"You asked to see me, Mr. President?"
"Ah, Reeve, yes, come in." President Shinra gets to his feet, putting out his cigar and gesturing towards two fully-armed security guards that close the door behind Reeve, remaining inside the office with them. On every screen within the office, the broadcast of Avalanche's crimes of terror play, following them deeper into the reactor. "I apologize for having you come on such short notice. I know your department must be in complete disarray right now."
They aren't alone. Heidegger stands behind the president's right shoulder with his hands held behind his back, his face lost in the tangle of hair he calls his beard, and Scarlet stands off to the president's left, arms folded over her chest, sneering at him, arrogant and haughty and always, always sneering.
"Of course, sir. It's not a problem. Charlotte and I were watching the broadcast in my office."
"It has come to my attention that my own daughter's assistant was spotted regularly entering the supposed hideout of Avalanche, in the Sector Seven slums," he continues, almost amiably, and Reeve's palms begin to grow clammy. He curls them into fists as his heart sinks. "What was her name again?"
"Pia, sir," Reeve supplies helpfully when no one else is able to give President Shinra an answer.
"Whatever the girl's name is, I've had her arrested, and Heidegger was able to coerce a confession out of her."
Reeve's heart stutters, leaping into his throat. He knows how Heidegger would "coerce" a confession from someone, and it makes him sick to think of Pia brutally beaten, tortured, and interrogated, possibly by the Turks that Charlie has such a soft spot for, whether she wants to admit it or not.
She's so young, so wide-eyed and innocent, and surely can't have been working with Avalanche. How could no one have known? How could he not have known?
But then again, he's always wondered why Charlie was so attached to the girl. Charlie has always had trouble getting along with other women around her age, save for a few exceptions, but Reeve had never noticed anything about Pia that Charlie would have particularly liked.
When Palmer had given them the information they required, Reeve hadn't once doubted Charlie. He hadn't even stopped to consider that she might be in league with this ragtag group of eco-terrorists.
He doesn't want to believe it of his own fiancée, but now that it's been spoken aloud, the idea doesn't seem quite so far-fetched.
He would have known . . . he would have known if Charlie was plotting alongside her assistant . . . then again, there's so much time unaccounted for, all the hours he had worked late and left Charlie at the apartment by herself.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue, Reeve?" Scarlet asks, raising one of her eyebrows and adjusting the plunging neckline of her dress.
Reeve looks away, keeping his face as stony as possible when he faces the president again. "I can assure you that Charlotte had nothing to do with the bombings, Mr. President," he implores them all urgently, knowing that he's walked right into a trap, but unable to figure out what part he plays. "She was with me the night of the first bombing, and she's in my office now. She had nothing to do with this."
Scarlet laughs, that grating laugh that he hates so much. "You've always been a cute, lovesick little thing," she remarks, flicking her neck to get the hair out of her face. "You should see yourself now, caught with your pants down."
"Enough, Scarlet," President Shinra snaps at her, making her scowl behind his back. "The boy is still to be my son-in-law soon, so long as his intentions haven't changed upon the learning of this information."
"No, sir," he confirms, holding his hands behind his back, as if he would say anything else in this position. It wouldn't be right to stand in front of President Shinra, Heidegger, and Scarlet and not defend the love of his life, despite his confidence being shaken. He can't believe it of her, he can't, he won't, he can't. "And I trust that she would be able to explain herself if you gave her the opportunity. If you could just tell me what Pia said, I'm sure I can—"
"The girl said enough that makes no matter," Heidegger adds, waving a flippant hand at Reeve. "She knew too much for Charlotte not to be involved in some capacity."
Reeve's breath hitches. "Is there any concrete evidence to prove Charlotte was involved at all?"
Neither Scarlet or Heidegger say anything more, but continue to smile cruelly from behind Charlie's father. President Shinra sighs, brushing off the front of his suit, golden rings tight around his thick fingers and glittering in the fluorescent lighting.
"My daughter thinks she's infinitely smarter than me," he sighs, as if having a genius daughter is a burden to him. "And, it may be true in regards to some things, but she believes herself to be invincible, as well. She wants to be a hero, to sit atop Shinra Incorporated with her head held high while the rest of us drown beneath her. It's what she's always wanted."
