The first night is the hardest.

She cries herself hoarse that night, torn between grieving the untimely and almost brutal murder of her father and being relieved in regards to the death of someone who had just murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent people.

Reeve doesn't have the heart to tell her that Pia had been caught up in the violence, massacred in her cell, abdomen cut to ribbons. It had been a very unpleasant and traumatic sight.

He feels guilty that he doesn't mourn the death of his fiancée's father, that he doesn't really care that President Shinra is dead. He sheds no tears, can think of no positive or sentimental memories shared with the late president to dwell on, and can't find it in his heart to be sad about it, no matter how much he tries for Charlie.

Neither of them sleep long that night. They doze off in turns on the sofa, Charlie curled up in his lap with her cheek against his clavicle, with Cat curled up at his thigh, purring loudly. His neck and back will hurt something awful in the morning, but he doesn't dare suggest they move, for fear that she'll decide to grieve alone, instead.

He must watch the Sector Seven plate drop another sixty times as it continuously cycles on the newscast he watches quietly. Charlie never asks him to turn it off, but sometimes he wishes she would. It's nearly unbearable to watch, to imagine the sheer number of human lives lost because of it, but he can't stop watching, trying to imagine all the possible ways he could have stopped or prevented it.

With Charlie relatively indisposed the first few days, looking herself in her home office to cry or being locked in the president's office with her brother, it falls to Reeve to handle business matters. An accountant helps him with the transition of her father's inheritance (a number that makes him audibly gasp when presented with it, and makes him feel slightly inadequate) and it takes an entire day to sort through his possessions with Rufus.

The entire day spent in President Shinra's former mansion is not entirely a waste, however.

Rufus tells him to take whatever he wants home for Charlie, and leaves Reeve to wander around a cavernous home that he's never set foot in before.

Everything is so empty and cold and white, hardly looking lived-in, with natural light pouring in from dozens of windows set against each wall. He can understand why Charlie has never been keen on returning, or why she was never really happy to be alone in such a massive space.

Even her bedroom lacks any of her colorful personality, not a single personal effect in sight, not even any posters or star charts pinned to the walls like in the villa at Costa del Sol. It's triple the size of their bedroom at home, and Reeve finds the sheer size of it slightly overwhelming with so little furniture. The drawers and closet were cleaned out years ago, he knows, but he checks, just in case.

He finds the box under her bed, not really hidden, but tucked neatly away from open view. It's a beautiful, dark, wooden box, with her initials engraved in gold upon the top: CES.

He feels slightly guilty (a feeling that he's becoming very accustomed to lately), a little apprehensive, delving into Charlie's personal things from a life before him. Reeve isn't quite sure what he might find inside, half-expecting to find a few pieces of jewelry that she had left behind or a diary from her childhood.

The key is easy enough to find, the only thing still stashed within the nightstand drawer. It unlocks smoothly, the inside covered in crimson velvet, full of folded up pieces of paper and a few photographs.

What surprises him first is the picture on top, a picture from years ago, a picture with him in it. She can't be older than seventeen in it, his own young face cleanly shaven. They're both dressed nicely, she in a modest, gold evening gown, and he's wearing a fine tuxedo, a black bow-tie tight around his neck, surrounded by others at a table, including Rufus and their father.

It must have been taken at some corporate party, for some holiday or other. While he himself is offering the camera a tired smile (the only one looking at the camera), Charlie is beaming up at him, much like the open way she does now.

Reeve knows he shouldn't continue to look, as these things are likely very personal, but curiosity gets the better of him. He unfolds one of the papers she has stored inside, and another picture falls out of it, a picture of the SOLDIER she had once been fond of.

Charlie,

Enclosed is something I hope will make you feel better after our last conversation. If it's any consolation, I miss you a little bit, too.

Call me when you get this.

Reeve feels his chest tighten, and his stomach churns violently. Charlie hadn't told him that she and Angeal had been writing letters to each other, let alone calling each other while he was away on missions, or sending each other pictures. And he had called her Charlie. Hardly anyone in the Shinra Building calls her Charlie, a nickname reserved for her friends.

