Charlie always liked the city at night.
She liked looking out of Reeve's window as the lights came on one-by-one as the sun went down. She liked sleeping with her curtains open, the glow of the city at night helping put her to sleep. She liked sitting on the balcony of her favorite restaurant, overlooking Sector Eight in all of its glory.
He still remembers the last time he had taken her there, just the two of them, and with the glowing city as the backdrop, he remembers how beautiful she had looked, smiling at him like she was, in the moment, perfectly at peace.
He remembers bringing her back into the restaurant to dance with him, and the way she had rested her cheek against his shoulder, the casual and graceful way they had moved together as if their bodies were one and the same, and how choked up he had gotten when she smiled against his neck.
He remembers taking her back to a penthouse hotel room later that night, slipping his way inside without meeting much resistance at all, talking her out of her dress, and immediately dropping to his knees and pressing kisses to the smooth, taut skin of her belly.
Her fingers had been in his hair, and he had rested his chin against her stomach to look up at her, smitten, the city lights from the wide window behind her making her skin look golden in the dark apartment.
"I love you," he had told her, words reserved for her and her alone, words he had never spoken and never would speak to anyone else. He can't think of anyone who is more deserving of those words, of his love.
She had fallen to her own knees, wrapped him up in her arms, kissed his forehead. What sticks out most about the memory is how overwhelmed he had felt then, and how childish he had felt, clinging to his sister.
"I love you, too," she had told him in return, kissing him so tenderly, so lovingly, so softly.
They had only been children at the time, hardly more than legal adults, more concerned about spending time with each other than learning how to run the company.
Without Charlie here, Rufus doesn't think he cares much for Midgar.
It stinks, and there's never any peace or quiet with the reactors humming and all the damn traffic. Where do people have to be so urgently anyway? Why are people still speeding down the expressway at ten o'clock at night?
There's a lot of wind, as well, and it's not the cool breeze off the beach at Costa del Sol. It's cold wind off the coast, lifting his hair off his forehead, causing his suit to ruffle slightly. It isn't so bad down below, where the buildings block most of it, but up here, seventy tall stories above the plate . . .
Everything seems so small from up here.
He doesn't think his father ever took the time to look from this vantage point. Father didn't care about Midgar, or any of its people. He cared about making something greater than was ever made, cared about how much profit could be sucked from something before moving onto the next project.
He wasn't the kind of sentimental man to stand at the edge of the helipad and consider things. Surely Father didn't have a single regret. He didn't trust anyone, so no one could betray him. He didn't love anyone, so no one would cloud his judgement or break his heart. He believed the worst of everyone so he was never disappointed.
Shame on me, Rufus thinks bitterly, looking down, feeling slightly nauseous, but that could just be the alcohol he drank. A lesson I scorned. Now look at me.
Charlie gone, Tseng gone. His only friends. Friends that loved each other far more than either of them loved him.
"Mr. President!"
He startles, nearly slipping right off the edge, the wind jerking him around.
"Rufus!"
Regaining his balance, Rufus turns to find Reeve running towards him, looking panicked. "Can I help you, Director?" he hisses.
Reeve frowns, a crease appearing between dark eyebrows. "I just . . . wanted to come see what you were doing out here," he says quickly, looking around for a sign of anyone else, "and maybe bring you back inside, away from the edge of the building."
"Worried about me?"
"It would not do Midgar any good to have you lying broken on the sidewalk when the sun comes up tomorrow."
"I've been the president for the matter of a few weeks, and in that time, I've managed to frighten my sister away and have my best man killed. Without Charlie, I lack my only compassionate advisor. Without Tseng, I lack my authoritative one."
"Which one am I, if I may ask?"
Rufus is surprised that Reeve has asked at all, but decides to continue the conversation, just to keep from feeling lonely for a few more minutes. "The back-up advisor," he answers, and to his even greater surprise, Reeve smiles. "Is that agreeable?"
"I have no complaints, sir. I suppose being the back-up is better than most other options."