He can't say it's an entirely wrong assessment of Charlie.
"But she has made one grave mistake, and that is forgetting the leverage I have against her."
Reeve opens his mouth to speak, hesitating at the last moment. "I—Mr. President?"
"I'm sorry to have to do this to you, son," he says after a moment, and Reeve opens his mouth to speak, but the president speaks over him before he gets a chance. "Seize him."
The guards at the door move forward, taking hold of Reeve's arms and forcing them behind his back. "What are you doing?" he shouts, struggling against the guards, who slap handcuffs around his wrists. "What are you going to do to Charlie?"
"Don't worry, my boy," President Shinra reassures him, picking up his cigar again. "Char will do as she's told, so long as we have you. When she decides to cooperate, to claim responsibility for the bombings, then you'll be released, unharmed and able to go home to my daughter."
"She had nothing to do with this!" Reeve protests, red-faced and continuing his fruitless attempt at freeing himself as the guards drag him backwards from the office. "Leave her alone! Mr. President, please!"
President Shinra ignores him, lowering his eyes back to his desk, puffing on his fat cigar, and both Scarlet and Heidegger's laughter follow him into the hallway. Before the doors close before his very eyes, he can hear the president speak once more, in a rather bored tone of voice.
"Have someone fetch my daughter."
The last time she had seen him was in the cafeteria, wearing his typical uniform, carrying around that massive sword, and flanked by some friends, excusing himself from them to slide into the booth across from Charlie as she ate lunch and finished up some paperwork for the Highwind.
"I've been called away on a mission," he had told her, very seriously, but there had been a hint of a smile on his face. She still hasn't forgotten what his face looked like the last time she saw him. "I'll be gone for a little while."
"Will you write to me?" she had asked in a low voice, blushing when she had noticed his friends watching them.
"If I have the time. I'll take some pictures for you," he answered honestly. "I'll be back before you know it, and then I'll take you on a real date."
"How are you so sure that I'll say yes?"
He had tapped the tip of his index finger against his temple, smiling at her. "See you soon."
But Angeal had never come back, never sent her any letters, never sent her any photographs he had taken, and everyone around Headquarters suddenly stopped talking about him, like he had never even existed.
When Tseng had finally brought her news, knocking on her front door late at night a few weeks after they departed for Wutai, it had been only to explain that Angeal was missing-in-action, presumed dead, unable to give her any more information than that.
She had cried into his chest for hours, feeling betrayed and abandoned and alone.
That was seven years ago.
So why, all these years later, is she looking at someone completely unfamiliar, breaking and entering into a mako reactor to blow it up with Angeal's sword on his back?
True enough, the sword had passed hands before, to another SOLDIER that he had been fond of, but that still doesn't give her any new information, it only serves to make things more confusing. It's entirely possible that another buster sword had been crafted in the seven years since Angeal's death, but the resemblance is uncanny. She would know.
She'll have to ask Tseng when she gets the chance, if any more information has been uncovered in the last seven years. With all that's transpired in that time, there's surely something else that would give her some closure, or that would explain the sword on the terrorist's back.
Part of her can't even help but root for them, having watched the three of them fight their way through Scarlet's new toys, destroying each one with sheer willpower and an extraordinary talent for fighting, planting Charlie's bomb at the core with all the cameras watching, bickering silently amongst themselves as they attempt an escape.
And a short while later, after the terrorists seem to make said escape, the broadcast cuts out to static, there's a low rumble and the ground seems to quake beneath her feet. Charlie's heart begins to race and she pulls her feet up off the carpeted ground, hugging her knees to her as the sky brightens through the drawn blinds.
Not again!
She closes her eyes tight, listening to the blast, her heart beating impossibly fast. It had all happened so quickly last time that things had gotten mixed up in the confusion, and with Charlie having been knocked out, she missed a lot of the immediate aftermath.