It's the only letter from Angeal, thankfully. There are a few additional pictures of scenery and picturesque-looking villages that were probably sent with other letters now lost, but none of them come with any form of context for Reeve.

One of the other letters is something that makes him almost forget about the SOLDIER completely, upon seeing handwriting that's vaguely familiar to him. It makes his heart leap into his throat.

My dearest Charlotte,

How is Costa del Sol? I'm sorry I was unable to make it this time, but I promise I'll be there next time, and we can go to the beach whenever you want, even at night.

Keep up with your studies. Your mother says you're doing well. If you keep working hard, I might even be able to find a reward for you.

Veld

Reeve's heart aches, and he feels far more close to tears than he has in the past few days, and that feeling is only intensified when he opens another letter, clearly more recent than the last.

My dearest Charlotte,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know we have not spoken in close to a year, but I know that you have been busy, as Tseng takes care to report back to me as often as he can. My job has kept me busy, as well, and I no longer have the time to play games with you or read you stories like I once did. You are a young woman now, no longer in need of an old babysitter like me.

I fear that I may not see you again for a very long time, but Tseng has given me his word that he will look after you. Trust him. I would not ask just anyone to care for you.

You cannot know how much joy you have brought me over the years. It has been a great honor watching you grow into an intelligent and confident young woman, and I wish you great success in your future endeavors, whatever they may be.

When we meet again, I hope that the world has been kind to us both. Until then, take care of yourself, and remember who you are.

With love,

Veld

Reeve has to fold the letter back up instantly after reading it. It's too much, too intimate, he can't look at it, he's invaded her privacy and Veld's, and neither of them would be happy about it. He wasn't supposed to read this, this tender exchange between a man known for his severity and firm authority and the neglected daughter of the late President Shinra.

There's so much she doesn't know, he thinks, feeling horrible, but how am I supposed to tell her?

There's one picture of her and Veld, old and tinted and slightly torn at one corner like it's been handled many times. Charlotte looks no older than eight, sitting on a bench on the beach with an ice cream cone, smiling from ear to ear with her face sunburnt, and Veld sitting stoic and rugged beside her.

The closest thing to a real father she's possibly ever had.

Charlie rarely speaks about him now, preferring to act sometimes as if he never existed, forcing herself to forget him in her anger and bitterness. She had been genuinely hurt when Veld left, never having been given a proper explanation. That had been at the request of Rufus, and Reeve doesn't dare go against her brother's wishes now—the president's wishes.

"Bit old to be snooping, don't you think?"

Reeve jumps, looking up to find Rufus standing at the threshold of Charlie's bedroom. There's not a trace of humor in his voice, nor is there a wicked smile on his face. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Reeve isn't really sure how long he's been standing there.

"I was only curious," he says, feeling like it's a rather inadequate answer.

Rufus swaggers over to him, plucking a photograph from the box, one of Charlie and Tseng as teenagers, seated on the deck of the beach house. The picture itself makes Reeve feel as if opening the box had been a horrible mistake.

Charlie must be eighteen or nineteen in the picture, and the only reason he can tell is because she's wearing the necklace he'd bought her for her eighteenth birthday, clad in a tiny swimsuit and seated upon the fully-clothed lap of Tseng.

The back of her head is resting comfortably upon his shoulder, one arm reaching up to keep his face close to hers, neither of them smiling, but looking down at a book in one of Tseng's hands. Tseng's other hand is placed upon her waist, holding her in place, their legs stretched out on the elongated chair.

If Reeve is angry, Rufus is furious. His face hardens and his pale eyes flash mutinously.

"They've always been close, no matter how much Charlie hates to admit it," he says bitterly, and Reeve keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin the moment. It's not often that Rufus is so open with him. "There weren't other children to play with when we were young, and Tseng was nearly of an age with her when he was first introduced to us. Since then, he's killed for her, several times, did you know? There's blood on your fiancée's hands, even if she doesn't know it." He pauses for a moment. "I always thought they might marry."

