The doctor is a man in his mid-fifties, looking down at his clipboard like he's so damn busy, like Charlie isn't the only goddamn person in the tiny shack they call a "doctor's office" here.
"Is there someone among you that will be able to arrange transportation to the eastern continent?"
It's only after the fact that Cid considers it may have been a decent idea to keep Cloud around, since he's the leader and all. Instead, while Cloud and his buddies went off to ask after information, Cid had remained in the doctor's office with Cait Sith and Vincent.
He knows they probably look like a dangerous and odd party, which is probably why the doctor is so reluctant to give them any information regarding Charlie's status.
Cid and Cait Sith turn to look at each other. Thankfully, Vincent is the one to speak up, one hand on his hip and ready to be done with this place, it seems.
"Why would we need to arrange transportation?"
The doctor blinks behind square-shaped glasses, eyeing the three of them warily and lowering his clipboard. "She's the vice president, and running a high fever. Whatever lies to the north, I'm certain that you can manage it without her. She should be brought back to Midgar, where she'll be able to recover more comfortably."
"You're a doctor, ain't you?" Cid asks, huffing as he folds his arms across his chest. "Can't you just give her some medicine to break the fever?"
"She's suffering from a viral infection. We gave her medicine to reduce the fever, yes, but otherwise, it must run its course." The doctor sighs, looking at the three of them again before consulting his clipboard. Cid doesn't like the way his brow furrows, or the way the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his fat lips. "In addition to the infection, she's suffering from malnourishment, underweight for a typical twenty-seven-year-old her height, and her body is covered in wounds and bruises."
It takes Cid a moment to understand where the doctor's going with this, unused to encountering trouble in regards to locals.
"What are you saying?" Cait Sith asks sharply, and there's not a doubt in Cid's mind that it's the Shinra spy speaking now, not the toy cat.
The doctor begins to sweat at his hairline, splotches of color appearing in his sallow cheeks. "You must understand that I have an obligation to my patients, and I must be concerned about the state the vice president is in, which is why I am asking, very kindly, whether or not transportation can be arranged."
"Uh," Cid scoffs, looking to his left at Cait and then at Vincent, on his right. "Listen, doc, the vice president ain't goin' back to Midgar."
"You can't be serious!" the doctor replies quickly, sweating profusely now as he takes a few steps backwards, blocking the stairs that lead to Charlie's room on the second floor.
Vincent steps forward with a flash of his red cloak, swishing it just enough to show off the handsome handgun at his hip. "I don't think you're really in a position to bargain for the vice president with us," he tells the doctor. "No transportation will be called, and the vice president will be leaving with us when she feels able."
Holy shit, Cid can't help but think, you fucking idiot, he's gonna think we're kidnapping the vice president.
"Are you—are you threatening me, sir?" the doctor asks nervously, bracing himself in the doorway of the stairwell. "Who do you think you are?"
"Vincent Valentine, of Shinra's Turks."
The blood in the doctor's face drains instantly, and he lowers his hands to his sides and straightens up. From the breast pocket of his checkered shirt, he withdraws a yellowed handkerchief, mopping at his damp forehead. "Forgive me," he stammers, "I—I had no idea she was traveling with a Turk."
Without waiting for an answer, Vincent hides the gun at his hip again and walks up the stairs, meeting no resistance. Cid goes to follow, but the doctor blocks his passage again.
"One at a time, please," the doctor tells him hurriedly. "It's a small room, and she's sleeping."
Not wanting to make things any worse for Charlie, Cid agrees to those terms. He and Cait Sith leave the stifling office, hit all at once by an icy blast of wind that drives snow into his eyes and mouth. With the sun shining for longer this far north, he can't really be sure what time it is, but it must be nearing evening because his stomach is fucking aching for some food.
"That's bullshit," he announces the minute the door to the clinic closes behind him. "Charlie would'a wanted me in there."
"You'll get your chance," Cait Sith replies in his usual, casual manner. "Other people care 'bout Charlie. It's not just you."
Cid feels himself color around his collar. The two of them linger just outside the building. The snow isn't coming down so hard anymore, but the wind still whips at him and makes his ears burn with cold.
"I know that!" In order to hide his frustrations, he takes it out on the cat. "Who are you anyway?"
"No one you know," the cat snaps right back. "So it doesn't matter."
"Yeah, yeah. Cid fuckin' Highwind, dumbass pilot, doesn't know shit, huh? The hell would someone like me know, right?" Cid huffs childishly, leaning against the wall of the building and pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket. "How do we know you ain't callin' up the actual Turks right now to put a bounty on her head?"
"I'm not going to do that. I have no say in what the Turks do."
"Yeah, well, I don't believe you. And I ain't lettin' any Shinra fucks take her back to Midgar, got it?"
Damn it feels good to be angry at someone who deserves it.
"The doctor was right. She's the vice president. She has to come back to Midgar eventually. She has a company to run."
"And what if she doesn't wanna go back?"
