. You wouldn't be going to Rocket Town if he wasn't there."

This makes her falter. He can see it in her eyes. Something flickers in her expression. "That was over four years ago," she finally answers in a voice that's soft as the sea breeze. "Four years is a long time, Rufus, and I'm going to marry Reeve."

He pours his sister another glass of wine, and she doesn't protest, one leg crossed over her knee, leaning back in her seat so casually, her blouse unbuttoned to show off the massive diamond necklace around her neck—not the one he had bought for her, but the one Reeve had bought for her.

"Let's enjoy ourselves tonight," he suggests, refilling his own glass. "You deserve it, especially after your performance today."

Charlie picks up her glass, tracing her teeth with her tongue. "Fine."

Rufus toasts her. He always gets what he wants in the end.