Reeve doesn't miss the way Rufus's eyes fix upon him after this confession, as if hoping to get a rise out of him. The thought makes his stomach roil with jealousy again, but Reeve knows better than to talk back, or at all.

Rufus sighs heavily, throwing the picture back into the box so it stares up at Reeve, mocking him. He has to look away.

He doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to think about Charlie and her SOLDIER, Charlie and her pilot, Charlie and her journalist and her actor . . . Charlie and her Turk. He doesn't want to think about how much Charlie has kept from him.

Had he ever been her first choice? Charlie loves him now, and Reeve has never doubted it, but to see her spread out across Tseng's lap so comfortably, like she had done it before, has made him second guess things. She's always been one to bask in attention whenever it's given to her, always eager for someone to praise and compliment her, always happy to have someone flirt with her.

Not that Reeve has given her much insight into his own previous romantic encounters—not that they had mattered much, anyway. There had been the girl from the slums, but that had been strictly physical, as there had been many frustrations he needed to relieve, most of them in regards to Charlie, and he had had women before meeting Charlie at all. Besides that, after starting at Shinra Inc., he had found himself far too busy to apply his efforts to dating.

"I want you to begin reconstruction of the Sector Seven plate immediately. Charlie has sent emergency services to the ruins, to check for any survivors, but neither of us are holding out hope. It's been days now, and we need to begin clearing the wreckage."

"I don't have the employees to work as quickly as I could before," Reeve confesses. Many of them had died when the employee housing district had collapsed with the plate.

Rufus doesn't seem fazed by this. "You have plans drawn up, I'm sure?"

"Yes, of course. I can show you the moment we return to Headquarters."

"No need," Rufus replies with a shrug. When Reeve seems doubtful, he continues, almost pleasantly. "You are many things, Director, but incompetent is certainly not one of them. Are you capable of handling this project on your own?"

"But, sir," Reeve protests weakly, "I'm not sure we have the budget for—"

"Don't worry about the money. I'll make sure your department has what you need. Charlie will allocate funds where she sees fit. Prepare a few plans and I'll look at them when I can."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Rufus raises his eyebrows, as if this 'thanks' was unnecessary. "I still don't like the fact that you're sleeping with my sister."

"We're not just sleeping together," Reeve says before he can stop himself, "we're engaged."

The president scowls. "Which makes it even worse."

When Reeve presents the box to Charlie at home, she immediately pales at the sight of it and refuses to look inside, instead putting it on a shelf in her office to collect dust.

It's only when they're lying in bed that night does Reeve find the courage to ask her, "Had you ever slept with anyone before me?" The question makes him blush, sounding petty and childish coming from his own mouth.

"No," she answers sweetly, offering him a reassuring smile through the dark. "I told you that. I had only been kissed once before I kissed you."

"Who was it?" he asks quickly. "Was it Tseng?"

"Tseng?" she laughs. "No, of course not. Where would you get that idea?"

When he only shrugs, Charlie seems to understand, her smile softening to something a little more sympathetic.

"You looked in the box, didn't you?"

"I . . ." Reeve gives her an apologetic look, feeling very small before her. "I may have looked, yes, but I . . ." He shifts uncomfortably. Why had he opened that box in the first place? "Sorry."

"It's all right. I've never kissed Tseng, and I can promise you that."

This doesn't make him feel any better, but he wants to know, has to know. He isn't certain who he wants the answer to be, but he hopes it isn't the pilot. He might die if she tells him it was the pilot. "Who was it, Charlie?"

"Come on," she scoffs. "You don't want to know about that, do you?"

"Just tell me, Charlotte—"

"Fine, it was Angeal. Happy now?" she snaps, rolling over to put her back to him.

No, he wants to say, not at all.

He wishes he'd never asked, but at least it wasn't the pilot.

The funeral comes a few days after the president's death, an intimate thing with no more than thirty people in attendance, broadcasted to the ends of the world for everyone to view from the comfort of their homes.

