Rufus will not execute me.
She has to believe that, no matter how much doubt surrounds the idea. She has to believe that her brother has other plans for her. If he wanted everything to go back to normal, he would have let her go home instead of locking her in a cell in the Shinra Building, and if he wanted to execute her, why would he have gone through all the trouble of providing her somewhere comfortable to stay?
Unless he's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
Truthfully, it is a comfortable cell, one that's furnished with handsome and brand new furniture, one large and open room with a bathroom far nicer than the metal pans that are given to low-level prisoners. A soft bed is tucked into the corner, she's been provided books to read and new clothes to wear, there's a pitcher of water and a few glasses on her nightstand, but there are no windows and cameras are watching her from every corner, red lights blinking to let her know someone is watching.
The only place she can find privacy is in the bathroom, where she locks herself inside to cry quietly in bursts, always running the shower to muffle her sobs and never staying inside for longer than necessary to avoid being caught.
Upon first being brought to her cell, Charlie sleeps for hours. She isn't certain how long, of course, given that there are no clocks inside the room, nor can she see what the sky looks like, as there isn't a single window against any of the walls. All she knows is that she wakes disoriented, and there's a cold plate of food on a round table with two chairs sitting opposite each other.
She refuses to eat the food. That will be her first act of disobedience and rebellion. She will not go quietly. If Rufus does plan on killing her, she will go kicking and screaming to the block, never once giving in.
She expects someone to come take the plate away and replace it with a fresh meal, but after five hours of nothing, no visitors or guards or friendly faces, Charlie falls back asleep, hoping that she wakes up at a normal hour to catch whoever it is bringing her food.
The next day, a guard (wearing a helmet to hide his face) enters the cell to take her dinner away and give her breakfast. It isn't prison food, but something fresh and colorful and sweet. Her stomach growls, but she refuses to acknowledge the food.
"I want to talk to Rufus," she tells the guard, who does a very fine job at pretending she isn't in the room. "I want to speak to the president. Bring him to me."
The guard doesn't answer.
"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" she snaps at him, craning her neck out to put her face closer to his. "Your vice president is speaking to you, and I demand that you bring me my brother now!"
But no matter how much she begs, the guard does not relent, nor does the guard that brings her lunch, or the one that brings her dinner. They are immune to her curses and threats and anger, and being ignored by infantrymen doesn't sit well with her.
The next day she tries a different tack.
"Surely you must know what's happened to Reeve?" she begs the breakfast guard, trying to seem like the innocent little girl that Veld would probably still believe her to be. "Please, tell me. Tell me he's all right. Tell me he's safe. Let me see him, just the once, please. Let me just see him again."
"You know we're going to be married soon," she tells the lunch guard desperately, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her face inches from the helmet that hides his eyes. "I love him. I need him. I need to see him, to make sure he's okay. Please, I'm begging you, let me see Reeve."
By dinner, Charlie knows it is hopeless, but she tries again anyway. "Will you let him know I'm asking for him? Will you let him know that I love him? Please, tell him I'm thinking about him and let me know if he's okay. Please? Please, I want to talk to Reeve."
But all of her pleas fall on deaf ears, and the combined hunger and stress and loneliness and fury all manifest in a blind rage. The following day, Charlie destroys everything she can. She flips the table and throws the chairs and food against the walls, she pours out the water in her pitcher onto the carpet and throws it and the glasses so hard against the ground that they shatter. She pulls all the sheets and blankets off her bed, throws every book against the wall, screaming through gritted teeth because she doesn't know what to do anymore.
When a guard comes to refill her water pitcher, she upends it over his head the moment he turns around, causing him to cough and splutter and look at her incredulously, his lips slightly parted in surprise. "Bring me my brother," she commands him, but her brother never comes.
On the fourth day (it might be the fifth, or the sixth, but it's hard to tell with how much she's been sleeping), the hunger begins to hurt. Charlie remembers what Barret had told her, about how sometimes you had to just sleep it off, and she tries, but it's no use.
She doesn't want to eat, not wanting to damage her pride, but she needs something to change. She can't go on like this, counting the hours and days by the meals that silent guards bring her, not knowing what's going on outside the four walls that trap her within the heart of the Shinra Building.
Has Avalanche been captured? No, she thinks. Someone would have come in and told her.
Is Reeve all right? Yes, she thinks. Someone would have come in and told her.
Does Rufus still love her? Does he still care? Is he sorry for what he did to her? Maybe, she thinks, but Rufus hasn't come in to talk to her yet, and it's driving her insane.