No, no, no, this is impossible, she thinks, gathering the courage to get to her feet, listening to the shouts from outside Reeve's office, desperate workers who are probably rather tired of repairing a city that insists on being half-destroyed at all times. I built that bomb, it was only supposed to disable the reactor, not . . . not this . . .
Charlie peeks through the blinds, her breath fogging up the window. It's hard to tell if this bombing is bigger than the last, but the entire reactor seems to go up in flames, casting the shadow of Midgar in an orange glow that frightens her.
Flames are spreading fast, engulfing the surrounding residential area in fire. Charlie remembers the screaming, remembers people running up and down the street with their hair and clothes on fire, remembers the depressed skulls of those that had been crushed by the debris.
My fault. This is my fault, it's all my—
"Miss Shinra?"
She whirls around, struggling to digest the scene, struggling to understand anything, struggling to accept what's just happened. This must be a dream, and in a minute, she'll wake up and the reactor will be disabled with no collateral damage.
Reeve's assistant pokes her head through the door again. It's been nearly forty minutes and he still isn't back, but forty minutes doesn't seem an unreasonable amount of time with the president, especially given the current situation.
"President Shinra requires your presence in the press room," she says again, and Charlie glances back at the television, phasing into a news segment with a sweaty-looking anchorman, a live video of the reactor in flames tucked away in the corner.
It's odd, not being able to hear the screams, to feel the flames against her face, to feel the sweat drip down her back, but she's certain she'll dream of it tonight. "Okay," she whispers, glancing into a mirror to attempt to make herself look slightly more presentable, slightly more confident and aloof.
She had known this was going to happen, but it doesn't make it any easier.
She isn't going to let her father force her into giving a speech that would ruin her reputation. There was a reason she wanted only to meet with Pia and Jessie, afraid of her identity being found out by other, more extreme, members of Avalanche, afraid that her little secret would get out and have her killed.
But now . . . after two separate bombings that had both gone horribly wrong (how could it have gone so wrong? she had built the bomb herself this time), causing hundreds, thousands, of deaths . . . Charlie thinks her death would only be fair. She never meant for it to happen this way, and without proper time to find her bearings and accept what's just happened in the last few minutes, she isn't sure she has the courage to defy her father for much longer.
Charlie finds her father, Heidegger, and a few other unimportant men inside the press room, only necessary to work to the cameras and other tech. Heidegger looks almost gleeful, his fat stomach straining against the buttons of his cheap, ugly coat, teeth bared in a feral smile.
She's unable to see mako reactor number five from this part of the building, instead overlooking Sector One, still half in ruins from the previous bombing. President Shinra is holding a few pieces of bright white paper, fresh ink still drying on them, and he offers them to Charlie when she enters without a single word.
Her hands are shaking, her palms are sweating, but she takes the speech in her hands. Glancing down at it, already knowing that she's not going to read it, Charlie skims over the information, some of it having been crossed-out and re-written several times, other parts underlined, the handwriting only halfway legible.
She had known this, of course, thanks to Reeve. She had known that her father would expect her to stand in front of Midgar and accept responsibility for the destruction that was caused (and now, she's beginning to think that maybe it was her fault, after all), despite everyone having just watched the culprits on live television.
"Read this, girl," he commands her quietly, "and then we're going to have a long talk about your future with this company."
Charlie inhales deeply. Rufus would defend her, Rufus would urge her on. Rufus would do far worse than say 'no' to their father if he was given the chance. "No," she says. "I'm not reading it."
"I'll not have your defiance tonight," President Shinra snaps, clearly more frustrated than he's letting on. "Your assistant was arrested for her ties to Avalanche, and I do not believe that you were ignorant to that."
"I'm hardly surprised," Charlie continues, scrunching her nose and scowling at Heidegger. "Anyone who's been tortured for a significant amount of time will eventually give a false confession to put an end to it."
"I will not be taken for a fool!" her father shouts, clearly making all of the camera operators very uncomfortable and white-faced. "You will read that speech, claim responsibility for your foolish mistakes, and so long as I live, you will never have another say as to what goes on in this company—"
"I'm not reading it!" she counters, catching the president off guard. "The entire city just saw what happened, and you would still have me lie—"
"The city of Midgar will see Shinra Inc. cutting ties with Avalanche's top informant, publicly," President Shinra interrupts, speaking loudly to drown out the sound of his daughter's voice. "The people of Midgar will see a corporation taking action against those eco-terrorists, and I will put a swift end to your defiance once and for all. Your brother isn't here to protect you this time, Char. Read the speech."
