"You messed up big time, Heidegger."
Charlie stands at her brother's side, privately very pleased with the way Heidegger seems to cower in the shadow of her brother. No doubt he hasn't yet mentally recovered from the beating he had taken in the hangar at Junon (his pride had taken a beating, as well, she's sure), holding his hands behind his back and maintaining a quiet dignity that looks on the verge of cracking.
Heidegger swallows hard, glancing from Rufus to Charlie and back again. He murmurs something to Rufus, quietly enough that no one else on the dock will hear, not even Charlie herself.
"What was that?" Rufus asks, stepping closer to Heidegger, who lowers his head in shame. "I don't think my sweet sister heard you, Heidegger. Speak up this time."
"I'm ashamed of myself," he grumbles, flushing beet red.
Rufus scoffs, clearly unhappy with the response he's gotten. Truthfully, Charlie thinks Heidegger probably deserves another beating. Not only had he failed to notice Avalanche sneaking aboard, which could have ended far worse than it did, there had been rumors that Sephiroth had hitched a ride on their ship, which also could have ended far worse than it did.
"Is that all you can do?" Rufus snarls in his greasy, bearded face. "Give one word answers and apologize for everything?"
Heidegger averts his eyes, looking very nervous under Rufus's scrutiny. He remains silent, which is a good thing, in Charlie's opinion. If he says another one word or apologizes again, she can't really guarantee that Rufus will let him walk off without another fresh bruise.
"Heidegger, look at my beautiful sister."
Lifting his beetle-black eyes to meet Charlie's, Heidegger almost scowls, forgetting himself. If Rufus notices, he says nothing.
"Consider yourself lucky she's still alive. If something had happened to my sister because of your ineptitude, you would never have walked off that ship alive, is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Do you have anything to say to my sweet sister, you bumbling idiot?"
Charlie doesn't look away from Heidegger. She doesn't really think she would be all that upset if Rufus shot him like he shot Palmer. "Forgive me, Madam Vice President," he says, sincerely enough. "I am so grateful that you weren't hurt."
"Get out of here," Rufus snaps, clearly not as pleased with Heidegger's apology as Charlie. "It's been a long trip, and your talking has given me a headache. Have a helicopter readied for me. If it's not ready by the time I come back from seeing my lovely sister home safely, then I think we need to have a long chat about your future, Heidegger."
"Yes, Mr. President. Right away."
By the time Rufus gets her back to the villa, it's late afternoon, and Charlie is eager to call Reeve and let him know that they've docked safely. She wants to see him again, to love him, to kiss him, to fall asleep beside him.
This opportunity to have all of these things, for what may be the last time, is important to her, but the thought of him is quickly pushed from the forefront of her mind the moment Rufus closes the door of the beach house behind him.
Rufus is furious. He's apoplectic, incandescent, seething. He's angrier than even that, and Charlie can't discern whether he's angry with Avalanche, Heidegger, Sephiroth, or her. His nostrils are flared and his pupils look blown out, more black than blue.
Charlie tries her hardest not to look guilty, taking a few careful steps towards the stairs, hoping to lock herself in her bedroom until his anger subsides or until he leaves. She wonders if he knows about her having communicated to Avalanche.
Had there been cameras in her cabin? Had someone been watching? Had someone been spying on her? She thought she would be safe surrounded by people who weren't technically on Rufus's payroll like the Turks, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had underestimated Rufus, and she certainly won't do so again.
"You're not hurt, are you?" she asks quietly, hesitating at the foot of the wide staircase that will lead her to safety.
"No," Rufus answers in a low voice, walking slowly towards her.
Instinctively, Charlie takes another step back, continuing her slow, backwards ascent up the stairs with Rufus chasing equally as slowly after her. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't know what I would have done if Sephiroth had gotten to you."
"Oh?" Rufus huffs, continuing the chase, moving up the stairs with her.
"Yes," she breathes, her heart beating painfully fast. "You know that I love you."
Rufus's face hardens, a scowl forming upon his face, twisting his handsome features cruelly. He looks like their father, and it frightens her. Doesn't he remember how much she loves him? Doesn't he remember all the times she had snuck into his bedroom to prove it in some clumsy, fumbling, childish way?
"I know you had something to do with Avalanche being on board that ship," he snarls, just as Charlie reaches the second floor landing. It's only a short way to her bedroom, but she doesn't dare run, not wanting to show fear, but that task seems impossible now.