Charlotte sits at the very front of the rows of chairs, as befits her new position, with her brother on her right and Tseng on her left, clutching to her brother's hand in plain view of everyone behind them. Every so often she leans into the Turk and whispers something, and Reeve has to watch Tseng put his mouth right next to Charlie's ear to answer quickly, far too close for his liking, the two of them bantering throughout the entire service.

To her credit, she doesn't shed any tears, but Reeve knows that's because she shed them all the night she watched her father die.

No doubt it was Rufus's decision to place his sister's future husband among those he deems "lesser". It's no secret that Rufus lacks any respect for any of his executives, despite being forced to rely on their advice from time to time about things the former president hadn't quite gotten around to telling him.

Only earlier today, Rufus had been forced into that exact position, confronting Reeve in his office about those plans to reconstruct Sector Seven, if he had any to present at all. As thrilled as Reeve had been about a president that might care enough about the people of Midgar to follow up on his promises, Rufus had quickly shot down the idea of them becoming some sort of "team" before the idea had even been suggested.

"I am not interested, nor have I ever been interested, in being your friend, Director," Rufus had told him, sounding almost bored. "But at my lovely sister's insistence, I've decided to . . . extend a temporary olive branch."

"Oh?" was all he could think to say, remembering the cavalier way Rufus had shot Palmer.

"I've had the bug removed from your phone," Rufus had confessed, completely nonchalant. Reeve had been forced to stifle his genuine surprise and irritation. "You have a filthy mouth on you, Director. I can't believe my innocent sister allows you to speak to her like that." He had smiled, then. "I suppose my sister has always liked that, though. Men a little . . . rough around the edges."

It had been enough to make him blush, which had pleased Rufus immensely.

Scarlet sighs from his left, fanning herself as the eulogy goes on and on. "They're going to run this company and the city into the ground," she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the back of Charlie's head. "Shinra and Midgar are as good as dead."

"I'm sorry?" Reeve asks, hardly able to believe what he's hearing.

She laughs softly, a false laugh, and mocking. "They're only children," she elaborates, rolling her eyes. He can't say it isn't half-true; Rufus is nearly ten years his junior, younger even than Charlie, though not by much. "Petulant, spoiled children, half in love with each other. Shall we make a bet on whose department will be shut down first, Reeve?"

"Might be Hojo's department first," comes Heidegger's hushed and gruff voice from Reeve's other side. "It seems that he's resigned. Afraid of coming face to face with Sephiroth, I'm sure. Without Hojo, the department is finished."

"Hojo's resigned?" Reeve asks quickly. This is news to him, as he usually takes great pains to avoid the professor whenever he can.

"He left the night of the president's death," Scarlet supplies, looking happy to have some news that Reeve doesn't. "And no one's seen him since. His lackeys say that it had something to do with the loss of a very important specimen."

"What specimen?"

"The only specimen Hojo has cared about since the beginning of his days with Shinra," Scarlet scoffs, indicating how she, and the rest of them, feel about Hojo. "Jenova. She must have found a way to free herself from the inside." Looking past him at Heidegger, she scowls. "At least your department will be safe, you great oaf. The president is far too fond of those Turks. They're nothing but a menace to society. Looks like Tseng might take your job, though, Heidegger."

Heidegger only grunts, turning red beneath his beard.

"Looks like Tseng might take your woman, too, Reeve," she whispers, leaning close to point out the way the Turk's mouth moves to her ear again, speaking for a few seconds before Charlie turns to look at him with a small smile. "Now that daddy dearest is dead, there's really no reason for her to marry you, is there?"

Reeve won't deny the jab is painful, tugging at his heart, at his deepest insecurities. He can't deny that there is some queer form of love that Charlie and Tseng feel for each other, almost unavoidable after spending so much of their lives together, but he can't really believe that Charlie would leave him now for a Turk, nor would Tseng overstep in regards to his boss's sister.

He remembers how angry Rufus had looked upon seeing the picture of Charlie in Tseng's lap, wondering who had taken the picture to begin with.

