The first two days are perfect.

She's able to rent a truck from a friend of the innkeeper's, who's also able to show her a level and relatively private place that would work for her research. Most of the trees there had been cut down to build the town, leaving stumps as sentries and an unkempt field full of dying wildflowers and chocobo prints.

She camps out in that field by a roaring fire for one night, never lacking for kindling or logs, surrounded by all of her equipment and technology and handwritten notes, taking hourly photographs of the sky and documenting changes, charting the stars and their slight movements over the course of twenty-four hours. When she calls Reeve at night, he calls her crazy for wanting to sleep in nothing but a sleeping bag, but seems most concerned about someone or something springing from the shadows to hurt her.

The majority of her second day is spent the same way, nourishing herself with an apple, a bag of chips, a banana, and then some pastries that had looked especially tasty in the window of a bakery next to the inn.

Time eludes her, the sun rising and falling without her noticing. She spends hours in silence, consumed and lost in her research, the very opening of her files igniting a passion in her that she hasn't felt in so long, and standing behind her always is the rocket. When she takes the time to eat or sit down by her fire to rest her eyes, Charlie always finds herself looking up at it, considering all the ways that it could have been better.

"Have you discovered a new star yet?" Reeve asks her that night, her phone held between her shoulder and her ear as she looks through her telescope.

"No, but I plan to," Charlie says. "There has to be at least one out here that no one's seen before."

"I have complete faith in you. And if you must know, Cat misses you very much and wonders if you have any desire to come home early."

"Is that so?" she asks, pulling away from the telescope and smiling to herself.

"He says the bed is too cold at night without you."

Charlie hums. "That certainly sounds like something Cat would say."

Late into the night, long after Charlie finally curls up in her sleeping bag with several layers of clothes and blankets keeping her warm next to a smoldering fire, she wakes to the first few cold drops of rain on her face, sending her into a frenzy as she packs up all of her things into the back of the truck as quickly as possible, hoping the rain doesn't damage any of her things.

She's soaking wet by the time she returns to the inn, her things left in the covered bed of the truck, and the rain doesn't let up again throughout the following day.

"Did you hear? Charlotte Shinra is staying at the inn."

The information startles him so badly that he attempts to sit up, if only to give Oster a withering glare, but he cracks his forehead against the bottom of the countertop, swearing loudly as he settles back down on his back, tools scattered amongst him as he fucks around with the shoddy wiring job that lights the display case of the souvenir shop.

"You're losin' it," Cid grunts.

Ever since Oster met with Charlotte about the rocket for a few minutes, it's all he seems able to talk about. He rambles about how kind she is, how pretty she is, how sensible she is, how modest she is, how patient and just.

Even Cid can't deny that she's pretty, but the other things he isn't so sure about. Everyone who meets her seems to describe her differently, making her out to be some sort of mysterious enigma with no one knowing the real Charlotte Shinra.

The rain continues to beat against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder from far off audible, ominous. Even in the late afternoon, the souvenir shop should be brightened by sunlight, but today it's gloomy and dark, black storm clouds overhead with not a blue sliver to be seen.

It's the perfect day to get all the repairs done he had promised to do weeks ago, and at least they're still paying him for doing them late. It makes him feel slightly guilty, but it's not like anyone else is willing to do all this work for so cheap.

"Did you hear she's getting married?"

"Yeah," Cid grunts again from the floor. "Everyone and their fuckin' mother has heard she's gettin' married."

"Have you ever met him before? The guy she's gonna marry?"

Cid sighs, prepared to kick Oster's shin just to make himself feel better. "Yeah, I've met the slimy fuckin' goon," he almost says, but he settles instead with, "Yeah, a few times."

As if he would ever forget the damn bastard. He was always hanging around during her stint as operations' manager during construction of the Highwind, always talking business jargon to Charlie and impressing her with that stupid fucking brain of his, always making her smile and laugh, always bringing her lunch or taking her out with the millions and millions of fucking gil he probably made from her father's company.

"What's he like?" Oster asks, and the innocent curiosity in his voice doesn't amuse Cid in the slightest.

"He's a fuckin' Shinra employee. What do you think he's like?" Cid snaps. "Are you gonna shut up now so I can fix your goddamn display case in peace?"