"Please," she rasps at the guard who brings her breakfast one morning. She feels too weak to get out of bed. "Please, bring Tseng to me. Tell him I need him, please. Tell him I want to see him. I want to talk to him."
She doesn't expect him to come. No one that she's asked for has come yet.
She doesn't even think that Tseng is in Midgar at all, but that evening, he enters her cell with another guard, holding two plates full of food in both hands. The guard takes away Charlie's untouched lunch and leaves them alone in the room together.
She watches the Turk from her bed, watches as he places the plates on opposite sides of the table where she would normally eat her meals. He carries on as if nothing is amiss, sitting down to the table like he used to all those years ago, when the two of them had shared cheap dinners in the formal dining room of her childhood home.
Neither of them were able to cook (Charlie at all, Tseng not very well), and they had mostly survived those days spent alone off boxed food and whatever they could get from nearby restaurants.
She remembers how crowded the dining room table would get with all of the food Charlie wanted, and she would pull faces across the table at him for the sole purpose of making Tseng laugh.
But for some reason, now, the very sight of him makes her angry. He had only come to her after she begged for him, and would not have come any sooner. He wanted her to be desperate before coming to talk to her, afraid and confused and full of questions that he likely won't answer right away, and she especially hates that he came to see her before Rufus.
She hates him, and hates the smug little way he sets the table for them just like she's watched him do a hundred times before, like they're about to have dinner in the villa instead of in a cell.
He's so methodical and meticulous, even when folding the napkins properly and arranging the silverware he had been carrying between his fingers like a cigarette. He's so unbothered and detached, seemingly uncaring that Charlie has been treated so poorly over the last few days.
Doesn't that go against everything he's ever claimed to her face?
It's just a job to him, she reminds herself. I mean nothing to him.
"Sit down," Tseng insists gently, glancing sideways at her as if just now noticing she's there. He pulls out the chair for her before sitting in his own and placing his napkin atop one of his thighs. "If you continue to starve yourself, we'll have no choice but to bring you to the medical ward and feed you with your arms strapped to a bed."
Charlie isn't about to rise to the bait. If Tseng thinks to get information out of her by threatening her, she's not going to make it easy. She's going to make this as difficult as possible for him, primarily due to spite. It's petty, and maybe it's childish, but she wants him to know that she will not break.
She is not afraid of him like his other victims typically are, and she knows that he will not have the pleasure of torturing her to make it any easier. At least she can take solace in the fact that her interrogation will not be a violent one.
She stands and walks over to the open chair, wearing a plain cotton dress that had been provided to her upon her arrival. It feels good not to be wearing tight-fitting pants for the first time in what feels like forever.
Charlie sits up straight in her chair, resolving not to touch her food no matter how hungry she is, looking at him with a ferocity that would burn right through most men. But not Tseng.
She has to make a point.
"Eat," he insists again, this time meeting her eyes to impress his point. His tone has hardened, and he continues to eat small bites of his dinner off his fork as if expecting them to enjoy the quiet moment together.
Inhaling deeply, Charlie slowly pushes her plate further and further to the side of the table, wondering if Tseng will attempt to stop her. He does no such thing, however, and watches as her dinner topples from the table to the ground, spilling vegetables and noodles all over the carpeted floor.
They look at each other for a long time, not daring to give anything away with the smallest tic or change of expression. He's painfully unamused, but Charlie isn't going to stop now.
She reaches across from her and does the same to Tseng's plate, all while he keeps his fork in hand. She lets his dinner fall to the floor, as well, clattering against her own discarded plate and sending food scattering around their feet.
"And here I thought we might have a nice dinner together," he says slowly, clearly more irritated than he's let on. Tseng lowers his fork and leans in towards her when she doesn't respond, lowering his voice. "Let me tell you something, Charlotte. Frankly, you've put me in a very difficult position. I want to help you, but I can't help you if you don't cooperate and tell me what's going on."
Charlie doesn't answer and doesn't look away. The corners of Tseng's lips twitch.
"I could do this all day, Charlotte," he tells her again. "And bad behavior will not be rewarded. I have all the time in the world, but you must be growing very tired of seeing the inside of your cell." His eyes flick to the plates on the ground and the food spilled everywhere. "I'll give you some time to think, and we'll meet again for breakfast, yes?"
She watches him stand up and brush himself off before adjusting his cuffs and leaving the room. She almost runs after him, almost bangs on the door and begs for him to return, but she remains seated, remembering the cameras that are watching her.
