"I have a place for us to stay the night, an apartment in Upper Junon. We'll participate in the parade, and take a ship to Costa del Sol in the meantime. If you don't want me to sell the villa, you had best make good use of it, Charlie."

"I plan to," she says with a small smile, sitting atop the president's desk and examining her fingernails critically, the polish chipping. She'll have to fix that before the parade tomorrow. "I want Reeve to come with us."

"I've told you already, Charlie, he's not coming," Rufus answers, a little sharply. "He has better things to do than spend days cooped up with you in the villa, locked in your bedroom. Honestly, the way you treat that place . . . you might take a little more care as to how people might perceive you."

"Oh?" She raises her eyebrows, looking down at her brother, one of her legs extended to rest her foot in his lap. One wrong move from him, and all she would have to do is dig the sharp heel of her shoe into the front of his pants. "And is that your professional opinion, Mr. President?"

Rufus lifts his eyes from the computer screen to his sister upon being addressed as such. "The villa isn't meant to be a whorehouse, sister."

"I'm not the one parading about with whores, thank you very much."

He considers her for a moment, finally coming to rest his palm upon her exposed shin, the warmth from his palm hot against her skin, even through the sheer tights that she wears underneath her dress. His thumb brushes back and forth against her leg in an almost distracted way.

"I'll not say it again. Reeve stays here," he tells her, and his tone is cold. "There's no reason he needs to be with us, and I still don't understand why you feel the need to humor him with this marriage. What's in it for you, anyway?"

"Well, he's got a lot of money. I like that in a man."

Rufus's eyes flash with anger. "Be serious."

"I am being serious. Like him or not, I'm still going to marry him," she counters, attempting to pull her leg from Rufus's lap, but his strong hands keep it in place. "It may come as a surprise to you, but I've loved him for a very long time, you know."

"Have you?" Rufus tilts his head slightly, leaning back in his chair and continuing his ministrations with her leg. "Did you love him while you were sleeping with that SOLDIER? Did you love him while you were sleeping with that pilot?"

"I didn't sleep with them," Charlie snaps, frowning. "Do you hate him so much that you can't stand being near him for a few days? You realize you're going to have to be near him your entire life when we get married?"

Rufus gets suddenly to his feet, pushing her leg out of his lap and getting right in her face. His hand catches her chin, fingertips digging into her cheeks, digging into her skin a little too hard. Charlie whimpers, attempting to jerk her face away, but he's not about to let her go so easily. She forces herself to look into his eyes.

"I suppose that would be a problem," he murmurs against her mouth, looking furious, "if you were going to marry him."

"I will."

"No, you won't," he says again. "You don't need him. You don't need his money, you don't need any favors he might be able to do for you. You need me."

"You can't force me to choose."

"I can. I'm the president now, or have you forgotten?" His fingers press harder against her face. "You are nothing without me, Charlie. Without me, you're just another one of those filthy terrorists, begging to be executed." Rufus narrows his eyes, moving so close to her that their foreheads nearly touch. "Can Reeve save you from that, sweet sister?"

Charlie remains silent, suddenly fearful. Her brother wouldn't go to the same lengths their father did, would he? Would he go so far as to make certain Charlie wouldn't marry Reeve, by eliminating him completely from the picture?

She doesn't want to believe it of her own brother, but she doesn't quite know what to believe anymore.

"I thought not," he hisses, releasing her face. Charlie exhales the moment his fingers leave her, and she rubs softly at her chin, her heart pounding. "Do you want your old department back? Do you want your name cleared?"

Charlie nods slowly. Lying will only make it worse.

The shadow of their father flashes across Rufus's face. "Then shut up, and do as you're told."

It had been painful, at first, upon reading all five letters. It had been painful to realize that she would never be able to confront her father about them. It had been painful to realize that she would never know what he was going to write in his last letter, that she would never know why he stopped.

It had been painful to know that, perhaps, he did love her in his own way, just like Rufus. No matter how much distance her brother wants to put between himself and their father, Charlie knows they're too similar, the both of them power-hungry and greedy, the both of them wanting and wanting and wanting, never relenting until what they want is in their very grasp.