"I didn't," she protests, nearly panting, bumping against the wall lightly. "I was with you all this morning, Rufus. You know that." He doesn't stop following her. "I have a phone call to make now," she says stupidly, hoping he'll leave her alone.
The moment Charlie finds the door to her bedroom, she opens it quickly, attempting to slip in and slam the door shut on her brother, but Rufus stops it, splaying a palm against the wooden door with a strength far superior to her own. As that strength seems to fail him, with Charlie's entire body weight pressing against the door, Rufus rams his shoulder into it, knocking her back onto the floor.
"Going to call Reeve, sister?" he hisses, kicking the bedroom door closed behind her and reaching down to tangle his fingers in her hair, pulling hard enough for a dry sob to escape her, tears stinging her eyes. "No, I don't think so."
"Stop!" she pleads, whimpering as Rufus pulls her to her feet by the hair, making her stumble. The force of his grip makes her neck ache. "You're hurting me, Rufus, please—"
"Don't lie to me, Charlie," he snaps, never releasing her hair. "You and that spineless bastard have been plotting against me from the very beginning." He doesn't wait to hear her answer. "You've always wanted Father's seat, playing president with your husband, who will bend to your every wish. Isn't that right?"
"I had nothing to do with this—"
Rufus tugs sharply again, silencing her as she hisses in pain. "You will not marry that man, Charlotte. Is that clear? That's an order from your president."
"You can't tell me what to do—"
With another tug of her hair, Rufus pulls her closer.
"Rufus, stop it! You're hurting me!" Charlie struggles, attempting to pull away from him, reaching with one hand for his wrist, letting him see her tears now. Let him see that he's hurting her. Let him see what he's doing to her. "Let go!"
Without even really thinking about it, Charlie's right hand comes around fast and hard, striking her brother in the face hard enough that the following crack! of skin against skin seems to echo in her bedroom.
For a moment afterwards, there is only silence. Rufus doesn't release her hair and Charlie's fingers are still wrapped tight around his wrist, and for a long time, or what seems like a long time, they stare at each other. Charlie breathes heavily onto his mouth, eyes wide with fear.
She's never struck her brother before, and after Rufus is able to digest what's just happened, he goes into a blind rage.
He does end up letting go of her hair, the nape of her neck sore from the stress of it, but he doesn't leave. Rufus hits her hard across the face and his hand jumps to her neck before she stops seeing stars, wrapping long and spindly fingers around her throat.
She thinks he's going to strangle her right here and right now, but he only shoves her hard, throwing her back onto the bed. Charlie's left cheek already feels swollen, and it stings so badly that she can't hold back the steady stream of tears any longer.
"You're going to pay for that," he says coldly, pale eyes flashing in the lamplight. "You've been spending too much time with the director, I think." Rufus takes a few steps closer to the bed, and Charlie scoots backwards as far as she can, until her back is up against the corner of the wall. "He's been turning you against me from the beginning, hasn't he?"
"He hasn't been turning me against you!" she screams, hoping that Reeve isn't already on his way here. "Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with this!"
Rufus scoffs, considering her for a moment before making for his belt, unbuckling it with deft hands.
"No," she croaks, her tongue suddenly feeling very heavy, her head still hurting something fierce, and her cheek swelling rapidly. Charlie clamps her legs together without even thinking about it, kicking out one of her feet to keep him back. "No, Rufus, please—"
Rufus hesitates after sliding his belt off, laughing breathlessly at the state of her. "Is that what you think I'm going to do?" he asks, laughing again when Charlie refuses to answer. "I suppose you have bad memories associated with this bedroom, don't you? This is where it happened, isn't it? Where that bastard raped my own sister—"
"He didn't rape me!" she shouts, closing her eyes as he raises the belt. It comes down to strike her in the thigh, and even through her clothes, it still stings. "Leave him out of this!"
"Who gave him the right!" Rufus brings the belt down again, the leather cracking against the side of her calf this time. "Who gave him the right to touch you!"
"I did! I gave him that right!"