Oster is hardly fazed by Cid's demeanor. Nearly everyone in Rocket Town knows that Charlotte Shinra is a sore subject for him, though it doesn't seem to stop anyone from fucking needling him about her. "You should go see her, Cid," Oster suggests, bending down to look at him beneath the counter. "Bet she'd be pleased. She must have come for the rocket."

Cid rolls his eyes, ready to throw his wire cutters right between Oster's eyes. "Listen, you little punk," he growls, not taking his eyes off the wiring above his face, "I think I'd know if Charlotte fuckin' Shinra was—"

The jingling of bells above the front door quiets him, giving him a few moments of peace. The sound of pouring rain against the brick sidewalk outside reverberates within the tiny shop, and light footsteps wander around the store for a minute or so. Oster kicks his foot, but Cid bites his tongue, tactful enough to wait until the customer is gone before exploding on him.

"Hi, Oster," comes a voice that's so familiar to him that his entire body tenses, like some kind of frightened animal who knows they're about to be shot. "Do you sell umbrellas?"

"Forget to pack one, ma'am?"

"It doesn't rain much in Midgar," she says with a soft laugh. "But I need more than an umbrella." She coughs weakly, like she's catching a cold. Cid closes his eyes, afraid to stand up, afraid to move, afraid that she'll see him. "I promised some kids at an orphanage that I would bring them back something special, and I thought you might have something they'd like."

Cid almost scoffs noisily. Like Charlie would be caught dead hanging around some dirty orphanage in the slums of her own accord, buying them gifts and presents to show off her wealth to some of the poorest people in her father's city. It all has to be some publicity stunt, for Shinra newspapers to plaster her good deeds all over the front pages.

"I might have a few things. What do they like?" Oster asks, kicking Cid's foot again. This time, Cid kicks back and Oster has to pretend to clear his throat so as to not draw so much attention to what's below the display case.

He can tell she's smiling just by her voice. "They love model airplanes," she replies. "I usually build them myself. You should have seen the last one I made for them," she continues, and Cid closes his eyes again, trying to picture her smiling face. "I modeled it after the Tiny Bronco."

Cid's heart does something funny.

"Don't tell Cid, would you?" she adds. "I don't want him to think I have designs on his greatest treasure."

He remains hidden during the entirety of Charlie's visit, hating himself for it, hating himself for not being brave enough to stand up and say surprise! i was here the whole time!, for not being brave enough to look some kid in the face and say hi hello i'm not spying on you and you look prettier than ever and i still wish you weren't gonna marry that jackass.

"What brings you to Rocket Town, anyway?" Oster asks her again as she pays for the model rockets she's buying for the children to piece together (all of them modeled after Shinra No. 26, Cid knows). "You here to work on the rocket?"

"I was doing some research, actually, and plotting a star map," Charlie tells him brightly. "But I hadn't anticipated it raining so much, so it's put a hold on any research I thought I was going to do today."

Cid kicks Oster discreetly again, mouthing ask her how long as clearly as he can.

Oster takes the hint. "How long are you gonna be in town for?"

"Just for a few more days," Charlie answers, and Cid can hear her picking up a crumply paper bag. "It was good to see you again, Oster. Thanks for the umbrella."

"Hey wait!" Cid freezes as Oster calls her back. For a horrible moment, he thinks Oster is going to blow his cover, that he'll tell Charlie that Cid Highwind has been hiding underneath the display case like the coward he is. "You should come by the bar tonight. You're pretty popular in this town, you know."

"Um . . ." Cid bites down so hard on his bottom lip that he begins to draw blood. What he wouldn't give for a goddamn cigarette, but that would give him away immediately. "We'll see," she says apologetically, opening the front door, the bell jingling again. "I have a few calls I have to make tonight, and some work I need to catch up on."

"Right. Sure, ma'am."

"By the way," she adds, and he wonders if he's been caught. "Did you know the display light is out? I could fix it for you, if you'd like."

"No, thank you, ma'am. I'm having someone look at it."

Cid holds his breath until he's sure Charlie has left the store. The door closes and he exhales loudly, running a hand through his hair. Oster takes a few steps back, leaning against the wall and smiling in a smug way that makes Cid want to hit him.

Still lying on the floor, dragging a rough hand down his face, Cid asks, "How did she look?"

"Soaking wet," Oster answers, eyebrows raised as if he's just walked through paradise. "Tits showing through her shirt—"

"You damn lecherous bastard—" Cid jumps to his feet, clutching at the fabric of Oster's shirt and slamming him up against the wall, only letting go when his friend begins to laugh. "Stop fuckin' around. It ain't funny."