But wanting and wanting and wanting had killed her father. The Promised Land that he sought after all of his life will likely never come under Shinra's control now, not if Rufus has any say in the matter. There are more important things to him, like tracking Sephiroth and rebuilding Sector Seven.

At least those are respectable things.

She had taken everything in those letters with a grain of salt. Despite being apart from her father for the majority of her childhood, she knows the kind of man he had been, and 'sentimental' is not a word that she would ever use to describe the late President Shinra.

In all honesty, Charlie had considered the idea that her father had written those letters only to paint himself in a good light, to make himself out to be this tragic figurehead of a company that stole him away from his family, the family that he loved so much.

No matter what he wrote in those letters, Charlie will never forget the memories that stay with her all these years later: the screaming matches between he and Mother, the brutal and punishing beatings he gave them all, disappearing for weeks on end to stay in an apartment with some mistress around Charlie's current age while his children were being cared for by unprepared Turks.

There had been good memories, as well, but all of them tainted by the reality of who her father was. All of those good memories are from her younger years, when Father and Mother were still together and relatively happy.

If she had to name her true father, it wouldn't be President Shinra. If she had to name her true father, the name she would give is Veld.

Veld had been the one to step up when her father decided to step down, cooking she and Rufus their meals and helping her dress for school in the mornings while she was still bleary-eyed and half-asleep.

He had read her stories before bed and laid down with her until she fell asleep, had allowed her to clamber into his own bed during terrifying thunderstorms when she was still little enough, had disciplined her gently when she needed it, had let her whisper childish secrets into her ear and had the grace to act scandalized afterwards.

And he had introduced her to Tseng for the first time as a teenager, while Charlie had been staying at the villa in Costa del Sol after her father had taken Rufus away to Midgar for "important business". And it had been Veld who had assigned Tseng to her for the first time a few years after their first meeting, calling it Tseng's "ultimate test".

She had come sprinting down the stairs, excited to attend a private charity auction at seventeen, missing the diamond earrings that Rufus had bought her specifically for the event. "Veld! I can't find my—oh!"

Tseng had been standing at the bottom of the stairs awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure he really fit in with everything. He had been clad in a tight-fitting tuxedo, hands held behind his back.

Veld had apologized for not being able to go with her like he said he would, but had assured her that Tseng would be just as good a date as any, and a far better one for Charlie than he would have been. She can't recall ever really spending time alone with Tseng before then, always joined by a second Turk.

"Go easy on him, darling, he could be a good friend to you," Veld had whispered to her as he helped comb her room for the lost earrings. "He'll take good care of you, all right?"

Charlie had thought, at the time, he looked very sad, like a father might look when releasing his daughter into the world for the first time. "Okay," she had whispered back.

Veld had touched the side of her face, looking very seriously into her eyes. "Don't break his heart, Charlotte."

"I won't."

Tseng had passed the "ultimate test" with flying colors, as she knew he would.

It was then that Veld started pulling away from her. Veld had passed her off to another Turk like all the time they spent together meant nothing to him.

The first few months with Tseng had been the most difficult. Charlie didn't know how to talk to him without feeling like she was annoying him, didn't know how close to sit or stand beside him without making him feel uncomfortable, didn't know if she could ask him to do things with her that weren't sitting at her side and looking intimidating.

Once she found out that he thought she was funny, it was over. He wasn't Veld, but she could at least get him to smile and laugh.

All for nothing.

Charlie shakes off the memory, shivering. Sometimes she wishes she could have had a normal childhood, one with a perfect nuclear family where everyone got along. Sometimes she wishes she could have grown up with friends that weren't her brother or Turks.

And yet, despite everything her father had done, there was still a small part of her that yearned for his approval, that craved it. She had spent years honing her charm, her wit, her conversational skills, and people loved her.