"Then she'll continue to be hunted by the president and the Turks. She'd have to go into hiding, which would be nearly impossible with Shinra's widespread influence, and even with her not knowing Shinra's most classified secrets, she would be a high-security risk." Cait Sith tilts his head slightly. "Shinra Electric Power Company is a criminal enterprise, and you should know that by now. High-ranking executives, such as herself, would not be allowed to walk away so easily. It is her duty, as vice president, to care for the people of Midgar, not to hide away."
"How's that fair to her?" Cid counters, blowing his cigarette smoke in the cat's direction. He fucking hates looking at that stuffed moogle, always looking back at him with dead eyes. Is he angry on Charlie's behalf, or for his own selfish reasons?
"It's not fair to her," Cait Sith agrees quietly. Cid still isn't used to hearing the toy speak so formally. "But that is what has always been expected of her, and she's known that since she was a child."
What a shitty way to live, knowing you're nothing more than an object for the people to gawk at, to derive hope and happiness from. It was never just the weight of her father's expectations on her shoulders . . . it was the weight of the entire world's expectations of her.
Cid sighs, looking up into the party cloudy sky, wondering what lies beyond the distant mountains to the north.
She's known the only escape from that life is death. That's why she's here, isn't it? Because she knows it's a fucking suicide mission? Because she'd rather die with people who genuinely care about her than live the rest of her life in Midgar as a puppet?
Whatever fantasy he's built up in his head of a relationship between him and Charlie suddenly seems like it's crashing all around him. She knows the possibility of death hangs heavy over her, and he wonders if the entire journey has just been one big, last good-bye for her, one last pilgrimage for her to experience life as it could have been, had she been anyone else in the world.
Is he supposed to encourage that? Is he supposed to walk her to her death? Is he supposed to be happy for her? Why has she been dancing around her fucking feelings for weeks if she knows she's just going to die at the end of this journey? When did she make this decision? When did she come to this conclusion? Before the Turk died? After?
Is she even going to fight for herself? Is she even going to give herself a goddamn fighting chance?
Cid drops his half-smoked cigarette in the snow. It sizzles when it lands, just before going out completely. "No," he decides, "I ain't gonna let that happen."
"What?"
"If she wants to go north, then fine, I think we should let her. I think we shouldn't let other people make decisions for her anymore." Cid thinks for a moment, tries not to picture a near future where the vice president is dead. "But I ain't gonna let her die."
"And what do you think will happen after that?"
She'll go back to Midgar and forget I even exist until the next time she needs a cheap thrill.
"Fuck if I know," he answers, leaving the cat behind as he crosses back towards the inn.
"Mr. President, I really think this is a terrible idea—"
With his back to Reeve, he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning around and putting on a charming smile. "Director, I appreciate your outward concern for me, but I'm not going to change my mind."
"The very knowledge that Professor Hojo has returned to witness this phenomenon doesn't bother you?" Reeve continues, following him into the hangar proper and towards the helicopter that will take him to Junon, to oversee the last preparations until the Highwind takes flight. "Midgar cannot risk the loss of both its president and vice president."
Truthfully, the very idea that Professor Hojo felt welcome enough to waltz right into the Shinra building seeking re-employment had thrown Rufus slightly off guard, but in the end, he had thought it better to keep the madman close in order to keep an eye on him. Then again, Rufus was only mildly surprised. Hojo had only prospered with Shinra's help, and likely found life boring without access to the latest technologies.
And as for Char . . .
Rufus had allowed her to slip through his fingers once before, but not this time. He has no intention of allowing any harm to befall her at the hands of whatever creatures await them in the north. Her friends may be willing to defend her, but they will die if it comes down to that, wholly unable to stand against the force of the Shinra Electric Power Company.
Doesn't she realize that he's only trying to keep her safe? Doesn't she realize that he hasn't replaced her yet because he thinks she has the potential to be a very decent vice president?
Not that she'll have that much power, but Char doesn't need to know that. He'll allow her a little taste, enough for her to believe that she's on relatively equal footing to him. It's always been easier to make her believe she holds the power, to make her believe that she isn't subject to critical scrutiny, to make her believe she's important and respected.
It will be easier than ever this time.
She will be broken, surely, after Tseng's death, and will return to Midgar the husk of the girl she used to be. It will be so easy for Rufus to repair her shattered heart, to seal it with soft kisses and tender confessions, to use Tseng's memory and love for her as a bargaining chip, to shape her into a vice president by rebuilding her from the ground up.
"Director, please," he says, holding up a hand to stop Reeve from going on. "I'm going to have to ask you to stop now. I've heard you out, now leave."
"What are you going to do to Charlotte?"
Rufus bristles, grinding his teeth, moving closer to Reeve. "Excuse me?" Reeve doesn't falter, nor flinch. He stands his ground, hands held behind his back, looking down into Rufus's eyes. "Exactly what are you implying, Director?"