Charlie purses her lips, wondering what her mother might do, wondering what Angeal might think if he could see her now. Would he think her actions noble? honorable?
"No," she replies in a level voice, gripping the papers so tightly in her hands that they crumple and shake visibly.
President Shinra sighs. "I didn't want to resort to this." He nods at one of the guards standing by the door, and when the door opens, Charlie's heart sinks all the way to her stomach. "Bring him in."
Scarlet follows the guards that usher in a handcuffed Reeve, looking at ease with the world. Charlie has eyes only for him, though, admiring the way his face betrays no hint of emotion, admiring the way he still stands tall, suppressing all fear, all anxiety, looking as if this is just a minor inconvenience in his life.
His hair has been touched, as if someone ran a hand several times through it, strands of it falling into his eyes as he's shoved unceremoniously into a chair beside the biggest camera positioned directly in front of the podium where Charlie typically gives her speeches. On his left cheekbone is what looks to be a smearing of bright red lipstick, the same shade on Scarlet's lips, no doubt intended to infuriate Charlie even further.
The sight of him makes her chest tighten painfully. It's her fault, all her fault, everything is her fault—
"Let him go," Charlie growls at her father, unable to look away from Reeve, each guard keeping a firm hand on either of his broad shoulders to keep him in the chair. "He has nothing to do with this! He did nothing wrong!"
"Read the speech, Char," her father says again, stepping up behind Reeve.
Charlie looks at Reeve for a long time. His jaw is set, his eyebrows furrowed, his body stiff and tense. She wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around his neck and apologize, burying her face against his skin and kissing every warm inch.
"Please, daddy, don't hurt him," she rasps, ashamed to be so vulnerable with everyone in the room—her father, Heidegger, Scarlet . . . even Reeve. "Please don't hurt him."
"That's not up to me. Whether or not he leaves here is entirely up to you," President Shinra says. "Now, read the speech, we'll have our little talk, and I'll send you home with Reeve, to think about what you've done."
Tears well up in her eyes, stinging and burning and, finally, falling. They're hot down her cheeks, and Reeve seems to soften, but continues to say nothing, his hands cuffed behind him, sitting tall with as much dignity as can be afforded him. She had never considered that her father might use Reeve against her, and that knowledge is incredibly painful, striking at the heart of her insecurities, even if that had never been her father's intention.
"Char," her father says again, growing frustrated now. There's a soft click that makes Charlie's ears perk up, only to find one of the guards holding a gun to the back of her fiancé's head, his hand incredibly steady. "Read the goddamn speech."
"Please don't hurt him, papa," she cries softly, trying to ignore Scarlet's quiet tittering, wishing that Reeve would talk to her, would smile at her just to let her know it's all right, just to let her know that he won't hate her when they go home tonight. "Please don't—"
"Then read," he orders again, nodding at one of the cameramen, who's a little pale. "And let's try it without the tears, Char."
He's fucking around in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator several times before deciding there's nothing he wants to eat, when Shera calls him from the living room, sounding so shrill and so shocked that it makes him panic.
Cid sprints to the living room, an unloaded gun in his hand, sweating by the time he appears in the threshold, expecting to find some armed intruder carrying Shera through an open window.
"Put the gun down," she urges him, moving over on the couch to allow him space, "and come listen to this."
Charlie is on the television, having just begun a speech. Cid lowers himself slowly to the couch, immediately noticing that something is off. Even Shera seems to notice something. It's hard not to.
He isn't proud of it, and Cid would tell all of his friends that it's a lie, but he watches all of her speeches that he can. She's always done up real fancy, her hair done all nice and her makeup smeared all over her face. She's usually smiling, too, in a way that might comfort the people of that smog city, or at least looking hardened and professional.
She is none of those things tonight.
