"Here, stand back. I'll handle this."

Charlie steps up to the woman at the gate of the Gold Saucer, her legs feeling very shaky the closer she gets to a bed. She knows that she probably is very hardly recognizable with mud on her face and her clothes covered in dirt and sweat.

Music blares from the inside of the amusement park, music that Charlie is most familiar with. She wonders if it's wise to watch a few chocobo races (without betting, of course, as withdrawing any money would be a dead giveaway to her location) before turning in for the night. Perhaps she could catch a play. She hasn't been to the theater in what feels like a long time.

Doesn't she deserve to have a little bit of fun?

The woman blinks a few times, narrow eyes roving Charlie's face until they widen in comprehension. "Oh, Madam Vice President!" she gasps, looking very pleased when Charlie manages to smile weakly at her. "I'm so sorry! We weren't expecting you today!"

"I'm not here for pleasure," Charlie explains, turning to gesture slightly at her travel companions. "My friends and I are currently on assignment, and need a place to rest."

"Of course! Any friends of the vice president are more than welcome at the Gold Saucer!" the woman continues brightly, smiling wider at them all. "I'll call ahead to make sure some rooms are closed off for you all."

"Thank you," Charlie replies sweetly, lowering her voice. "And, if you don't mind . . . we really shouldn't even be here, but we just couldn't find an inn quick enough. It would be in your best interest to keep my presence here quiet, for the time being. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Excellent. And what was your name?"

The woman seems slightly more hesitant to give her name. There's a name (Ophelia) written on a nametag that rests above her left breast, but Charlie waits for her to give her last name.

"Thank you. Now I know you just as well as you know me," Charlie says, tapping the tip of her index finger against the nametag.

The greeter seems to understand quickly, her face falling, even as she calls to them, "Enjoy your time at the Gold Saucer!"

The lobby of the Gold Saucer is a colorful thing, surrounded with entrances to different sections of the park—some of the entrances lead to slides that take guests to lower floors, while some entrances are narrow stairs that lead upwards.

Charlie's never had the pleasure of taking the stairs. Being a Shinra certainly has its perks, and a private elevator to take her wherever she wishes inside the Gold Saucer is certainly one of those perks.

No one in her group has ever been to the Gold Saucer, and Charlie shows Aerith a map of all the different areas they can get to. Part of her hopes that Aerith might choose to stick around so the two of them can do something together, but it's a far-fetched idea, and rather pathetic to be dreaming about having a temporary friend.

"Why don't we all have some fun?" Aerith asks them all, touching her index finger to the map where it says "speed square". "We could use it, couldn't we?"

Charlie clears her throat, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Aerith, who takes a step back and looks at Barret with a frown.

"I know this isn't the right time to do this," she sighs, walking slowly towards Barret, the only one who isn't looking around in wonder. "But we're here, and we might never get the chance again. Cheer up, Barret!"

"I ain't in a cheery mood," Barret snaps at her, putting a hand on his hip and turning his back on Aerith. "Just leave me alone."

"That's too bad." With a smile on her face once more, Aerith runs to Cloud and gives his hand a small tug. "Let's go! I want to look around!"

There goes my only chance at a friend, Charlie thinks bitterly, turning back towards the map.

The first thing she's going to do is take a shower (or the longest and hottest bath of her life) and change into some clean clothes (she could buy a new outfit from the gift shop that isn't soaked with sweat). Rest can wait until she makes her phone call.

She needs to know what really happened at Corel, and she knows that Tseng will have that information.

Barret's sudden shouting pulls her forcefully out of her reverie. She turns quickly on her heels, wide-eyed and watching him explode on Aerith, who remains perfectly calm with her hands held behind her back.

"Then go play!" he growls, throwing his arms up in the air. "I thought we were after Sephiroth, but if y'all wanna go mess around, then go!" And with that, Barret takes his leave, leaping clumsily into the entrance that will lead him to the Wonder Square.

"Well . . ." Charlie says after a silence that stretches far beyond her comfort point. "You're here as my guests, so don't worry about paying for anything. The rooms are going to be in the hotel at the Ghost Square. Tell them you're with the vice president."

"Let's just have a little fun, Cloud," Aerith says playfully, looking around at the lobby in awe. It must be overwhelming for a slum girl that's never seen the sky. "Please!"

