"How're you holdin' up, princess?"

"I don't know, honestly. Everything happened so quickly."

"Well, at the risk of soundin' cold, your dad was kind of a bastard."

Charlie sighs, running a hand through her hair. He doesn't mean to be harsh, she knows. If he wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't care to be subtle. "I know it, but he was still my father."

"I'm sorry, Lottie. I'm glad you're all right."

She's quiet for a moment, looking down at the sealed envelope on her desk. "I found a letter for me, from my father," she tells him. "I'm afraid to open it."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She picks it up and holds it to the light, hoping for a clue. "I'm afraid it's going to be something horrible."

"But there's a chance it won't be. Gotta do somethin' that scares you."

"Maybe." Charlie tosses the envelope aside. "Anyway, I'm really glad you called. Do you mind if I bounce an idea off you?"

"Are you back to work already?" Cid laughs quietly, sounding surprised. "You're a real professional, kid."

"That's Madam Vice President to you," she teases, leaning back in her chair to rest her feet upon her desk. "I want to restart the space program."

"Say no more—I'm sold. Think of the team we'd make—"

"I wouldn't be part of the department," she interrupts, frowning at the thought. It's not that she doesn't want to be part of it, it's that working with Cid again might rekindle old feelings she wants to avoid. "And I can't recommend you as a replacement for Palmer. You understand, don't you?"

Cid hesitates. The silence makes her nervous. "I ain't a politician, you mean."

"The other directors, especially my brother, would eat you alive, Cid," she says, the honest truth. "But if I can get the program restarted, you'll help?"

"Yeah, you can count on me," he answers sullenly. "Hey, I gotta go."

"Okay," Charlie says, disappointed by his abrupt change in attitude and the curt goodbye offered. It's bold of him, she thinks, to be so forward with Shinra's new vice president.

But it had been nice of him to call, to see how she was doing despite not giving a damn that her father was murdered.

Truthfully, after crying herself to sleep last night, Charlie rather feels that it's helped. She's struck with a sudden feeling of relief that leaves her feeling guilty, split between a feeling of absolute horror for having witnessed something so gruesome and cold.

She doesn't want to talk about it. Reeve had asked once what happened in the president's office, but Charlie couldn't bring herself to repeat it. She had already told Tseng when he and Rude had picked her up from the helipad at Headquarters, and again told her story to Rufus when he returned to her after dealing with Avalanche.

She had known Sephiroth was strong, had known that there was something different about him, had known that he was almost otherworldly, but nothing had prepared her for the way he had pushed his sword so easily through her father's body. The smooth push, meeting no resistance, as if the effort had been nothing to him.

Whoever it was that murdered her father, it couldn't have been Sephiroth. And if it was, what had prompted his return to Midgar, to Shinra Headquarters? What had driven him to commit such brutal acts of murder without so much as an explanation?

You will never have the Promised Land.

Charlie had thought it only a taunt, last mocking words to infuriate the president before silencing him forever. Could it all have had something to do with the Ancient that escaped the slaughter with the others?

Right now, she doesn't really want to dwell on it. She had dreamed of it last night, while she dozed on Reeve's chest, curled up in his lap with his arms around her. She had dreamed of Sephiroth and the aloof way he often looked at her six or seven years ago, a half-smile on his face as if unsure whether or not he should smile.

Before Charlie makes for Shinra Headquarters, to meet with her brother, she has a car drive her across Sector Eight to a smaller apartment complex nearer the reactor, where there are only a few units within compared to the dozens of luxury units in her own building.

If Tseng's and Rude's living spaces are anything to go by, the Turks are paid handsomely for their work, but Reno doesn't seem to share their appreciation for finer things.

It doesn't bother Charlie much, even if his apartment is a mess, littered with empty cigarette packs and take-out containers, the TV blaring to no one in particular while he wanders around with a towel hanging low around his waist, muttering about missing socks.

His body is covered in bruises and half-healed wounds, and he moves a bit slower than usual, limping back and forth across the living room as Charlie waits for him patiently, listening to the handsome news anchor on the screen.

". . . late president's son, Rufus Shinra, has delivered a statement this morning in regards to his father's death . . . memorial services will be held at the end of the week, broadcasted nationwide . . . hopes that Sector Seven, and Midgar, can finally begin the healing process . . ."