"Just so you know, pitted against the other directors, I would put a small amount of money on you." Rufus takes a single step away from the edge. "Even though Scarlet would tear you apart in seconds, if given the chance."
Reeve chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as if at a loss. He must know it's true. For a moment, as Rufus looks at him, all he can think about is a plethora of opportunities.
If he really wanted Charlie back, all he would have to do is hold Reeve hostage and have Cait Sith communicate that to her. If he really wanted to show Charlie who was in control, all he would have to do is have some Turk drag Reeve down to the slums and kill him.
Rufus clears his throat, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He doesn't want to resort to that. He doesn't want to resort to killing the man Charlie loves so much, doesn't want to resort to begging for her forgiveness when she eventually resents him for using Reeve like Father would.
"Where do you go, Reeve?" Rufus asks, watching Reeve's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "When you leave the city, where are you going?"
"I've been renting a space in Kalm," Reeve answers with a small smile. "I think I grow less fond of Midgar every day."
Rufus snorts softly. "Perhaps we do share some things in common."
No one can explain how Aerith managed to get so far all alone, least of all Charlie.
It's my fault, she can't help but think. I shouldn't have left the room at the inn. I should have stayed with her.
Barret blames her, too, but not for any real logical reason. Tifa has to talk him down several times as they sit cramped together on the wings of the Tiny Bronco, but Charlie doesn't mind. If it makes him feel better, blaming her, then she won't stop him, nor will she stop anyone else who joins in with him (mostly Yuffie, who doesn't really listen to Tifa when she tries to stop them).
Charlie tries to sit far away from the rest of them on their journey. The first day is the longest, and after Cid nearly loses his mind about all the arguing going on, he beaches the plane and orders them all to make camp.
Despite Barret's long-winded rants about Shinra's being the bane of society, he still shows Charlie how to start a fire without certain materials that night. She supposes there's something paternal about him during teaching moments, probably used to interacting with his young daughter. He even gives her a pat on the shoulder with his one big hand once she gets the fire lit, though it promptly goes out with the first gust of wind, and Barret takes over in the end.
"Maybe you're not so useless after all, Shinra," he muses, blowing at the base of their pile of sticks and bark. "Pretty impressive. Can you cook dinner?"
"No. I don't know how to cook."
"Thought so. Tifa can teach you that." Barret gets the fire going and fans the flames. Vincent has gone out to hunt for some game, an easy task for a sharpshooter like himself. "If we get the choice, you want light or dark meat tonight, Miss VP?"
Charlie smiles slightly. She's never been asked for her preference. She's just eaten whatever she's been given. "Dark, please."
"Yes, ma'am." Barret looks up at her and smiles. He looks kinder without his sunglasses, far more friendlier. She doesn't like not being able to see his eyes. "Why don't you go see if there's some fish swimmin' round over there? Think your boy's already started without you."
Charlie turns to look at where Barret points with his chin, still tending the fire.
Cid is already wading in the river, a net in his hand, his shirt off. Charlie looks for a little too long before turning back to Barret. "Oh," she laughs nervously, her heart still beating rather fast from seeing Cid shirtless. "He's not my—"
"Get goin'," Barret tells her gruffly, "don't need you here anymore."
Not wanting to bother him, Charlie approaches Cid, kneeling at the riverbank. He looks happy to see her, covered in water droplets and hard at work.
"See somethin' you like, Lottie?"
She blushes furiously, eyes roving his chest and stomach, wanting to reach out and trace the lines on his stomach, to feel the hard muscle underneath her fingers. In the middle of this horrifying revelation, Charlie feels a pang of guilt when she remembers Reeve, and the way his warm skin felt underneath her hand.
I'm just lonely, she tells herself. I don't really love him. I just miss Reeve.
Charlie blinks stupidly, chastising herself. Wait, love? Who said I love him?
"I was just wondering if you need some help," she says after a minute.
He smiles up at her. "Go relax, honey. I'm almost done here."
"Oh, all right." Charlie stands and brushes off her dirty knees. "Sorry."
"For what?"
She purses her lips, sighing heavily. "I can't help anyone."
