"'. . . and once again, he came upon the tower, and the beautiful young princess shouted down to him: "Help! Help me down and I promise to give you all the riches in the world!" But the man kept riding, remembering his promise to the old crone, spurning his soft golden chocobo onward until the princess's cries faded away.'"
"He should have helped the princess."
"You think so? You don't think he should have kept his promise?"
"She was probably just lonely."
"Maybe." Carried from his lap to bed with two strong arms, blankets pulled up to her chin, a kiss on her forehead, and the clicking of her lamp being turned off. "Good-night, little princess."
"Is daddy going to be home soon?"
A long pause. "Be patient. It won't be much longer now." Three weeks. It had been three weeks. Pressure on the bed, calloused fingers brushing her hair out of her face.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?"
"Not tonight. You're getting too old for that, and it's way past your bedtime, little one. You need your rest. We're going to be at the beach all day tomorrow, tiring you out."
Giggles escape her lips, looking up into a scarred and rugged face. "Will you lay down with me for a little? One more story."
Another long pause and a sigh. The mattress groans. Lying on his side to face her, his own eyes closed, her little girl's forehead pressed against his, giggling into his face.
"No more stories. Close your eyes. You need to go to sleep now."
"Okay. Good-night. I love you."
She tosses and turns, moaning softly as she finds herself trapped in that same sort of limbo she'd found herself in at Costa del Sol, when she had been dreaming of Mother. Had that actually happened, or did she only dream it? Had it only been the way she wished it happened?
"Miss Shinra, right?"
A smile on his face, a hand extended towards her. The entire floor shakes beneath her as gunfire rings throughout the building. "Charlie."
"Well then, Charlie, I think we should get going, don't you?"
"Where's Tseng?"
"Indisposed. Veld sent me instead."
A shaky hand reaching out to clasp his own, pulling her to her feet with ease. "You're a SOLDIER."
Another smile. "Was it the uniform, the eyes, or the sword on my back that gave it away?" The eyes, always the eyes, as blue as the sky, his hand curled around hers, warm. "Stay close to me. I'll get you home safe."
No, no, no, no, no, she can't dream of him, she won't dream of him, her perfect SOLDIER that had been nothing but a monster, nothing but one of Hollander's experiments. And yet, in all the time she'd known him, he never seemed like a monster . . .
"Charlie . . ."
"It's all right. Veld's sleeping."
Mouths open wide, curious, tongues exploratory, the thrill of knowing they shouldn't. They've both gotten better with practice, but he is still greedy. She can make his hips jerk upwards when she moves just right. The feeling is foreign, but she likes it. He's powerless here, in the dark.
How old had they been? Ten and eight? No, that's not right. They had been older. Too old. Too old to claim it was completely innocent. Too old to say they didn't realize what they were doing.
Arms encircling her waist, trapping her against his lap. Sometimes he moves just right and her entire body seems to throb like a giant heart. His pants are wet when they finish their play.
"I'll beat you bloody, boy!"
A fat hand around her brother's throat, slamming him onto the ground, all for the sole crime of loving her.
"Daddy, stop! Leave him alone! Please, stop it!"
The smooth sound of a leather belt being pulled from his belt loops. "You'll be next, girl, if you don't shut up!"
CRACK!
Charlie's eyes snap open to pitch darkness. There's cold sweat all over her body, soaking the mattress, her heart racing. Instinctively, she reaches out for Reeve, only to remember too late that he's not in bed with her. That realization shatters her heart.
She shouldn't have gone through all the classified information Tseng brought her. She shouldn't have read the letters from her father. She should have waited until someone could be with her, to keep her grounded towards the end, to remind her that her father is somewhere he'll never be able to hurt her or Rufus again.
Her sudden waking seems to have startled Cat, who saunters over to the cracked bedroom door. The images she'd been dreaming of are beginning to fade. Sometimes it's hard to remember Veld's face anymore, but after looking at the picture of the two of them from about twenty years ago, she'd nearly had a panic attack.