People poured affection onto her—the Turks, Rufus, their mother, the people of the slums who once saw her as a hero. She could have had anyone she wanted, could convince near anyone to do anything for her.

But her father never liked her. Maybe he did love her, in his own way, but he never liked her.

Maybe she could have been more serious sometimes, but all she wanted was to make her father smile and laugh, to make him think she was funny, to make him happy.

She had considered telling Reeve about the letters, but she didn't want to worry him. She knows that, if he were to see what was left behind for her (if it was intentionally left behind at all), he would only worry about her.

He's very good at worrying.

"One, two—" A soft grunt as she strikes his chest. He's holding back. "Three. Good."

"Remind me why we have to do this? Can't you just teach me how to shoot a gun?"

"You need to learn to defend yourself when you're left to your own devices. One day, I may not be here to protect you."

"You going to leave me just like Angeal did?" The words are spit in his face, a threat, a dare. "Just like Veld did?"

"No. Try again, and stop talking. You're getting distracted."

She doesn't want to try again. She's done fighting. She's done pretending that she might be able to learn to fight. It's no use practicing against someone who won't even raise a hand to her. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Tseng. I thought you'd know better than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone leaves. It's what you Turks do. Don't pretend that you're any different."

"If I felt I could not uphold the promises I made in regards to you, I would not have made those promises."

"That's all I am to you, isn't it? Another job?"

"It's better that way."

"For you?" She puts her hands back up. She wants to hit him now. She wants to hit him in his stupid face for making her believe that they could be friends, that they could genuinely care about each other. "Or for me?"

Her alarm wakes her abruptly. It's still dark outside.

She tries to force back the memory that still lingers in the back of her mind.

With Reeve's back fitted snugly against her chest, Charlie places a soft kiss on his shoulder and slips her arm out from underneath his head. She wants to sleep for sixteen more hours, to stay in Midgar rather than go smile and wave at people who hate her for a stupid parade.

And the worst part about it is that Heidegger is going. At least, maybe, she'll get a chance to sneak aboard the Highwind, just to take a look. It's been a long time since she's been inside the beautiful air ship, and maybe Cid would like a few pictures sent to him, just to prove that it's still in one piece.

"Are you leaving now?" Reeve murmurs into his pillow, inhaling deep when Charlie reaches around to splay a hand against his chest, lying back down once she turns her alarm off. "Your brother does know that helicopters fly just as well in the afternoon, doesn't he?"

"Why don't you say that to his face?" she asks him teasingly, nudging his hair aside with the tip of her nose to kiss the top of his spine. "Or roll over and say it to mine."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, shifting away from her to turn completely, able to look into her face.

They both smile shyly at each other, tired smiles that are visible only because of the full moon that's still shining in through their bedroom windows. Charlie takes a moment to admire him, kissing his throat lightly and raking her fingers through his shaggy hair.

"I begged for you to come, you know," she whispers, one of his strong hands coming to rest firm upon her hip, squeezing gently. "We deserve to get away from the city together."

Reeve closes his eyes again, and Charlie brushes his hair out of his face.

She misses the way it was sometimes, when it first started. After they had slept together, Reeve had maintained a certain distance from her, keeping things professional despite making excuses to see her or speak to her only briefly.

And after months of it, Charlie couldn't take it anymore. She had cornered him in his office, her charm failing her completely. She still remembers how nervous she had been, how childish she had felt in his presence, how badly she wanted him to love her, and when she had asked about how he felt regarding that particular night, he had made every effort to avoid speaking of feelings.

"Look, Charlie, I . . ." he had begun, and she could have cried. "I understand if you want to just forget any of that ever happened, but . . ."

That had been the last thing she wanted, and she had told him so. "I want to . . . do it more," she had confessed, blushing heatedly and wrapping her arms around herself. And then, having felt she wasn't being specific enough, she had added, "With you."

She'll never forget the look on Reeve's face, the way he had flushed, exhaling softly as if her confession had knocked the wind from him. "That's very flattering," he had responded in kind, rubbing at the back of his bright red neck. "At the risk of sounding cold, I . . . don't think I'm interested in continuing a purely . . . Gods, Charlie . . . a purely sexual relationship with you."

