They find her elbow deep in the Turk's blood, a blank and shell-shocked look on her face, bleeding from a wound on her neck, and cradling a grown man in her arms on the floor of the Temple of the Ancients.
"Holy shit—"
He can't believe she's here, can't believe that scum-sucking Turk would bring Lottie to such a dangerous place when he claimed to be responsible for her safety.
It's truly a gruesome sight, and that's coming from someone who fought in a war. Something has sliced the Turk nearly in two, and one of Charlie's hands presses against the diagonal wound as if hoping it might help. Her eyes are all red and swollen, her pale cheeks blotchy.
Aerith is the first to kneel on the other side of the Turk. She reaches out to place a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder, and to Cid's surprise, the Turk opens his eyes. He hardly looks surprised to see everyone standing around them, and sighs heavily.
"Help him," Charlie whispers desperately to Aerith, and it breaks his fucking heart to see her like this, to see her begging for help, a part of her he's never seen before. "Please."
Cloud and Vincent stand back out of everyone's way, but Cait Sith jumps down from his reliable steed and follows Cid as he takes a few wary steps forward. He knows well enough that there's nothing to be done. None of their shitty healing materia will fix that. The Turk is going to bleed out any second and go limp right in Charlie's arms.
"There's nothing I can do . . ." Aerith replies. She frowns, looking down at the Turk and the deep gash in his torso. "I'm so sorry."
The Turk speaks directly to Cait Sith. "It's not . . . the Promised Land . . . Sephiroth is searching for . . ."
"Sephiroth is inside?" Cloud asks, unable to avoid looking down at the scene that's playing out cruelly before their eyes.
"See . . . for yourself . . ." One of his hands touches Charlie's, painstakingly prying her fingers off something in her hand, and he removes the Keystone from the center of her palm, offering it out to Cloud.
Cloud takes it hesitantly, meeting no resistance.
Charlie's entire body is shaking, and she holds him tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Can't you do something? Anything?" she asks Aerith again.
Aerith gives Charlie an apologetic look, glancing down at the Turk between them again. Cid has to admit, dying in the vice president's arms doesn't seem like a bad gig—not that he would ever say that to Charlie.
"Letting you go . . . was the start . . . of my bad luck," he croaks up at Aerith, a rasping breath escaping him that might have been a laugh under better circumstances. "The president was . . . wrong . . ."
"You're wrong!" Aerith counters, her voice beginning to crack. "The Promised Land isn't like what you've imagined. And I'm not going to help. Either way, there was no way Shinra would have won."
"Pretty harsh . . . sounds like something . . . you'd say . . ." With nowhere else to look but up, the Turk looks up into Charlie's eyes, a tremulous smile on his face. It's odd to see someone so fucking brutal smile up at her like she's the entire fucking world.
Aerith stands up, covers her face in her hands, and runs to a corner of the small room to cry softly into her palms.
"C'mon, Lottie, we gotta move him," Cid says, reaching down to help her back to her feet, but she resists, trying to shrug him off. "C'mon, honey, it's okay—"
"No!" she screams, and Cid holds his hands up defensively, moving away from her.
"Charlotte, please go . . . leave me . . ."
"I'm not leaving you here—"
"Please . . ." This time, the Turk looks right at him. Cid hovers by Charlie's side, feeling both satisfied at the sight of the Turk cut nearly in half and horrified that Charlie has been subjected to witnessing something so heinous. "Take her . . . with you . . ."
Charlie's entire face contorts, eyebrows furrowing together. "No—"
"Aerith, Cait Sith, and I will go on ahead," Cloud instructs them. "Cid, Vincent . . . take Charlie back to the Tiny Bronco."
"No, please—"
"Hey, Charlie, it'll be okay," Cait Sith says, putting a small hand on her back.
"Don't touch me," she snaps at the cat.
Cait Sith doesn't back away immediately. "Charlie, you've gotta go back. You've gotta get outta here."
The Turk closes his eyes and groans, being shifted around in Charlie's arms as she's pulled this way and that by her companions. She refuses to let go of him. "She . . . deserves to . . . know," he chokes out, and Cid looks around. She deserves to know what?