When Tseng comes back for breakfast, he acts as if last night never happened. He is prepared, however, for Charlie to push the plates off the table again, threatening to tie her to the chair if she can't channel some table manners.
The threat and the tone in which he issues her takes her by surprise. He sounds so like Veld in the moment that it makes her angry again. She feels eleven-years-old again, being scolded by the gruff old Turk about playing with her food instead of eating it.
"You must be very hungry, Charlotte. I know you haven't eaten at all," he urges, looking down at her breakfast, still untouched. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be. I don't think I ask for too much."
Charlie keeps her lips pursed, wanting to hit him right in his smug face. She hates the way one of his eyebrows arches upwards, the way the corners of his lips curl upwards at her show of defiance. He is so patient and unconcerned about leaving her for a few more hours at a time. It's all a game to him, and he's confident that he'll win.
But still, she refuses to eat, and Tseng stays until he's finished with his own breakfast. He makes a show of it, eating very slowly to prolong the time, never asking any questions or making mention of anyone she cares about that might be worried about her.
And when he finally finishes, he bids her good-bye and takes his plate, leaving Charlie's behind. The moment he closes the door behind him, she throws her food at it, and the fruit smashes against the wall and door, the juice running down to the carpet, sticky and sweet.
For dinner, Tseng brings rope and holds it up to let it dangle in front of her face. "You eat tonight, or I'll have no choice. I cannot allow you to starve yourself to death."
So she obliges him, looking down at her dinner full of carbs and stuffing everything into her mouth as quickly as she can, until her stomach bloats painfully and she achieves the desired effect.
Charlie vomits all over the floor at their feet, tears stinging her eyes as she coats the carpet in her sick, all to prove a point. Even when she finishes and meets Tseng's eyes, her lips coated in saliva, she does not blush, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.
His eyes are cold and narrowed, and it is the first sign that Charlie is breaking him.
"It's not me who's sleeping here tonight," is all he says before leaving her again, but she thinks he sounds angry when he does leave, slamming the door to her cell behind him a little harder than usual.
It's humiliating enough to be left in her vomit-soaked clothing, but she's able to clean herself up, and a guard enters after she takes a shower to clean up the pile of half-digested food on the floor.
Reno brings her breakfast the next morning, not looking at all happy with his current task. She doesn't know how many days she's been in her cell. It might be night for all she knows, and Reno is only serving her breakfast to mess with her.
"Get out," she hisses at him as he opens his mouth to speak. Charlie climbs off her bed, steps up to him, and shoves him hard in the chest. He almost loses her plate, but is able to set it down at the last minute before it spills. "Get out of here! I hate you, I hate you! I don't want to see your stupid face anymore!"
"I'm not supposed to talk to you, you know," Reno growls at her, looking offended that she would put hands on him. "But what you did was fucking stupid, got that?"
Charlie slaps him hard across the face.
Reno's hand jumps to his cheek, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. It's not the first time she's hit Reno, and it certainly won't be the last. "Hitting me isn't gonna change the fact that you fucked up royally, Charlie," he scowls. "You shouldn't have run away."
Tears well in her eyes at the sight of him, remembering what she overheard him say.
"You wanna know somethin'? Do you have any idea what you did to your boyfriend, huh?" Reno asks, and she reaches out to hit him again, but he catches her wrist with ease, squeezing. "He's been moping around these fucking halls since he got back from Costa del Sol, and it's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen in my entire life. And you did that."
"What do you care about Reeve—?"
"I don't. He's a nice guy, but I don't really give a shit whether you marry him or not." Reno releases her wrist after gripping tight enough to hurt her. "But you need to open your goddamn eyes and realize that your actions have consequences. You've got a responsibility to—"
"Okay," she scoffs, rolling her eyes and looking up at one of the cameras. "Hear that, Tseng? Reno is going to lecture me on responsibility—"
"You brat—"
"I heard what you said about me, asshole!" Charlie continues to rage, unable to help herself. Reno won't stop her from blowing up, but will only add fuel to the fire. She wants to explode after feeling so alone. "You humiliated me in front of my—!"
Reno's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and Charlie stops talking abruptly, her breath coming raggedly. She knows she's said too much, almost said things she doesn't mean.
"In front of your what, Charlie?" he presses, mocking her. He scrunches his nose, looking ready to burst out into horrible, teasing laughter. "In front of your friends?"