At least Reno had let her in, likely out of fear that she might turn around and go running to Rufus or Tseng. He doesn't speak to her while he dresses himself, moving around the apartment so quickly and frequently that it makes her anxious.

Finally, when he comes out of his bedroom with his suit on, his undershirt and jacket completely unbuttoned, Reno walks back out to the living room to stand directly in front of her with his hands held behind his back, his crotch right in front of her face.

Charlie lifts her eyes to look up into his face. "What are you doing?"

"I know the timin' is pretty terrible," he begins, clearing his throat and offering her the thing he's holding behind his back, a gift-wrapped box no bigger than a coaster, "but thought I might give you your birthday present a little early."

She falters, caught so off guard that it wipes every smart answer from her brain. "What?"

Reno frowns, sitting down beside her on the sofa as he forces the box into her hands. "Your birthday hasn't changed, has it? Still in a week?"

"No, it definitely hasn't changed," she laughs, hesitant to unwrap the gift. "It's just . . . I guess I thought everyone forgot about it. And you're not really one for gifts."

"Well, don't keep me waiting, then! Open it, yo!"

Charlie smiles at him, her anger with him temporarily forgotten. She tugs gently at the bow (he certainly hadn't wrapped it) and it slides apart so she can pull the lid off. "Oh!" she gasps, removing the watch from inside and holding it up to admire it. "Reno, this is . . . this is so thoughtful. It's lovely."

"All right, all right, don't be soundin' so surprised, princess," Reno chuckles, looking pleased with himself. "Saw your watch was broken when you got back from the slums, though that hasn't stopped you from wearing it."

He points to the watch around her wrist, the face a tap away from being shattered, the time still frozen to when the building had exploded and knocked her out. Reeve had bought her this watch years ago, a few days after Rufus had told her father about her involvement with a Shinra employee.

She's loath to be rid of the watch Reeve gave her, truthfully. It's exquisite, with a diamond pavé, the round watch head white gold with a black satin strap that fits perfectly around her wrist. But it's broken, and Reno has just gifted her a working one that's not quite as beautiful, but exactly her taste.

She has other watches, of course, but all of them bought with her own money.

"You shouldn't have," she tells him truthfully, watching his mouth curl into a wider smile, smug. "This is too much."

"Not like I'm spending my hard-earned dough on much else," he notes, gesturing around vaguely to his modest apartment.

Charlie can't help but smile back at him. "Are you trying to buy back my trust and affection?"

"That might have something to do with it, yes."

She cradles the watch against her chest for a moment. No one has made any mention of her upcoming birthday recently, but for good reason. Even Reeve has seemed slightly off lately, too busy trying to wrap his head around the massive amount of destruction that he'll have to fix, and now with her father dead . . .

"Look, Charlie, I was just doin' my job."

"I know. I should be angry with Tseng."

"No, you should be angry with your old man," Reno tells her firmly, too serious for her liking. She doesn't like when he's too serious. "You doin' okay, Charlie?"

She swallows against the lump forming in her throat. "I'm doing okay. Thank you," she says, switching out the watches for Reno's sake, and even kissing him on the cheek for good measure before she leaves his apartment, satisfied that he's healing all right.

She makes another detour on the thirtieth floor of the Shinra Building, to see Reeve for a moment. He's surprised that she's left the apartment at all, acting like she's fragile or on the verge of a mental breakdown, but she assures him that it's all right.

"I've only come to collect your Shinra tax," she teases, smiling up at him after he dismisses his staff flippantly.

"Oh?" His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "And that is . . . ?"

"That's what I call this." She pushes herself onto her toes to kiss him once on the lips.

"Well, hold on," he says, catching her wrist before she can escape. "I think I owe back taxes, Madam Vice President."

Charlie giggles, squirming playfully against him when he wraps his arms around her, letting him pepper her face with soft kisses. "Anyone can see us," she whispers, noticing some awkward employees trying hard not to look through the tinted windows of the conference room they're in.

Reeve offers her an exasperated scoff. "So now you're concerned about voyeurs?"

"Well . . ." Charlie smiles sheepishly. "We put on a pretty good show."

"Indeed," he murmurs, giving her one last kiss before sending her off reluctantly.

When she finally arrives in the president's office, having followed the blood stains that have yet to be fully washed from the carpeted parts of the flooring, Rufus and Tseng are already inside and at the desk, heads together as they speak in low, conspiratorial tones. Dark Nation lounges in the corner, making for her immediately to nuzzle at her hand, eager for affection.