But Cait Sith answers, "I know, I know," in a quiet voice.
Cid puts a firm hand on her shoulder, but this time, she doesn't try to shake him off. "C'mon, Lottie, we gotta go."
"Just one more minute," she begs breathlessly, refusing to stand. Cid wonders how long she's been kneeling here on the stone ground, wonders if she even feels the ground beneath her.
The Turk looks up at her through long eyelashes and heavy lids, looking very close to death. She releases her grip on his ungloved hand and Cid can see the uncontrollable way it continues to shake.
"Hey, Tseng," she whispers, cupping his face in her hand, "you still owe me dinner."
He nods, his hair and face soaked with sweat. "Make the reservations . . and I'll meet you . . . there . . ."
This makes Charlie cry again, but she's smiling through it. Tseng looks pleased with himself despite everything, exhaling softly and letting his eyes flutter closed. Each time he closes them, it seems like it's for a longer period of time.
"Tseng," she says again, and he hums quietly in return as Charlie untangles him from her arms. "Thank you." And then, taking his hand again, she adds, "I love you."
Cid can't help the way his stomach churns. Doesn't she realize what that asshole is capable of? Doesn't she remember what that asshole did to him?
Yet Tseng's eyes struggle to open one more time. He looks down at their hands, and brings her knuckles to his mouth to brush his lips against the backs of her fingers. "Go," he croaks one last time, gesturing with his chin towards Cid. "Go, Charlotte."
"I can't leave you like this."
"I'm not . . . dead yet . . ." he tells her, letting go of her hand completely. His arm falls lazily to his side. "If you loved me . . . you would go . . ."
Charlie wipes at her tears angrily. "You Turks and your dirty tricks," she breathes, pushing his dark hair out of his face. "Promise you'll still meet me for dinner. I'll call you about the reservation."
"I promise."
Cid squeezes her shoulder gently. "Come on, honey. Let's go."
Charlie nods, looking down into Tseng's face one last time. He looks peaceful enough to be sleeping, but his chest still moves slightly, shallow breaths that are becoming harder and harder to draw, it seems.
And after what seems like hours, Charlie gets to her feet, turning towards Cid. It's horribly quiet inside the temple, save for Aerith's soft sniffling, and Cid reaches out for Charlie's hand, twining their fingers together before hurrying her out of the temple.
Before they even cross the bridge that will take them back into the dense jungle that surrounds the temple, Charlie stops abruptly, breaking down into sobs that would surely give their position away immediately.
She tries to pull away from him, her sweaty hand slipping from his own, but Cid turns and catches her before she can take two steps towards the temple again. It's likely the Turk is already dead.
"Lottie, it's okay, sweet girl," Cid assures her, both hands on either side of her face. She hardly even looks like herself, and being covered in another man's blood isn't a good look for her. "It's okay. Come on, we're gonna take you back to everyone. They're all waitin' for you."
"I can't leave him to die," she cries, eyes nearly swollen shut. "He's my family—I can't just leave him—"
"He knows his fate," Vincent suddenly says, quieting her. Cid's grip on her face slackens, and she turns to face him. "And he knows yours, should you remain." He walks right up to them, looking at the cut on her neck. Dried blood is caked all over her milky skin. He lifts his good hand, his palm touching the wound. "Hold still. It isn't as deep as it looks."
Charlie's eyes go wide with terror, but Cid smiles at her, which seems to calm her. The healing materia in Vincent's bangle begins to glow bright, and Charlie's eyes close as something happens. When he pulls his hand away, the skin has stitched itself back together, leaving behind a bright pink scar.
"Don't worry. Cait Sith won't leave him there to die," Vincent says, giving her a slight nod before setting a quick pace through the already cleared jungle pathway.
She clings to Cid's hand the entire way, and doesn't speak once.
The pain of being sliced open is bad, but the pain of having both Charlotte and Aerith looking down at him had been infinitely worse.
Fate is unfailingly cruel, to have the two women he had sworn to protect crying over him as he lay dying in the vice president's arms. Looking at them, all he could think about was how much he had failed them, how often he let them down, how he had made them both cry.