She should have asked Tseng about what really happened to him.
She might never know now.
"This isn't the number you gave me yesterday."
"No, it's not. The number I gave you yesterday was an approximation for rebuilding the plate. This number is including rehiring staff that we lost in the employee district, raises for the current employees, construction materials, et cetera."
Charlie heaves a great sigh from Rufus's right, closing the proposal that Reeve had given them both before the presentation started, just the three of them. "This is millions of gil over budget," she says, and Rufus can't say he isn't impressed with her ability to put her own boyfriend in his place. "Where do you expect us to find all of this money? We've already allocated half a billion gil from other departments, and you're telling us that still isn't enough?"
Rufus leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He watches Reeve's jaw clench tightly for a moment, exhaling through his nose, never taking his eyes off Charlie. "If we want to avoid another disaster, then we need the money to make certain structural changes—"
"We didn't ask for you to change the structure of the entire city, we asked you to rebuild the plate," Charlie snaps, causing Reeve's cheeks to turn slightly pink. "And with our father dead, it's safe to say we don't have to be concerned about another sector collapsing." She flips through the proposal again, huffing irritably. "While I appreciate that you're only trying to be generous to your hardworking employees, I have a hard time believing any of your employees deserve a ten percent raise, let alone all of them."
"Given the circumstances, I think it only appropriate to keep them happy," Reeve protests weakly, hands held behind his back as he stands at the other end of the conference table, beside a screen where his finished presentation still shows.
"If they're unhappy, then they're more than welcome to find another job with another company," she answers, raising her eyebrows as if putting an end to it. "We'll just hire workers who are willing to work for a more appropriate salary."
Charlie and Reeve look at each other for a long time, and Rufus starts to feel as if he's intruding on something very private. It's odd to see them not giving each other bedroom eyes across a room, but it does give him a vindictive sort of pleasure to hear his sister openly chastise Reeve, something she's always refused to do in the past.
She sighs again, looking sideways at Rufus as if seeking approval, but he wants to see how this is going to play out, so he gives her a slight nod, urging her to continue. Charlie smiles weakly at him, but it vanishes the moment she turns to look at Reeve again.
"I can give you fifty million gil, but that's it, unless you have a damn good reason for wanting more."
Reeve's mouth twitches, and he inclines his head to her. "Thank you. Fifty million will be plenty." He gathers up his things and leaves them be, without so much as a good-bye or a last lingering look at Charlie.
Rufus turns in his chair again to face his sister, chewing distractedly on the end of his pen, trying his hardest to look positively smug. It must work, because he recognizes the exasperated look Charlie gives him, running a hand through her hair.
"Are you two fighting?" he asks bluntly. Charlie and Reeve have never fought in all the years they've known each other, so long as he can recall, and he can't remember seeing them interact so coldly with each other.
"It's none of your business," she hisses at him, closing the proposal and getting to her feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have fifty million more gil to take from Scarlet's department."
Rufus reaches out, lightning fast, to grab her wrist, fingers wrapping tight around it. "Hold on. Are you mad at me?" he asks again, this time a bit more sincerely.
For a moment, he thinks she isn't going to talk, but she surprises him. "Why did you send Tseng away?"
So caught off guard by her question, and the bitter way that she asks it, it takes him a moment to scoff. "I thought you hated the Turks, sister."
Charlie purses her lips, her cheeks coloring. "Why did you do that, Rufus?"
"I sent him on an important assignment. Surely you know by now that holding your hand through life isn't his actual job?" He lets go of her wrist, amazed that she's so upset about this. A laugh escapes him, but it's a mistake, and he realizes it too late. "What was I supposed to do, Charlie? Let Sephiroth get away? He's not even supposed to be alive."
She looks on the verge of tears, and it worries him. Rufus gets to his own feet, holding her arms gently. His eyebrows furrow, and it doesn't escape his notice that she has a very hard time meeting his eyes.