Both Rufus and Tseng look up at the sight of Charlie walking in, falling quiet.

"Where the hell have you been?" Rufus asks sharply, seated in their father's chair, the chair that Charlotte had thought she might be sitting in one day. "Didn't you get any of my texts?"

"I don't have a phone anymore," she retorts, and it seems like Rufus had completely forgotten that fact, softening slightly.

He turns to Tseng. "Get her a phone tonight," he says, satisfied with a slight nod from the Turk at his shoulder. "You were supposed to be here two hours ago, Charlie."

"I went to go see Reno. He looks terrible," she replies, sitting down across from Rufus, in a chair that's been pulled up for her, an empty one beside her, presumably for Tseng. "And at least he didn't forget my birthday's coming up."

Rufus narrows his eyes as Charlie lifts her arm to show off her new watch. It's not half so expensive as Reeve's had been, but at least it works, tick-tick-ticking away while two of her favorite people in the world look incredulously at it, probably shocked that Reno would do something so kind for her. She still doesn't believe it, either.

"I haven't forgotten your birthday, and I'm insulted that you think I would," Rufus hisses, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Charlie and Tseng smile at each other discreetly as her brother lowers his head to look at some papers again. "Are you ready for your first meeting as vice president, sister? Just the three of us."

When Tseng regains his seat in the chair beside Charlie, she looks sideways at him as Rufus fusses with a few dossiers that are scattered about the desk. She can't believe that her brother has chosen to occupy the office where their father had been callously murdered only last night.

She can't believe she's sitting here now, like nothing ever happened. Why isn't she more upset? Why don't the tears come? Surely she hasn't cried them all already? Surely there's something left for her father.

The father that had abandoned her at every turn. The father that had left her in the care of murderers and spies for weeks, sometimes months, to attend to business. The father that forgot her birthday, that beat her until she bled, that ordered a gun held to her fiancé's head, that ordered the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people to crush a second-rate, slum-dwelling terrorist cell consisting of a handful of people.

"You forgot my birthday was coming up, didn't you?" she asks Tseng teasingly, his fingertips drumming against the arms of his chair.

"It may have slipped my mind with all the chaos lately," he admits, making an effort to sound slightly apologetic. "You can't expect me to remember every little detail."

Charlie smiles at him, glad that he's at least confessed to it. "So I guess you'll have to do something really big to make it up to me, won't you?"

"Is there already something you have in mind?" Tseng asks, raising a single eyebrow. "What did I get you last year?"

"Tickets to the opera house, remember?" She sighs wistfully, lost in thought for a moment. It had been such a wonderful gift, and Charlie had loved every minute of it, more than enough to make up for Reeve's obvious indifference towards it. Regardless, he had been a perfect gentleman the whole night, happy just to be with her. "I can't wait to see how you'll top that."

"I'm sure I'll think of something."

Rufus looks up, eyes flashing with anger at the both of them. "If the two of you are finished flirting with each other, perhaps we could begin?"

"Well, I'm not done yet," Charlie says, only provoking Rufus closer to real anger. She smiles at him, but it does nothing to dissolve the scowl on his face.

"Be serious, Charlie. We have a lot of work to do."

The three of them spend all of the first day going over numbers—totaling up their father's outstanding debts, determining whether or not someone has been embezzling money from the company, drafting a new budget to cut Scarlet off from a nearly unlimited amount of resources, and trying to figure out how much money it will take to repair both the reactors and the damage done to a Sector Seven.

"You should ask Reeve for help, Rufus," Charlie tells him, her head beginning to ache. The sun is already setting over Midgar, and she's eager to be home and away from this office. The smell of her father's cigar still lingers. "He'll be able to give you the information you're looking for."

"I can do it myself," Rufus snaps back at her, as irritable as she is. "I don't need his help, and I certainly don't want it."

"It's what he's here for," she protests, not for the first time. "Have him and a few others draft up some short-term reconstruction plans, but in the meantime, we need to get search and rescue out there, we need food and water to give to the survivors, and we need to give them a place to stay that isn't here. Think of how many people may have already died because of Father's unwillingness to act quickly enough."