Charlie had been so embarrassed she could have died. "Oh," she'd sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that—"

"No! No, no, don't—don't just do it with someone else," he had protested, reaching out for her arm as she tried to escape the office, fingers curling gently around her upper arm. "What I mean is . . . I really like you, Charlie, and I don't know that I'm comfortable with something so . . . casual."

"Well, what if I wanted something different?"

He was nervous, she remembers. Maybe he was too afraid to continue his rejections of the president's daughter. "Like what?"

"Like, what if I wanted you to . . . take me out on real dates and walk me to my front door afterwards to kiss me good-night? And what if, sometimes, I wanted you to stay the night with me?"

It had taken him a long time to answer that. She could almost see the steam coming from his ears, his brain hard at work, his lips pressed tightly together and eyebrows furrowed, working out the answer to some question left unsaid.

And then, after a long silence, he had asked, "You want to be my girlfriend?"

And she had said, "Yeah, I do."

In the months that had followed that, it was all they could do to keep it a secret. Rufus had threatened to expose them at every turn, but it only made it that more exciting. It had been shy smiles across conference tables, experimental and curious touching in the bedroom of her apartment that she'd slept alone in for years, the happiest she had felt in a long time.

"Hey," she breathes, brushing the tip of her nose against his own.

He hums sleepily.

"I'm sorry about the way Rufus treats you," she says, as genuinely as she can.

His eyes open again, but he chooses to say nothing, only offering her a small smile as if to let her know it's not her fault.

Truthfully, Rufus's attitude towards Reeve lately has been more abhorrent than it's ever been, having moved far beyond the usual sneering and passive insults. It's developed into threats (though she isn't sure Rufus would truly harm Reeve unless he was extremely desperate) and bouts of semi-violent rage at the mere mention of his name, now that their father isn't alive to force him to be civil and polite.

Reeve means nothing to Rufus, and it frightens her.

Rufus had shot Palmer like it was nothing, all because of some stupid remark that Charlie hadn't even cared about. He didn't need a reason to do it.

But he has plenty of reasons to hurt Reeve, and a strong desire to cut him out of her life forever.

Charlie doesn't mind it so much. Rufus has always been slightly aggressive towards her, as if he always had something to prove, and to have her head jerked around a few times a week is nothing compared to the beatings her father used to give her.

She doesn't mind taking a pull of her hair, a swat across the face, if it means sparing Reeve from any harm.

At least Rufus apologizes afterwards.

She feels half a hostage. She has no say in anything anymore unless Rufus wishes it, and it's not like she can leave. Rufus would drag her back to Midgar even if it killed her, before laying claim to her in the hopes of intimidating her, of reminding her what he's capable of.

She fears that, one day, it might go too far.

Let Rufus hurt me all he wants, she thinks, nuzzling against Reeve's chest, but I will never let Rufus will never touch him.

"If you really knew what it was like for us as children . . ." She knows it sounds like an excuse. She doesn't want to excuse Rufus's behavior towards Reeve, because she hates the way her brother treats him, but Charlie knows that much of that rage and aggression had been borne from circumstances beyond Rufus's control. "He's just protective of me, that's all."

"Then tell me," he rasps, gently breaking down the walls that have risen around her, her heart racing. "Tell me what it was like for you."

She wants to run, to scream no! until the subject is forgotten. She doesn't want to bring up old memories for her to dwell on.

She doesn't want to tell Reeve what she and Rufus used to do together as children. She doesn't want to describe the beatings she'd received and watched Rufus receive. She doesn't want to remember hiding underneath the blankets of her brother's bed and hoping their father, in a drunken rage, would leave them alone.

"I don't . . ." Charlie shakes her head, not wanting to think about it at all. "I don't know that I want to do that."

"Charlie, you've admitted to me that you built the bombs that destroyed the reactors, and yet here I am. Nothing you say could be any worse."