Cid cocks an eyebrow, moving slowly over to the riverbank and bracing himself against the mud with his free hand, the current rushing against his abdomen. "I didn't mean that," he tells her, almost sounding apologetic, "I just meant . . . well, if you wanna help, I guess you can. Come on in, kiddo, I'll show you how it's done. Take your shoes off."
Charlie does as he says, removing her boots and socks, rolling up the cuffs of her pants, and choosing to leave her t-shirt on. When she slides down the bank and into the water, she gasps, not having expected water so shockingly cold.
It makes Cid laugh, however, and he takes her by the arm and leads her to the middle of the narrow river. "Stand in front of me 'fore the current takes you," he instructs her, and Charlie can feel the warmth radiating off his chest, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Something slippery brushes against her ankle and she jerks around wildly in the water, shrieking and turning around to face him. "Something touched my foot!"
He tilts his head back and laughs hard again. "It was probably just a fish. You're scarin' 'em all away with your flappin'."
He doesn't ask her to do much, but he does wrap an arm around her waist to make sure the current doesn't take her, reaching down with the net every so often to catch a silvery fish, tossing it onto the grass where it flops and dies, and then repeating the process.
And all the while, Charlie feels like she's drowning, only able to focus on the strong arm wrapped around her, holding her to the front of his body. It's like he doesn't even notice they're touching, going about his work with a pinched look to his face, like he's desperate for a cigarette.
"Doin' okay?" he asks after a little while of this, like she hasn't been just standing and watching him.
"Yeah," she manages to choke out, resting one of her hands upon his corded forearm, wrapping fingers around the bulk of his muscle. And then, remembering where they are and what's going on, she quickly pulls her hand away. "Sorry."
"Don't be," he answers casually. "You can touch me if you want."
She flushes, glad her back is to him.
She's so overwhelmed that she almost cries, and she quickly makes some excuse to put as much distance between them as possible, terribly embarrassed and very angry at herself. Cid seems to expect this, and hides his disappointment (if he's disappointed at all) very well, finishing his fishing before bringing it all over to Barret and Tifa, who are waiting around the fire.
It's only after a quiet dinner that Charlie excuses herself from camp, making to sit down upon the wing of the Tiny Bronco and listen to the rushing water and looking up at the night sky. Without Aerith here, no one really seems in the mood to laugh or joke around or smile, and Charlie can't bear sitting in silence with them all for longer than she has to.
It isn't long before she's disturbed. It's hard to find alone time when you're traveling with so many people, but it's only Cait Sith, and Charlie doesn't quite mind the cat's company right now. He sits down beside her, so small and skinny, an odd sight without his fluffy companion.
They both are quiet for a while, but then Charlie inhales deeply and glances sideways at him. She's just going to say it. She's just going to get it out there and get it over with.
"So . . ." she begins slowly, chewing on her lower lip. "You work for Shinra, huh?"
She's certain that Cait Sith is very much regretting following her over to the airplane. "Yep."
"So I probably know who you are?"
"Probably."
Charlie traces her teeth with her tongue. Cait Sith looks out across the river, at the open land on the other side. "You're not going to tell me your name?" she asks, growing frustrated at this little game. She's in no mood for games lately. "You're not going to tell your own vice president who you are?"
"I'm no one important," Cait Sith answers, slightly bitter sounding. "What does it matter to you?"
This gives her pause. "I'm sure that's not true." Her palms are clammy. She curls her hands into fists and rests them in her lap. "You won't tell me your name, but if I guess correctly, will you let me know if I'm right?"
They both look at each other for a long moment. The fact that Cait Sith doesn't give her an answer is answer enough, and Charlie feels tears well up in her eyes as he whispers slowly, in his voice, "Charlotte, I am so sorry."
She grimaces, wiping at her tears with her sleeve. "Me too."
"How did you know?"
"Tseng said I deserved to know, and you . . . you weren't going to tell me."
She can't even bring herself to look at him again. How can she take him seriously, talking through a thing like that? Talking with that voice, a voice that surely isn't his own, a voice that she had come to find comfort in along their journey.