"Goddamnit, Charlie, I just told you, I can do this. Didn't you listen the first time?" Rufus glances quickly towards Tseng, as if only now remembering he's in the room with them. Clearing his throat, he says smoothly, "I've already dispatched emergency crews to whatever is left of Sector Seven. And you can tell Director Tuesti that it's going to be his responsibility from here on out."

"Rufus, you ask too much of him," she sighs, slightly embarrassed with Tseng watching on, hardly looking fazed by their argument. It's not the first one they've had today. "You're putting too much on his plate."

"It's his job, Charlie. If he's incapable of managing this city, then perhaps I should find someone else to do it for him."

When the three of them grow tired of numbers, eating silently in the office, all of them looking down at their food, Charlie allows herself to think.

It almost feels like a dream—Rufus, Tseng, and herself, all conspiring around the president's own desk without having to worry about her father catching them at it.

It's nice to be included, to have her opinions heard and, sometimes, praised. It's nice to have power—real power, and it's nice to be treated like an equal.

Before they all go their separate ways, and as Charlie is wondering whether or not Reeve has gone home for the night, Tseng gives them both one last piece of information.

"It seems Professor Hojo doesn't want to be found. He's resigned, and the Jenova specimen is missing," he says, hands held behind his back. "It may be that he has already left Midgar. Should we send a team after him, sir?"

Rufus thinks for a moment, looking at his sister. "I'd prefer to keep you all here for the time being, and according to Charlie, Reno is in no shape to travel. Have you found a temporary replacement?"

"Yes, sir," Tseng answers, pleasing Rufus immensely. "Elena. We've ended her training early. She's been tracking Professor Hojo with Rude." He turns to face Charlie as Rufus picks his jacket up off the back of their father's chair, brushing it off. "Be nice to her, Charlotte."

"Who are you to give me orders?" Charlie asks, surprised at the audacity with which the command had been spoken. Though, truthfully, it had sounded more like a plea.

"I'm asking you as someone who has known you for the better part of your life," Tseng continues in a low voice, seemingly very aware of the scowl Rufus throws in their direction. "She's already nervous, and she thinks you hate her. We don't have the liberty of picking from a handful of potentials anymore, and we need all the bodies we can get."

She inhales deeply, pursing her lips together tight. "All right," she agrees after a moment. "I'll be nice to her, so long as she isn't annoying."

"Leave Hojo be for now," Rufus interrupts loudly, looking furious at having been forgotten. "We'll discuss him another time."

When she gets home that night, Charlie locks herself in her office, suddenly overwhelmed with how quickly things are moving. It's only then that she begins to cry, and the tears don't stop for at least an hour.

She isn't sure whether or not she cries for her father.

The day after that is spent with only Rufus, as they put work aside temporarily to decide on what to do with their father's things. They open the liquor cabinet early that day, and he's a bit gentler with her, too, without Tseng around.

"What about the beach house?" he asks her, sighing as he thumbs through the paperwork for the villa, seated on a brand new sofa next to Charlie. "Should we sell it?"

"What? No!" Charlie answers quickly, looking down over his shoulder at the paperwork. "I like the beach house."

"Charlie, you're hardly ever there."

"Well . . . I don't want to sell it."

"Fine, but I'm selling the whore house in Sector One, and the house in Sector Three."

Charlie shrugs at that. She doesn't really care what Rufus does with the family house, but she never wants to set foot in it again. "You'll have to go back and make sure there's nothing important there," she reminds him, suddenly smiling pleadingly. "You could bring Reeve with you."

"What? No." He looks horrified by the mere suggestion.

"It would give me some time to move into my office, and you could talk to him about reconstruction plans," she presses him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Please, Rufus, that would mean so much to me."

Rufus scrunches his nose, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Father is dead now. You know you don't have to marry him anymore."

"Why wouldn't I want to marry him?"

"I can think of several reasons—"

"Then it's a good thing you're not marrying him." Charlie shifts on the sofa, clutching at her brother's arm. "Please, Rufus. I want the both of you to get along. I'm not asking you to be friends, just please make an effort to at least be kind to him."

Rufus grits his teeth, unable to say 'no' to her. "Fine, I'll take him to the house tomorrow. Tell him I'll pick him up at nine. If he hears it from you, maybe he won't think it's a trap."

"Don't threaten him. I'm serious."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sister." He looks her over curiously, his mouth a thin line. Charlie wraps her hands around his bicep, nuzzling against him, the comfort she receives from him truly incomparable. "What does he think of all this? Of Father?"