Her eyes are bright red, and she isn't wearing as much makeup as she usually is, especially considering the fact that much of her eye makeup is smudged underneath her eyes, like she's been crying.
"What's she keep lookin' at?" Cid asks, watching her eyes flick between the camera positioned in front of her, and something slightly off to her left, eyes watering even more. "What the hell is goin' on?"
". . . about the recent bombings in Midgar of mako reactors one and five . . ."
"Bombings?" Cid scoffs, blinking in surprise at Shera, who only shrugs at him in return.
". . . it was me who ordered the destruction of those reactors," Charlie continues, breathing raggedly as she looks off-screen again for a moment, "and I am the one responsible for the thousands of lives claimed in the aftermath . . ."
"Holy shit," Cid says again, remembering what Charlie had texted him about the other night, about doing something that scared her. Could she have meant this? Does he really believe Charlie is capable of something so violent, so extreme, so absolutely insane? "She's gotta be lyin'."
Shera shushes him impatiently. "Listen!"
". . . for several months, I have been working alongside the eco-terrorist group called Avalanche as an informant, passing information from my position within the Shinra Electric Power Company . . ." He watches a few tears slip down her cheeks, but she wipes them away with her sleeve quickly. ". . . in the hopes that I might usurp my father's position as president, I was willing to sacrifice the lives of many innocent civilians, with no thought as . . . with no thought as to the irreparable damage I might cause to families, to people trying to survive . . ."
Cid and Shera watch in complete silence, their lips slightly parted. This doesn't sound like Charlie at all. It sounds like something Charlie would say with a gun to her head, and the tears certainly give credit to this idea.
". . . I will accept whatever punishment is deemed fit, though I know it will not be enough for me to repent," she continues, swiping at her eyes again, still looking slightly off-screen to something no one else is able to see. ". . . I am not asking for forgiveness . . ."
"What the fuck is goin' on—"
"Captain, listen!"
". . . my actions have caused undeniable harm, both to Midgar and to Shinra Incorporated, and I accept full responsibility for all damages inflicted . . ."
"Fuck it," Cid rasps, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, "I'm gonna find out what the hell's goin' on."
". . . I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry," Charlie breathes, sobbing as the broadcast cuts away to a recording of the bombing, a mako reactor going up in flames and a burst of glowing energy.
This can't be what she meant, Cid thinks. Cold and unflinching? Yeah, he guesses she's those things.
But a terrorist? A cold-blooded mass murderer? No. There's no way.
If you say anything to her, make sure it's sweet, boy, because they'll be the last words you ever speak.
He's forced to watch her cry through her speech from his chair, the cool barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. It takes all of his strength to remain calm, not wanting Charlie to see him panic.
The worst part is not even being able to reach out and hold her, to comfort her. It's the helplessness, listening to her beg for his life, listening to her beg her own father for mercy in a room full of the people she hates the most. It's watching Charlie sacrifice everything she's worked for just for him.
If it were Rufus in his position, he likely would do anything to get to her. He would crawl on his hands and knees, bleeding all over the flooring from multiple bullet wounds, willing himself not to die until he reached her. Rufus would not have agreed to stay silent, and his last words to Charlie likely would have been something sentimental, the only woman Reeve thinks Rufus has ever truly, genuinely loved, a softer and kinder and prettier version of himself.
Charlie's pilot would have done something, anything. Charlie's SOLDIER would never have allowed her to destroy her entire reputation over one man's life. Even her Turks (despite all the complaining she does about them) would at least try to put an end to this madness.
Not that he hadn't been tempted in spite of President Shinra's warning, tempted to call out to her and tell her not to do it, that he wasn't worth it, that he wouldn't watch her reduce herself to nothing over him when there were others, younger men, kinder men, that would love her just as much.
Scarlet had had her fun, raking long and sharp nails through his hair to give his head a few sharp and painful yanks while his hands were tied, smearing lipstick clumsily on his cheek as he attempted to turn away from her, and it was all for the sole purpose of further humiliating Charlie, laughing that horrible laugh the entire way to the press room and expressing the desire to see his fiancée executed on television. She had said it to get a rise out of him, he's sure, the entire time hoping to see him break, to see him angry, but he had refused to rise to the bait, not wanting to do anything that could possibly endanger Charlie.