It could. "You know why I built the bombs. You know that." She hesitates, propping herself onto an elbow, resting her head against her palm. "You wouldn't like me anymore if you knew everything."

He smiles weakly. "I doubt that very much."

Charlie hesitates, her hand slipping below the blankets to touch him, in the hopes of distracting him. Reeve is quick, catching her wrist before she's able to touch anything and smiling knowingly. "If you don't want to talk about it, Charlie, then just say so."

The shame is enough to kill her on the spot. The shame of what she'd done as a child, the shame of trying to bury those memories and deny their happening to herself. "I don't want to talk about it."

Reeve pushes himself up onto his own elbow, high enough above her to smile down at her. It makes her want to cry. How can he smile at her? How can he still look at her like that? How can he see her as anything but a murderer and a liar? How can he see someone there that isn't an empty shell?

Was Rufus right? she can't help but think. Am I nothing?

Upon releasing her wrist, Charlie brings her hand back out of the blankets, holding it against her chest. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous.

His free hand comes to rest lightly on her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth across her bottom lip. She would be lying if she said she didn't dream about this exact scenario for months when she first met him, a scrawny and awkward sixteen-year-old that would have done anything for a chance to touch him even innocently.

"Tell me something else, then," he urges her softly, moving his thumb away from her lips. "What's wrong?"

Charlie sighs. Mother, Veld, Angeal, Father, Tseng. Mother, Veld, Angeal, Father, Tseng. She can't stop thinking of them all, their abrupt good-byes, and in some cases, no good-byes at all. "I can't lose you," she confesses, hoping he gets the point without forcing her to spell it out.

"You don't have to worry about that," he whispers, pressing his lips to her jaw, peppering her neck with sweet little pecks that make her eyes flutter closed, heat springing to her cheeks. "Of all things," he continues through kisses, parting his lips now when they touch her skin, "that is the last thing you should worry about."

Charlie doesn't want his vision of her to suddenly be tainted and dirty, soiled and used. She knows how he feels about Rufus. She knows how Reeve feels when he catches them sharing a bed together, when he catches Rufus putting hands on her, when he catches Charlie not quite encouraging her brother's affectionate behavior, but not at all trying to put a stop to it.

She doesn't really believe that Reeve would leave her. They've been together for so long now, and with their wedding quickly approaching, she knows the both of them are in far too deep to back out. It's probably why he had come back to her so easily, without a big fuss, despite the horrifying atrocities she had contributed to.

She gives him a long kiss before leaving, sparing some extra time to make sure that no part of him is left untouched before she leaves to catch the helicopter that will take her, Rufus, and Heidegger to Junon.

If it were up to her, she might never come back.

Charlie is exhausted by the time they reach Junon, and she falls asleep the moment they get in the car that will take them back to the apartment they'll be staying at, a place he's been renting for years.

Originally, the place had been used to hide his girlfriends, though none of them lasted long. Without anyone to see the girls he'd been keeping or to rub it in anyone's face, it had become boring, and Rufus subconsciously found himself picking out the uglier features of the women he'd bring home whilst in the middle of fucking them.

By the end of it, he could hardly look at them any longer, always sending them on their way without so much as a "good-night."

Charlie's head rests upon his shoulder, the both of them being slightly jostled around as the car takes them across the massive military city. Decorations and banners adorn the sides of shops announcing a new reign, with Rufus Shinra as president and his sweet, beautiful, sleeping sister as his vice president.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, wanting to rest his cheek to her hair and fall asleep himself. With the tinted partition hiding them from view of the driver, Rufus takes Charlie's hand in his own, lining up their long and slender fingers, her own neatly manicured and painted a soft pink color.

All it will take is a few days. A few days to remind her that she doesn't need Reeve, that the two of them had survived years without Reeve. There's nothing that Reeve can give Charlie that he can't, if she would let him.

He can buy her whatever she wants—houses across the world, all the jewelry she could ask for, anything she ever wanted. He could even love her, which is more than he can say for the other women he's slept with. He could be good to her, could make her happy.