"We haven't really talked about it," she admits carefully. "But he hasn't shed any tears for Father, if that's what you mean."

"I still can't believe you did, after all Father did. At least he's not here to keep us apart any longer."

She smiles up at her brother. "And you haven't cried at all?"

"No." Rufus touches her face, letting her curl up at his side. His palm smooths back her hair, and he kisses her forehead. "You and me, sweet sister. This is the way it was always meant to be."

Charlie reaches up to fix his own hair, to brush the stray pieces out of his eyes. "What you did to Palmer was inexcusable, you know."

Rufus's jaw clamps shut. He turns bodily to face her, causing Charlie to nearly fall forward into his lap after the hasty way he moves. "I did that for you," he says, lifting a hand to tangle his fingers in the back of her hair, tugging sharply to tilt her head back, to force her to look up into his face.

Charlie cries out, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I didn't ask you to do that for me," she replies breathily.

Rufus tugs again, and she hisses through gritted teeth. "It's what he deserved."

"Rufus," she gasps, closing her eyes, "you're hurting me."

His grip softens immediately, and Charlie opens her eyes again to see his face has softened, as well. The tips of his fingers gently massage the back of her head, easing the pain. "I will not tolerate disrespect towards you," he tells her firmly. "If you'd rather I delegate that task to someone else, I'm sure Tseng would be happy to continue what I've started."

"You can't ask that of him."

"No?" Rufus sneers, keeping her head firmly in place, moving his face closer to her own. "Ask the other men he's already killed for you. See if he isn't up for the task."

Charlie's heart starts to beat very fast. I'm surrounded by murderers and liars. I'm one of them now. "You're scaring me."

Rufus hesitates before smiling at her, pressing a very soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and pulling his hand out of her hair. "Didn't I tell you before?" he whispers. "Now that I'm president, the only people that matter and you and me."

Charlie doesn't answer, feeling her brother's fingertips brush lightly against her hand as he continues to look through the paperwork.

When Reeve reports back to her the next evening, Charlie is pleased to hear that Rufus had indeed made an effort, but less pleased when presented with a box she hasn't looked at in years.

She knows what's inside of it, and she knows that Reeve has probably already looked inside. It's where she keeps the pictures Angeal had sent her while away on assignments, some letters from Veld, and a few other pictures with the people she loves.

And when he asks her that night who her first kiss had been with a little note of panic in his voice, Charlie knows she has to lie. She knows that Reeve would probably die if he knew Cid had kissed her first, days before she had first slept with Reeve, so she doesn't feel so guilty about telling him it was Angeal. At least there's no one around anymore to contradict it.

Her father's funeral is an intimate thing, with cameras pointed towards the closed coffin and the man who speaks, urging everyone to remember their father as he was in life.

It's a joke.

Charlie, Rufus, and Tseng sit at the very front, as befits their positions, but Reeve had been seated a few rows back with the other directors, which only serves to annoy her.

After thirty minutes of listening to someone drone on about their father, Charlie begins to squirm, bored out of her mind and getting rather warm. Her brother refuses to let go of her hand, and he looks just as unhappy to be here as she is.

"This is ridiculous," she whispers in Tseng's ear. "The man I'm going to marry in a few months is sitting rows behind me at my own father's funeral."

"I assure you, I had no say whatsoever in the seating chart," Tseng murmurs back, his breath hot on her ear.

"I believe you." When she turns slightly to look him in the face, it's to find him looking almost amused. "Only Rufus would do something so petty."

Charlie covers her mouth, stifling a small giggle, even as the corners of Tseng's mouth quirk upwards.

Rufus leans over, scowling at them both. His grip on her hand never lessens, clutching at her tight with no intention of letting go, as if afraid she'll run away the moment he does. "What are you two talking about over here?" he hisses, the back of his neck slightly pink.

"Nothing," she assures him, giving his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry about it." When her brother's attention is once again on their father's coffin, Charlie leans back into Tseng. "I have an idea. Do you want to hear it?"

He hums curiously.

"I'm going to give you a raise. Consider it repayment for everything you've done for me."

He almost laughs before remembering where he is, glancing up towards the man delivering the eulogy. "Trust me, your brother sees that I'm compensated well enough for watching over you."

"You mean he's bought your loyalty. How much does he pay you?"