The moment the camera turns off, the pressure against the back of his head is gone, and President Shinra orders one of the guards to uncuff him. His wrists are chafed raw after his futile attempts at slipping out of the cuffs, bright red and stinging, but the pain is nothing to him a few seconds later, when Charlie pounces, wrapping her arms tight around his neck and sobbing into his skin.
She shakes in his arms, fragile and utterly ruined, clinging to him like letting go would mean certain death, the most vulnerable and truest version of herself he's seen since the days that followed her failed rocket launch.
This girl, stripped of everything because of him . . . it seems unfair, wrong, and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
"Take my traitor daughter home," President Shinra commands him, and Reeve's grip around Charlie tightens, half-afraid that she'll be taken away from him. "And keep her there. You can pack up her things tomorrow and bring them home to her."
"Papa, please—"
"Enough," President Shinra snaps. "Get her home, son. Now."
Charlie cries the entire way home, curled up in the backseat of the car he had called to take them back to their apartment.
He has so many questions, the first being what can I do? and the second being what the hell is going on? However, he isn't sure now is the time to ask either of those. She's completely hysterical, incoherent, and he doesn't want to sound like he's accusing her of anything, but goddamn it, he needs answers after having a gun held to the back of his head at the urging of his fiancée's own father.
What he's not expecting, after all that unexpected nonsense, is to find someone is already in his apartment, sitting on the sofa like he owns the place.
Reeve hates the way his chest tightens when Charlie runs to Tseng when he gets to his feet, throwing herself at him and sobbing still louder. He holds her by her upper arms, looking fully prepared to shake some sense into her, but he's patient with her, always patient with her, trying to decipher what she's saying while making no effort to calm her down.
He excuses himself for a moment, just to be alone for a few seconds and regain his bearings. Reeve braces himself over the bathroom sink, looking in the mirror. He makes a feeble attempt at combing his hair back into place with his fingers, wiping the smudge of lipstick off his cheek with a hand towel.
He hadn't really believed President Shinra would use him in such a way, but now that he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. Charlie would do anything for him, and everyone knows it, knows that she would sacrifice her life for him if it came down to that.
It had frightened him, the coward he is, but he can't dwell on it, not while Charlie is crying on Tseng's shoulder in their own living room, explaining through sobs what had happened. He can't quite make out what Tseng is saying to her, but it seems to calm her down a little.
"Please . . ." he can hear her begging him, and several crude images float in his mind's eye that could be associated with such breathless pleading, none of them making him feel any better. "For me, Tseng," she says again, her voice needling at the back of his mind. "Please, for me . . ."
From their bedroom, he can hear the sirens and bullhorns going off in Sector Five, emergency crews going in to evacuate survivors and tend to the injured. The sound of medic helicopters fills the air for a moment as they fly from the Shinra building over their apartment complex towards the burning reactor. The sector is completely dark from where he stands, able to see the edge of it from up high in their penthouse, the power completely lost.
He has to go back if he wants to help, but he can't leave Charlie like this.
Not that she would mind. Tseng is here, and she's probably already forgotten that her own fiancé is pacing in their bedroom, jealous and angry and bitter, petty and afraid and confused, feeling harassed and distressed, unsure whether or not to be upset that Charlie had taken things too far, hadn't taken things seriously enough.
It's not her fault he was put into such a position—it's her father's, and Reeve understands that, understands that nothing is off-limits to President Shinra, including extortion. He knew that, when he became romantically involved with her, it could be dangerous, but he hadn't cared, unwilling to be scared away from the only bright spot in his dull and pathetic and lonely life at Shinra Incorporated.
He whirls around when the door opens, taking in the sight of Charlie's puffy and swollen face, her bright red cheeks and glossy eyes.
She smiles tearfully at him, tremulously, but it doesn't last long. Reeve moves swiftly across the bedroom to comfort her, to hold her, never having been more thankful for such a small and simple thing.