"Forgive me," Reeve replies, inclining his head very slightly. Rufus feels his blood pressure suddenly shoot through the roof. "I only want everything to be adequately prepared for her return."
Scoffing, Rufus allows himself a smile. It's enough to make Reeve smile tersely in return. "I've already ordered a cell to be prepared for her in Junon," he explains, hoping for a reaction, for a rise to the bait. "She's a criminal, Reeve, and a traitor. Am I to be lenient with her because she is beautiful? Because she is my sister?"
"If I may at least offer some advice—"
"You may not." Rufus claps a hand to Reeve's shoulder and lowers his voice, dropping all pretense now. "If you fucking tell her I'm coming, she will bear the consequences for your treason, Director Tuesti."
Reeve hesitates, nodding and averting his eyes. "Yes, sir."
Rufus gives the director a solid push backwards, moving towards the helicopter again, thinking it all over.
Now that she'll want nothing to do with Reeve, it will be easy. He's not going to let her leave again. He's not going to go through that again. And if she chooses not to comply, then Rufus will proceed with any measures he deems necessary.
If he can't have her, then no one will.
She dreams of her father, of a memory buried a long time ago.
It's a memory she hasn't thought about in years, simply because she hasn't wanted to remember.
Rufus had been fifteen for no more than two months, and President Shinra had left them for a confidential business-trip which, he claimed, would take weeks. Leaving Rufus behind, however, had been proof enough that their father was only going to meet with one of his whores, to roll around in bed with some woman who only cared about his money.
It had been three-and-a-half weeks since their father left Midgar. Their resident Turk had fallen asleep on the sofa, drunk, and wouldn't wake until morning. They were lonely and neglected and unloved children, unaware of the severity of their actions, unaware of the implications, wanting to feel wanted and understood for a few minutes.
Even at fifteen, Rufus had taken what he wanted like he was already a grown man, confident in his movements and speech, pushing boundaries and using his charm to coerce certain answers from her.
All of that charm and confidence had been drained from him that night, however, the night their father returned in a rage, unhappy to be back in the home where his children lived and far away from whatever slut he was fucking.
Charlie dreams of her father lumbering into the bedroom, picking up a half-naked Rufus by the throat, and throwing him to the floor.
"I'll kill you, boy!"
Rufus hadn't even defended himself, not even when the belt slapped against his bare skin, causing welts to pop up and bruises to tinge his pale flesh, splitting his lip and making him scream out in pain.
When Charlie had tried to stop her father from beating him, she had received an elbow to the stomach, and was subject to a slew of names that were typically reserved for their mother.
She dreams of screaming herself hoarse, begging her father not to kill Rufus, begging her father to stop hurting him.
And then she wakes, cold metal against the sweaty skin of her arm, shaking her gently.
In the dim orange light of the dying fire, Vincent's milky face appears quite vividly against his dark hair and faded red cloak.
Charlie finds she's too tired to move, despite waking in a completely unfamiliar room. She's been changed into some loose-fitting clothing, sweat dripping down her chest and the back of her neck, but mostly due to the fever breaking and not the content of her dream.
It's too easy to remember the way Rufus had looked after that beating, hardly able to move off the floor of his own bedroom, black and blue and swollen and bleeding all over, breathing very raggedly with his eyes closed.
That had happened because of her.
She shakes the lingering feelings of guilt off for the moment.
"Where am I?"
"A clinic in Icicle Inn," Vincent answers, pulling his gauntlet away from her arm. "You were talking in your sleep."
Charlie blushes, picking at the blanket draped over her legs. "Did I say anything embarrassing?"
There's a pause that makes her nervous. "No."
She groans. She definitely said something embarrassing, probably giving away her relationship with Rufus, and yet she can't help but feel glad that it was only Vincent instead of Cid or Cait Sith. "Have they all left without us?"
"No, they're still here." Vincent shifts in his chair, putting some distance between them.
"Then what are you doing here?"
He tilts his head slightly, opening his mouth to speak and then pursing his thin lips together. "I have reason to believe the doctor may have drugged you in order to keep you from going any further north with us."
"I was drugged—"
"It was well-intentioned."
"Did you at least rough him up a little bit?"
"Should I have?"
"Well, aren't you a T—" Charlie stops abruptly, looking away from him. Of course he's a Turk, no matter what he insists. You don't ever stop being a Turk, and she's known that since she was very small. But that doesn't mean she should expect Vincent to continue to do "Turk things" on her behalf. "What are you really doing here?"
"The doctor let me up when I told him I was a Turk."
"Does being a Turk make you incredibly stupid and dense?" she snaps, immediately regretting it, though Vincent remains stoic. He almost reminds her of Tseng, which makes her sad. "I meant, what are you doing here with me?"
"I . . ." Vincent sighs, visibly uncomfortable. "Should I leave?"
Truthfully, Charlie doesn't want him to leave. There's something comforting about his presence, and she knows why. She isn't stupid. "No," she says. "It's fine. I guess it's fitting that you would be here."
"Why?"