"I don't recall that my finances are any of the vice president's concern," he remarks smoothly, teasing her at her father's funeral. And yet it makes her feel better, able to smile about it despite the inappropriate situation. "If you'd like to submit the request for a formal audit, I suppose that might make it your business."

"I'm almost afraid to know what you spend all this compensation on."

"I have to keep some of my secrets, Charlotte."

"Hey!" Rufus hisses again, red in the face, frowning deeply at the two of them. "Stop flirting with each other. Don't you realize where we are?"

"Rufus, relax," she murmurs into her brother's ear, watching the tension leave his shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"

"Reeve and I saw your picture, you know," he says coldly, and this time, it's her that almost laughs aloud. "The one of you laying in Tseng's lap."

"Gods, you're so dramatic. It was for about five seconds, no more," she explains, rolling her eyes.

Cissnei had taken the picture while the three of them spent time in Costa del Sol, shortly after Angeal had been declared missing-in-action. It had all been for a drunken dare, and Charlie had been sure that Tseng would put up more of a struggle, but when she had slipped into his lap, like she had done it a thousand times before, it was to meet no resistance in the slightest.

And yet, when it had just been Tseng at the beach house later that night, Charlie had tried once more to slip into his lap, just to be held, desperate for someone to touch her even innocently.

He hadn't been as responsive to that, and as Charlie had straddled his waist on the sofa, Tseng had smiled at her and politely indicated that he would find himself both unemployed and in a lot of trouble if someone caught them in such a compromising position.

"I just . . . wanted you to hold me," she had confessed shyly, hands on his shoulders. "I'm lonely."

"No," he had told her, mostly immune to her careful flattery, her girlish charm, and her clumsy seduction technique of wriggling against his lap, the same way she used to get Rufus to do whatever she wanted. "You want someone to hold you, but not me."

He had been right, of course. The only reason Charlie had been comfortable enough to seek him out was because she trusted him with her life, and the rejection, though kind and half-expected, had stung.

"Are you going to tell anyone?" she had asked. "Are you going to tell Rufus?"

"Of course not. I'm very flattered, Charlotte, but I rather value my life, you know."

The idea of Tseng being hurt because of her own insecurities and need for affection had frightened her, and Charlie had quickly climbed off him with her face bright red, locking herself in her bedroom for the rest of the night, alone.

At least he doesn't seem to be holding it against her all these years later.

"He was jealous, you know," Rufus adds quickly, as an afterthought.

"It sounds like you are, too," she whispers back, causing his nostrils to flare in anger.

"I'm sorry," he growls, lips brushing against her ear, "but it's maddening to find out you fucked Tseng by a picture."

Charlie blushes, smiling to cover her embarrassment, glad that Tseng can't hear their whispered conversation (unless he's simply tactful enough to pretend he can't hear). "I thought that's what you wanted."

"So you did fuck him?"

"No," she whispers heatedly, frowning. Charlie tries to pull away from him, but Rufus's grip on her hand tightens. "I didn't."

That night, Charlie locks herself in her home office again after Reeve falls asleep. She stares down at the envelope with her name on it for a long time, wishing she didn't have to go through this alone, but not wanting Reeve to see what may be written inside.

Picking up the new phone Tseng had bought for her (he had promised it wasn't bugged, but she hadn't entirely believed him), she holds her head in her hands while the other line rings.

"'Lo?"

"Hey, it's me. Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but it's all right. Somethin' wrong?"

"I'm about to read my father's letter, but I'm afraid. I didn't want to be alone."

"Where's your husband?"

Charlie blushes. "Sleeping. I don't want him to hear whatever my father felt he had to say to me." He's so quiet on the other end that she thinks he might have hung up, but then she hears the unmistakable flicking of a lighter, and she has to smile. "Will you stay on the line with me if I read it to you?"

Cid coughs for a moment, muffled and quiet. "I dunno if I'm qualified for this sorta thing, Lottie. Maybe your fiancé should be—"

"Cid, please," she begs, ashamed that she has to resort to begging at all, but if there's anyone that might understand her apprehension right now, it's him. She wants to hear Cid's non-filtered bullshit, wants to hear what he thinks, wants to hear how he feels, all for a little validation. "I won't ask you for anything ever again, I swear it. I can't do this alone."

He sighs.

"Having the vice president in your good graces will get you far, Captain," she reminds him, trying to sound cheerful about it.