"You were spying on me this whole time."
"No," Cait Sith says quickly—no, Reeve—no, he's speaking in that voice again, in Cait Sith's voice—but it's Reeve's thoughts and words and feelings, right?—how much has she divulged to this thing? "Not spying on you, no, no—"
"Cid told me what you did," she hisses, glad they're far enough away from camp that no one will overhear them. Charlie doesn't even have time to register the absurd situation she's found herself in. "You kidnapped a little girl—"
"No, please, let me explain—"
"Explain what? Explain how you've been following me around for weeks? Explain how you're the reason that I was put in that cell? Explain how you're the reason Tseng is dead—"
"I'm the reason Tseng is—!" Cait Sith holds his face in his hands and groans, clearly taking great pains to remain quiet. Even in the cat's unusual accent, his speech pattern is terribly altered, and it sounds strange to hear him speak in such a refined manner. "You realize that this is madness, don't you? What do you think you're going to accomplish with these people?"
"I don't think I'm obligated to share my reasons with you—"
"You're still the vice president, you know, and you're going to have to return to Midgar eventually—"
"I'm not going back—"
"Then where do you intend to go?" Cait Sith asks sharply, and Charlie glances towards the campfire, where no one seems alerted to trouble, lounging around and basking in the warmth. "Do you plan to follow them to the ends of the planet? Into death? Prolonging your return will only make it more difficult for you to leave them—"
"I cannot believe you—"
"Me?" he scoffs. "I'm the one whose had to watch you throw yourself at Cid ever since leaving Rocket Town—"
"I have not been throwing myself at him, and even if I was, that doesn't excuse anything you've—"
"All right, listen, listen, listen—" Cait Sith waves his hands in front of her, shushing her. Charlie's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and her temper suddenly flares, but she doesn't interrupt. "I'm not here to spy on you. Rufus sent me to infiltrate Avalanche—"
"Rufus sent you? He ordered this?" Charlie feels more hurt than angry at this confession. "He knew the whole time about this? Was I . . . was I the only one who didn't know?"
"Charlotte—"
"All those things that you said about the Turks and about Rufus . . . and you would have gone on watching my every movement through a toy—"
"You have to understand the situation—I didn't want you to be involved in—"
"I thought you were different." Unable to think of another coherent thought, Charlie stands up, focusing on not slipping off the wing. "I loved you because you were different from everyone else, and you're just like them."
"Nothing stopped you from loving your brother and your Turks—"
"I wasn't going to marry any of them!" she whisper-shouts, wanting to scream scream scream scream. "You think I don't know what they are? You think I didn't know the kind of man Tseng was? The kind of men Reno and Rude are? You think I didn't know the kinds of terrible things Veld had done?"
"Charlotte—" It's Reeve's voice again, and Cait Sith's mouth doesn't move with his words—"please come home. If you come home on your own terms, Rufus may be more willing to move quietly past the whole thing."
"Is that what he told you to tell me?"
"He didn't tell me to do anything other than gather information."
"What do you expect me to do if I go back to Midgar?" Charlie asks him, very seriously. "What is left there for me? You know as well as I do that the minute I'm with Rufus again, I . . ." She blushes, looking away from him. "I can't. I can't go back to the company. I'm sorry."
She sighs, wanting to throw up over the side of the wing.
"Come back to Midgar, Charlie. Please don't make me beg anymore. I want you to come home."
Charlie wraps her arms around herself. She's glad that she's looking down at a toy cat, because if she was arguing face-to-face with Reeve, she doesn't know that she could do it without breaking down into sobs. She gives her a head a slight shake, suddenly very cold.
"I'm not ready to go back," she admits after a long two minutes passes in total silence. "I can't. I'm not fit to be the vice president, and I'm not fit to . . . be with anybody."
Cait Sith stands, as well, his normal voice back. "You can't tell anyone who I am."
"Why not?" Charlie scoffs.