"I hate you," she whispers again through tears. "I hate you, and I hate that you said those things about me—"
"You've said worse about me, to my face—"
"Is that really what you think of me? Would you talk about Rufus like that?"
Reno has the grace to blush, averting his eyes for a split second.
"Do you not respect me?"
"Charlie, come on!" he groans, affronted. He's mad, but not mad enough that he's ready to walk out. They always argue, or almost always argue, and this is nothing new to Charlie. Reno will take whatever she throws at him, just like always. "I fucking love you, and you know that, and that's why I'm here telling you what a stupid fucking thing you did when I'm not supposed to be talking to you in the first place!"
Charlie only looks at him, frowning. He squirms under her gaze after a few seconds. He knows what he's done.
"Of course I'd be able to look into your face if I was fucking you," he mutters, rolling his eyes a lot more dramatically than she did. "I was only joking."
"I don't care about that."
"Then what do you want me to say, Charlie? That I think you're a goddamn genius or something? That I think you know exactly when the proper time is to shut the fuck up?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Reno doesn't answer, but she knows he knows.
"Don't you ever," she begins quietly, dangerously, "talk about my relationship with Veld or Tseng to anybody. That is none of your business." Charlie pushes him one more time and he stumbles backwards. "Get out."
She has to wait until dinner the next evening for Tseng to return, by which time she's decided on a brand new course of action, one that she hadn't really wanted to turn to, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
When she hears the door to her cell opening for dinner that night, Charlie opens the door of the bathroom to reveal herself in the most dramatic fashion. Tseng lifts his eyes to look at her for a brief second, only to look at her again with a tight-lipped frown and widened eyes.
"Is this your plan?" he asks flatly, eyes sweeping up and down her once, almost critically, like she isn't the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. "You're going to try and seduce me?"
When she doesn't answer, he chuckles, continuing the preparation of their dinner table. He's brought her a salad, probably to keep her from throwing up again.
"I suppose this means you'll have to speak to me, at least."
Charlie saunters over to the table, sitting down in only her bra and underwear (not the expensive and cute things she's used to, but something plain and boring and ugly), leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.
"Put some clothes on, Charlotte," he instructs her coldly. "I'm not the only one able to see you right now." Tseng glances up at one of the cameras facing them, gripping his fork a little too tight. "Are you prepared to go home? Is that what you want from me?"
He's breaking, she thinks, so relieved with her progress that she could cry. She's been doing a lot of that lately.
Her own desperate voice sounds foreign to her, and it's cool enough in her cell to cause goosebumps to rise all over her bare skin.
"I just want to see my brother," she confesses, the first words she's spoken to Tseng since she first saw him . . . how many days ago was that now? She is so tired, despite all the sleep she's been getting, and she doesn't know that she could lift her arms above her head. "Please, I want to talk to Rufus."
"Then behave," Tseng tells her through gritted teeth. "What could possibly have driven you to do something so remarkably stupid? Your brother suspects you're plotting against him, and I have made every effort to convince him otherwise, despite not having heard your own explanation yet. Have I been mistaken, Charlotte? Have I lied to the president's face?"
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte. She's tired of hearing her name spoken by him. Charlotte is what Veld had called her, when he chose to forego little princess. Tseng is the only Turk that calls her by her full name now, never having bestowed upon her some sentimental little nickname.
What is she supposed to say to him? That she ran away because she was a coward? That she ran away because she knew resigning from her position was impossible? That she ran away because she was afraid that she and Reeve were keeping too many damning secrets that would destroy the both of them?
"Is Reeve all right?" she asks softly, desperate for information.
"The director is perfectly fine, and continues to ask after you."
"Can I see him?"
"No," Tseng replies immediately. He has yet to touch his own food. "You may not."
Charlie has never hated him more. "Am I still the vice president?"
"Yes."
"Is Rufus going to execute me?"
"Maybe." Tseng waits for a reaction, but she has none for him. She has to believe that he's lying, that Rufus would never hurt her. Rufus loves her. "That depends entirely on you and what your intentions were upon running away with the most wanted group of eco-terrorists on the planet right now."
Charlie clamps her jaw shut. She has no idea what Tseng already knows. She has no idea where Avalanche is. She has no idea if they made it to Cosmo Canyon, or if they found anything in Gongaga relating to Sephiroth.
"Why do you hesitate?" he asks, leaning back in his chair in an effort to appear more casual. His eyebrows knit together, his arms folding over his chest. "Don't you trust me?"
Of course she trusts him, otherwise she wouldn't be sitting across from him in nothing but lingerie. "This isn't a friendly chat," she reminds him. "You're interrogating me."