It's his chest she cries into, his chin coming to rest atop her head. "I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing her temple, the warm skin by her ear, the corners of her teary eye. "Charlie, I'm so sorry—"
"Why are you sorry?" she asks, pulling back slightly to tilt her head back, the better to see his face.
He hesitates, blushing. "Your job and—and everything that happened—"
"I don't care about that right now," she says quickly, scoffing up at him. "I just care about you." She brushes off the front of his suit jacket, adjusting the lapels with trembling fingers. "It was all my fault—"
"No, no, no—"
She grips the front of his jacket, holding him close, his arms still trapping her against his chest. "I know that you probably can't leave fast enough," she tells him, and he almost laughs in her face, for it's so far from the truth, "but will you at least let me make my case first?"
Reeve smiles in spite of everything, thankful the windows are closed to keep the screams and cries of citizens out of their bedroom. "I've had ten years to leave, Charlie," he answers. "I'm not leaving you now."
Charlie looks doubtful, childish almost. She reaches up to touch his face with her fingertips, as if unsure if he's real or not. "I'm giving you an easy out, to leave before something horrible happens to you because of me," she breathes, breath coming shakily. "Don't play the hero."
"I thought you liked heroes."
"I don't want you to die."
She says it so baldly, so plainly, that it catches him off guard. He won't pretend that he hadn't imagined President Shinra dragging him out back after Charlie's speech to shoot him like a wounded dog, if only to add some salt to her wound.
"I promise," she continues, tears welling up in her eyes again. Has she always looked so sad? so tired? so beaten down? "I won't be angry with you."
"No," he tells her again, firmly. "I'm not leaving."
She smiles weakly when he swipes at one of her tears with the pad of his thumb. "You were so brave," she says softly, looking less like an empty shell and more like the woman he knows her to be. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for that to happen."
Reeve takes her wrists gently in his hands, lowering them from his face. Does he ask now? Does he ask at all? How does one ask their fiancée if they're involved with a terrorist cell without sounding cold-hearted?
"Are you all right?" she asks again, eyes roving over his face as if inspecting for damage. "Did they hurt you?"
"Only my pride," he confesses, sighing dejectedly. "I'm fine."
"I was so scared."
"I know. It was very flattering." He kisses the corner of her mouth. "But don't worry about me. I'm not worth it."
She frowns. He hadn't meant for it to sound so . . . depressing, and he regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth, instinctively leaning away from her.
"I didn't mean—"
"Please don't go back tonight. Stay here, with me."
Hesitating, Reeve releases her wrists to run his fingers through his hair. "I have to go back. Half a sector is burning as we speak."
"Then have Tseng go with you," she pleads, holding onto his lapels again. "Please, he'll make sure nothing happens to you—"
"You've assigned me a bodyguard?"
He's glad to see her smile a small, cute little smile. It doesn't last long, but it's enough for the moment. "I've assigned you a Turk. He owes me several favors, and I've traded them all in to make sure you come home to me tonight." She purses her lips. "It would make me feel much better to know you had someone keeping an eye on you."
It sounds so forced, her effortless humor not quite so charming and endearing. "Will you be all right here by yourself?"
"I won't be alone," she replies, "Reno and Rude are already on their way over."
Reeve tenses, having a hard time feeling irritated when she looks so positively distraught. "I don't think I like that."
"We can switch, if that's what you'd like."
"I think I'd like that even less." He drags a hand down his face, sighing. "I'm sorry. I'm . . . very anxious."
"You always are." Charlie kisses him softly, a hand splayed over his heart. "Reeve," she whispers, and he can't deny how sweet it is to hear her say his name, "I promise you, you will never be put in that situation again."
Upon hearing the sound of their front door being opened and closed, the stomping of feet against their lacquered hardwood floors, and the sound of voices as Reno and Rude join Tseng in the living room, Reeve decides its time to return to Headquarters, having spent enough time with Charlie to say he feels rather confident that she'll be all right until he returns.
"Don't touch anything," he warns Reno and Rude on his way out, slightly annoyed when Tseng follows him, feeling like he'd be quite content to go his entire life without ever seeing another Turk again.