Aerith may have held it against him, and she had good reason to. He always could have been kinder towards the Ancient, a little friendlier, a little more casual. But Charlotte hadn't held anything against him, despite all the lies and falsehoods he's fed her in the past.
Despite him lying about Angeal, lying about Veld, lying about nearly every aspect of his life, Charlotte had held him, had told him that she loved him, would have dragged him back to safety if she could have.
He never thought anyone would mourn for him, but he should have known that Charlotte would. Despite his insistence on pushing her away, he'd never been entirely successful.
How could he have been so foolish? Veld would never let him hear the end of it if he knew Tseng had dragged her into the Temple of the Ancients, but it would have been worse had he brought her back to Midgar. He wasn't about to hand Charlotte over to Rufus, to continue whatever may have happened after he'd turned off the cameras in her cell.
He shouldn't have taken her from Gold Saucer. He never should have taken her away from Avalanche. Those people were protecting her, were keeping her safe. Wasn't that his own goal? Weren't they all of the same mind?
What was he thinking? He never imagined the Temple of the Ancients would bring them face to face with Sephiroth, and he never imagined that it would end like this. He could have wept when Sephiroth decided to spare her in the hopes that they would die together in that room, unable to escape.
He thinks . . . that might have been all right.
He could have relocated her, hidden her somewhere no one would have ever found her. His first thought had been Junon—the city is large enough for her to hide in plain sight. If that hadn't worked, Tseng would have made something work. He would have told Reeve where she was, and he would have been happy knowing that Charlotte was living a life not promised to her as vice president of Shinra Inc.
He could have found at least one place on the entire planet to keep her safe until things blew over, and if the president wasn't happy with that rogue decision, then Tseng would have accepted the consequences.
He should be dead already. It is coming for him, painful and uncomfortable, and while he's propped up against the pillar, Tseng tries to figure out how much time has passed since Cloud, Aerith, and Cait Sith descended into the labyrinth.
All he knows is that someone does come for him, but it is not Charlotte, nor the crass pilot that he had entrusted to get her to safety, but a second Cait Sith, riding another stuffed moogle, looking exactly the same as the one currently in the bowels of the Temple of the Ancients.
"You're in a bad way, Tseng," the cat tells him, and Tseng forces himself to attempt to smile, but he isn't certain it comes through that way. "But you're still alive. Charlie will be so happy."
"Where is the Black Materia?" he rasps.
"I'm going to let Cloud have it," Cait Sith replies. "I'm staying with them. They're an interesting bunch and . . . I think I want to stay with Charlie, no matter what."
"Fine," Tseng agrees, only because he doesn't have the strength to argue. "You take . . . good care of her, Reeve . . ."
"Haven't I always?"
"No," Tseng answers, and Cait Sith chuckles. It's not entirely true—Reeve has always taken good care of Charlotte to the best of his ability, but there were times when Tseng didn't think Reeve knew how to care for Charlotte. "She's . . . she's like my . . ."
He can't finish his thought, not with the lump forming in his throat. It's a humiliating situation to be caught in, but Reeve knows.
"I know. I'm gonna let HQ know about your status." Cait Sith's moogle extends its arms. "And I'll come see you when I'm able."
Tseng nods as the moogle's arms slip underneath him. "Wait . . ." he says, blinking a few times into the cat's face. "Wh—"
The pain is so bad when he's lifted off the ground that it knocks him unconscious, and when he opens his eyes again, it's to find himself on board a ship with Cait Sith nowhere to be found, but he's looking up into the gruff face of someone he hasn't seen in, what feels like, a very long time.
"Good. You're alive. How's Charlotte?"
"Alive," Tseng croaks. "Safe."
"Good man. Reeve told me what happened in the temple." A rough hand pats the side of his sticky and sweaty face. "You should be proud of her, Tseng. She's looked after you all this time I've been gone, hasn't she?"
"Yeah," is all he's able to say, closing his eyes again. He can't remember what the question was.
"Hey," Veld says again, tapping Tseng's face lightly to get his eyes to open once more. "I'm proud of you, too."