"Charlie, what's going on with you?"
Her eyes snap up to meet his own with an almost terrifying intensity. "Did you know about Angeal?"
"What are you talking about? Of course I knew about Angeal. You couldn't get enough of him, could you?"
She gives her head a slight shake. There are shadows under her eyes, and she isn't wearing as much makeup as she normally does. That doesn't bother him so much—he thinks she's prettier without all of that paint smeared across her face. "Did you know what Father's company did to him? Did you know what Hollander did to him?" she asks again, eyes filling with tears. "Did you know what he was? Did you know what happened to him? Did you know the truth all this time?"
Rufus hesitates, lowering his hands from her arms. He hadn't known, truthfully, until recently, when he had been combing through the many classified files that their father had kept from even his own children.
Though he understands why Charlie wouldn't be allowed access to some of them. He doesn't like to admit it, but there had been several things that made his stomach churn upon discovering them, and he's sure there are many other secrets still waiting to be discovered.
"Listen," he whispers, taking his sister's face in her hands, "in a few days, we'll be on our way to Junon, and a parade is just the thing you need, I think." He swipes his thumbs over her cheekbones, kissing her forehead. "It's no use dwelling on things that we can't change. We need to apply ourselves to bettering Shinra in the near future, and with you by my side, sweet sister, I believe anything is possible."
He mentally gives himself a pat on the back for such a touching little speech. It even seems to cheer her slightly, and while Rufus is desperate to ask about the odd little show she and Reeve just put on, he decides maybe it's best to ask another time, when she isn't lost in thought about her perfect little Project G SOLDIER.
And yet, even as they sit for their photograph later that night, Charlie still doesn't seem completely better. She poses well enough, scowling when the photographer touches her without permission, wearing a beautiful green dress that he had picked himself, along with a string of genuine pearls around her neck, just like Mother used to wear.
Whatever the portrait turns out like, it has to be better than a portrait with Father in it, he supposes.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Rufus hisses as the flash on the camera nearly blinds him.
She sits awkwardly on the floor by his feet, one hand on his knee and her cheek against his thigh, her dress hiding her legs and feet from sight. He almost moves his own hand to tangle his fingers in her hair, to jerk her face up to look at him, but remembers where he is. Only when the photographer gives them a thumbs-up and goes to get Charlie's other dress does she speak.
"You forgot my birthday," she says. "My birthday is today, and you forgot."
Fuck, he thinks. It's not like he's had much time to dwell on Charlie's birthday, and with everything that's been going on lately, it slipped his mind a little too easily. "Let me take you out for dinner tonight," he offers.
"I'm not hungry, and I don't want a pity date."
A low growl sounds from the back of his throat. "Then let me take you to Sector Eight for some shopping. You can have anything you want, anything at all."
"No."
"Excuse me?" Rufus's hand jumps to her hair, gripping tight at the nape of her neck and pulling hard. She cries out breathily, face contorting with pain for a moment, but she meets his gaze regardless, lips tight. "Who do you think you are, saying no to me?"
"Let go of me," she snarls through gritted teeth.
He puts his face close to hers, so close that their noses are just about touching. Charlie doesn't falter, but when he gives her hair a sharp tug again, she whimpers. "You don't give me commands, Charlotte," he tells her, rage boiling in his chest. She's grown bold and insolent, no doubt from all the time she's spent with her director. "You do as I say, and you keep your mouth shut while doing it."
"I will not," she breathes, only half-confident about it. Her voice is shaky, but her face is stony, slightly flushed. "You don't own me, Rufus. I'm not yours."
Anyone else in the world and he'd have them shot dead on the spot, likely doing it himself without any hesitation. But Charlie isn't just anyone. He curses himself for his weakness.
The photographer comes back sooner than Rufus expects, and he pulls away from his sister quickly, catching sight of the dress he's brought out for Charlie to put on. "Are you blind?" he snaps, needing to take his anger out on someone. "She can't wear orange. Go get something else."