"Because they might think you were in on it, of course," he says, climbing towards the tail of the plane. "You and Barret have come too far now for me to go in and mess things all up."
He's trying to be friendly and casual again. Charlie knows that he's probably right, that the best thing to do would be to pretend this night never even happened. If she tells someone that Reeve—the man she was supposed to marry—has been watching them and feeding Shinra information the entire time, it will look far too suspicious.
"Charlie, you realize this is very likely a suicide mission, don't you?"
She smiles sadly at him. "I know." Before jumping off the plane, she brushes herself off. "It's okay, though. I've made my peace."
"So, I think I know where I want you to take me when this is all over."
"Oh? And where's that?" Cid doesn't even open his eyes. He's exhausted from sailing his Tiny Bronco around all day, now leaning against a flat rock and trying to keep from falling asleep in the middle of their conversation, but the warmth from the fire is too much.
"Cosmo Canyon," she answers, sounding just as tired.
"What the hell's in Cosmo Canyon?"
"My mother is buried there."
Cid's eyes snap open and he sits up. "Shit, sorry, Lottie. I didn't know."
She narrows her eyes at him, smiling. "You didn't say anything wrong."
Charlie is sitting beside Vincent (of course she would be pushing herself on some ex-Shinra stranger that was found in some Shinra basement), knees pulled up to her chest. At least she isn't chatting up that goddamn Shinra spy anymore, who gave her up to the Turks in the first place.
Most of their party has gone to bed already, except for those that choose not to sleep in the two tents. Tifa and Yuffie had gone first, and the rest had followed, leaving Vincent, Cid, Charlie, and Cait Sith outside, though the cat seems to be deactivated for the night, slumped over atop the moogle.
When asked why she didn't sleep in the tent with the other girls, Charlie had told him that she enjoyed sleeping under the stars. Cid doesn't deny that it's probably very true she enjoys it, but the other part of him thinks that she probably doesn't think she belongs in a secondhand tent with women she sees as below her.
"Vincent," she says suddenly, and he hums in response. "Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?"
Cid scoffs, attracting their attention. He blushes with both of their intent gazes fixed right on his face.
"Is there something you'd like to say, Cid?" Charlie asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "Think I can't shoot a gun?"
"No! I didn't say that," Cid snaps, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on the rock to close his eyes again, forced to listen to Charlie and Vincent continue their quiet conversation.
"When we have the time, yes," is Vincent's answer.
His second scoff seems to go unnoticed by either of them, and their voices get even lower until Cid can't hear a fucking word they're saying. He places an arm underneath his head, turning his back on them.
Charlie could have asked him.
Ever since Vincent agreed to Charlie's offer, it's all she wants to do.
Every time they beach the Tiny Bronco to eat, to piss, to shit, to regroup, to stretch their legs, to get a fire going for the night, Charlie and Vincent take the small amount of time to practice shooting, though it's more theory than anything with a significant lack of ammunition lying around.
And they fucking talk all the time. Or rather, Charlie talks a whole hell of a lot while Vincent listens and sometimes asks pointed follow-up questions. Cid doesn't really know what they're talking about, but whatever they talk about, it's done in those low voices so no one can overhear them.
It infuriates him, especially because Vincent doesn't talk half so much to anyone else, which ends up pissing Yuffie off, as well.
"She's so annoying," Yuffie complains to him one day, watching through the foliage as Vincent helps Charlie line up her shot. Cid's genuinely surprised that she's learning so quickly, considering how little time they've been working at it. "I mean, what's so great about her anyway?"
"The hell do you know 'bout her?" Cid asks, seeing no reason as to why Yuffie might hate her so much. He thinks Charlie has more than proved herself a different breed than her father or brother. "The two of you have more in common than you might think."
"Oh yeah, old man?" Yuffie scrunches her nose, seeming offended by the mere notion of it. "Like what?"
"Well, you're both the bratty daughters of some pretty powerful people. Rebelling against her daddy's kinda her shtick, you know."
"Whatever." She sticks her tongue out at Cid. "I don't trust the word of someone who's got his entire head and shoulders up her ass."