"Here, I brought your stuff with us from the Gold Saucer. Figured . . . y'know, maybe we'd see each other again."
Charlie doesn't answer, sitting at the edge of the spring with her knees pulled to her chest. Cid sets her backpack down beside her.
They had to walk a few minutes into the forest to find a private place to clean her up after everyone else kept ogling her and questioning her, ignoring Vincent's vague explanation in the hopes of hearing it from Charlie herself.
"Well . . . I'm gonna . . ." Cid rubs the back of his neck, torn between staying and offering her privacy, but he doesn't really think she's in any hurry to clean the blood off her. "I'll just be over here, keepin' watch, okay?"
"No," she says, in a voice hoarse from crying. She turns to him with wide eyes, looking up at him like he's going to be walking to his death. "I don't want you to go. I want you to . . . stay with me."
Cid flushes. He doesn't have the courage to do this right now. Only a little while ago, he had convinced himself he hated her, but it's hard to hate her when she keeps showing him little pieces of herself, pieces of herself that have long since been buried.
He's not going to make the same stupid fucking mistake he made all those years ago. He's not going to let himself fall in love with Charlotte fucking Shinra, of all people. He's not going to let her break his fucking heart into a million little pieces when she leaves, only to watch her show up again when his heart is just on the mend.
But what is he supposed to do? Just leave her here to pick up the pieces of her own broken heart? Besides, she isn't engaged anymore, so he can't say that he's overstepping. The girl just watched someone she loved bleed out in her arms. He can't just leave her.
"Okay," he answers, holding out a hand for her.
Charlie looks at it for a long time before placing her bloodstained hand into his own, allowing him to pull her slowly to her feet.
"Fuckin' hell," he murmurs, trying to run fingers through her matted hair, swiping at some dried blood still on her neck. "It's all over, Lottie. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"
She nods, lowering her head afterwards, her face contorting. Cid touches her shoulders, his heart beating very fast. He's never been good at offering people comfort, and he doesn't know where to begin comforting Charlie.
"Let's get you in the water, and you'll feel better." Charlie seems to agree with him, looking away and nodding vaguely. Cid doesn't think she's really present at all, and her pale eyes look deadened. "I'm gonna . . ." Fucking hell, she's really gonna make me do this, she's gonna make me undress her—
"You're going to what?" she asks, looking up into his face, so fucking sad, so fucking pathetic.
"Maybe I should go get Tifa or somethin'," he suggests, taking a step backwards. "It'd be better to have a . . . a girl do this, right?"
"Oh." Charlie wraps her arms around herself protectively. He's fucked it all up and disappointed her now. Good job, you stupid son of a bitch. "If you think so, then okay."
Cid sighs heavily. What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? He really doesn't feel at all sorry for the Turk. In fact, the bastard had it coming, but he remembers what Charlie had been like after her father died, and it didn't seem like she was anywhere close to this.
"Look, if I . . . if I can get you a phone, you think you'd be able to call up your boyfriend?" Cid asks, hating himself for asking it, but she's not fit to be traveling with them now. "If you can arrange for a place to meet him, I'll take you there."
"No," she says firmly. "I'm not going back."
"C'mon, Lottie—"
"Sephiroth hurt someone I loved very much, and left him to die in my arms." There's a mean and steely glint to her eyes. She's serious. "I want to stay. I want to fight . . . for him." Oh fuck, she's serious. "And I want to fight with you."
"I'm gonna be honest with you, kid, that sounds like a fuckin' dream." Cid smiles weakly at her.
It must be the shape she's in and all the blood all over her, but he doesn't think he's willing to drag her along on what seems like a suicide mission. It occurs to him then that . . . maybe Charlie already knows how this might end. Maybe she's known it all along.
He used to think Charlie was untouchable. She was a Shinra, one of the most powerful women in the world at such a young age, a fucking goddamn genius who was plastered on every magazine cover to showcase nothing else but how beautiful she was.