Cloud sighs, looking around and crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, but we need to be careful," he tells them all, his gaze lingering on Charlie a bit longer than the others. "Sephiroth could be anywhere."

It's not long after that that Charlie is left behind, again. Aerith urges Cloud towards the Wonder Square, Red XIII takes Charlie's advice to rest at the Ghost Square, and right before Charlie can ask Tifa if she'd like to do something, Yuffie drags the last possible friend Charlie may have towards the Battle Square.

Charlie inhales and exhales loudly, frustratedly, looking absent-mindedly at the map again and muttering to herself. "'Thanks, Charlie!'" she hisses. "'That was a really cool thing you did for us! Thanks for paying for everything!'"

She's still grumbling to herself when she approaches the hotel in the Ghost Square. It's a very ominous and foreboding picture upon first spotting the seemingly derelict building from the outside, sitting atop a very uneven hill with stone steps leading right to the front door.

The first problem she encounters upon entering is the "undead" butler arguing (very out of character) with Red XIII about rooms closed off the vice president and her party. Charlotte sighs when she overhears the argument ("As if the vice president herself would be traveling with such feral and unordinary company! It would be an insult to her very person to take you at her word and bring you up to her reserved room!") and immediately steps up to Red's side.

"He's with me, and I'll see to it that you don't set foot back in the Gold Saucer if you continue carrying on the way you have been," she assures the butler, who immediately clears his throat, sinks back into character, and apologizes under his breath before the desk clerk gives them the keys to their respective rooms.

"Thank you," Red tells her as they climb the grand staircase that will lead to their block of rooms.

Though his thanks is sincere, and it's the only thanks she's received yet, Charlie doesn't derive as much pleasure from it as she thought she might. "Don't worry about it. Shinra owns the Gold Saucer. The employees have a bit of a . . . romanticized version of myself in mind, I think."

He doesn't speak again until he reaches his own room, and Charlie helps him insert the key into the lock, recognizing his struggle to ask for help at all. She understands how difficult it can be to ask others for help, especially when one's pride is very important to them.

"It's not much," she tells him apologetically, looking around at the room Red's been given. There are three small beds against the wall, staggered a few feet apart, and the interior design is something out of a six-year-old's nightmare, complete with spooky sound effects and malicious laughter that seems to come from the very walls themselves. "But the beds are more comfortable than the ground, and it'll be a lot warmer than in a tent."

"It's perfectly fine," Red replies, taking a few steps inside and gazing around at the decorations, looking cautiously at the iron maiden in the corner. "If not a little ominous."

"Yeah," Charlie says breathlessly, giving him a soft little laugh. She leans against the threshold of the doorway, wondering if he's silently pleading for her to leave. Sometimes it seems like everyone else is always waiting for her to shut up when she says something. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"That depends on the question."

Charlie knows what he's thinking. "It's not like that. I'm just curious as to why you're here. I mean, why are you following Sephiroth with them?"

"I'm not," Red answers firmly, jumping up onto one of the beds and immediately lying down, his tail flicking slowly back and forth, the small flame at the tip making her nervous. "I needed a way out of Midgar, and they agreed to bring me back home, where I intend to remain."

"Where's your hometown?" she asks again.

Red eyes her warily for a moment, but does answer in the end. "Cosmo Canyon. Perhaps you've heard of it."

"Yeah," she answers, brightening immediately. "I've never been there before, but I'd love to visit. I heard there's an observatory that can see the heavens. I bet the night sky is lovely out there, away from the reactors."

"You're interested in the study of the planet?"

She hums, shrugging her shoulders. "Not the planet, really," she explains. "I've always loved studying the stars and space. I actually studied to be an aeronautical engineer, did you know?" When Red XIII continues to look surprised (or as surprised as an animal of his kind can look), she laughs almost humorlessly, if only to keep up the appearance of her joy. "My mother loved it. She taught me everything she knew. If it weren't for her, I don't think I ever would have been Head of the Space Exploration Department."

Another silence. Red licks his lips. The noise is distracting. "You were the Head of the Space Exploration Department at Shinra?"

"Yeah, almost five years ago now."

"What about your mother?"