But she never lets him. Whenever she brings up Reeve, all it does is throw gasoline onto the fire already raging inside of him. Whenever he tries to show her he cares, Charlie pushes him away, like she doesn't remember all the times they had come to each other in the dark as children, seeking some kind of love, some form of genuine affection, some kind of honest emotional connection to someone.

He will not beg for Charlie to love him. A Shinra does not beg for anything. That had been the first lesson their father had ever drilled into his head. A Shinra doesn't beg, they take.

He could take her right now, in the back of this car. She would be powerless to stop it, unless she decided to play the fool and fight back. There are no Turks here to keep him under control, Reeve is back in Midgar, and neither Father nor Mother are alive to keep them apart any longer.

He could show her he could be gentle. He could prove to her that he's worthy of love, too. She can't deny him that—she can't deny the president that.

Rufus almost does act upon it, reaching up slowly to hold his hand splayed before her throat, maneuvering himself very slightly to keep her sleeping. Her head shifts a little bit, exposing more of her throat to him. He takes it as a sign, placing light fingertips around her neck, thumb caressing her pulse.

She sighs softly, sleeping peacefully. She had nearly fallen asleep aboard the helicopter, as well, loud as it had been. His heart races (why is his heart racing?) as he puts a little bit of pressure around her throat, and just as she begins to stir from her sleep, he softens his grip.

He doesn't have the heart to take from his sister right now. Maybe he's just tired. For the thousandth time in a week, he curses his weakness, curses his sister.

Charlie inhales deeply, nuzzling against his shoulder. "What are you doing?" she murmurs.

Rufus pulls his hand away from her. "Nothing," he says. "Sorry."

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she rubs her eyes, smoothing her hair down. "Where are we staying again?"

"I've a place downtown that'll be more than enough room for the both of us."

"I didn't know you had a place here."

"It's not a place I use often anymore."

Charlie is quiet for a little while, watching the buildings pass them by. The car maneuvers smoothly down the long roads, escorted by a security car ahead of them to clear the way. "Have you heard from the Turks at all lately?" she asks him suddenly, too casually for it to be genuine.

"We've been in contact," he answers, feeling no need to lie to her. "They happened upon your Avalanche friends a little while ago, Charlie, including the one with the sword."

She seems too eager for more information. "Where?"

"They crossed paths at the Mythril Mines, and must be days ahead of those terrorists by now. The Turks certainly aren't lacking for any resources."

"Is Avalanche tracking Sephiroth, too?"

Rufus frowns at her. He hasn't had much contact at all with the Turks, truthfully, waiting on a briefing sometime this weekend to decide what their next plan of action is. He doesn't like his closest allies being so far away from him, and from Charlie.

"It doesn't matter what their goal is," Rufus reminds her sharply. "The Turks haven't been tasked with stopping them at all costs and interrogating them. I'm not foolish enough to risk the lives of the last of the Turks. So long as Avalanche stays out of Shinra's way, they're safe—for the time being." When Charlie looks doubtfully at him, he adds, "We'll deal with them after we deal with Sephiroth."

Charlie looks at him for a long time, and she looks as if she's dying to get something off her chest, but she only gives him a small smile. "Well, in any case, I'm glad the Turks are all right."

Rufus reaches over to take her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He can be good. He can be loving. He can make her happy. He can comfort her when she needs it.

These tender moments, shared in private and ever fleeting, are numbered now. Soon, she'll have her own life, along with all the men she currently has around her wrapped around her finger, making herself out to be the people's hero, and everyone will forget about him.

Rufus Shinra, always standing in the shadows of his father and his sister.

"Do you remember much of Sephiroth?" Charlie asks suddenly, and it's such an odd question that it feels a little jarring.

Of course he remembers Sephiroth, though he hadn't spent so much time around him as Charlie had, back when she was still known to flirt with that SOLDIER. Having been raised within the company, Rufus had seen Sephiroth stalking the halls of the Shinra Building several times before, but neither of them ever made an effort to speak to each other.