When he turns back around to face Charlie, she has her back to him, her arms wrapped around herself.
He does feel sorry, really. He's never once forgotten her birthday before, always giving her something expensive and rare that no one else could give her, or taking her on a vacation somewhere on the western continent, far away from Midgar. Charlie has never failed to give him something thoughtful on his own birthdays, though perhaps part of the reason he remembers them all so well is because no one else thinks to give him gifts half the time.
"What's going on with you and Reeve?" he asks, unable to keep quiet for any longer. His heart almost skips with anticipation, with a buzzing and fervent excitement at the prospect of a rift between his sister and the man she claims to love.
"Nothing," she insists, turning her head slightly to look at him. "You've just been overworking him, that's all."
Rufus glances over his shoulder, making sure they're still alone. "Charlie, I'm sorry about forgetting your birthday, all right?"
Finally, Charlie turns around, and there's a small smile on her face again. He watches her take a few steps forward, of a height with him in her shoes.
"And I'm sorry about Tseng. That wasn't done with any intent to hurt you."
When she reaches up with a hand, Rufus flinches instinctively, but allows her to touch his cheek, brushing some hair out of his face. He almost nuzzles into her palm, a loving touch he hasn't felt in years.
"President Shinra," she murmurs, "apologizing to me."
He snorts. "Don't get used to it."
Charlie lowers her hand from his face. "Can we be done with this now?"
Rufus laughs breathily. "I thought you'd never ask."
"Oh, you poor thing. Here, let's get you something to eat."
Charlotte's forgotten to feed Cat his dinner again. Sometimes he feels rather betrayed that Cat tends to be more affectionate with Charlie, the one who typically forgets to leave food out for him, but he supposes even cats aren't immune to her charm. Reeve had been able to hear the damned thing mewling from outside the door to their apartment, and all the lights had still been off when he let himself in.
Once Cat is content with his long overdue dinner, Reeve makes for the bedroom. The bed is unmade and half of it is covered with outfits still on hangars, laid out as if she'd considered them all this morning. He wouldn't put it past her. It takes her a long time to get ready for anything, always slow-moving and indecisive, oftentimes deferring to his own judgement.
He pulls the box out of the inner pocket of his coat. He's never been good at giving gifts, but he knows Charlie's taste, and she always seems happy enough to receive just about anything from him.
Before he places it on the bed, he hesitates. She might not even notice, and the last thing he wants is for Charlie to think he's forgotten her birthday. He feels bad for being so short and curt with her earlier, but it's for his own benefit, not hers.
Three days it's been since he had walked out of the apartment, and it feels like three long years. Being apart from her is torture, an empty feeling settling in his chest after years of having her at his side.
It's not that Reeve doesn't want to come home. He desperately, desperately wants to come home, to lie down in bed with her and feel her curl up against his chest, pressing kisses to his skin come morning.
But doing that would be admitting defeat, admitting that he can't stay away from her despite what she's done. In all honesty, she could shoot a man down right in front of him and he might still try to get back to her, no matter what.
It's too easy for him to forgive her for things, most of them well-intentioned and relatively harmless, and if she were to walk through the front door right now to find him standing in their bedroom, Reeve would most likely beg her forgiveness and let all be forgotten if it meant things could return to normal.
He's never had the courage to truly stand up to her, and why should that change now?
What is normal, anyway? Will there ever be a normal again, with Charlie as vice president and her possessive, irritatingly arrogant brother as president? Did he ever truly believe that Charlie would rise to power so quickly, if at all?
Sometimes, without her even realizing it, Charlie has the power to make him feel so damn small, to make him feel so damn inadequate. Despite all of her praise for him in the bedroom, he can't help but feel insignificant and unimportant in her life, but it's not as if he's ever forgotten who she was—a Shinra, the president's daughter (and now the new president's sister).