"Hear what she said about the Tiny Bronco?" Oster pushes Cid gently away from him, brushing off the front of his shirt.

"Yeah, I heard."

The fact that she even took so much interest in his prized little biplane makes him swell with pride. Cid always talked about his Tiny Bronco around her and she had always been eager to listen, but he supposes, after everything, she would have forgotten all his nonsensical chatter. He wishes he could have seen it, her little model airplane, to see how similar the two truly were, to see how much detail she remembered.

We'll see, she had said, the same thing she said the night before their failed launch, the night he had taken the president of Shinra Inc.'s daughter out to some empty field and attempted to make clumsy moves on her, nervous as all hell, wishing he would have had the courage to say something sooner. He remembers kissing her, how soft her lips had been, how she had shied away from him afterwards.

Cid gets back on the ground and finishes his work in silence, thinking to himself as Oster fusses around the shop, fixing displays and switching items out and dusting and sweeping, all while the thunder grows louder, and flashes of lightning brighten the interior every now and then.

In the days that followed after the launch, after Cid had moved back into his tiny apartment in Junon, he had foolishly believed that Charlotte might call him, if not to apologize, to seek some sort of comfort from him. And after the initial fury and rage and resentment he'd felt directly after aborting the launch had abated into complete apathy, he admits he would have given her comfort if it meant seeing her one more time.

But she hadn't come running to him. Charlotte Shinra had left him for dead, ceasing contact with him, severing his ties to the company, and running into the arms of one of her father's employees.

And yet . . . she's here now, in Rocket Town, for "research", a short while after seeing him for the first time in years. Perhaps it's coincidence, perhaps Cid is looking too far into it. It's only because every single goddamn person who is familiar with his history with Charlotte and Shinra Inc. enjoy bringing it up whenever they can, as if his pain and disappointment and humiliation is a great source of entertainment for them.

At least he knows one thing: he sure as hell won't be going to the bar tonight.

Charlie doesn't have friends—not real friends, anyway.

She has Reeve, her best friend of ten years now, but he's her fiancé, and Pia is good company, but they're more business associates, what with her assistant's convenient ties to certain Avalanche members. Rufus doesn't really count, being her brother (and Charlie isn't sure she even likes him all the time, even if she loves him all the time).

There's a couple that she and Reeve go out to dinner with sometimes, but they've been meeting less often ever since President Shinra personally fired some relative of the husband's (it's a very long story, and one that Charlie doesn't fully understand, having only heard the wife's side of it).

It's always been like that. Neither she or Rufus ever played with any other children when they were young, only interacting with each other for the most part, or with their parents or with the Turks that so often watched them. Tutors had been brought into their home to educate both of the Shinra children, and when it became clear that Charlie was far more intelligent than expected, she was sent to a university where everyone seemed fearful of offending or insulting her, so they stayed away.

Cid had been her first real friend, even after she had met Reeve.

Cid had never been afraid to speak his mind to her, had never been afraid to tease her, or to tell her crude and dirty jokes, or to talk about their private lives. He hadn't called her 'Miss Shinra' in seriousness after she expressed her discomfort with the name, had neither put her on a pedestal or walked all over her.

But Cid had seen only 'Charlie', only 'Lottie'. He stayed willfully blind to the other side of her, to 'Charlotte', to 'Miss Shinra'. Having never been a businessman, Cid had been made uncomfortable by some of her decisions that seemed to be made coldly, never understanding that business required a certain amount of dissociation, especially to make decisions without bias.

Charlie understands, of course. Cid is, and always has been (as far as she is concerned), a man of heart and a man of passion. Cold and calculating and subtle has never been his style, and many of his decisions had been driven by the way he felt about something, a gut instinct, and hardly ever with his head. He was impulsive, rash, reckless, and indecisive, but she thinks that's what she liked the most about him.

She knows she'll have to talk to him eventually. In truth, Charlie does want to go up and look at the rocket again, and maybe do a little tinkering, but that's wishful thinking, of course. It's unlikely Cid will want her within a mile of the rocket, probably assuming she's going to try and steal it.

As wary as she is of venturing too much into town, fearful that someone will recognize her who isn't friendly, Charlie can't help but admit that it feels nice to be asked to do things. It's not like any of her employees are eager to go out for drinks after work with her, and she doesn't have any acquaintances outside of work, either.