"The fuck did you just say to me!" She's already sprinting away from him by the time he pushes himself to his feet. "You little brat!"
He's going crazy.
His face is horribly sunburnt from the sun reflecting up off the water and into his face all day, he wants to stand for longer than ten minutes at a time, he wants Aerith to come back so they can move the fuck on, and whenever Charlie and Vincent go off into some secluded spot to work on her shooting, his imagination fucks him over.
Tifa seems to notice that something's off with him, and tries to ask about it one night. He doesn't feel much like talking about how Charlie's making him look like a damn fool, but she's too nice for Cid to shoo her away without an explanation.
"I know it's hard without Aerith here . . ." Tifa begins. "But I know we'll find her soon. We're almost there."
"Yeah," Cid grunts, glad for something else to blame his shifting moods on, "Aerith."
Charlie looks up at him from over the fire at the sound of Aerith's name, dragging the tips of her fingers lightly down Nanaki's spine as he sleeps.
Meeting his own eyes, she quickly looks away, but there's something about her expression that makes his stomach twist . . . something that makes her look younger, like she's just seen him come back from the forest with a young and pretty Turk . . .
"She any good with a gun? All that goddamn practice lately must be helpin' some."
"She's a quick learner," Vincent says, sitting down on the ground beside him, unfastening the cloak around his shoulders and letting it fall to the dusty floor. "And she's an interesting girl."
"She's a goddamn genius, you know. Certified and everything."
"She didn't mention it."
"Yeah, well . . . you know . . ." Cid shrugs, feeling rather resentful of Vincent. He's been taking up all of Charlie's time lately, leaving the two of them little privacy once he parks the Tiny Bronco for the night. "Thought it might'a come up at least once between you two and all those fuckin' gossip sessions you've been havin'."
Even now, Charlie is fast asleep in the arms of Cait Sith's moogle with Nanaki curled up at her side. It's the goddamn picture of peace. It's kinda cute, but he wouldn't just admit that outright. He'd rather she was awake, talking to him, curled up at his side.
"You're an idiot."
Cid turns to face Vincent, blinking stupidly in his pale face. "You wanna say that again, jackass?"
A smile tugs at the corners of Vincent's lips, but only for a moment. He might just be imagining things. "I was Veld's partner before . . . I went to sleep," he says slowly, looking back at Charlie.
Veld. Charlie had mentioned him back in Gongaga, and he's pretty sure she was being serious about him not being an old flame. It's impossible to know for sure, of course. Sometimes she's too good of a liar, and he lacks the courage to call her out on it for fear of being wrong.
He knows he shouldn't ask. He should wait to hear it from Charlie's mouth instead of Vincent's, but he's too goddamn curious. "Who was Veld?"
"If she hasn't told you," Vincent replies, "then perhaps I shouldn't say anything either."
"What good are you, huh?" Cid huffs, lighting a cigarette and taking a long pull off it. "Can't even give me a fuckin' clue."
Vincent sighs, lifting a single eyebrow. "Wouldn't you rather hear it from her?"
Cid bites at his inner lip, letting his cigarette burn for a moment. No one's complained yet about his cigarette smoke (except for Yuffie, but he doesn't really give a damn what she thinks about anything), but he's already made the decision to not quit no matter what.
Well, maybe if Charlie asked nicely. Even then, there'd be a lot of complaining.
"She just came out and . . . told you all that stuff?" Cid asks, feeling slightly hurt. When was the last time someone had hurt his feelings? When was the last time a woman hurt his feelings? "Just like that?"
"She talks a lot."
"Yeah. Sometimes."
Ever since their horrible conversation, Charlie avoids talking to him as much as she can.
She avoids talking to everyone, really, except for Vincent. Reeve won't deny that it feels like a slap in the face when they go off to shoot together, and Cid complains one night about how Charlie refuses to tell him anything, saving her head full of thoughts for times when she's with Vincent.
Of course she would share anything and everything with someone that had not only been an ex-Turk, but Veld's partner. With her believing Tseng dead, Vincent may very well be the last tie she truly has to someone she loved very much (save for himself, but Charlie has never been willing to speak about Veld at length with him).