If Charlie had been sleeping with Tseng, she's left behind no evidence that the Turk had even set foot in their apartment. Perhaps it had been unfair of Reeve to assume that was the nature of their meeting so late. Upon learning that the Turks had been dispatched on a top secret assignment only this morning, he couldn't help the guilt pooling in his stomach.
She had only wanted to say good-bye, he supposes, before she didn't have the chance. Reeve can understand her desire for that much, at least.
And perhaps their casual intimacy isn't something to be concerned about. Reeve has never witnessed Tseng do anything that would be cause for concern, despite the Turk's undeniable professionalism in front of Rufus. All it proves is that they're comfortable with each other, that Charlie trusts him, and how could they not, after spending so much of their lives together?
It hardly surprises Reeve—Charlie has always been far more charming and personable than her brother, always insisting on being called anything but "Miss Shinra" by the people she cares about. Titles don't mean half so much to her as they do to her brother.
With the jewelry box held tight in his hand, Reeve wanders back out of the bedroom and into Charlie's office. Upon brightening the room, he finds the flower Tseng had brought her, and several things scattered on her desk.
Hesitating in the threshold, his heart begins to leap into his throat. He has no idea when Charlie will be returning, as he has no idea what she's up to right now at all. All he knows is that he shouldn't look, he shouldn't go through her things. The last time he did, he had filled his own head with horrible images and worries, and it left him feeling sick.
It's like he can't even stop himself, moving to her desk and examining everything in sight, pocketing the box to use both of his hands.
There's a file with the words CLASSIFIED stamped in read across the top. When he opens it, he finds a handwritten report dated some years back with Tseng's name signed at the very bottom, and with it is a summary of what Project G was.
It must be what Tseng had brought for her, and Reeve only wishes he had said something sooner to Charlie, or at least wishes that he could have been here while she learned the truth about Angeal and his friends.
Charlie seems to have been digging through the box he'd found at her father's family home, as well, as the pictures and letters inside are all mixed up. The photograph of she and Veld is sitting on top, and Reeve closes it so he doesn't have to look any longer. He still doesn't know how much Charlie knows about Veld, and he's too afraid to ask her, afraid that she'll start asking questions he doesn't feel comfortable asking.
There's another box, too, one that he doesn't recall ever seeing before. Trying to remind himself what happened the last time he went through her sentimental possessions, Reeve opens the box anyway, his decision immediately being thrown in his face.
Having been so distracted by the picture of Charlie and Tseng the first time around, Reeve hadn't really thought to wonder why she hadn't kept anything that reminded her of Cid. But now he knows, and he rather wishes he didn't.
The second box isn't quite as full as the first, but there are a few photographs thrown inside of Charlie and Cid at base camp, Charlie and Cid at the hangar in Junon, Charlie and Cid at Headquarters in Midgar. She's smiling in every single of them, and so is Cid, his arm often thrown over her shoulders or a hand on her waist.
Reeve picks up one of the pictures to inspect it closer, a fire lit in his chest. Cid has a cigarette in one hand, the other hand hidden behind her back. Charlie has a thermos in her hand, and they're standing in front of what would, presumably, become their main base camp.
Bitterly, he tosses the picture back into the box, and it lands face down, revealing some nearly illegible writing.
Lottie,
To the moon and back
Reeve forces himself to close the box again, his pulse pounding in his ears. The mere thought of that pilot is enough to get him worked up to the point of near uncontrollable anger, when he thinks about that pilot touching her, smiling at her, flirting crudely with her in front of dozens of people, the way Charlie had watched him so subtly when he'd take his shirt off (in the hopes of drawing a reaction from her, Reeve is sure).
When he thinks about how she had been feeling after the failed rocket launch . . . he hadn't thought she was grieving the loss of whatever relationship had begun between Charlie and the captain.
Had she been thinking of Cid when Reeve guided her awkwardly through her first time? Had she been thinking of Cid when she initially kissed him?