Scarlet may believes Charlie's love for Reeve is all fabricated for the sake of pleasing her father, but Scarlet hasn't heard Charlie whisper heart wrenching confessions in the dark after making love to each other, hasn't seen the way she smiles at him in private, hasn't seen Charlie kiss him all over the face when he comes home from work after a long day, eager to fall into her with her arms wrapped around him.

Charlie falls asleep on the way home, her head resting against Reeve's shoulder in the back of a private car. He looks down at her, wondering if Scarlet's words held any real weight, but at the sight of her looking so sweet and innocent, there's no doubt that what Charlie feels for him is real.

A few days after the funeral, Rufus holds an exclusive, intimate, corporate gala in the lounge of Shinra Headquarters, not to celebrate his recent inauguration, but to meet with everyone who worked closely alongside Shinra and the late president, in the hopes of redefining his father's legacy and keeping necessary allies in his pocket.

Charlotte looks beautiful, of course. She's always been beautiful, but seeing her dressed for a black-tie affair is always something that brings him great pleasure.

Her light blonde hair is slicked back and tucked behind her ears, tumbling down the exposed skin of her back. The diamond earrings that hang heavy on her ears sparkle upon catching the light just right, and she dons a matching necklace (a necklace he had bought her for her twenty-first birthday) and bracelet (a bracelet he bought her simply because he had seen it in a shop window and thought she might like it), and of course her engagement ring.

Reeve can't help it when his chest swells with pride at the very sight of her wearing it, even now, after the death of her father.

He can't believe that the sight of her like this still makes his heart race and his palms all sweaty. She could very well be the princess that everyone seems to believe she is, wearing an expensive black velvet dress with a plunging neckline and a sweep train, with golden embroidery around her waist and at the hem, showing off enough skin to keep lechers glancing her way all night.

Reeve tugs uncomfortably at the bow-tie around his neck, nursing a glass of champagne. All night, Charlie's been pulled away from him. Every time he attempts to make a grab for her hand, or tries to ask her to dance, someone more important requires her attention.

Instead of being his date for the night, she's Rufus's, and it infuriates him.

To be fair, Charlie had warned him beforehand that she was likely going to be distracted for the majority of the night, smoothing over any issues Shinra's investors may have, charming them and laughing at their jokes, projecting an image of solidarity between her and the now-president of the company.

Rufus always seems to have a hand splayed against the small of her back, an arm around her waist, a hand upon the nape of her neck, always eager to show his sister off to whoever they speak to. Whenever they walk together, he holds her hand or offers her his arm, but several times, Reeve witnesses things that make him slightly nervous.

Once, while Charlie stands in a shadowy corner to escape her brother for a moment and get a drink, Rufus confronts her, gripping her thin wrist tight and snarling something into her face.

And another time, while Rufus and Charlie are dancing together, her face hardens at something spoken that Reeve hadn't heard, and when she tries to turn her face away, Rufus's fingers catch her chin, forcing her to look at him for a few seconds before releasing her.

Reeve forces himself to remain calm. There's nothing he can do, and the helplessness gnaws at his insides.

Seeing Rufus so blatantly mistreat her makes his breath hitch, wanting to walk right up to Rufus and punch him square in the face, something that has always been (since her brother had walked in on them the morning after they'd slept together) a vindictive and vengeful fantasy of his.

It's late into the party when Charlotte finally approaches him, not half as drunk as he is.

"Hey, stranger," she murmurs, taking hold of his hands and lacing their fingers together. "Want to get out of here for a little?"

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. His eyes scan the crowd of partygoers, looking for Rufus. "Won't you be . . . missed?"

This makes her smile. "Let's go to my office."

Her new office is located on the sixty-ninth floor, bigger than his own and with fewer windows, but still as luxurious and gaudy as the president's office. She's still in the process of moving all of her things, so a few open boxes are stacked against the wall behind her desk, and the walls are still bare and empty, lacking any kind of pictures or awards.