"And he thought he would just get away with that?" He makes a grab at her ankle when she goes to kick him again, pulling her closer even as she scrambles to get away. "I've been waiting ten years to wring that brute's neck. He has no idea what I could do to him—"
"Leave him alone!" Her words are shrill, and the very idea of Rufus even laying a finger on Reeve sends a jolt of terror through her. She knows that Rufus would not be content with a quick end to things, not with the Turks at his disposal, who wouldn't dare balk at such a heinous request.
Would they?
"Stop kicking!" Rufus barks, pulling her leg so hard she nearly falls right off the bed.
Charlie reaches out to hit him again, hoping to stagger him just long enough for her to escape, but he bats her hand away and swats her hard across the face again. They struggle again for a moment, the belt slipping from Rufus's hand as he takes hold of her wrists, pinning them down to the mattress, his chest heaving.
"Goddamnit, Char! You're making me angry!"
"If you touch him, I'll kill myself, I swear I will—"
"You don't have the stomach—"
"Want to find out?"
Charlie takes a moment to catch her breath, hardly able to move. She feels exhausted, and with her arms trapped and his legs weighing heavy on her own, escape is impossible.
"Don't hurt him," she pleads, happy with a thousand beatings if it means sparing Reeve the burden. "Please, Rufus, don't hurt him, I'll do anything you want, I promise, I swear. He's done nothing wrong. Please don't hurt him, please."
Something flickers across Rufus's face. He blinks a few times, looking down into her eyes, looking at her cheek and up at the wrists he has pinned above her head.
And then, without warning or another word spoken, Rufus releases her quickly, as if she's burned him. Charlie sits up slowly, afraid to move. Her wrists are bright red where his fingertips had dug into her skin, and her cheek hurts something awful, throbbing in time with her heart. The places where his belt had caught her legs still sting, pink against her pale skin.
"Charlie," he breathes, looking far less angry, but no less dangerous. Some of his hair falls into his eyes, but he flicks it out of his face almost without realizing it. Rufus kneels before her, placing his hands upon her thighs. "Are we turning into Mother and Father?"
She doesn't answer. She will not give him that satisfaction now.
But when he leans forward between her open legs to rest his forehead against her stomach and wraps his arms around her waist, Charlie can't help herself. She runs her trembling fingers through his hair and scratches gently at the back of his head, listening to the sounds of their loud breathing.
Charlie lets her eyes flutter closed. It feels impossible to catch her breath, not with Rufus still so close to her, nuzzling against her like they're children again.
The truth is, Charlie does think they're turning into their parents, and it's equal parts frightening and expected. She doesn't remember much about her mother that doesn't revolve around space or screaming matches, and to be reduced to that would be humiliating.
Her father and mother really loved each other once. She knows it for certain now. It's been hard to believe sometimes, but she understands now, better than ever before.
She and Rufus used to really love each other, too.
"Father's gone, Charlie," he murmurs against her.
Charlie swallows hard, looking down at the top of her little brother's head. Sometimes she forgets that he's the little one.
"I know," she whispers. "But we'll be all right."
There's a silence that seems to go on forever, and Rufus never moves from his position, kneeling on the floor with his face pressed against her stomach and his arms trapping her in place.
And then, Charlie hears the unmistakable sound of a muffled sob, watching her brother's back jump as he cries hoarsely against her. She hasn't seen or heard Rufus cry in over ten years. She can't even remember why he might have cried, nor does she remember how she comforted him the last time she actually bore witness to something so tender and vulnerable.
She continues to thread her fingers through his hair for a few minutes, and when he starts to calm down, his sobs lessening, Charlie carefully pulls his head back from her stomach by pulling his hair just like he does to her (albeit much more gently).
Looking down into the pale and tear-stained face of the president, Charlie takes in his bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes, the slight pout playing at his lips. His cheek is still pink where she had slapped him. She hasn't held this much power over him in years, and the idea that he's willingly allowing her that power makes her feel . . .
She doesn't quite know how it makes her feel. She feels shame bubbling in her stomach, and satisfaction and desire and confusion. She's repulsed, but not by her brother, by herself.
She wishes Reeve were here to drag her away, to keep her away from Rufus, to remind her of what he's just done. He hadn't meant it. He had only been angry and afraid, still reeling from the news Heidegger had given them about their unexpected guests. When she thinks about all the beatings her brother had taken for her in the past, Charlie thinks this one is long overdue.
She even leans in slightly, watching his neck crane up as if expecting something from her, trying to put his face as close to hers as possible.