Her stomach is growling and the rain still hasn't let up by the time she calls Reeve, just as the sun is beginning to set. The room she's rented in the inn is set up more akin to an office, her things scattered about the floor and her work scattered about the desk that's set before the bay window, overlooking the boundaries of the forest.

"Your father's cut the budget for my department again."

"Mine, too," Charlie sighs, reading through her most recent e-mail, meeting minutes from the meeting she wouldn't have even been invited to in the first place. Several departments have had their budgets slashed (especially Space Exploration, whose budget is now less than eighty percent of what it had been when Charlie was the director). "I've already crunched the numbers. I'm going to have to make some lay-offs when I get back. Some of the speech writers, probably, seeing as anyone can write down what my father dictates."

"How have you had time to do that already?"

"It's been raining all day here," she tells him, standing up from her chair to close the curtains, though it hardly does anything to muffle the sound of the rain. "I've had nothing else to do. I did go to the souvenir shop, though, and I bought the kids at the orphanage all model rockets."

"They'll love that. I'm sure the plane you brought them has already crashed into something or someone. Surely you remember our first meeting."

They both laugh softly. None of Charlie's gifts have ever made it past three weeks. "They're all modeled off my rocket, of course. My father would be thrilled to see mini Shinra No. 26's flying around the slums." The thought makes her sad, wiping the smile off her face. She rubs at the budding tears in her eyes, feeling truly lonely for the first time in a long time. "I wish you were here."

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she confesses truthfully. Why had she come here? She's spent four years of her life trying to forget, only to come to the place where it all happened, where her dream had been destroyed before her very eyes, where the evidence of her failure is mocking her from the captain's backyard. "It's been over four years now. Why can't I just move on from what happened?"

"Charlie . . ."

"No, I'm sorry, I know, it's just . . ." Charlie closes her eyes, wanting nothing more in the world than to go home and curl up in bed and wait for Reeve to stumble in late at night, bleary-eyed and irritable from work, to hold her. But she doesn't want to break so easily, not only three days into the week she said she was going to spend in Rocket Town. "I think I'm just going to get a drink and turn in. I know you're busy."

"I miss you."

"Oh? Is that a message from Cat?" she asks, smiling weakly.

"No, that one is directly from me this time."

Running a hand through her hair, she gets out of her chair, done with her work, not wanting to do anything more tonight. Through the window on the opposite side of the room, she can clearly see the bright neon lighting of the nearby bar, even through the rain. "I miss you, too."

"I also have a message for you from my mother." The awkward way this sentence comes out makes it seem as if he's reluctant even to pass it on. It makes her smile, but she knows that Reeve has always been a bit embarrassed by the way his mother dotes on Charlie. "She says she wants to have us for dinner when you get back."

"Why do you sound so glum about it?" she asks, unable to keep from laughing quietly to herself.

"You know my mother."

"At least your mother didn't throw a fit about us living together," Charlie replies, to which she receives another chuckle in return, a laugh that warms her heart. Unlike President Shinra, Reeve's mother had been so thrilled with this news and had spent the next few weeks wondering (not subtly in the slightest) about a surprise pregnancy, which had caused Reeve to nearly crumble with embarrassment. "At least dinner with your mother won't consist of backhanded compliments and the unwelcome presence of my father."

"Fair enough, but I'm calling it if she starts showing you all the old pictures of me."

"Oh, Reeve . . ." she teases, clicking her tongue. "I've already seen them all."

He heaves a great sigh, but even just by hearing it, Charlie can tell that he's still smiling. "Damn you, woman."

He doesn't really know what possessed him to come here tonight.

He had told Oster that Shera was driving him absolutely fucking nuts (and she does, she does), but it wasn't necessarily true tonight. She wasn't even doing anything, only watching the television on a low volume while flipping through a magazine with Charlie's face on the cover that had read: WOMAN OF THE YEAR: CHARLOTTE SHINRA—HEIRESS, AERONAUTICAL ENGINEER, MIDGAR'S GOLDEN CHILD.

He had laughed in her face upon reading that, upon seeing her labeled as "Midgar's Golden Child". He thought it was a load of shit, and he had told Shera so, who had told him to leave her alone after he began to go off about Shinra Inc.

Four years of complaining about the company that took everything from him, and now Shera's getting tired of it, too.