Charlie looks at him again, wishing that he was someone else. She feels bad, but suspects that Vincent already knows who she wishes were here instead. "Whenever I was younger and woke in the hospital, Veld would typically be there with me."
"How are you feeling?"
"You're not very sentimental, are you?"
"My apologies. I hope I don't come across as cold."
They look at each other for a long time. Charlie isn't quite sure if he's joking or not, narrowing her eyes at him. If it was a joke, surely he would be laughing. "Veld liked you, didn't he?"
"I like to think so," Vincent replies, his mouth twitching. "I found something on my search of the village, and I would like to show you, if you're feeling up to it."
Despite the fact that she's still feeling a little dizzy, Charlie can't deny that it would feel nice to stand on her own feet again, to stretch her legs. "An adventure, huh?" she smiles.
"We would have to get past the nurse at the desk downstairs."
"How difficult would that be?"
"Not difficult at all. I have a better idea, and it's one that you might enjoy."
"Like what?"
Vincent doesn't answer. Instead, he stands up and crosses the room to the window nearest the fireplace, where a few flames continue to flicker. He unlocks it and pushes it open quickly, letting in an icy gust of wind that hardly seems to faze him. He brushes the stray snowflakes off his chest and turns to look at Charlie again, eyebrows raised and hidden underneath his bandana.
"You want to sneak out the second story window?" Charlie asks slowly.
"It would keep from alerting anyone that you're missing, and what I mean to show you is something I would prefer to keep quiet until you see it for yourself."
"What if they come up to check on me and see that I'm not in my bed and you're missing?"
"She won't come up. She's terrified of me."
Charlie thinks for a moment, but can think of no other reason to refuse him. His desire to leave via the window is indicative of how important this is to him, and she throws the blanket off her legs. "Okay. We'll leave through the win—hey! Vincent! Don't leave me here!"
He jumps out the window like he's been doing it for his entire life. She hurries to peer outside, only to find that he's perfectly fine, standing on his feet and looking up at her. "Let's go," he hisses up at her.
"Damn it," she whispers to herself, pulling her head back into the room and groping around blindly for warm clothes to put on over her sweat-soaked t-shirt and the cotton shorts someone had put on her.
When she's ready, she looks out the window again, glad to see Vincent still waiting for her, a hand on his hip as he looks around at the snowy scenery.
"Kind of high, don't you think?" she whisper-yells down to him.
"Just do what I did."
Charlie sighs, pursing her lips. She doesn't think her exasperation reaches him fully. "I'm just supposed to jump through the window?"
"It's not high. I'll catch you."
Perhaps it's the illness that pushes her to the windowsill. It's not terribly high, but if she lands wrong, she could still break something. "I'm scared," she admits, unsure why this seems impossible after all she's done in the past few weeks. "I'm scared to jump. Vincent, I can't—"
"I'll catch you," he says, holding his arms out and creeping closer to the side of the clinic.
"Vincent—"
"Charlotte," he says, somehow able to be firm and gentle at the same time, just like someone else she used to know, someone who called her by her full name, "trust me."
Charlie inhales deep and holds her breath, knowing that she has to do it. She leaps from the windowsill and the cold air is painful against her face, but it's over within seconds, and she lands perfectly within Vincent's arms like she's nothing more than a child.
"It's going to be a lot faster if I carry you," he tells her, and Charlie can feel the sharp, metal fingers of his gauntlet shifting against her leg. "Hold on to me."
"Wait, what?"
Before she's able to find a firm grip in the front of his cloak, Vincent's feet leave the ground. She almost screams before remembering they're on some kind of stealth mission, instead clinging to his neck as he leaps away from the building, leaping so far and so fast that they could be flying, and even Charlie knows that this isn't normal.
His feet hardly leave indentations in the snow, touching down only slightly before they're in the air again, light as a feather. Charlie looks down, watching the scenery around her change in a blur of white moonlight. The wind stings her face, makes her cheeks and nose numb, and tears build at the corners of her eyes.
Turks aren't like SOLDIERs, enhanced by mako or Jenova cells. Turks go through rigorous training, but she's never seen any Turk move with such speed and agility. This is power and abilities that she's never seen on someone like him, and it frightens her.
When Vincent sets her down gently outside of a small, dark home, Charlie's legs are trembling horribly. "What the hell are you?" she hisses at him, watching him pick the lock on the front door with the middle finger of his gauntlet. "Vincent, stop! What is your problem?"
She reaches out to stop him, but Vincent bats her hands away and they struggle for a moment. "Stop. Charlotte, stop it."
"You stop it! You brought me here to break into somebody's house?"
"No one lives here anymore."
The lock clicks and the door swings inward. Vincent disappears into the darkness within and Charlie hesitates, following him after deciding that he wouldn't willingly lead her into a trap.
She has to walk down a few stairs into an open area that resembles something more akin to a lab than a home, with several monitors and machines set up around the walls that still blink and flash and give off light. Vincent flips a flickering yellow light on above them, moving to one of the monitors and tapping a few buttons.