Charlie drags him inside by the hand, locking the door behind them. She takes the half-empty glass of champagne out of his hand, placing it on a coffee table. "You've been drinking a lot tonight," she notes, but she isn't at all scolding him.

"I've had a lot on my plate lately," Reeve tells her, wishing the words didn't sound so bitter.

"I know," she replies, sounding sad. She walks right up to him, adjusting the bow-tie around his neck. "You've been so patient and kind to me these past few days. I think you deserve a reward, if you're interested."

"What are you offering?" It takes all of his strength to keep from tearing her dress off.

"Anything you want," she smiles. "Anything at all. Ask me, and it's yours."

It's a difficult question, made harder by the amount of alcohol he's consumed in the past few hours. There are lots of things he wants—he wants Rufus and Tseng out of her life, he wants to go home with her right now and get out of this ridiculous outfit, he wants her to be open with her about these past few days.

What are you supposed to ask for when everything is within reach? Charlie could give him the world if he asked for it, but the only things he wants right now are things he can't have.

Reeve rubs the back of his neck, sighing. "I don't expect a reward,"

he confesses. "I did it because I love you."

Charlie beams at him. "Why don't I at least make an offer before you turn me down?" After receiving a hum in reply from him, she continues in a low voice, eyes sparkling playfully. "I'm not wearing anything under this dress. Want to see?"

"Yes," he says stupidly, flushing as Charlie takes a few steps back towards her desk.

"Come here," she murmurs, sitting atop the desk now and spreading her legs, her movement still slightly restricted by the soft fabric of her dress. "Come look, Reeve."

The sound of his name rolling off her tongue like that ignites a fire in him. He moves towards her almost clumsily, unable to reach her fast enough. As he begins to push her dress up her bare legs, his heart starts to beat a little faster, heat radiating from her core as his hands skate up her hard thighs.

"Touch me," she says, and he does, resting his forehead against her shoulder and breathing heavily against her skin, listening to the hitch of her breath and the soft sigh that escapes her. Charlie's fingers rake through his hair, her lips pressing a light kiss to his temple. "For you, my love, all for you."

The words escape Reeve before he can swallow them, only to never speak them again. It feels odd to be asking something like this with his fingers inside of her. "Do you still want to marry me?"

"Of course I do," Charlie whispers, tugging at his hair to lift his head from her shoulder, to look into his face. "Gods, yes, I still want to."

He can't help but feel doubtful after snooping through her box full of past loves and memories. "That's nice to hear."

"You must be drunk," she giggles, wriggling against him and placing another kiss to his cheek, "if you think I wouldn't want to marry you."

Her fingers suddenly wrap around his wrist, halting his movements. His head feels foggy, his body working of its own accord. His pants feel impossibly and uncomfortably tight. "What's wrong? Do you want me to stop?"

"Do you want to go home?" she asks, cheeks flushed.

Reeve hesitates, curling the ends of the fingers inside her, just to see the way her face contorts for a moment, drawing another content sigh from her mouth. "Shouldn't you be down there, with your brother?"

"I want to be with you."

He slips his fingers from her to cradle her face with both hands, and presses his lips hard to her own, swallowing Charlie's soft cry of protest.

He could have anything in the world, and yet Reeve thinks he's content right now, with a woman who wants to spend time with him, kissing him with a hunger that she's likely never shared with another man.

Finally, when he can't prolong it for another minute, Reeve pulls away to drag her back down to the lobby of the Shinra Building, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. Charlie follows him, but not before adjusting his dress and fixing her hair, smiling at him all the while.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the party?" he asks one more time as they wait for an elevator.

"I'm sure. They all hate me," she tells him flatly. "They all think I was conspiring with Avalanche. They think I was involved with the plate collapse."

Reeve purses his lips. "I'm sure Rufus will clear your name soon."

"Even if he doesn't," she murmurs, the elevator ringing as the doors slide open, "I wouldn't mind."

"What? How could you say that?"

"It's all right." Charlie smiles nervously at him before stepping into the elevator. "It was my fault, anyway."