She can't allow herself to fall back into something like this, no matter how familiar and comforting it may be. Life has changed for the both of them now, and they've grown older and moved on.
Or, she has, at least.
Her heart is racing. It's hard to accept the fact that Rufus has just beaten her, now so small and eager for comfort, crying against her. He's sorry, and she knows it, even if the words don't leave his lips.
Charlie leans forward, resting her forehead against her brother's, closing her eyes. His breath comes shakily, hot against her lips, sounding like breathing at all is a chore for him, judging by the way he inhales and exhales deeply like his life depends on it.
Something about being back in the villa, alone, where she and Rufus spent so much time together as children, and something about the way he brushes the tip of his nose against her own, makes her heart ache painfully, aching for days forgotten, aching for simpler times, when their father was alive.
Veld had known. Veld had always known, ever since he had walked into Charlie's bedroom to find them playfully kissing each other. He had taken great pains to have them separated, always insisting that Rufus go with their father to Midgar, on business trips, anywhere in the world that wasn't at his sister's side.
Charlie opens her eyes again and pulls away from him, skating her fingertips lightly over his cheekbone, privately pleased that she's left him with a mark of her disobedience for the entire world to see. The both of them now will be forced to wear bruises like trophies, and no one possesses the power to ask about it without consequence. She's certain that if anyone brings up the mark on Rufus's face, he'll beat them just as mercilessly as he had Heidegger.
"I want you back in Midgar tomorrow," he whispers, and it is not a request, but a hushed command meant to sound like a request. He's daring her to defy him, and Charlie isn't sure how much defiance will be left in her if Rufus continues on the way he has been. "I have other business that will keep me from the city for a few days."
"Be careful," she tells him.
Rufus gets to his feet and brushes himself off, pushing his fingers through his hair to set it back into place. "I've already made a few phone calls back to Headquarters. You're going to have a few SOLDIERs at your side and outside your apartment until I return. I'm not taking any risks."
"You could always just clear my name."
His jaw clenches tight, angry all over again, likely humiliated after his little display of weakness. "In time, sister," he says quietly. "When I feel you've earned it."
With a few hours of daylight remaining to her, and a few hours until Reeve is due to arrive, Charlie decides to take advantage of her newfound independence and packs for the beach, hoping to find a secluded place for her to sunbathe and listen to the waves until the sun sets.
She does her best with makeup to hide the evidence of Rufus's abuse on her face, but there are still fresh bruises around her wrists and neck, little fingertip-sized ones that won't go unnoticed if someone takes a good look at her, like Reeve probably will.
What she doesn't expect to find at the beach is the Ancient—what was her name again? Aerith, she suddenly remembers, and Aerith's back is to her, changed out of the uniform she had been wearing on the ship, and back into a cheap pink dress that looks almost like the one she had been wearing the night the plate dropped.
She's looking at something, tilting her head back and forth. Charlie steps up to her side, following her line of sight to a gaggle of young women dressed in tiny bikinis, seemingly surrounding someone.
For a moment, she thinks it might be Rufus, but she catches sight of a man with dark hair through two bodies that move apart at the right time. It's a man that she recognizes, a thrill of terror running through her body, especially when she notices Aerith take a step towards him.
Instinctively, Charlie moves forward and reaches out, only wanting to stop Aerith from making a huge mistake. She wraps her fingers around the girl's wrist, holding her back. "Aerith, wait!" she hisses.
"Miss Shinra?" When Aerith pulls her wrist away, Charlie releases her instantly. "Gods! What happened to you?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," she snaps, putting an end to that conversation before it can begin. "What are you doing?"
Aerith glances over her shoulder, as if to make certain Hojo hasn't left. "What's Professor Hojo doing here? Shouldn't he be in Midgar?"
Not wanting to reveal too much information to a common girl from the slums (not a common girl, she reminds herself, an Ancient), Charlie hesitates. "He's taken a temporary leave of absence, I think," she replies. "Maybe I should go talk to him. It's not safe for you."
"Don't be silly," Aerith smiles, looking far braver than Charlie feels. Surely Aerith knows what Professor Hojo is capable of, having been his prisoner for a brief time, but Charlie has grown up with the dark rumors that have surrounded Hojo since he started working for Shinra. "We'll go together. I'll be safe with the vice president with me, won't I?"