The place looks like it has been untouched for years. Everything, including the very floor, is covered in a thick layer of dust that makes Charlie's throat feel scratchy. She steps up to Vincent's side.
"Watch," he instructs her, gesturing to the closest monitor and glancing over his shoulder towards the door again. With a final pressing of a red button, a video is pulled up.
The video shows the interior of the home, and Charlie tries to find where the camera is located, but it seems to have been removed a long time ago.
"Oh! Look!" she gasps, pointing to the screen as two people come into view. "That looks like Aerith!"
"Just watch," he urges her again.
So she does, and with every passing second, she can feel the horror settling in her heart, in her consciousness.
Professor Gast and Aerith's beautiful birth mother, discussing private information regarding the study of the calamity that fell from the sky, Jenova, the two-thousand-year-old specimen that appeared to the Ancients in the form of their dead loved ones, infecting them all with a virus to destroy their settlements and wipe out the true natives of the planet until it was confined by the remaining Ancients.
Videos and recordings compiled involve talk of the planet's defense systems, things called "Weapons" that are produced by a strong enough will of the very earth she's standing upon, a planet unable to fully heal itself so long as Jenova lives.
It's a terrifying thought. As little as she knows about Jenova, she's been able to piece together more and more information over the weeks. Like the fact that SOLDIERs were injected with Jenova cells in the hopes of creating some kind of super soldier with no regards to their physical, mental, or emotional health.
The next video Vincent shows her is labeled "ten days old" and a dry sob escapes Charlie forcibly at the sight of a small bundle on the screen, a baby with loving parents that decide to name her Aerith.
The last video is one titled "twenty days old" and Charlie finds herself rather excited to see the little family.
". . . don't say that!" Professor Gast's voice is not like she expected. He's not half the mad scientist that many Shinra employees would claim, and Charlie had been too young to really know him at all, so she had always been unable to dispute that fact. "I'll protect you and Aerith no matter what!"
In spite of everything, she can't help but envy Aerith and her doting father. She knows that this will not have a happy ending, as everything in the home is abandoned, Ifalna is dead, and now Aerith has joined her. It's selfish to think of her own father now, but Charlie can't help but wonder if her father had ever truly felt any sort of true protective instincts towards her.
Any thought of President Shinra is quickly wiped from her mind, however, as someone knocks on the front door in the video, and she feels her heart stop.
It's horrible, being forced to watch, but she can't look away from the recordings as Shinra troops storm Professor Gast's home, accompanied by a much younger-looking Professor Hojo. The camera is deactivated with a few bullets before anything happens, but there's still audio, and Charlie's hand covers her mouth as she listens to the last minutes of Professor Gast's life.
She doesn't know what to say afterwards as the silence settles heavily over them. It's an uncomfortable silence, an accusing one, though Charlie isn't sure what Vincent is really accusing her of.
"I am unaware of the degree of your involvement with your father's company," Vincent begins after a short while, "and it is because I know you that I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but . . ."
Charlie hardly hears him. She doesn't care what he thinks. He doesn't know what the company has been up to while he's been sleeping, hiding away from the world in order to save himself from the never-ending guilt he feels.
"Hojo knew the entire time," she tells no one in particular, running her hands through her hair and grabbing fistfuls of it. "Professor Gast knew . . . Angeal, he . . . he was a monster . . . Jenova . . ." Looking up at Vincent, she stumbles backwards and into a table. It slides across the floor, scraping the dusty wood. "Are you . . . do you have . . . did you . . . ?"
"I tried to stop Lucrecia from using her unborn son, Sephiroth—"
"No, no, I don't believe—"
"Shh!"
She can hardly hear over the pounding of her heart and heavy breathing, but she can hear someone at the door. Part of her wonders if this is how Professor Gast and Ifalna felt, but Charlie doesn't fear when Vincent moves to the door, pressing his back to the wall and drawing his gun, cocking it as slowly and quietly as he can while the lock clicks again and the door creaks open.
It all happens so quickly that she can't stop it. As soon as Elena moves into the home, Vincent springs behind her, forcing her to the ground with one of his knees digging into her back and her wrists held together, his free hand holding his gun to the back of her head.
"Gods, Vincent! Let her up!" Charlie screams, unsure of how much more she can take tonight, kneeling at Elena's side as she groans and curses the weight on her back, keeping her pinned to the floor. "Elena, what are you doing here?"
"Making a fool of myself," she moans, sighing in relief as Vincent stands up, relieving the pressure of her back, but keeping his gun trained on her. Brushing the dust off her suit, Elena huffs impatiently. "I saw Cloud and the others earlier, and I figured you'd be here somewhere, but I've been watching the town for hours now, and I didn't see you at all."
"I was resting in the clinic. I was sick with a fever, but I'm very flattered."
"Who's your friend, Miss Shinra?"
Charlie glances anxiously at Vincent. "My bodyguard," she answers, glad that he doesn't correct her. "Elena, what are you really doing here?"