"Just read the fuckin' letter, Lottie."

She pauses, the nickname very comforting to her. It's still odd to hear people address her as 'Madam Vice President', and hearing something so intimate and familiar as 'Lottie' keeps her grounded.

Holding her phone between her shoulder and her ear, Charlie opens the envelope with shaking fingers. There are five brittle-feeling and aged papers folded inside, her father's sharp handwriting on each of them. Things are crossed out and rewritten, and it's clear he hadn't written these in one sitting, judging by the difference in ink in some places.

"Cid?" she asks after a minute.

"Yeah?"

She exhales audibly. "Just making sure you're still there." She holds up the first paper, searching for a date, but there's nothing to indicate how long ago he had written it.

Char,

I know you hate that name. I know you style yourself as 'Charlie', just like the man I named you after. My great-uncle Charles, known as Char, but Charlie to me. He was funny, like you. I know I'm hard on you, but you were never like your brother. Rufus possessed a certain ruthlessness from the start, but not you. You were always sweet. You may not believe me, but I was only hard on you because I wanted you to succeed, to grow, to learn.

Charlie's breath hitches when she finishes reading it softly through the phone. "I don't know if I can keep reading these—"

"You cryin'?"

She doesn't even realize it until he says something. "Yeah," she rasps.

"Aw, Charlie, don't cry," he says sleepily, and she suddenly feels guilty for waking him.

Hearing him speak so gently to her only makes her cry harder. She doesn't have to pretend with him, she doesn't have to put on a smile and offer sweet laughter.

"Lottie, honey, c'mon, don't cry, you're breakin' my heart," he continues, and Charlie runs a hand down her face, wiping the tears away.

"I should go," she says stupidly. "I'm sorry."

The next few days pass in a haze. She hardly sees Reeve except when she falls into bed at night to sleep, she's still grappling with the possibility of telling him the complete truth about what led to the plate drop, and after Tseng claims to "accidentally" have made a mistake with scheduling, she's forced to spend a few hours of quality time with Elena.

"So . . . what do you think of the new job? It must be boring, babysitting me," Charlie begins painfully, dealing both she and Elena a handful of cards and putting a few gil in the center of the coffee table.

"Tseng said you'd say that," Elena answers brightly, her eyebrows knitting together when she picks up her cards, tucking some of her short blonde hair behind her ear. "I guess he knows everything about you, doesn't he? He's a great boss. I'm really glad to be working with him. For him. I love working for him. For the Turks, I mean."

Charlie narrows her eyes at the Turk. "Yeah, I guess he knows everything about me. Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"I am. I'm excited to be friends with you. Tseng says you're friends with all the Turks."

"I guess you could say that."

"He's great, isn't he?" Elena asks again, turning pink when she notices Charlie staring at her. "Tseng, I mean. Well, I mean he's a great boss. Don't you think? I guess he's not really your boss, though. I guess you're his boss."

"Yeah," Charlie answers flatly, "he's great."

"What about you? What do you like to do?"

"What? Why do you want to know that?"

Elena blinks stupidly at her, young and wide-eyed and blushing. "I just . . . wanted to get to know you, that's all. Should I have asked something else?"

Charlie's chest tightens and her mouth suddenly goes dry. She feels embarrassed, wanting to do good by Tseng by being kind to Elena, but she's not good at making friends, and she's never really been good at making friends with women.

"Um," she stammers, looking down blankly at her cards. "Sorry. I . . . don't really know what to say."

Elena smiles reassuringly at her. "You don't have to say anything. We could just play cards, if you want. But you'll have to teach me. I don't really know what I'm doing."

This makes Charlie smile, and she sets her cards down, pushing their starting bets towards Elena. "I could just put a movie on and order us some food," she suggests.

"Oh, you're way cooler than Reno said you were."

And after her move night with Elena, Charlie attends a small party held at Shinra Headquarters, where the wealthiest donors are able to have a semi-private audience with the new president.

She had been excited, thrilled, to finally have a reason to get dressed up, to have something to look forward to after the murder of her father. Reeve had even decided to attend, despite her telling him that he would be bored.

Unfortunately, Charlie is severely disappointed upon meeting with all of her father's business friends and partners. They haven't forgotten the speech she was forced to give, accepting responsibility for Avalanche's crimes (and her father's crimes), clearly reluctant to associate with her no matter how many times Rufus has to assure them of her innocence.