The words spill out of her. It's like once she spoke to Aerith about something she had buried for so long, everything else wants out now, as well. "She left when I was little, and I don't really know what happened to her. Actually—" Charlie kneels down with her backpack, fishing around for the picture she brought with her—"I've got a picture. I found it the night my father died. Do you want to see?"

She doesn't know why Red would ever want to see an old family photo of the Shinras, but he clambers off the bed and makes his way over to her, looking down at the photograph. The picture brings her a strange form of pride and strength, the knowledge that she had had a happy and loving nuclear family, even just for a little bit.

It makes her glad that Red is so willing to look.

"That's your mother?" he inquires, pointing at the picture with his wet nose.

"I know, I don't look anything like her. Rufus and I both look like our father."

"No, I mean . . ." Red XIII sighs. His breath smells just like Dark Nation's after a long nap. "I know that woman."

Charlie falters, looking into his eyes and trying to determine whether or not he's lying. "What?" She points to her mother in the photograph. "This woman? You know this woman right here?"

"Eleanor," Red replies, and it knocks the wind out of her to hear her mother's name spoken so casually for the first time in nearly twenty years. "She came to Cosmo Canyon just shy of twenty years ago, and became one of the most respected planetologists in the village. I had no idea that she was the president's wife."

Could it be true?

What are the chances that her mother is still alive? What are the chances that her mother is still alive in Cosmo Canyon? What are the chances that Red XIII would be mixing up her mother and some other woman who looks like her?

He had been able to pick her out immediately from the photograph, knew her first name, and the timeline certainly fits . . . she wouldn't have gone to Cosmo Canyon straightaway, of course. She would have needed time to get there, time to build up a reputation . . .

Her heart is beating so fast. Why is it beating so fast? Why can't she breathe? Why is this happening again? Why can't she breathe breathe breathe, Charlie.

Charlie takes a deep breath, but her hands continue to shake.

"She used to tell grandfather about her children, a daughter and a son back in Midgar with their father," Red continues, and Charlie wishes he would stop. She doesn't want to hear anymore, but it may be her only chance to know the truth.

"Is she still there? Is she still at Cosmo Canyon?" Charlie asks quickly, wondering if Tseng would bring her there, wondering if Rufus would bring her there.

"She was when I was captured, about a year ago," he says slowly, and there's something apologetic in his gaze before he goes on. "But she was sick, and had been for some time."

"Sick? With what? Is she all right? Will she get better?"

"I'm no doctor—"

"Please, tell me. I have to know. It's okay. Just tell me, Red. I promise I won't be upset."

Red hesitates. "Her brain was slowly deteriorating. By the time I found myself leaving for Midgar, your mother was no longer herself, hardly able to recognize her friends and colleagues."

"But they can fix that, can't they?" she asks, already knowing the answer. It's hard looking into his face, unable to show any sorrow in his expression, if he feels sorry at all. "They can heal her, right?"

"She was made very comfortable, and was given the highest degree of care."

She's dying. He's just too polite to say it outright, Charlie thinks. Even if I were to go back, she wouldn't even know me. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe she wouldn't want

"Okay." Charlie laughs nervously to hide her budding tears, standing up and stumbling backwards as she struggles to put her photograph back in her backpack. "Well, thank you. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

She's never felt worse in her life—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Physically, she's covered in scrapes and bruises that she can't recall getting, her hands and fingers and feet are blistered and raw from climbing up and down Mount Corel, her shoulders ache from carrying around her backpack for hours on end, and she probably stinks very badly, not having showered or bathed in a few days.

Emotionally and mentally, she's far worse off. Scrapes and blisters will heal, and a hot bath will soothe the aching tension in her body, and she can bandage up her hands if need be.

Perhaps she would be a little better off if everything hadn't happened so quickly. Staring at herself, completely naked, in the bathroom mirror, Charlie tries to remember in what order everything had happened.

There had been the bombing of mako reactor one. She remembers the heat of the flames, the way sweat and blood and soot had mingled together on her face to make a gruesome sort of mask, the shell-shocked way Reeve had looked at her before forcing her into the truck with Reno and Tseng, the way Rufus had stolen a kiss from her that night with Tseng right there, offering her comfort the best way he knew how.

And after that, her father had beaten her for the first time in years, while two of the men she trusted most in the world stood right outside the office doors, able to hear everything coming from within.