"Getting revenge, okay?" Elena's face hardens into an expression that's almost comical. "For what your friends did to Tseng!"
It takes Charlie a moment to recognize the ridiculous situation she's currently found herself in. She's still thinking about all the videos that Vincent showed her, but she's glad for the distraction. She heaves a great sigh and crosses her arms, giving her head a shake.
"Elena, my friends didn't hurt Tseng. Sephiroth killed him."
"Yeah, yeah, that's what your stupid friends said, too—"
"They told you that Sephiroth killed Tseng and you just . . . didn't believe them?" When Elena continues to look doubtful, Charlie knows that she's going to have to talk about it, and though she's very resentful about it, she also knows that it will feel better to get it off her chest. "I was there. I was there when Sephiroth attacked him. He almost killed me."
Charlie brushes her hair aside to show off the scar on her neck. Elena examines it closely. "Well . . . I . . . Tseng, he . . ."
It strikes her then just how young Elena is. That fact, perhaps, is what softens Charlie, and she continues to speak as if Vincent is merely part of the shadows. "Elena," she begins, shifting uncomfortably, "I loved him very much, probably more than you—"
She can see that it isn't working, judging by the way Elena scrunches her nose.
"Nope, sorry, that was bad. I am not used to . . . having to share . . . ?" Charlie inhales deeply, blushing when she catches Vincent's eye. He shakes his head slowly, almost looking amused.
Why does it have to be her responsibility to comfort Elena? Elena had a crush on her boss, an infatuation that was probably closer to hero-worship than anything. But Elena hadn't spent half of her life with Tseng. She loved nothing but his pretty face and aloof demeanor and reputation as their leader.
Elena had never lived with him for days, and sometimes weeks, at a time, never knew what he looked like in the mornings or what his routine was before going to bed.
Elena never knew how competitive he was at board games, or how little he could drink before needing to be walked to the bathroom and bedroom, or how his stifled laughter sounded when she made faces at him across the dinner table while Veld was distracted, or how flustered he would get when Veld would catch them and mutter, "all right, settle down and eat your dinner, kids."
Elena never knew what it was like to be comforted by him, never knew what it was like to sit on the beach eating dumbapples with him.
"Um . . ." Feeling humiliated, Charlie struggles for speech one more time. What would I want someone to say to me? "Listen, um . . . you should know that, um . . ."
She looks to Vincent for help that she knows will not come, but she's encouraged by the small nod that he gives her. Charlie's fingers jump to the scar on her neck, but she shakes her head and lowers her hand back to her side.
"I think you should know that . . . when Tseng died . . ." Oh, Gods, why does it hurt so much to say it outloud? Why is it so hard to breathe just thinking of him? Am I comforting her or myself?
"Oh, Charlotte . . . don't cry."
"Don't call me that," she hisses at Elena.
Elena blushes fiercely. "Sorry, I, er—" She sighs, seemingly recognizing defeat. "Miss Shinra, he loved you very much."
"Tseng was the one who told Charlotte to come with us," Vincent finally says, stepping forward when it's clear that Charlie isn't going to say anything more. "We took her from the temple on his own instruction. There is nothing in Midgar for her now. She stays with us."
"Tseng said that?" Elena asks.
Charlie nods, and that seems to settle it. Still upset and bitter, Elena agrees to leave them to their devices, promising not to mention anything to Reno or Rude. She watches the Turk disappear into the night through the frosted window, suddenly feeling much lighter than before.
"Can I ask you something?" Charlie whispers, never turning away from the window. A few street lamps are brightening the hard-packed snow pathways, and it's almost peaceful to watch the snowflakes fall silently.
"You want to know what Hojo did to me."
"Yes."
It's quiet for a long time. She's too embarrassed to look Vincent in the face. He doesn't answer her, but she hears the breath leave him all at once as if he's been hit, and that's enough to make Charlie whirl around, only to find herself face-to-face with someone that . . . isn't Vincent.
Every part of her freezes up, and it has nothing to do with the weather.
He just stands there, a monster—no, she shouldn't say that—but he looks like a monster, a monster with some human features, but some of those features are still recognizable. It seems as if whatever monster Vincent harbors within him, has merged with his human form, leaving behind the narrow face and long nose that are so human.
His skin, instead of the bloodless color it usually is, has taken on a grayish tinge, and his eyes glow almost golden instead of their typical red. Scratches litter his face, and his clothes are torn and ragged, his hair replaced with crimson protrusions that come from his head. His clothes seem part of his skin, his body looks like it could be half-human and half-skeleton, but there must be muscle beneath because she can see it pressing against the fabric.
Over his heart, something bright glows from deep within his breast, bright blue and never flickering. This, in itself, is very interesting, but Charlie's eyes are pulled away from the glowing heart to the wings that have protruded from his back, spread to each side and about ten or eleven feet long to reveal the same red color of his cape, and his wings are just as tattered, wide enough to knock a few old trinkets and books off the table.