He feels guilty, of course, but had decided not to tell Charlie the truth in the end. He knows that it will likely cause problems in the future, but for now, with Tseng on the mend and hidden in a hospital in the middle of Junon, Reeve thinks it's best to keep his status a secret.
Charlie had tried to cross the world to get to him once before, and if she knew that Tseng was lying in a hospital bed, alive, Reeve doesn't doubt she would drop everything to find him.
And if Rufus found out he was lying . . . if Rufus found out that his best man wasn't dead after all . . . it won't be pretty, and if he knew that Charlie was in on the secret, she'd be in trouble.
What had frightened him most was the parting words she had left with him. It's okay, though. I've made my peace. It makes him think that her mission alongside Avalanche isn't so much to do good and save the world, but more the means to an end, a way for her to die knowing that she did so heroically.
It's tragic, truthfully, to see what the world has done to her. Perhaps most of the blame can be placed upon her dead father's shoulders, as his own daughter is a result of abuse in every sense of the word and a complete disregard for her feelings, accomplishments, and dreams.
He remembers seeing Rufus, just the other night, standing on the edge of the topmost floor of the Shinra Building, smelling slightly of whiskey. Reeve isn't really certain whether or not he meant to fling himself off the side, but it had frightened him all the same.
"It's very fitting," comes Tseng's hoarse voice, and Reeve looks up from his laptop to find him stirring in his hospital bed, fidgeting restlessly, "that you would be seated at my side in Charlotte's stead."
"She would be here, I'm sure, if she knew you were alive."
"The others?"
"It's chaotic, but Reno has stepped up."
"As is his duty." Seemingly pleased with this vague report, Tseng closes his eyes again. "How long have you been in contact with Veld?"
Reeve sighs. "The entire time."
"Charlotte will hate you for it."
"I'm sure she will."
"Where are they now?"
"Bone Village," Reeve replies, not at all hesitant about telling him the truth. It's not like Tseng is able to do much from his hospital bed, especially not without outside contacts who are aware that he's here.
He explains the chain of events regarding the Temple of the Ancients, and relays the news that Aerith is missing, headed north towards a place called the City of the Ancients.
"It's only a matter of time until Sephiroth—" Reeve is cut off by the ringing of his phone. He digs it out of his pocket to find it's not that phone, but his other one, reserved for emergency calls between himself and Elmyra.
"A burner phone?" Tseng says, laughing softly and turning his head away, towards the window. "I wonder what secrets you're keeping."
Reeve scowls, but Tseng isn't looking. He slips outside the room before answering the call. "Everything all right?"
"Oh, everything is fine. I'm so sorry to bother you, Director, but the first interview today is in an hour, and Marlene wanted to know if you were still coming."
Shit, shit, shit, shit, he thinks to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten all about the half-hearted promise he made to Marlene about helping her interview new prospects for potential tutors.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to tell her—" He stops abruptly, looking around. He does have a lot of work to do, and several meetings later tonight. He was planning on staying in Junon until then, tired of all the traveling.
Gods, don't you ever learn? He wants to kick himself. Isn't this exactly what he'd done to Charlie?
"If this isn't a good time, Director—"
"No," he answers, "no, no, no, it's fine. Um—" Reeve looks down at his watch. He'll never make it in time for the first interview, even taking a helicopter, but he could be there for the second one. "Tell her I'm running a little late, but I should make it just in time for the second interview."
"Oh, please, don't let it trouble you. I know you must have such a busy sch—"
"No, no, truly, it's all right. I did promise her."
"Well, I appreciate it. We'll handle the first interview."
Before leaving the hospital, he quickly apologizes to Tseng for having to leave so quickly, but the Turk doesn't really seem broken up about it.
Reeve almost wonders if it would be worth telling Tseng about Elmyra and Marlene, just to see if he would have done the same in his place, but he leaves before he works up the courage. He doesn't really think he'd want to know the answer anyway.