He can't say he regrets it, however, coming to the bar tonight. It's not like there was much else to do—the rain has halted his progress on the Tiny Bronco, and being in the rocket during a rainstorm is the perfect recipe for a pounding fucking headache. And if Charlie hasn't shown up by now, she definitely isn't going to come, probably too busy ordering people around via the phone or writing up some fucking speech full of threats and lies, a heaping mess of propaganda to make her daddy look good.

At least the place is relatively empty, so the drinks comes quick.

"Starting bet is ten gil, boys. Pay up."

Cid throws his ten gil into the center of the table with a grunt, and Vidal deals the cards around to everyone seated. He brings his half-smoked cigarette to his lips, the ash falling onto his lap. Brushing it off carelessly, he checks his cards.

"Hear that Charlotte Shinra's in town?" Oster asks the table at large, pushing a few more coins into the growing pile of gil. "She came into the shop today."

Garret whistles, chuckling to himself as he throws his cards away, palming his eyes. "You guys see that magazine cover she did?"

Vidal perks up again, passing another card to Cid, Oster, and himself. "Was it a dirty one?" he asks quickly, drawing Cid's attention. "Bet that girl's got a million gil body underneath all them fancy clothes."

"Watch it," Cid growls, tapping his cards on the tabletop and drinking deep from his tall glass of beer in order to keep his mouth busy.

"It wasn't no dirty magazine," Garret replies with a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing, watching the game continue without him. "Said she's woman of the year or some shit. I dunno, I just bought it 'cause she looked good on the cover. Looks even better inside the magazine, if you can understand all her fucking engineering jargon."

"Watch what you say in front of the captain," Oster jokes, folding and grumbling about his loss of money. "He and Miss Shinra have a history."

"Oh, shit," Vidal gasps mockingly. "Way to stick it to Shinra, Highwind. Or . . . in Shinra, I should say."

"I wouldn't mind sticking it in that Shinra," Garret continues, shrugging his shoulders. He taps his prosthetic hand loudly against the table, the hand he lost in Wutai. "Bet she's a real tight-ass. And I bet I could fix that."

"Speak for yourself," Vidal answers, with a smile that makes Cid want to punch him in the teeth. "She's got a pretty little mouth on her, doesn't she? Cid would know all about that, huh?"

Everyone laughs, except for Cid. He doesn't find it funny at all. Whatever he says he thinks about Charlie, she used to be good to him, used to be his friend, and hearing his friends talk about "sticking it in" Charlotte Shinra makes his stomach bubble with anger.

"A professional history, you fuckin' tool," Cid says, laying down his cards and scooping up his winnings, much to his friends' displeasure. He puts his cigarette in the glass ashtray, his leg bouncing impossibly fast beneath the table. "She ain't nothin' to me now."

"Yeah?" Oster raises his eyebrows and Cid feels the back of his neck grow warm and his cheeks flushed. "Is that why you couldn't even talk to her today?"

"Go fuck yourself," Cid spits at him. "I ain't scared of her, if that's what you mean."

Oster elbows him in the arm. "Good, 'cause she's walking in right now."

Cid rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

But just after putting in another ten gil to get his cards for the next round, fully prepared to take as much money from his friends as possible, he hears a laugh and a voice that makes him freeze like a chocobo in headlights.

"Where's the wall that was dedicated to me?"

"Er . . . sorry, ma'am . . . hope you don't mind . . ."

"I was only joking. Please don't think I'm upset."

Cid turns in his seat, able to get a clear view of the back of her as she leans against the bar, talking to the bartender, who seems slightly uncomfortable talking to her.

He feels like it's the first time he's seeing her all over again. She's not wearing any of those fancy clothes tonight, dressed in pants and a thick green jacket with a patch on the right sleeve with the Shinra logo on it. Her hair looks like spun gold in the flickering yellow lighting of the bar, braided in some complicated way that keeps her hair off the nape of her long neck.

"Miss Shinra! Over here!"

"The fuck you doin'?" Cid hisses at Oster, who seems very pleased with himself, raising his hand in the air to wave her down.

Charlie turns around quickly, a beer in her left hand and a smile on her face. It's a practiced one at first (he can tell, of course, having seen her in front of cameras several times before), but at the sight of Cid, she falters, only slightly. Within seconds, her smile seems genuine enough, and she's walking towards them.