Then mako reactor five had blown, at Shinra's own hands, and not only had Charlie glimpsed a piece of Angeal for the first time in years that night, bringing back unwanted memories and an ache for the closure she never really received, but her father had held Reeve hostage, using him as leverage against his own daughter. He had been so brave even with a gun held to his head and his hands cuffed behind his back, her sweet, sweet hero.

The plate had dropped after that. Her father had been content to drop the plate on his own daughter, the daughter he claimed to care about so much in his letters. All of those people had died for nothing, all because of a small handful of extremists who . . . don't really seem to be terrible people.

Her father hadn't had to carry that weight for long, however. Sephiroth had cured him of whatever guilt President Shinra might have felt for his actions, and Charlie still hates herself for feeling so sentimental about the death of her father, hating the way she had crawled to him and cried for him.

She had become the vice president overnight after never believing she would ever hold the position, and she had confessed her dirty little secret to Reeve, only to watch the back of him as he walked out of their apartment.

Tseng had given her closure in regards to Angeal, which didn't make things any better, and Hojo had only poured salt into the wound.

Rufus had given her a beating to rival her father, she had found out about a supposed half-brother, Red XIII apparently knows her dying mother.

"Relax," she tells herself, putting on a 'vice president face' that even Rufus would be proud of. "We're fine." Charlie nods at her reflection, giving herself an arrogant and reassuring smile. It's so easy to smile. She's been doing it for so long. "We're great." Who's 'we'? "We're okay."

Am I going crazy?

Charlie smiles wider, like there's a camera right in front of her face. Has her smile always looked like this? So practiced? So forced? Has she always looked so sad? Has anyone ever noticed? Hasn't anyone ever looked at her and seen anything other than an empty shell behind a false smile?

"I'm fine," she says again, her smile fading.

She misses her brother. She misses when they were young and inseparable. He was her hero. He was just like the princes in all the books Veld used to read, and she was just like all the princesses, always fair-skinned and blonde and beautiful and waiting for someone to rescue them.

I don't need to be rescued. I can do this on my own.

"I'm fine."

Do what on your own? Run away like a coward instead of facing the truth?

"I'm fine."

"Would you like to place a bet, Madam Vice President? The S-Rank chocobos are getting ready to race the long course."

"Not today," Charlie says, smiling weakly at the receptionist. "I thought I'd just watch a few races."

The Chocobo Square is bright and flashy (just as any other day or any other part of the Gold Saucer), with several television screens around them displaying current records and stats of the chocobos about to race. A few people place hefty bets with the woman behind the ticket counter.

The room is relatively empty enough for Charlie to go unnoticed, able to have her back turned to the crowd of people buying drinks at the small bar tucked into the corner of the room, and huddled in a corner as she waits for the race to start.

It's not fun without placing bets. It's not fun watching the chocobos race without having Rufus here to compete against. He's so incredibly competitive that Charlie doesn't even mind when her chocobo loses—it's enough for her to see Rufus smile and get excited over something and kiss her cheek in celebration.

Gods, she misses him, even though she knows she shouldn't.

She doesn't make it halfway through the long race before she's wandering back out of the Chocobo Square, wondering if it's late enough to call it a night. Without being able to see the sky from the Gold Saucer, it could be three in the morning and she wouldn't know it, but her watch reads 2:48pm, and that's a little early to consider locking herself in her hotel room until morning.

Besides, she still needs to make a phone call.

She's put it on hold, afraid that a single call from the Gold Saucer will mean Turks banging on her door at night, and Turks banging on her door at night means she won't be able to go to Cosmo Canyon to see if her mother is still alive and waiting for her.

Charlie still doesn't believe it. After all, Red had been held captive in Professor Hojo's lab for close to a year, according to him, and who knows what kind of experiments were done to him? Perhaps some of the experiments twisted his mind, made him remember things that he didn't really remember . . . maybe Red just thought someone in Cosmo Canyon looked like her mother.

But he had known her name: Eleanor.

It sends a chill down Charlie's spine. Maybe it's not too early to turn in. Besides, she's been on the move for days, sleeping on hard earth and shivering through the nights.