Up close, seeing her in such pain . . . she's just a girl, a young woman whose composure and facade is slowly crumbling. A young woman who had been used by her father to gain his company favor from civilians, who had shouldered the blame for the disasters in Midgar, who had suffered defeat after defeat without breaking.
Fuck if she's not breaking now. And even though he hates things that she's done, that her father's company has done, that she's said, Cid can't just walk away while it's happening around people she hardly knows, people that feel contempt and disgust towards her still.
She trusts him.
"Okay," he whispers, more to himself than anything. He's been stuck inside his own head for too long. He doesn't even remember what he said last. "Let's get you cleaned up, kid."
Trying to keep his shaking hands under control (he must be tired, because women certainly don't make him so goddamn nervous), Cid tugs her shirt upwards, stiff with dried blood and sweat. She lifts her arms and it comes right off, but its smeared more blood on her face, the tip of her nose and her lips and forehead.
It's not the first time he's seen her shirtless. He did own filthy magazines with far worse pictures of her in them, but he guesses it's the context of the situation that makes his heart beat a little faster.
She looks a little skinny, but Cid doesn't think she's been eating so well lately, especially given all the exercise she's been getting. Ribs are starting to poke against her skin, and there's an odd bruise here and there.
He forces himself not to look at her tits. It helps that they're covered. He isn't going to act like a fucking lecher, and he certainly isn't going to make any move to uncover them.
"You're not wearin' any earrings," he notes. She's been wearing million gil diamonds on her ears since she left Rocket Town with him, and it's queer to see her ears so bare.
"No," she says, kicking her boots off slowly and pushing her pants down her long legs. He thanks the gods she decides to keep her bra and underwear on. "Tseng thought they might get caught on something."
Cid watches her take her socks off, throwing them aside. She looks down into the spring, and then quickly glances over her shoulder with wide eyes. "I'm still here," he tells her with a smile, sticking his halberd in the soft ground and sitting down at the edge of the spring, lighting a cigarette.
It takes her a minute, but she gets in eventually, submerging herself to her chin. Much of the blood comes off without much effort, and she allows him to scrub her arms and face, his cigarette pinched between his lips as she rests her neck against the mud bank, his fingers working to wash the blood from her hair.
It all happens in silence. Cid doesn't think she wants to answer any questions, so he doesn't say anything at all. He doesn't want to piss her off too bad.
When he finishes, he leans back on one hand, smoking casually as he watches Charlie move about for a little. She's graceful, and clearly a decent swimmer. After another minute or so, she swims right up to him, placing her arms on the ground to hold herself up, looking like a goddamn mermaid in the flesh.
She doesn't speak. She only looks at him with those doe-eyes.
"What?" he chuckles. "Is there somethin' on my face?"
Charlie shakes her head, never looking away from him. "I just feel like there's so much I want to say to you."
"Like what?"
"I don't know." She thinks hard, resting her chin against her now-clean forearms. There are tears in her eyes again. "There was so much I wanted to tell Tseng. Thirteen years worth of things I kept to myself, and now he'll never know."
"Shouldn't keep that shit in, honey."
"I'm not good at . . ." Charlie blushes furiously, lowering herself back into the water. "It's difficult for me sometimes."
He doesn't answer. He doesn't really know what to say.
"Cid, we're friends . . . aren't we?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah." Cid can't take it any longer. He stabs his cigarette out on the ground and moves closer. "C'mere, baby."
Charlie responds immediately, clambering out of the spring and crawling towards him. Soaking wet, hardly wearing any clothes, she falls into him and cries. One of his arms wraps around her skinny little shoulders, his other hand cradling the back of her head, his cheek pressed to her forehead.
"It's okay," he murmurs against her hair, feeling her body tremble against his own. "It's all right. You're gonna be okay."
He sighs, holding her tight. It may be the only chance he gets.
". . . several blood transfusions, and there's going to be severe scarring left behind. Recovery is going to be a long process, and he'll be tired of his hospital room by the end of it, but he'll live. He's stable, but sleeping now, if you'd like to see him."
"Let me see him," Veld growls.
Dr. Eugene leads Reeve and Veld to a back room of the hospital, weaving through the crowded corridors.
It's been a long night.