"No, no," he says, shaking his head. "If I were interrogating you, I would already have the information I wanted to begin with, and I would have gotten that information within the first day of your capture."
"You're cocky."
"I've been doing this for a long time. I'm good at my job."
"Then prove it."
Tseng is quiet for a moment. And then he laughs, laughter that shakes his shoulders, his long-fingered hand covering his mouth. "I'm not going to torture you," he finally answers, the ghost of a smile still playing at his lips when he lowers his hand.
If I don't tell him something, he's going to leave me here again, all alone.
Charlie swallows hard. He's left her no choice. She can't be here another minute. She wants to see Rufus, she wants to see Reeve. She wants to go home and curl up beside the man she loves so much. She wants to beg for his forgiveness and beg him to marry her again.
She wants to be held. She wants to be loved.
But there is still one thing she can do, that Tseng will surely allow her.
"I want the cameras off," she tells him, a command, an order, one that she hopes he follows. "I want it to be just us."
Tseng taps his fingertips atop the table for a few seconds, drawing out the moment and the silence. And then, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it to his ear for a few more seconds. "Turn the cameras off," he says, hanging up and pocketing his phone once more.
After another moment, Charlie looks up and watches all of the blinking red lights turn off on all the cameras in the cell. She can feel a lump growing in her throat, and there is no possible way for her to fend off the tears that begin to build behind her eyes.
"Are you going to put some clothes on now?" he asks again, sounding exasperated.
"No."
"Fine. Have it your way." Tseng settles into silence again, never taking his eyes off her.
Charlie looks back at him. She's grateful for the cameras, but she still doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to tell him the truth, but if she lies, he'll know. He always knows.
Finally, Tseng sighs heavily, glancing around the room. The carpet is stained, her clothes have been discarded all over the floor by the bed. "Please, eat."
She doesn't have the strength to refuse. She takes a single bite, only to find herself hungrier. Once she begins on her dinner, Tseng begins, as well. They both eat slowly, and Charlie wishes he had brought her something a little more filling.
"I thought we were friends, Charlotte."
Charlie lifts her eyes from her plate and scowls. "If you were really my friend, you wouldn't have brought me back here."
"Why do you say that?" he asks lightly. "What was there to be gained for you by traversing the planet with a band of eco-terrorists?"
She hates herself. She hates herself more than she hates Tseng. "I meant to have them bring me to you," she confesses, blushing heatedly. "I thought, with the both of you hunting Sephiroth, we'd meet along the way. I couldn't do it alone, and I needed them to protect me until I found you. That's what I paid them for. Protection."
"And yet you were reluctant to join me when I found you near Gongaga."
She inhales deeply. "I wasn't ready to go back to Midgar. I wanted to go to Cosmo Canyon."
"What's in Cosmo Canyon?"
"My mother."
Tseng blinks at her in reply. It's clear that he hadn't expected this answer from her. "Your mother? Is she alive?"
Charlie frowns. Didn't he know? Wouldn't the leader of the Turks be privy to information like that about the late president's wife? "I don't know," she answers harshly, hoping that her anger comes across very clearly. "You took me before I got there."
He doesn't look the least bit ashamed. "Charlotte, I need you to tell me why you left Costa del Sol. It's just the two of us now, just like you asked."
She shakes her head, the hot tears filling her eyes making Tseng's face momentarily blurry.
"Charlotte," he says again, and it almost sounds like a warning, albeit a gentle one, "you can trust me, can't you? I've been good to you, haven't I? I've taken care of you, I've protected you, I've killed for you—"
"I never asked you to do that."
"No, but it's done now. We've known each other for a long time. We've spent a lot of time with each other, we lived together under the same roof for brief periods of time. I know everything about you. I think we can be honest with each other, don't you?"
The tears fall in earnest now, burning down her cheeks, painfully embarrassing. She doesn't have the strength to hit him, like she wants to.
She hates the way he talks to her like she doesn't know how much he's done for her. She hates the way he throws it all in her face, like he's been remembering every little thing he's ever done for her just to be able to use it to get what he wants.
She should have known. He's a Turk, and he's always been a Turk. All Turks are the same, and she was stupid to ever think that true friendship with any of them was ever possible.
"You lied to me about Angeal," she reminds him, her voice shaky. He doesn't even look the slightest bit affected. "You knew how I felt about him."
"Only to spare you the burden of a heavier heart," Tseng replies quickly. "If mistakes were made in that regard, know that those mistakes were made because I only wanted to protect you."