This gives Charlie pause again. With the Turks dispatched on a mission far away from Costa del Sol, and with Rufus currently on his way to wherever he's going, she doesn't really think there's any danger in being seen with Aerith. It's not like anyone here knows that she's an Ancient, and Professor Hojo has never cared about who Charlie has surrounded herself with before.
"Okay," Charlie answers, feeling protective of her. She would feel too guilty if something happened to Aerith, something that brought her back into captivity in the Shinra Building. "Stay behind me, though. We'll be quick. What do you want to talk to him for anyway?"
Aerith purses her lips, but doesn't look at all upset that Charlie has asked. Perhaps she had been too forward. "Do you think he knows about Ancients?"
"I don't know. But I think he might know something about Sephiroth."
Despite Charlotte's protests that Aerith stay behind her, the girl doesn't listen. It's infuriating and annoying, but it's no use arguing about it. With Professor Hojo looking so comfortable among his circle of young women, it's unlikely he'll do anything to hurt either of them.
Charlie clears her throat loudly, crossing her arms over her chest. The few women fawning over Hojo (still fully dressed with a lab coat draped over his shoulders and still completely unfortunate looking) look up, gasping.
"Oh, look, Professor! It's the vice president!"
Professor Hojo opens his eyes, looking at both she and Aerith through his tinted glasses. He hums, his wide mouth curling into something between a scowl and a sneer, the smile not at all extending to his eyes. Sitting up slightly in his chair, he fixes his gaze on Charlie while the other women continue their incessant chatter.
"Good afternoon, ma'am!"
"I loved the interview you gave in Coast to Coast, ma'am!"
"Let us see the ring, ma'am! It looks so beautiful in the pictures!"
A fair-skinned girl with short dark hair blushes prettily. "Can we get a picture with you, Madam Vice President?"
"No," Charlie answers flatly, pleased with the way their cheeks all pink and their smiles all flicker. "Why don't you girls leave us alone for a few minutes? I'd like to have a little chat with Professor Hojo."
The women all look around awkwardly, but thankfully none of them decide to ignore her order. Gathering up their towels and wrapping themselves up, they all wander away slowly, looking back over their shoulders until they're out of sight, headed back towards town.
Professor Hojo sits up straighter, continuing to smile up at Charlie, eyes looking her up and down. Dark hair streaked with silver falls lank on either side of his face, the majority of it pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his smile does nothing to enhance his face, deeply lined and aged, his skin peeling where the sun has touched it.
His eyes linger a little too long on the bruises, flicking between her wrists, throat, and cheek. "Like father, like son, yes?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow. Charlie doesn't give him an answer. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Madam Vice President? Have you come to ship me back to Midgar in the hopes of pleasing the president?"
"My brother has no interest in your wellbeing," Charlie begins, offering him a small smile in return. "I don't think he would care if you returned or not, and I'm certain he wouldn't grieve if you turned up dead in the next couple of days."
Professor Hojo doesn't look to believe her. If anything, her threat is hardly amusing to him.
"What are you doing here, Hojo? Your sudden resignation seemed very suspect, given the circumstances surrounding that night."
"The circumstances," he repeats in a hiss, as if this gives him great pleasure. "You would know all about those circumstances, wouldn't you? I heard rumors that you had been in the president's office when it happened. Can it be true? Did you see Sephiroth, Miss Shinra?"
"I did," she admits.
"And?" Hojo's eyebrows shoot up towards his receding hairline. "What was it like? Was it awe-inspiring?"
Charlie doesn't really know what to say. Sephiroth's appearance had been so sudden, so unexpected, so brief, that she hadn't really had much time to dwell on it. He had spoken no more than a few words before disappearing, leaving only his sword behind and the bloody corpse of her father.
"He looked just as he did five years ago, before leaving Headquarters for the last time."
Professor Hojo almost looks disappointed by this description, and then, his lips curl upwards again into a malicious grin. "Refresh my memory," he tells her, laughing to himself, "was it Sephiroth that took an interest in you?"
"No," she replies, "it was Angeal."
"Even better," he cackles, making Charlie blush heatedly. "Hollander's perfect monster . . . oh, I almost forgot about the merry band of failures that trailed after Sephiroth . . . Sephiroth was what Hollander wanted Angeal to be." His shoulders shake with laughter, which only makes her angrier. "I would have been interested in whatever offspring the two of you would have produced."