By the time Cait Sith had returned to their party with an unconscious Cloud in his arms and a very solemn-looking Aerith, Cid had gotten Charlie to sleep in the tent. Regrettably, they had no choice but to wake her, load up the Tiny Bronco, and make for Gongaga for the night, the closest known place available to them.
The moment he had finished his desperate phone call to Veld, Reeve had packed up his own things and left Midgar immediately for Junon, on a helicopter flown by some pilot he was able to bribe. He still isn't sure how he's going to explain this series of events to Rufus.
To have the president think himself completely alone might be a good thing, with both Charlie and Tseng out of his reach. Or it could backfire completely, and Rufus might start lashing out if he feels as if he's being backed into a corner.
The Black Materia gone, in Sephiroth's hands. Tseng presumed dead and currently in hiding. The Temple of the Ancients gone, reduced to nothing. Cloud, unconscious after having suffered some sort of mental break. Charlie, on the verge of her own breaking point (though it's very possible she reached her breaking point months ago, when the first reactor exploded).
Tseng's in bad shape, but there's a bit of color back in his face, and his torso is wrapped in thick bandages to hide the wound. He's hooked up to several machines that keep track of his vitals, but those machines reassure Reeve that he's very much alive.
Veld sighs very heavily, looking down at Tseng. His hand jumps to cover his mouth, to rub distractedly at the scruff on his face. "He owes you his life."
"I wouldn't have left him behind to die."
"I don't understand any of it," Veld says into his palm. "But at least he wasn't alone when it happened."
"It was . . . very touching, seeing them say good-bye to each other," Reeve admits, feeling his neck grow slightly warm.
He had been physically uncomfortable viewing the scene in the mural room, the scene that was shown to them by whatever Ancient spirits still lingered. Seeing Charlotte and Tseng confess things they had probably been avoiding for years was enough to bring him to tears.
"She's with Avalanche now," Reeve continues, pursing his lips. Veld hardly reacts. "She's determined to fight Sephiroth."
That makes Veld scoff, a small smile on his face. "She very well could be my daughter, huh?"
"You're not even going to try and stop her?"
"Why would I?"
"It's a goddamn suicide mission, Veld. She could die."
"She's a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. If that's what she wants, then let her have it." Veld almost sounds like his old self again. He gestures at Tseng with a nod. "We've done our part. How much more can you ask the boy to do for her? At some point, the girl's gotta learn how to stand on her own two feet."
Reeve falters, his cheeks on fire. "You did your part?" he asks incredulously. "Don't you care whether she lives or dies? She thought of you as her father, and you're content to let her go on this . . . this adventure—"
"What am I to do, Reeve?" Veld sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. He seats himself in a chair at Tseng's bedside, legs stretched out in front of him. "What do you want me to do? I have no authority over her anymore. She's still the vice president, and all of us in this room are her subordinates, even you. She doesn't even know if I'm alive."
Reeve groans, wanting to rip his hair out. He's exhausted beyond belief. "But she—"
"You don't give her enough credit." Veld smiles smugly, picking up the chart on the end table and flipping through it. "You forget who raised that girl."
Veld may have raised Charlie to be relatively kind and polite, charming and curious, but none of those things will help her on the road. She isn't a fighter, and having been surrounded by Turks all her life has taught her to rely too much on the protection of others, always expecting a safety net when she dives headfirst into trouble.
"Why should she have to go back to Midgar to run a company that has failed her at every turn?"
Reeve blushes. He doesn't want to argue with Veld. That's the last thing he wants.
"The company crushed the poor girl's dreams and humiliated her at every turn, on her own father's orders. You say Tseng wanted her to go with Avalanche, then I trust he had a good reason to believe she'd be safe with them."
"It's just that—"
"She isn't going to come back willingly," Veld says, sounding slightly impatient. "Thinking up clever ways to drag her back to Midgar is a waste of your precious time, and mine."
"Why would she even want to be with them?" Reeve hears himself asking, and he wonders why he hasn't asked himself that same question. "I mean . . . how could she be happy . . ."