No, he thinks. She's always loved you. She's told you so. She's told you that she loved you from the beginning.
It's only then does he notice the old and clearly aged envelope on her desk, as well, labeled "Char". He can think of only one person who calls her that, a person who will never call her that again now.
There are five letters inside, all of them clearly unfinished, all of them written in the same handwriting, all of them unsigned, but Reeve knows who they're from. Charlie might genuinely kill him if she finds out he's read through them, but he gets the sense that she'll never show him these letters on her own.
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.
Reeve blinks down at the letter, hardly able to believe what he's reading. But it's piqued his curiosity and, against his better judgement, he picks up the next letter.
Char,
I remember the first time I held you and looked into your beautiful face, peeked into your half opened right eye. You wrinkled your nose, as much as you could, took a tiny little breath and went right to sleep. I like to think you felt safe and secure in your new surroundings.
Although you were entirely unaware of it, your little hand held the finger with which you already had me wrapped around. I knew it would not be long before you would be standing before me saying, "daddy, I need a favor" and I would say "yes, of course you can have what you want."
He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Has Charlie read these already? These can't be the real thoughts of her father, the father who had beaten her mercilessly, the father who had denied her the vice presidency despite her being older. How had she even gotten hold of something so personal? Surely President Shinra wouldn't have willingly given something like this up?
Char,
I must confess to a great degree of anxiety, angst, worry, and even sorrow. You were, as a little girl, the epitome of innocence, purity, honesty, and all things good. You were not mean-spirited or possessed of prejudices. Your emotional cradle was of love, laughter, and charity. How I wished it would last.
But alas, too soon you were confronted by those things that temper the goodness of life: conflict, confrontation, hatred, and influences that attempted to taint your view of life. My obligation, as a father, was to protect you as much as possible and demonstrate the goodness of life.
Here, I feel I have failed you.
His heart is racing, and the letters aren't even for him. Whoever wrote these letters, it surely couldn't have been her father, President Shinra. He scrambles for the fourth letter, his hands shaking slightly. He shouldn't be reading these. He shouldn't be invading her privacy like this. He should leave, and yet . . .
Char,
The world in which you were born was, and continues to be, in terrible shape. By being brought into this world, you had been done a contemptible disservice, and it seemed unfair to present you with such burdens of divisiveness; injustice, intolerance, and a lack of respect for life.
I remember looking into your hours old face, however, and feeling a sense of peace and hope. Your spirituality, your already "presence"—the little inhale and exhales of your breath—the perfectness of your being, had made me feel things I never knew possible. My first born. My only daughter.
It's almost touching. If Reeve didn't know who had written these letters, he might find himself more touched. His eyes are stinging with tears, tears that he cries for his Charlotte, who had to read through these by herself, to learn that, underneath her father's cruelty, there had been some love for her buried deep. He hadn't been here for her, and he should have been.
The last letter is the longest, with several sentences and words scratched out. It's clear that he spent time on this.
Charlie,
No doubt you saw it as a slight when I decided to make your brother my vice president. So be it. Blame me, if it makes you feel better. Be angry with me, hate me, if it makes you happy. I know that I have earned your hatred.
I did not make your brother my vice president because you did wrong. I made your brother my vice president because I was afraid of what it would make you become. I could not even begin to imagine a girl so sweet sitting in my seat. There is so much I have had kept from you in an attempt to retain your goodness, your purity, even though I see your innocence cracking every time you stand before me.
When I remember you as a little girl, eager to curl up in my lap the moment I came home despite my previous behavior, with no knowledge of the things I had done just hours before in the office, I couldn't believe you were my daughter. You were always your mother's, I thought. Perhaps that's why you look so much like me, a small victory for myself.
You are so witty and clever and intelligent, and when it became clear that you were a genius, I was so proud that I sent a company wide e-mail to let everyone else know, as well. I have a feeling you think I think you are the very opposite.