"Angeal was no monster," Charlie says coldly, the mere suggestion offensive. Angeal had never been anything of the sort—honorable and just, playful and polite. He had not asked for the life Hollander forcibly gave him, had not asked to be what he was, but to call him a monster . . . "He was a good man with a good heart."
This makes Professor Hojo laugh harder. "All SOLDIERs are monsters, Miss Shinra. There is no difference between them. If you were given access to the reports, then you would know. What reason do I have to lie?" His words are painful, even more so because they come from him. "Your attachment to him caused . . . quite a stir, especially with your father. You must understand why, of course . . . the young and beautiful heiress to the Shinra Corporation could never find a happy life with a SOLDIER, especially a G-Type one, at that. When was the last time you saw him?"
Charlie knows he's only goading her, sticking a finger into her broken and bleeding heart and twisting. She knows she shouldn't answer, that answering him will give him control over the conversation, but she will not have it said that she didn't defend Angeal's honor, even after his death.
She owes him that much, doesn't she? Does she owe him anything at all? Their romance (if it could even be called such) was brief and seemingly doomed from the very beginning. Not so much as a kiss was exchanged between them—only lingering looks, playful smiles, innocent flirting and friendly touches, a few letters and pictures and unfulfilled promises. Angeal had never even returned to take her on the date he had spoken of before leaving on assignment.
They had never spoken about a future, and the both of them knew very little about their backgrounds. Angeal had told her once, while they were eating lunch together in the cafeteria one day, that he had grown up very poor in a small village. And once, when they had both stayed behind after a training session with his friends, he had told her the story of the Buster Sword and what it meant to him.
But she never told him anything about her own past. Charlie hates talking about her childhood, even now, but was able to come up with enough happy little anecdotes about the Turks to make him happy.
No, this is what Hojo wants, Charlie thinks to herself. He wants me to be uncomfortable. He wants to be in control.
She tries very hard to keep her face a cold mask. "Seven years ago, before he left for Wutai."
"And a few months later, he was announced killed in the line of duty, isn't that right?" Professor Hojo sighs contently as Charlie's heart starts to beat faster. "The word was that you were very heartbroken. Did you read the official report, Miss Shinra? Or the real one?"
"I know what happened, Hojo."
"Yes," he sneers. "Hollander's failure nearly killed me, and your perfect monster returned to stop him, not once thinking of the girl who was waiting for him."
"Stop it," she says in a low voice, hands curling into fists at her sides.
He taps his chin with a long finger. "And who was the director that took him from you again? Pray forgive me, Miss Shinra. I seem to have forgotten his name."
"Lazard," she responds. She knows he hasn't forgotten. Tseng's report had offered some damning information on Lazard, as well, but at the time of the writing, it had only been coerced information from Hollander and unconfirmed.
"Yes . . ." Hobo strokes his chin, looking almost gleefully. "I always thought he looked like you, Miss Shinra."
She blinks at him, taken aback by the sudden turn of conversation. "What does that have to do with anything?"
True, Lazard had been tall, blond, and unusually good-looking, and she had even tried to flirt with him once, but her innocent advances had been kindly spurned by him. But Charlie doesn't think that makes any matter now, not all these years later.
Professor Hojo doesn't elaborate, only grins up at her as if waiting for her to figure it out. She can hardly stand still with the rapid beating of her heart. "Why would . . . ?" Charlie's throat feels dry. "Lazard . . . ?"
"Your late father spoke often of the way you and your brother had the 'Shinra look' to you. The hair, the eyes, the nose, the jaw—oh, yes, all very familiar . . ."
Charlie falters, losing control. Her face still hurts from where Rufus hit her, and her head is spinning. Talking about Angeal has made her numb, or something close to it, and it's hard to focus.
Why can't she breathe? Why is it so hard to catch her breath? It's only Hojo—he's only saying things to get a rise out of her, to mock her, to taunt her.
"Was Lazard my . . . ?"
Charlie places a hand to her chest, her throat feeling very constricted, an icy fist wrapping around her heart. How could something like that be kept from her? How little does she know? How much does Rufus know? How much does Reeve know? Everything?
"Never noticed, did you?" he continues. "Was it willful blindness, I wonder, or a complete lack of observational skills? Either one would be plausible in your case, I think. Yes . . . the SOLDIER department was made up of monsters, failures, freaks, and bastards, all inferior to him . . . to Sephiroth. If you doubt me, go ask your fiancé. He likely has the answers you seek."