Why is he really keeping Cait Sith with them? To spy on Charlie? To make sure Cid Highwind isn't going to try anything with her?
"You're asking me how Charlotte could be happy surrounded by people who want her around?" Veld scoffs, setting the chart back on the table and getting to his feet.
The steady beeping that indicates Tseng's heart rate fills the brief silence.
Reeve can't say he doesn't understand. He lowers his eyes, thinking of the house in Kalm, with Elmyra and Marlene. They're always so welcoming when he's in town, always asking him to stay for dinner or to look over Marlene's school work or to fix something in the house.
Isn't that why he spends so much time with a family that isn't even his? For a chance to feel wanted? To feel useful? To feel helpful?
"Where are you staying?" Veld asks quietly.
"Nowhere. I have to get back to Midgar. The president will be waiting for a report, I'm sure."
"And what are you going to tell him?"
Reeve looks down at Tseng. He's filled with a horrible feeling of guilt and foreboding. "Killed in action," he answers. "Body not recovered."
A strong hand clamps down on the nape of his neck. Veld exhales loudly and pulls his hand away. "Thank you."
It's late when they reach Gongaga.
Cait Sith weaves them some fanciful story about the inner workings of the Temple of the Ancients (like she doesn't know already), and while Aerith says little, she doesn't contradict him. He tells them about Sephiroth's plan to become some kind of god, how he intends to use the Black Materia to summon Meteor, how the Black Materia had been the temple and how Sephiroth had somehow forced Cloud to give the Black Materia to him.
Charlie locks herself away the first moment she gets, but beds are scarce tonight with so many in their party, and she's forced to share with Aerith again. She's actually glad she doesn't have to be alone, sleeping in the same bed she had shared with Tseng just last night.
If she had known then . . . if she had known that dying in the Temple of the Ancients would be his fate . . .
She closes her eyes, her back to the door and to Aerith. There's no possible way she'll be able to fall back asleep. The only way she had fallen asleep earlier was after Cid drugged her with some medicine. She had deserved it. She was hysterical.
Not only can she not stop thinking about the way Tseng had looked with his abdomen slashed open, but she has a horrible, horrible feeling about Cait Sith. She doesn't even want to give the thought credence, doesn't even want to voice it aloud, because it can't be possible, it can't be true.
She would know. Reeve would have told her. Reeve would have told her.
She's just being paranoid. She just wants Cait Sith to be someone who could actually save Tseng.
Charlie touches the scar on her neck, now a lifelong reminder of what happened in the temple. Vincent had apologized for not being able to cure it completely, but it was bound to get infected if left untreated. She knows that. She isn't angry with him for it, but she doesn't want to look at it every day of her life, either.
Is this her fault? Could she have done something differently? Could she have somehow dragged him out of the temple to seek help? Could she have carried him all that way, until the Tiny Bronco arrived with her friends? Should she have called someone? Should she have called Elena or Reno or Rude or Rufus? Should she have called Reeve?
No, you can't think like that, she scolds herself, shutting her eyes tight. You did everything you could.
But 'everything she could' doesn't seem like enough. She had comforted him in his dying, had held him and told him she loved him, had made plans for the future, had cried very real tears for him. Is that enough? What more could she have done, when she could have left him alone the moment they found themselves back in the entrance of the temple?
Maybe death hadn't been so frightening for him. After all, death is the only thing to release a Turk from their duty, and Tseng had been carrying so much for so long. Surely death must have felt freeing . . . welcome, even.
Even if that was what he wanted, Charlie would have dragged him across the world, if it came down to it. She never wanted to leave him. They were supposed to take care of each other. Veld never told them to follow each other into death . . . but Gods, in that moment, she had wanted to.
She would have dove headfirst into the Lifestream itself to follow him, just so she didn't have to be left alone without him in the world.
Aerith must be sleeping, or feigning very well. She doesn't move, hardly makes a sound, when Charlie sits up on the edge of her bed. She looks down at Aerith's sleeping figure for a moment, wanting to be out of this bed, out of this room, out of the inn.
She envies Aerith in that moment. How dare she be able to sleep after everything? How can she stand to dream after seeing Tseng like that?