I don't know why I've never told you this. Maybe it's better to keep your hatred solely focused on me instead of the world around you. You are so hard to talk to sometimes, so stubborn and grown up now, but I do
The letter ends abruptly, and it takes Reeve a minute to comprehend what he's just read. If he's disappointed with the ending of it, he can't imagine what Charlie might have been thinking.
He puts everything back the way it was, deciding, in the end, to leave her gift on her pillow, but he doesn't leave the apartment right away.
Pulling out his phone, he quickly dials Charlie's number almost out of habit, hoping that she'll answer. Maybe he's been too hard on her. She's been too hard on herself. After all, she had just watched her father die a few days ago, and she's been working constantly since then, never having been given a proper amount of time to grieve and to process everything she had witnessed. How could he just leave her after something like that?
"Reeve," Charlie says breathily, and the sound of her voice right now is so sweet she could cry. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Do you have a minute to talk?"
"I've got about ten minutes. Rufus wants to have another portrait replace the one in the museum, so we're having our pictures taken. We're almost finished."
He smiles a small smile, lifting his eyes to the mirror above their dresser. "I just wanted to say happy birthday," he says, dragging his fingers through his hair.
"Thanks," she replies, and it sounds like she's smiling. "Are you going to come home tonight?"
Reeve looks at himself in the mirror as he thinks. How long is he really going to be able to keep this up? He had acted just like a coward, running away to save his dignity, to make himself look good to no one at all in particular. He hadn't wanted to be associated with the bombings, with the plate fall, but working at Shinra, he doesn't think he'll ever truly outrun that guilt.
"Well . . . if you aren't going to come home tonight," she continues after a long silence, clearly disappointed, "I have to ask you to take care of Cat for a little. I'm leaving for Junon in two days, and I'm not sure when I'll be back."
He decides not to bring up the fact that she forgot to feed Cat tonight. "What's in Junon?"
"Rufus's inauguration parade." Charlie sighs heavily on the other line, and he can hear some murmurs in the background, a voice that sounds like her brother's. "Reeve, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I hate this, fighting with you. I just want you to come home."
He checks his watch. It's going on nine already. He hadn't realized how late it was when he left Headquarters. "Are you hungry? I haven't had dinner yet. I'm sure there's room for the vice president at any restaurant she so chooses, especially on her birthday."
Part of him wishes he could see her face right now, chewing on her bottom lip, stifling a smile. He knows her face so well that he can picture it clearly in his mind, a spattering of light freckles on the bridge of her nose that looks so cute when she scrunches it.
"I don't really want to go out. Let's have dinner at home. I'm just finishing up, and I'll meet you there, okay?"
"Yeah," he says, ashamed that he's caved so easily. "Okay."
This is how it should be.
Charlie is on her side, wearing only her engagement ring and the bracelet he had bought for her birthday, propped up on an elbow with her blonde hair tossed over to one side, slightly curled after having it in some complicated little braid and from the thorough fucking he'd given her only a short while ago.
It had been good to regain some control again, to have some small shred of power over her that doesn't extend outside of their bedroom. That's how she's always been, submissive and childish and eager to please, just like it had been the first time with her.
It feels good to draw something that isn't a draft for a new section of the city, too.
His hand hesitates above the paper when he reaches her midsection, eyes lingering for a little too long on a place that doesn't escape her notice.
"Enjoying yourself, are you?" she teases, raising her eyebrows at him. "Would you like a closer look?"
"Don't move," Reeve reminds her gently, smiling at her before returning to his work.
He wants to ask her about the letters, about her father, about how she's feeling about everything. He wants to talk about her involvement with Avalanche, but he knows how it will go already. The topic will never be brought up again, suppressed and ignored to keep each other happy, preferring to pretend nothing ever happened to keep up the image of a happy soon-to-be-wed couple.
And he is happy, for a certainty, in spite of everything he's found out about her, but he's not so certain that Charlie is as happy as he is.