Charlie feels cool fingers against her forearm, a soft and gentle touch. "Stop it!" Aerith says, her voice making Charlie flinch. She's almost forgotten Aerith was here at all. "Can't you see you're upsetting her?"
It's only then that Hojo seems to notice Aerith standing at Charlie's side, not at all concerned about the vice president's wellbeing in the slightest. "Oh, I know you. You're the Ancient, aren't you?"
"My name is Aerith," she answers firmly, eyebrows furrowed. "The least you could do is call me by my name."
Professor Hojo hums. "What an interesting pair the two of you make. What are you up to, I wonder?" He waves a flippant hand in the air, as if it makes no matter to him what they do. "I confess, it's an odd sight to see you without a Turk at your side, Miss Shinra. I wonder where they've gone . . ."
She isn't about to tell him that the Turks are chasing Sephiroth, but she has the feeling that he already knows.
If she did have a Turk at her side, though, Hojo might be more inclined to talk. She wishes Tseng were here to beat an answer out of him for her.
"What do you know about Sephiroth, Hojo? Both you and the Jenova specimen went missing the same night Sephiroth killed my father."
"Just what are you going to do about Sephiroth? And what do you think you want with the specimen?" Hojo frowns. He's sweating underneath his clothes and lab coat, but at least he's clothed. "I have decided that, with the end of an era and the beginning of a new reign, I will test a certain hypothesis of mine, now that the opportunity has arisen."
Charlie pauses, expecting more. "And that hypothesis is?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Hojo hisses, the scowl on his face only contorting his features into something more terrible. "I've been studying Jenova since before you were born, Madam Vice President. Have you ever even glanced at a report on Jenova in your life?"
"Is Jenova an Ancient?" Aerith asks suddenly, curious and slightly afraid.
Charlie waits impatiently for Hojo's answer.
"Is Sephiroth one?" she asks again when it takes too long for the professor to answer.
Settling back into a more comfortable position in his chair, Professor Hojo sighs again, closing his eyes and speaking in a low voice. "You may find answers to the west," he mumbles. "I heard a rumor that a man in a black cloak was headed that way. Could it be . . . ?"
Charlie looks sideways at Aerith and frowns. "Let's go," she murmurs, tugging her arm away from Aerith's fingers and making back the way they came.
She has no intention of relaxing on the beach now. Hojo's words have had the intended effect on her—they've needed their way into her brain, making her think, making her want to scream and cry and hit something all at once. She doesn't even know why she's still walking with Aerith, an Ancient, but is privately rather glad for some company.
"So . . ." Aerith begins, holding her hands behind her back and leaning forward to get a better look at Charlie's face. "Was Angeal your boyfriend?"
Charlie feels her entire body go rigid. She's touched a nerve. "I don't think that's any of your business."
Aerith is quiet for a moment or so, but can't seem to help herself. "What class was he?"
This gives her pause. What harm could come from that? She's only trying to be nice. "First Class."
"Oh." Aerith sighs, looking up at the darkening sky. "Did you know a lot of First Classes?"
Charlie slows her pace, slightly wary. "A few. Did you?"
She looks back into Charlie's eyes, smiling.
"What was his name? It's not Cloud, is it?"
"No," Aerith answers. "His name was Zack."
Zack, she repeats to herself. Charlie remembers now the conversation—the passing conversation between Cissnei and Zack, when she had teased him about an 'Aerith'.
She remembers Zack. Charlie nods slowly, suddenly feeling much more at ease with Aerith. "Zack the Puppy," she smiles. "That's what Angeal called him."
Aerith laughs, but Charlie thinks she sounds rather sad.
"No," Charlie blurts out apologetically. "Angeal wasn't my boyfriend. Not really. But I liked him a lot." She runs a hand through her hair, sighing. "Sorry. I don't really like to talk about him."
"Why not?"
Charlie shrugs. She doesn't want to remember the way she felt about him. She doesn't want to remember the way he had broken her heart. She doesn't have the luxury of dwelling on what could have been.
"Why do you need to get to Tseng so badly?"
She can't keep avoiding questions forever. It irritates her that Aerith thinks it's fine to treat the vice president with an obvious lack of respect, but blowing up in her face now would only hurt Charlie's cause.