Besides, it might be best to hide herself away. Who knows what kinds of people may be hiding in plain sight among the guests? What if Cloud had been right, and Sephiroth was here? What if Rufus had sent someone here to spy, to see if Charlie and her companions decided to rest here?

Yes, she decides, it's best if she hides away. It's not safe to be showing her face around such a public place when all she wants to do is be invisible, if only for a few—

"Miss Shinra!"

Charlie looks up as she just exits the Chocobo Square, prepared to walk down the grand stairs that will lead her back to the passage towards the Ghost Hotel. The voice that calls for her is completely unfamiliar, and when she glances at the people still making their way back into the lounge, waiting for the next race to begin, none of them seem to offer her a passing glance.

But she does see something incredibly out of place, and it's waving her down very conspicuously.

Out of total curiosity and boredom, Charlie approaches the white thing that knows her name, only to find that it's not a "white thing" after all, but an over-sized, plush moogle, carrying on its shoulders a black-and-white anthropomorphic cat, complete with a glittering gold miniature megaphone and crown, and a small red cape tied around its tiny neck.

There are plenty of things at the Gold Saucer that are out of place, but none of them have startled or surprised her as much as this unlikely pair. She expects the moogle to be the one to speak, despite its stitched mouth and blank eyes, moving in sync with the cat, who opens his mouth wide and asks:

"G'afternoon, Miss Shinra! Would you like your fortune read?"

Charlie falters, staring into the face of a cat that, upon closer inspection, doesn't look so life-like, after all. Its eyes are just barely opened, not wide enough for her to get a good look into them, and its fur is stiff and matted in places, but she doesn't dare reach out to touch it.

Even its movements are slightly jerky, not at all the agile and graceful movements she associates with cats. It's cute, she supposes, but a little unsettling at the same time.

What's even stranger is the voice in which it speaks—there's a slight accent to it that she can't quite place, though his (she's assuming it's a he) tone is playful enough.

"You know who I am?" Charlie asks, tucking some of her still-damp hair behind her ear.

"As if I wouldn't recognize the loveliest face on the planet," the cat says, and it makes her smile weakly. She has to look down into his face, but at least he's on the back of a moogle—without it, the cat may only be about three feet tall while standing on his two legs. "What'dya say, then? One fortune, on the house, from yours truly."

Charlie pauses, unable to look at the cat long enough. It's weird. Delightfully so. "Okay," she agrees, shrugging her shoulders. "Sure."

"Here we go, here we go!" The moogle takes a step (a hop) backwards, waves its arm a few times, produces a fortune from the back of its head, which is passed from the cat's white-gloved hands to her own.

She looks down at it. "'All of your troubles will soon pass. Your lucky number is four.'" Charlie folds the small slip of paper up and clears her throat, suddenly eager to be back in her room. "This is a joke, right?"

"Well, I didn't promise that it would be an accurate one—" The moogle hops to block her passage, just as she makes to turn away and return back to the Ghost Square—"but maybe it means you've got something to look forward to! I could always do another one, a second chance, just to be sure. Free of charge, of course."

Charlie pockets the fortune. "I think you've done enough, thank you," she replies stiffly, pushing past the moogle.

"W—wait!"

"Don't know what you expected me to do," comes Cait's filtered voice through the monitor as he wanders into the Wonder Square a few minutes after Charlie has taken her leave. "You choked."

"I didn't . . . I didn't choke." Reeve grits his teeth, scoffing and flushing in the middle of an empty room. "And I don't remember building you to mock me. I get enough of that here, thank you. And you went a little overboard with the compliments, don't you think?"

"Then do it yourself next time."

Reeve growls at the computer screen. He must look a complete fool, arguing with a creation of his own that seems to take joy in teasing him. When had that happened?

Gods, but it had been sweet to see her, to see that she's alive and well, to hear her speak, even if it had been cold and unsure. What he wouldn't have given to reach out and touch her, to be there himself so he could kiss her and be kissed and apologize for every little thing he's ever done to her in his entire life.

He wishes he could at least call her. Maybe he can have Cait Sith give her a burner phone, just so he can contact her, but that would mean revealing his identity, and if Charlie knew that he was spying on her, she would probably throw the phone off the side of a mountain.

He can't even blame her for any anger she might feel towards him.