Charlie leaves the inn, just needing a breath of fresh air. When she walks around the side of the building, she nearly screams at the sight of Cid standing there, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.
He laughs when she gasps, clutching as her chest. "Sorry," he murmurs. "What're you doin' out here? Not plannin' on leavin' us, are you?"
"No," she admits, standing beside him and propping herself against the wall, as well. "I just needed to get out of there."
"Can't sleep, huh?"
"No."
Cid hums, offering his half-smoked cigarette to her. Charlie looks at it for a moment before taking it, placing it to her lips and inhaling. It goes straight to her head, giving her a rush, and she passes it back.
"Check you out," he teases, taking a far bigger hit off the cigarette than she would dare to. "Charlotte Shinra, livin' her best fuckin' life."
It makes her smile, even though it's the last thing she feels like doing. "When Rufus and I were younger, we used to steal cigarettes from Veld. We'd hang out of Rufus's bedroom window and smoke them after everyone was asleep."
"Learn somethin' new 'bout you every damn day, kiddo."
"Maybe one day, I'll tell you about Veld."
"Old flame?"
She shakes her head, smiling again. "No, not quite."
"Then I'd love to her 'bout it."
"Don't speak too soon. I'll only bore you."
"Bore me?" Cid flicks his cigarette away and wraps an arm around Charlie's shoulders, holding her close. "Doubt it. Wanna show me 'round town?"
Charlie frowns, scoffing. "It's three o'clock in the morning."
"I ain't gonna sleep tonight. Let's check out the old reactor. I got a flashlight."
"Are you twelve?"
"Scared?" He grins at her, pulling his arm away and reaching into his jacket pocket. "I ain't. You've got a gun. I know you'll protect me."
She blushes, but it seems to make Cid happy to see her so flustered. "Okay, fine. We'll go look at the reactor."
Cid finds out pretty quickly that, so long as Charlie is distracted and occupied, she's relatively okay.
The moment she's alone, slipping back into her thoughts, blaming herself for everything . . . that's when he'll have to probably drug her up like he did before, just to get her to stop crying and close her eyes for one goddamn minute.
He doesn't think she's really okay, but she puts on a good show for him. Her smiles seem more like grimances as morning approaches, and she flinches when he touches her innocently. Her soft laughter is definitely forced, and
By the time the sun begins to rise, Charlie suggests they head back to get in a few hours of sleep before the rest of their party begins to wake. He walks her down the hallway to her own bedroom, and she lingers outside before stepping inside.
"Listen," she begins, smiling weakly up at him, "about earlier . . ."
"Don't worry 'bout it."
"You didn't even hear what I was going to say."
He grins, shrugging his shoulders. He's just happy to be here with her, happy that Sephiroth hadn't struck her down, happy that she escaped the temple with her life. "All right, go on," he finally tells her.
"I'm sorry for the situation I put you in," she continues, looking sorry enough. "I know it must have been very awkward for you. I know that . . . you probably don't care that he's dead, but . . . thank you."
Hearing it spoken out loud like that makes Cid cringe. Does he seem so cold to her? He'd tried to be considerate, hadn't spoken a word against the Turk. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says again.
She offers him another small smile. And then, she rests one of her hands on the side of his face, standing on her toes to touch her lips softly to his cheek. Cid stutters for a moment, his cheek burning where she's kissed him.
Charlie doesn't look entirely like she regrets it, but she opens the door before he can ask her if she's drunk. "Good-night, Cid," she whispers, slipping inside.
The moment the door closes behind her, Cid nearly runs down the hallway, so full of energy that he could easily go another twenty-four hours without sleep. He punches the air, trying to keep quiet as he celebrates his little victory among the crushing defeat they'd suffered earlier at the temple.
"Cid!"
He tenses at the sound of her voice coming from behind him. Flushing all over his fucking body, he whirls around, expecting to find her laughing at him. Charlie runs up to him with round and horrified-looking eyes, nearly throwing herself at him.
"What?" Cid asks, and her fingertips dig painfully into his forearms. "What's goin' on?"
"Aerith's gone!"