She has no idea what she's looking at, but it terrifies her.
That is, until she learns that it can speak.
"My punishment. Are you satisfied now?" It sounds like Vincent, but at the same time, it doesn't.
"I . . . don't know. Can you please change back?"
"Does it frighten you?"
Charlie averts her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself, still unsure what to think about this entire night. "I just want . . . you back right now."
Vincent obliges her, and she can't look. It's a seemingly effortless thing to him, but it leaves him breathing very heavily. Looking at him causes her pain, the pain of a guilty conscience weighing heavily on her, suffocating her.
"I know what you're thinking. It's not your fault. It's Hojo's, and it happened long before you could have done anything about it."
She doesn't know what to say. She's horrified, numb, still a bit feverish, and she thinks she could sleep for a long time. "I think I just want to go back," she says, her voice cracking, "and I think I'd like to walk back. And use the front door."
There's still a nurse behind the desk when Charlie and Vincent walk through the front door again. She looks up at the sound of the tinkling bell and her eyes grow wide. "Miss Shinra! You should be in bed!"
"Don't talk to me," Charlie snaps, pushing past her to climb the stairs, Vincent on her heels.
The fire has died out, leaving the room cold with the window still propped open. Charlie doesn't mind, removing the outer clothing she had put on to protect herself from the snow. The moment her legs and arms are bare again, goosebumps spring up on her skin.
"Can you do me a favor?" she asks Vincent as he closes the window, locking the latch. He looks over at her, which she takes to mean depends on what you're about to ask me. It takes her a moment to decide on who to ask for. "Can you tell Cid I'd like to talk to him?"
Vincent seems genuinely relieved. "Yes." He pauses, lingering by the window and sighing. With a hand on his hip, he sighs. "Perhaps I'm not the best person to be giving you advice, but I think it would be in your best interests to tell Cid about Veld."
"Is that what you think?"
"I'm tired of hearing about it from him, and there's a chance that, in a few days, you may not have the opportunity to tell him again."
Charlie blushes. She would be angrier with him if he hadn't just shown her confidential information, as well as the monster that he seemingly carries within him. As he crosses the room, she turns her back on him, thinking of one last thing that she wants to ask of him.
"Wait," she calls out, glad she's caught him before he's made it completely through the door. "I have one more thing to ask you."
"One last thing, and then I think you've traded in all of your favors with me for the rest of your life."
Though he's completely serious, Charlie can't help but smile weakly, looking into his face. It's not the same, and it will never be the same, but she thinks she needs it. "Will you call me 'little princess'? Just the once?"
He doesn't even hesitate. "No."
"Okay. That's fair."
Cid arrives a few minutes later, looking as if he hasn't slept a wink since they arrived. He nearly barrels into the room as she's lying in bed, looking at the glowing fireplace, where a new fire has sprung to life after she had used her newfound knowledge to get it going again.
He settles down in the chair that Vincent had been occupying earlier, blocking the fire from view. "Hey, honey, you okay?"
"No," she replies, "I'm not."
"Oh. You need me to go get the doc or somethin'? I'm sure he can give you some more medicine if you need it."
Charlie shakes her head slowly. "No, it's not that."
"Oh." He leans forward, pushing some stray hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. "What can I do?"
"I am only ever going to ask this once," she tells him, and Cid narrows his eyes at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I just . . . want you to hold me."
Cid doesn't present himself as too eager, nor does he make it seem like her request is an unreasonable one. Instead, he kicks his boots off and leaves them by the fire to dry, shrugs out of his jacket, and climbs into the small bed in his white undershirt and pants.
Charlie already feels the tears dripping onto her pillow from the bridge of her nose as Cid slips his arm underneath her pillow, curling it around her to hold her close. She can smell stale cigarette smoke and sweat on his shirt, but she knows that she probably doesn't smell any better.
"I want to tell you something," she breathes, tilting her head back to look up into his face.
He smiles at her, combing the fingers of his free hand through her hair. "Tell me what?"
"About Veld."
"Oh, Lottie . . . don't worry 'bout that, okay? You don't have to talk to me 'bout that right now."
In a few days, you may not have the opportunity to tell him again.
Charlie exhales shakily, smiling back at him, reaching up with her hand to touch the light stubble on his face, letting her fingertips skate over his cheek, his skin so warm against her own. "I'm so happy you're here," she whispers, her heart beating so fast that she's sure it'll jump right out of her chest.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You ain't just sayin' that 'cause the world might end soon?"
He isn't angry about it. There's still a small, toothy little grin on his face. He's only teasing, and it makes her feel better.
Charlie tries to gather all the courage she has within her. She tries to summon the courage she felt when she went through Reeve's office for the floor plans to the mako reactors. She tries to be as brave as she had been when she looked Sephiroth in the face, his blade to her neck.
But this is a different kind of courage, a different kind of strength, one that Charlie doesn't quite think she possesses. But in the end, it doesn't matter, because Cid initiates it first, brushing the tip of his nose against her own as a warning, but she doesn't pull away.