Reeve has backed himself into a corner, and he knows it. He's dug his own grave, made his own bed of nails . . . why hadn't he just told her years ago, when they first met each other, about Cait Sith?

Sixteen-year-old Charlie likely would have been thrilled to see the prototype, he's certain, but some small part of him has always feared that she might get the wrong idea.

Yes, he's helped the Turks out of a few tight spots, and he's used it to gather information others wouldn't normally be able to get without exposing themselves, but he's not a Turk or a bad guy, and he doesn't want to be associated with cold-blooded killers and the other scum that skulk the halls of the Shinra Building, because he's not that—whatever he is, it's not that.

He just wants to help her, just like he's always wanted to do. He just wants her to be safe, to be happy, and if those things mean a life without him, then Reeve isn't going to push his luck. He's already been given years, which is more than some men were ever given.

But when he thinks about all the other men in Charlie's life, Reeve comes to a horrifying conclusion that makes his chest tighten and his stomach churn, and his palms are all clammy and the nape of his neck feels hot with his hair pressed against his flesh.

Every man in Charlie's life would fight for her, would fight for a chance to have her or to keep her from being with some other oily and handsy bastard. Rufus would kill if it meant having her for himself, Tseng has killed to keep others away from her. Cid would likely fight for her, though it would be dirty fighting and cheap shots and cursing.

Hell, even Angeal probably would have fought for her.

Of course he would. That's Charlie's entire gimmick—she bats her eyelashes, laughs sweetly and tells a few jokes, and within seconds, she could have any man do anything for her. Isn't that what she did to him?

For all of her feigned innocence and naivety, Reeve knows that Charlie knows exactly what she's doing. She's certainly not stupid, and her silver tongue is likely how she forced herself onto Avalanche, as well.

The problem is, there's not much fighting he can do from behind a computer screen, speaking through a toy that makes him slightly insecure now that Charlotte knows about it. Not that she's an expert in robotics, but she knows a little something about engineering, and despite everything, Reeve still craves her approval.

Damn.

Shinra has a funny way of doing that, he supposes, distracting you with smiles and praises and promises, and before you know it, you're being dragged deeper and deeper into a hellish company built on lies, blood and bodies, secrets, and information better left buried. And after a while, there is no escape, and there will never be a future clean or clear of their influence, and in the end, you'll only ever have one place to go, back to the company that breathed life and opportunity and confidence into you in the first place.

Is there any way to break free? If Charlie, the vice president, could do it, why can't he?

Because you know too much. And not a single Turk working for Shinra would hesitate if it came to putting a bullet in the back of your head.

All of a sudden, Reeve feels his office is too small. It's confining and oppressive and the walls are closing in on him, trapping him within his golden tower.

He has no friends, and no allies. He has a shaky foundation of trust crumbling beneath the feet of himself and Rufus. Charlie is half a world away, living out some stupid fantasy with a group of terrorists in order to fall into the arms of someone else. The other executives can't be swayed.

And outside of the company, he is utterly alone. He won't return to his mother, beaten and downtrodden and broken from the weight of his work. The only acquaintances he can trust are the same ones who would kill him, but they're far removed from his reach and far too close to Rufus to trust with any extreme ideas.

Reeve's eyes are drawn to the wide windows of his office. He's always preferred the cityscape at night, but he supposes there is beauty in it during the day. He's poured his heart and soul into building Midgar, and it's one thing he can be proud of.

He can't say that about much anymore.

He isn't sure what brings him to the Sector Five slums later that day, as the sun is going down.

He isn't sure if it's the love he feels for Charlie, or if it's guilt, but something brings him to the dusty courtyard of the Leaf House orphanage, asking one of the older boys to fetch Ms. Folia, a neatly wrapped gift tucked under his arm and one of his old gym bags slung over his shoulder.

The boy darts inside and shouts loud enough for the citizens atop the plate to hear. "Ms. Folia! Charlie's boyfriend is asking for you!" He returns a moment later as Reeve lingers a few feet from the front doors, shrugging his shoulders. "She'll be right down. She said you can wait inside, mister."

Several other children begin to peek out of windows and peek around the front door to watch. Reeve clears his throat, smoothing his hair back and shifting under the critical gazes of all the little orphans. He recognizes most of them, but can't place names to them like Charlie could.