Cid's heart beats louder and faster and harder with each step she takes towards them. He's sure everyone notices the way his chest heaves underneath his t-shirt, and he wishes he would have cleaned up a bit before coming, but if the sight of him disgusts her, she hides it well.

"Hi, boys," Charlie says, standing just behind Oster. "Having fun?"

"Just doing a little low-stakes gambling," Oster replies, gesturing to their half-finished card game. Charlie raises her eyebrows, looking impressed, as if a five-year-old has just shown her a horrible drawing that they're very proud of. "Care to join us for a round?"

"Low-stakes gambling happens to be my specialty," Charlie laughs, either oblivious to his friends' lecherous leering or choosing to ignore it completely. "But please, I don't want to intrude."

"Not intruding, ma'am," Garret tells her with a wide smile, his front two teeth browned and nicotine-stained. "It'll be sweet to take some money from a Shinra, anyway."

Oster clears his throat loudly. "Garret—"

Charlie only laughs again, feigning outrage. "No, it's all right," she tells Oster, holding a hand up as if silencing someone far below her. "Those are fighting words, you know. You think you can back them up?"

"Here, sit down by me, Miss Shinra," Vidal tells her, dragging a chair closer from the table beside them. "I'm Vidal, and that's Garret. You know Oster already . . ." Brown eyes meet Cid's blue ones. He refuses to look Charlie in the face. "And Cid, of course."

"Are you just going to ignore me all night?" Charlie asks, and there's no denying her question is aimed at him. She's looking right at him, a smug little smile on her bright and perky face, flushed and glowing.

"Hi, Lottie," he grunts, lighting up another cigarette, surprised that Charlie doesn't correct him.

Despite what misgivings he may have had at first, Charlie is wonderful company, even among Cid's dirty and perverted and foul-mouthed group of friends. She enjoys gambling, it seems, and might be good at it if she could keep a straight face. Every time she looks up into Cid's face, smiling, he tries to determine whether or not her hand will beat his own, but always ends up distracted by the sight of those perfect teeth, that perfect smile.

His friends don't seem at all hesitant to ask her questions, to ask about what she does at Headquarters, or about her decision to become an aeronautical engineer, or even about her fiancé.

When Garret asks her why she's chosen to marry someone on her father's payroll, Charlie replies, "His money, mostly," and the table erupts with laughter.

Cid doesn't say much himself. His mouth is so dry, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he continues to consume. The most he's capable of doing is sneaking looks at her while she's busy thinking, a crease between her thin eyebrows that reminds her of the way she looked while working on the Highwind or the Shinra No. 26, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

He had forgotten how easy it was to talk to her (despite him not doing much talking now). Charlie fits in perfectly with a group of hardened, uncouth men after working on an airship and on a rocket with the dirtiest fucking men Cid ever knew. She doesn't blush when they make dirty jokes, she doesn't scrunch her nose when they curse.

When Charlie wins the first pile of gil, she laughs about it, always laughing, and offers to give everyone their money back.

"That would defeat the purpose, I think, Miss Shinra," Oster tells her, not looking half as frustrated as Garret or Vidal. "You won, fair and square."

Cid scoffs. More than four years after the failed launch and Shinra Inc. still continues to take from him, even in subtle and fucked up ways like this.

Vidal shuffles the cards, preparing to deal again, when Charlie's phone goes off. Cid looks down at his hands, not wanting to listen to a one-sided conversation between her and her fiancé.

"Oh, excuse me," she says, getting to her feet, "it's my assistant."

Thankfully, Charlie walks away from the table to talk, and Cid feels it's safe enough to look at her again. However, the moment his eyes settle on the side of her face, she turns and catches sight of him staring, smiling shyly at him and holding up a hand to wave very subtly. His cheeks burn and he turns away before he embarrasses himself further.

"Awfully quiet over there, Cap," Garret teases, his entire face bright red, his forehead shining with sweat. He's beginning to slur his words now. "Didn't realize all it took to scare the mighty Captain Highwind was a hot girl."

"Don't call her that," Cid mumbles, dragging his thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, sighing heavily as Vidal deals him a shit hand. "She worked too hard to be where she is just to be called 'a hot girl'."

"Worked too hard?" Garret asks sharply, laughing mockingly in Cid's face. "Let's not pretend she didn't get where she is because of daddy's money."

Cid glances across the bar again to find Charlie's back to him, talking quietly into her phone.

Garret leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his shaggy head. "Did you hear her flirting with me?" he asks, and everyone groans. "She wanted me. I could tell."