"You're a liar."
"We're both liars." Tseng sits up a little straighter in his chair, placing his hands together on the table, choosing to ignore his half-eaten dinner. "It's part of our job descriptions."
"Well, I didn't choose this. You did."
"And I am very proud of the difficult sacrifices I have made in order to rise to where I am today. I have worked very hard for this, and will not shy away from my duties now just because you ask nicely."
It sounds mechanical and rehearsed. The thing about catching Tseng in a lie is that he's such a competent and practiced and confident liar that it's nearly impossible to tell when he's doing so. But the way he speaks his confession is so jarringly awkward that it gives Charlie pause.
"Was I ever anything more than just a job to you?" she rasps, suddenly not hungry at all.
"I told you, a long time ago, that it was better that way."
"Shame on me, then."
"Just tell me the truth so we can put an end to this."
Humiliated, Charlotte wipes at her tears again and looks into her lap, her thighs covered in goosebumps. "I was afraid," she says, crying breathily. "I was afraid of Rufus, and I was afraid of what secrets Reeve was keeping, and I was afraid of Reeve finding out about Rufus and I. I wasn't scheming behind my brother's back. I only wanted you to keep me safe."
"The director called me the morning after you left, you know. He said that the president had hurt you."
"Yes."
"He is sorry, if it's any consolation."
"Then why hasn't he come to say it to my face?" she asks sharply, looking up at him again.
Tseng frowns. "The president is a busy man, and we are on the verge of making a very important discovery that had, for years, eluded your father."
She doesn't care enough to ask what the discovery is.
She can't stop thinking about the man in front of her, and the absolute machine he is, to go through the motions with her for years without ever allowing himself to feel anything more for her than a lingering sense of obligation from the man they both loved.
Had Reno been right?
Of course he had been right. She's looking into the face of the last person with real, human connections to the man she loved as a father. Tseng had promised Veld he would be good to her, kind to her, that he would take care of her.
And hadn't she made that same promise to Veld about Tseng?
The question spills from her before she's able to think about it. "What happened to Veld?" she whispers.
His face hardens, and Charlie knows that she's gone too far. She doesn't have the right to be asking questions, not as a prisoner.
But she needs to know. She's spent years imagining him dead, finally free from his burdens. If she could just know the truth . . .
"Please," she begs. "Please, Tseng. I know you know what happened to him."
He hesitates, only for a split second. "I killed him," he answers, "and his daughter."
The breath leaves her at once, her chest caving in, heart fluttering rapidly. She wishes he had chosen to torture her over this, over confessing to this heinous crime, to this secret he's been holding all these years.
She looks into his eyes, trying to find some semblance of the truth. He has to be lying, he has to be lying, he has to be . . . he would never do that . . . he would never hurt Veld . . . Veld would never have let himself be put in that situation . . . Tseng loved him . . . he wouldn't . . .
Charlie can't look away from him, nor can she speak or breathe or move. She's sure there's a permanent expression of horror painted across her face, but if Tseng feels any remorse for what he's done, he chooses not to show it.
This is worse—infinitely worse—than seeing her father with Sephiroth's sword through his back. This is worse than watching her mother leave on the back of a truck. This is worse than knowing Angeal would never come back. This is worse than watching Cid walk away from their failed dream, from her.
She gets up so suddenly that it makes her dizzy, her chair toppling over backwards and the room spinning and her head screaming. She just wants to put as much distance between herself and this . . . person sitting across from her, this person that she doesn't even know, this person who killed the closest thing to a real father she's ever had.
Stumbling over the chair, Charlie whimpers. Her heart is throbbing loudly against her chest as Tseng slowly rises to his feet, holding his hands as if expecting her to drop to the floor any moment now. Charlie shakes her head, flattening herself against the wall behind her, smooth and cold against her bare back.
"Please, don't—" she croaks, shaking her head harder as he takes another step closer to him. "Please, go away—don't—"
"You're going to get yourself all worked up," he replies coolly, reaching out for her, still too far away to touch her. "You're going to make yourself sick."
There's no hiding the fearful way her chest heaves and up and down, the trembling of her limbs, the quivering of her bottom lip. Everything about him frightens her in that moment, the way a Turk should frighten someone.
"Please, go away," she sobs, hardly coherent. "Please stay away from me—"
"Charlie—"
Charlie, he says, she thinks to herself, like we're friends.
She feels her entire body go limp against the wall, and everything goes black.