"A little," he admits.

Charlie seems lost in thought, her eyes slightly glazed over as she gazes out the window. "I just don't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"I just . . . never thought that Sephiroth would do something like that," she confesses. "But I guess . . . I didn't know any of them as well as I wanted to believe I did."

Rufus looks steadily at her, wondering if the dam is going to break soon. She hasn't said much about Angeal since confronting him a few days ago, and Rufus has always believed that, despite the audacity of it all, Charlie did care for her SOLDIER, very much so.

He's sure that finding out such regrettable information had hurt her, a wound that probably had healed years ago, half-forgotten now.

He's almost tempted to tell her exactly what Sephiroth had done five years ago, and what Shinra had done to make it right. Knowing the truth behind Shinra's greatest war hero's last days makes it relatively easy to believe Sephiroth would have no trouble killing President Shinra.

No, that's not right. Shinra hadn't done anything to fix Sephiroth's deadly work. They had covered it up. His father had covered it up.

"Don't worry about Sephiroth," he says, confident. "The Turks will handle him."

Charlie hums, sounding almost doubtful.

Part of him wishes Reeve were here, if only to see the way his fianceé behaves behind closed doors with her own brother, lying in bed with him (the guest room bed, of course, because Rufus wouldn't bring his own sister into the bed where he's slept with other women).

To force Reeve to watch as Charlie bestows affection all over him would certainly bring him a certain vindictive pleasure, a queer form of satisfation.

To have Reeve watch as Charlie scratches lightly at the back of his head, to have Reeve watch as Charlie lies down in bed with him, to have Reeve watch as Charlie allows her brother's fingers to trace patterns on her thigh, a casual form of intimacy that Rufus hasn't been allowed for a very long time.

Rufus turns his head away from the news program on the television to look at her. Her eyes are closed now, her head hanging awkwardly to rest upon his shoulder, but her fingers continue their ministrations lazily, fingernails scratching against the nape of his neck, chest rising and falling softly.

It had been a long day of meeting uniformed men and women, who excitedly awaited their presence, and then they had been given the very long tour of the city by one of their captain's, which had seemed to last forever.

After that, Charlie had exploded on Heidegger (and the entire crew present) after seeing that changes and upgrades were being made to the Highwind that she certainly didn't approve of. All it had taken to make her happy was to hit Heidegger with the butt of his gun, hard enough to crack his nose and make him spew blood from both nostrils.

It had been nothing to him, really, but Charlie had been pleased, and when Rufus brought her back to the apartment, she was more than happy to indulge him when he decided to steal a chaste little kiss from her.

"Don't," she'd whispered against him, the moment he had opened his mouth against her own.

Rufus had almost reached up to tug violently at her hair, to make her give him exactly what he wanted. But he hadn't. He didn't even intend on kissing her at all, but the adrenaline from what he had done to Heidegger was still coursing through him, and he didn't have another woman here to help him with it.

"Okay," he'd whispered back, feeling helpless. He supposes it wouldn't look good for the man she's going to marry to find out that she's still fooling around with her brother like a couple of experimental and lonely kids.

She's a tease, only wanting a little taste before pushing him away again. She's always been like that, ever since she met Reeve, ever since she found someone else willing to give her the affection that she'd been craving, that she'd been taking from Rufus.

Once she met Reeve, she wasn't interested in sneaking into Rufus's bedroom anymore. She wasn't interested in what Rufus could offer her, wasn't interested in anything beyond him. She had been sixteen, with dreams of marrying this employee of her father's, with dreams of being with him all the time, forever, and leaving Rufus behind to rot by himself in the villa.

"Don't tell Reeve what we've done," she would beg him, desperate and wide-eyed, "please, don't tell him. I'll do anything you ask, but please don't tell him."

She hadn't wanted Reeve to see her as less than perfect, as something tainted by his own hands.

And eventually, Charlie went from pleading Rufus for silence, to denial. "Why would you say something like that? That never happened," she would say, but Rufus could tell she didn't believe it herself.