"Excuse me," he says kindly to the children, and they part to let him inside.

It looks (and smells) like they're just preparing to have dinner. The tables have been pushed together and a little girl and boy are slowly setting the table, stealing glances at him all the while.

He feels very out of place without Charlotte at his side, drawing away all their attention, and he suddenly recognizes that he must look very intimidating in his suit and fine clothing, cursing himself for not making a better effort to look friendly.

He clears his throat again, feeling warm around the collar. "Is one of you . . . Leila?" Reeve asks the children.

They swivel all at once to face the girl setting the table, her long face framed with orange hair. Her eyes widen and she blushes furiously, hands hovering awkwardly above the table.

"I've come on behalf of Charlie," he assures her, offering out the gift. "She received your letter, and was very sorry she couldn't make it herself. A business trip has taken her out of town, unfortunately."

The mention of Charlie puts Leila at ease, and she wanders curiously over to him. Reeve kneels, putting himself at eye level with her, and gives her the present. He hopes it's adequate enough, not wanting to make Charlie look bad. "Can I open it?" she asks.

"Please."

Leila smiles, and her friends circle up around her like vultures, cooing over the present in her hands. She opens it with a giggle, tugging at the ribbon and tearing at the paper. It's only another remote control airplane (a damned expensive one, at that) with a fancy little remote with a bunch of buttons that Leila presses quickly.

"Wow, thanks, mister!" Leila tells him excitedly, cradling the plane to her chest. "When's Charlie coming back?"

"I'm not sure," Reeve says, genuinely sorry about it. "But I'll let her know to come straight here when she comes back."

Leila nods at him, allowing herself to be swept up in the excited chatter of the other children. When Reeve stands back up, Ms. Folia is coming down the back stairs, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt and trying to see what all the fuss is about.

"Director," she says by way of greeting, "what can I do for you?"

Reeve casts a quick glance around the room. "Is there some place we could speak privately?"

Ms. Folia seems wary and hesitant, and he understands completely, but she agrees before he needs to make a more convincing argument, and leads him right back up the steps she just came down from.

"The vice president isn't with you today?" she asks quietly over her shoulder as Reeve follows her up to the second floor.

"No, she's been called away on business."

"I see," Ms. Folia answers. "The children were very happy to watch the inauguration parade."

She leads him into a small and cramped room that must be Ms. Folia's own personal space. It's the size of his closet, with a bed crammed into one corner and a desk in the other, and clothes are thrown over the back of her desk chair.

"I'm so sorry," she breathes, attempting to clean up, but Reeve gives his head a shake.

"Don't worry about it. I won't be long. I only wanted to give you something," he tells her. Lowering the bag from his shoulder, he places it at the foot of her bed and unzippers it. Thick, bound stacks of bills are packed in with hefty bags of gil, enough money to keep the orphanage running for ten more years if they're frugal. "It's all yours. For the orphanage."

Ms. Folia looks on the verge of fainting. Reeve even reaches out as she begins to sway, but she catches herself on the chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Director, please, this is too much," she rasps, a hand over her heart.

He knows what she's thinking without having to hear her say it. "No strings attached," he adds, "I just want you to have it."

She doesn't look as doubtful as before. "This is very generous, Director."

Reeve smiles weakly, giving her a slight nod before remembering something. "Actually," he says suddenly, "there is one string, but it's . . . when Charlotte returns, she would be very happy to see the children again, I think."

"Of course!" Ms. Folia says quickly, sounding relieved. "We're so sorry. We had no idea that she was Avalanche."

Neither did I.

"Thank you. I'll see myself out."

When he gets back on the train bound for the plate, Reeve doesn't feel that he's done anything extraordinary or heroic, but he thinks about the smile on Leila's face and the way Ms. Folia's eyes had filled with tears at his charity, and he thinks he'll be able to sleep well tonight, knowing that he's at least done something good, knowing that regardless of how irrelevant his small rebellion was, at least he did it.

Unfortunately, what he doesn't predict (funny, considering Cait's mediocre fortune-telling abilities) is having his little robot friend tossed into a desert prison that night alongside the boy that wields the sword of Charlie's first love, and a pink-cheeked girl named Aerith that Reeve knows very well to be the last living Ancient.