She knows they all hate her, watching her move across the room, talking behind their hands to their wives, husbands, mistresses, children, and friends. With the plate drop still fresh in their minds, Charlie knows they're blaming her, lumping her together with a group of eco-terrorists. They're silently questioning Rufus's decision to make her vice president, silently criticizing him, and while he must know this, he refuses to say anything bad about his sister in front of all these people.

Once, after she escapes Rufus to find herself a drink, he corners her in a shadowy little alcove, half-hidden from view.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" Rufus snaps at her, looking handsome in an expensive, fitted black suit, his light blond hair slicked back in much the same style as her own hair. "Let's dance."

"I don't feel like dancing right now."

"Have I told you that you look lovely today, sweet sister? It's a waste to have you standing alone, looking so beautiful."

Charlie has to attribute his recent attitude change to the stress of the presidency. Every time he speaks to her, he seems to speak with malice, more possessive than he's ever been, always eager to keep her locked up in his office with him for hours.

"I want to spend time with Reeve," she murmurs, and Rufus takes her champagne flute right out of her hands, placing it on a nearby table. "I want to go home."

"You're not going home," he snarls in her face, gripping her wrist tight and backing her further into the corner. "You're going to act like my vice president and prove to everyone that I made the right choice. You'll go home when I say it's time for you to go home."

And another time, while dancing with her brother, Rufus seems to snap again at seemingly nothing. "Have you forgotten how to smile?" he asks sharply. "Have you finally decided tonight that you're no longer going to joke around?"

"Rufus, I told you, I don't want to be here—"

"Suddenly lost your appetite for power? Do you want these people to think you're weak? Look at them." He gestures with his chin to the people around them. "They already think it."

Charlie's face hardens instantly and she tries to look away from him, but Rufus grabs hold of her chin and forces her to look at him, not letting go despite her slight struggle to get away from him.

Rufus's voice is low, cold, slow, and commanding. "You will go home when I say it's time. The company is mine now," he tells her, lowering his voice further, "and so are you."

She's grateful when she's able to convince a very intoxicated Reeve to take her home, sneaking out of the party and turning off her phone before Rufus decides to call twenty times in a row.

The moment the door of their apartment slams shut behind them, Charlie is being pressed against it, clumsy fingers scrabbling at the zipper of her dress to very nearly tear it off her, leaving her standing very naked in the foyer of her dark home.

Instinctively, she wraps her arms around herself, trying hard to put on a smile for him, but it doesn't come easily. Her chest heaves, nerves jangling, even as Reeve kisses down her throat, helping her step out of the dress that pools at her feet.

"I have to tell you something," she whispers, cut off before she can confess by his lips pressing against hers, swallowing the confession before it even forms properly on her tongue. "Reeve, please—"

He pulls away from her, hands holding her waist. His eyes are heavy, his hairline slightly damp with sweat, some dark strands of hair falling into his eyes. "Can it wait until the morning?"

Charlie hesitates. Does he already know? Is it possible that he's known the whole time? "Reeve, I—"

Reeve shushes her, kissing her again to keep her from talking. "It's okay, Charlie."

"No, please, listen, I—"

"Don't," he breathes, and there's something sad about the single word uttered.

He knows, she thinks, and he's giving me one more night.

The sheer dread that overtakes her at that moment is too much. Can he feel her heart pounding against his own chest? Can he taste the guilt and lies on her tongue? Does this mean he'll hate her in the morning? That he's trying to say good-bye now?

It certainly feels that way, when he finally makes sad and broken love to her that night, or maybe it's just her mind jumping to conclusions. It's not the same, it's not loving and tender, and there are no smiles or laughter.

Charlie cries silently afterwards, curled up against his chest, one leg thrown over his own. She toys with his hand and fingers while he dozes, sometimes responding by kissing her fingers or the top of her head.

And she tries again, she really does, wanting to get the confession off her chest, wanting to acknowledge her role in the mass destruction, unable to live with it anymore.

"I have to tell you something," she says again, hoping he doesn't push her away.

"In the morning. Please," he whispers into her hair. "Let me have this. You asked what I wanted, and I want this."

Charlie swallows hard, nuzzling against him. He knows, he knows, he knows. She doesn't know if she'll have the courage in the morning anymore. "Okay."