She meets him halfway, her lips ghosting against his own chapped ones. Warmth immediately floods her body, and the rough hand that had been touching her face now wraps around her waist protectively as he pulls her closer, kissing her properly.
The very idea that he feels the need to be so gentle with her is overwhelming, and it makes her feel far more guilty than anything else she's seen tonight, which only makes her feel guiltier and guiltier . . .
"I have to—tell you—something," she breathes against his mouth in between kisses, running her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, her heart leaping in her throat.
"Okay," he murmurs against the corner of her mouth, kissing her one last time before pulling away.
"I lied to you," she says, unable to believe that she's going to tell him this, her biggest secret, something she has buried for years—or tried to, at least. "You weren't my first kiss, not really."
"Oh yeah?" Cid never releases her. "Was it that military man of yours?"
Gods, if she doesn't say it now, she'll never say it at all, and why is she even saying it in the first place—"It was Rufus."
Cid blinks at her. "Your brother?"
Charlie is so embarrassed she could die. She wants to throw up. Her entire body heats up, flaming red, and she tries to squirm out of Cid's hold, prepared to run all the way back to Midgar to lock herself away out of shame, but he refuses to let her go.
"Get off me—" she whines, suddenly crying very real tears, so ashamed that she wants to fling herself from the top of the tallest snow-capped mountain she can find. "Please, let me go—"
"Whoa, whoa, hey, honey, it's okay—" Cid's hand jumps to her face, taking firm hold of her chin to force her to look at him, but it's not malicious in the way Rufus might do it. He doesn't look like he hates her, nor does he seem disgusted by her. She stops struggling for a moment. "Lottie, it's okay, baby, it's okay."
She doesn't quite think Cid understands the severity of what she's trying to say, but he could have pushed her away from the moment she confessed to kissing her own brother, and he didn't.
"I still like you," he admits softly, pressing a kiss to her hairline, causing Charlie's heart to swell with affection. "And I still wanna kiss you."
"I want to kiss you, too."
"Okay."
"Okay," she repeats, her cheeks still burning.
"Okay," Cid teases, leaning forward to kiss her again.
Charlie opens her mouth for him, and for a moment, nothing has changed, and they're still in the grassy field outside of Rocket Town, and tomorrow, the Shinra No. 26 is going to launch him into space. She can't even say how much time they spend kissing each other, some of the most tender kisses she's ever received in her life from a man that's typically rough and brash and hardheaded.
It is affection she's craved for weeks, ever since leaving Reeve. It must be a dream, and she's afraid to open her eyes, to wake up to an empty bed without his lips moving against hers.
Part of her hates how her body reacts to him, and part of her hates how his body reacts to her. It makes everything so difficult and so confusing, and she knows that this is the worst possible time to be figuring out feelings for someone she hasn't been romantically involved with for years (if she could even consider it that).
Cid is the one to pull away, flushed and panting and smiling awkwardly. "Lottie, we—I can't," he admits, clearing his throat and reaching below the blankets to adjust the front of his pants. "We gotta stop."
Charlie blushes, too. Maybe she never stopped. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, honey. I just . . . I don't wanna . . . fuck, you make me so nervous—"
"What?" she chuckles. "Why?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Lottie, you know exactly why."
Her heart flutters. "Do you want me to . . . help?"
"Help?"
She hums, slipping a hand between them to palm the front of his pants, soliciting a breathy moan from his throat. "You don't gotta—"
"I want to, if it will make you happy. Will that make you happy?"
The expression on his face changes at once, from something akin to pure delight to one of doubt. He wraps his fingers around her wrist to pull her hand away from him, bringing it to his lips to kiss her pulse. There's something uncomfortable about the way he shifts and smiles, like he's eager to leave.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, her heart sinking now, after just leaping for joy.
"No! No, no, no, no, that's not—no, you're perfect—I mean, you were doing everything right—goddamn it, Lottie, I—" Cid grits his teeth, twitching and squirming and probably craving a cigarette to get him through. Instead of rolling over and reaching for the pack on the end table, he inhales loudly. "I don't want you to think you—you owe me that, or something. I'm—I don't want you to do that just because you think it'll make me happy."
Charlie doesn't know what to say. She still feels like she did something wrong, but she isn't sure what.
"Why shouldn't I do that if I think it will make you happy? Isn't that a good thing?"
Cid lets go of her hand, and she doesn't like the way he's looking at her, like she's an idiot, like she has three heads—
"Well, I want you to be happy. I want you to . . . want it, too."
Charlie feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She can't even speak. Is this the same Cid she knew all those years ago? The same Cid she had just seen in Rocket Town? She kisses him again, and he's content to let her curl up against his chest and fall asleep.
When Charlie wakes in the morning, it's time to continue north after Sephiroth, and Cid gives her one last kiss before they join their friends, knowing just as well as she does that they might not get another chance.