"I've seen a picture of her fiancé," Oster snorts, tapping one gil rapidly atop the table. "Trust me, Garret, she doesn't want anything to do with you."

"Besides," Vidal adds, "you ain't got no money. Charlotte Shinra wouldn't marry someone with no money."

"I ain't talking about marriage," Garret says, waving a clumsy and flippant hand. "I don't wanna marry a girl like that, I just wanna fuck her."

"Easy," Cid says, taking a long pull off his cigarette (he's lost count by now), giving Garret a dangerous look. "Don't be an ass."

"The hell is your problem?" Garret asks, and there's a tinge of anger and incredulity to his words. While he isn't really terrifying in the slightest, with a small build and a square jaw, Cid knows how violent he can get after drinking so much. "Even after what she did, you're still gonna defend her?"

"I'm just tellin' you to cool it," Cid answers, smashing his cigarette in the half-full ashtray. "You're bein' a fuckin' asshole."

Oster and Vidal watch the exchange carefully, seemingly shrinking back into their chairs.

"Don't be such a hypocrite," Garret replies, exchanging a knowing look with Vidal. "We all know you'd stick it in her. Bet she'd even spread her legs willingly for you, if you asked nicely."

"She's engaged," Cid says through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, to some jack-off from daddy's company," Garret laughs, and Cid glances over his shoulder, half-afraid that Charlie is going to hear them, but she's still deep in conversation on the phone. "That sweet cunt of hers is wasted on a guy like him. Bet he doesn't even know what to do with it."

"Garret—" The word comes out louder than Cid expected, but his friend plunges on drunkenly, much to the chagrin of the others around them.

"How else do you think she gets people to like her so much? She probably fucks them, of course."

"All right, you know what—"

Before Cid knows what he's doing, he's on his feet, his right hand curled into a fist, and that fist is connecting with Garret's crooked nose, knocking him backwards and sending him crashing to the ground with blood spurting from both of his over-sized nostrils.

He can hear Charlie screaming his name, and Oster is pulling him away from the table while Vidal kneels down beside Garret, and he's sure once the adrenaline fades, his hand is going to hurt like hell.

"What are you doing!"

Charlie looks furious, looking more like her brother than ever. Cid blinks at her, still seeing red. "Huh?"

Her eyes flick down to take in Garret's appearance. He's half-slumped against the wall, with Vidal holding napkins in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Cards and coins litter the ground, and Garret's drink has spilled down the front of him, the glass lying empty on the dusty floor.

"He was bad-mouthin' you, Lottie," Cid hears himself say plainly.

She almost—for the span of a second—looks amused, but then her mouth tightens. "Whatever he said, I'm sure I've heard worse." Sighing, Charlie crosses her arms over her chest. "It's all right, Oster. I'll drive him home."

"Are—are you sure, Miss Shinra?" Oster asks, sweating profusely and blushing.

"Let me pull the truck up to the door," she says quickly, and before Cid can protest, she's already walking towards the door, dignified and graceful and angry.

"The fuck did you do that for?" Garret snaps at him after Charlie leaves the bar and Oster attempts to talk down the bartender. "Can't you take a joke, man? You fucking Shinra loving bastard—"

"I don't love Shinra!" Cid retorts hotly, taking a step closer. "You wanna get hit again?"

"Maybe you should go home and get some rest," Vidal says breathily, helping Garret back up to his feet, the front of his white shirt stained dark red with blood. "You drank too much, Cid. Sleep it off."

Cid blinks a few more times as a horrible throbbing pain begins in his right hand, beating in time with his racing heart. When he holds it up to his face, it shakes terribly.

Shit shit shit shit fuck what have I done—

"C'mon." Oster is suddenly pulling at his arm, and Cid stumbles. "Charlotte was gonna pull a car 'round for you."

Cid jerks her arm out of Oster's grip. "Get the fuck off me." He brushes himself off, inhaling deeply to catch his breath. "I can get there just fine by myself."

He scoops what gil he can off the table, pocketing the money he'd won, and tucks his cigarettes away into his pocket.

The moment he turns his back, he knows he shouldn't have. Vidal and Oster shout his name, but Cid doesn't turn quickly enough.

Garret's arm, raised high above him, comes down with unprecedented speed, his empty glass shattering upon coming into contact with Cid's skull, knocking him out within seconds.