Reeve hadn't been an issue at the start, really, as he had the decency to keep his hands to himself for the first few years, and when she started showing interest in other men, Reeve had stepped back into the shadows to watch better men take the place that could have been his, if he'd only taken what he wanted like a man.

She had been sixteen and in love with him, the president's daughter, who would grow to be the most beautiful woman in the world, who would become the most desirable woman in the world the moment she turned eighteen.

That cuckold had waited six years to finally claim what was his, and Rufus won't deny that it didn't sit well with him, to open up his sister's bedroom door and find another man in bed with her.

It's not like Reeve was the only one. When Rufus had been younger, when Tseng began to take Veld's position as caregiver (a truly pathetic job for a Turk of his skill), Rufus couldn't believe the Turk's restraint.

He and Charlie spent weeks alone together at times, playing house in either the villa or the family home in Midgar. Charlie had been young, ripe for the taking, and Rufus probably wouldn't even have tried to stop it if it happened.

Was it weakness that prevented Tseng from taking her, from having her in an empty home with no one to hear her pleading? Or was it an honorable amount of self-control? Or was it something else? Something that Rufus—the emotionally stunted and codependent brat he is (in the words of his own damned father)—can't really imagine feeling?

He thinks he feels it, whatever it is, when he looks down into her sleeping face.

"Rufus?" she moans softly, adjusting her head and sighing.

Rufus swallows hard. "What?"

"Turn the TV off so I can sleep."

He does it automatically, without even thinking about it. It's easier to let her believe that, in private, she holds the power. "Better?"

Charlie hums, sliding down the bed slightly to curl up in the crook of his arm, her head against his chest. He brushes some hair from her face and listens for her breathing to shift, to let him know that she's fast asleep again.

"Don't worry, sister," he breathes, unsure if whatever he's going to say will penetrate her brain, unsure if she'll remember in the morning. "I won't force you to marry that stupid, up-jumped architect."

Charlie wakes with the birds.

Rufus is still sleeping, and likely will for a few more hours, until he's forced to get out of bed for the parade. She doesn't quite understand how he can sleep through the blaring music that's slightly muffled by the windows, prepping the city for the inauguration of Shinra's (and, by extension, the planet's) new president.

She untangles herself from her brother, bringing her phone with her to the living room and checking her watch as she falls backwards onto the sofa. It's early enough for Reeve to be awake, and when she calls, he answers almost immediately.

"How's everything going?"

"All right, I guess. Heidegger approved changes for the Highwind that I wish he wouldn't have."

"I'm sorry. I know how much that ship means to you."

Charlie sighs heavily. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"Listen, I know you've been really busy lately, but when we get to Costa del Sol, Rufus isn't staying for long." She hesitates, glancing towards the closed bedroom door, behind which, her brother still sleeps. "Why don't you come and stay with me for a little? Just a few days, just the two of us."

She can hear him sighing this time. "Charlotte, sweetheart, I'm very busy here—"

"Please," she begs, trying to keep quiet. "Just for one night, that's all I'm asking. I just want to be with you again."

"Then come back to Midgar. You know I won't ever turn you away."

They both laugh softly. Charlie chews on her bottom lip, considering it, but going back to Midgar will only make it harder to leave again. "Come to Costa del Sol. I'll make it worth your while. I'll take you out for a nice dinner, wine and dine you a little bit before we go home and—"

"All right, fine," he replies teasingly, "you've convinced me. Call me when you get to Costa del Sol, all right?"

Charlie smiles, even though she doesn't have to. He can't see her. "Okay," she whispers, wanting to cry. Her eyes sting, but she swallows the lump in her throat, forcing herself to sound cool and casual over the phone. "I'll let you go, then. I love you."

"I love you, too. Good luck today. I'll be watching the parade in my office."

"I'll blow a kiss for you."

"Well, I would appreciate that very much. Lucky me."

"Yeah," she repeats, closing her eyes to try and picture his face. "Lucky you."