"I have nowhere else to go," she confesses as they approach the town center, looking around at the several carts set up with handmade merchandise and souvenirs. "Without my brother or my fiancé, Tseng is the closest thing to family I have left. The Turks are the closest thing to a real family I've ever had."
It's strange to hear the words spoken aloud. The painful truth she's been avoiding for so long.
It's also slightly embarrassing, telling Aerith that her "family" consists of the man who had kidnapped her the night the plate fell. The two of them seek shade under a palm tree that hovers over a nearby bench that faces the sea.
"If I can just go with you for a little and find the Turks, I swear I'll pay you for your trouble and we can go back to being enemies again," Charlie says quickly, but Aerith doesn't seem half so upset as Barret had been. "I'm not like them. I'm not like my father or my brother. Or at least . . . I'm trying not to be."
"You don't have to convince me, you know. I told you, the kids at the Leaf House talk about you all the time." She smiles warmly again. "You were the secret benefactor Ms. Folia mentioned, weren't you?"
After a moment's hesitation, Charlie nods. "Yes." She doesn't want to resort to begging. "If you do this for me, I'll do everything I can to aid your search for Sephiroth."
"Don't you want answers, too, Miss Shinra?" Aerith asks, staring out at the sparkling water, watching the sun set. Charlie remembers she and Veld doing this when she was little, watching the sun set over the water while she ate ice cream and licked at her fingers when it began to melt. "Sephiroth killed your father—"
"President Shinra was hardly my father," Charlie snaps, unable the push away the image of her father's shocked expression when she had crawled up
to his bleeding body. "He didn't raise me. He didn't cook for me or comfort me when I was crying. He didn't put me to bed or encourage me. That man was not my father."
And yet she had cried for him, briefly grieved for him, read through his stupid letters hoping that he would have written it somewhere in them, those three words she had never heard her father say before—i love you. Or some variant of that.
"And I think I just found out that I had a half-brother," she rambles, stuck on Hojo's taunts. "And I don't know how to feel about that. And Angeal—Angeal was not a monster—I don't care what that man says. What does he know? He doesn't know—" Charlie touches her chest, gasping for breathe. "Gods, what's happening? Why can't I . . . breathe?"
"It's okay, Charlotte. Just take deep breaths."
"Don't call me—"
"Sorry. Do you prefer Miss Shinra?"
Charlie turns to face her bodily, staring wide-eyed at the slum girl sitting on the bench beside her. "No," she wheezes. "Charlie. Call me Charlie."
"Charlie," Aerith says slowly, testing out the name. It sounds sweet enough. "Okay, Charlie. We're staying the night at the inn, and we'll be leaving in the morning. It doesn't matter what Barret thinks, so long as Cloud is okay with it. I think he's become our leader."
"Cloud said he'll take me?" Could the ex-SOLDIER still have a little ingrained loyalty left to him? Does he know something about Angeal, and feels obligated to help her?
"For the right price, and he doesn't come cheap."
"Anything," Charlie replies. "Tell him anything he wants, and it's his. I'll even give him half up front."
"You can discuss payment with him. Actually, I'm not interested in payment at all," Aerith tells her, smoothing out the dirty skirt of her pink dress. "But we'll need to be quiet about it. Traveling with the vice president will attract a lot of attention. You might even consider dyeing your hair."
"No one is touching my hair," she answers firmly, not at all interested in such a ridiculous idea. It's not like a little color will change her face. "And I have no intention of being found, so you don't have to worry about me relating your every move to someone back at HQ."
"I'll be sure to tell everyone."
"And . . ." Charlie purses her lips, exhaling through her pointed nose. "I know I have no right to demand things of you, but if Cloud is willing to have me, then I must insist we leave in the middle of the night."
This seems to take Aerith by surprise. "Why so soon?"
Because if I wake up next to Reeve tomorrow morning, I'll never find the strength to leave. "Just promise me."
Aerith's eyes scan her face. They're green, just like Mother's had been. "Did your brother do that to you?"
Charlie feels her walls springing up around her again. She clears her throat. "It was my fault. I hit him first. Do I have your word?"
"Yes," Aerith whispers, and Charlie is thankful she doesn't pry. "I'll make sure we get you to Tseng. Between you and me, Cloud's a pretty good bodyguard."