"Are you being good to that boy, Charlotte?"

Charlie lowers her eyes. Veld knows what she's done. Reeve has likely told him everything already—or at least some of it, probably before assisting with her escape from Junon. "I'm trying."

"Ah, I didn't bring you out here to scold you, but he's a good man, and if there is anyone who deserves you, it's him." He sighs, putting his hand on her shoulder as they enter the back garden, not quite as colorful as the one Elmyra has put together. In fact, it looks as if this house hasn't seen a gardener in years. "Let's sit down. I'm getting old, and my legs aren't as good as they used to be."

They sit at a round, iron table that's beginning to rust, lopsided on its narrow and uneven legs. Charlie is surprised at how used she is to Meteor by now, though that doesn't mean it doesn't frighten her. It paints the sky red, and the wind is beginning to pick up. Soon, she knows, the storms will begin, just like they had in Midgar, the place that will take the brunt of Meteor's assault should Cloud fail to stop Sephiroth.

She heaves a great sigh. Knowing that she may only have days left to live has shed light on her priorities, and one of the things she would rather not do is sit here and relive the traumatic experience of having her heart shattered by the man she had considered a father. She would just be happy to sit here with him in silence and enjoy his company, to know that he has not forgotten her, to know that it was all real.

"You're pissed off at me, aren't you?" he asks her, the wind ruffling his hair. His features seem to have softened over the years, or he's just getting old, like he said.

"I don't know," she admits, looking back out towards the green forests that surround Kalm. "I was angry for a while after you left. I hated you for a long time. You passed me off to Tseng like it was nothing."

"I know, princess, but you haven't heard the whole story yet."

Charlie isn't against listening, at least hearing him out. But the story is far more tragic than she imagined, and he details his life as the leader of the Turks as a very lonely and isolating thing, despite the found family that surrounded him. Slowly, he begins to tell her about the botched firebombing of Kalm that killed his wife and presumably killed his daughter, as well.

And she has to look away when he tells her about meeting this presumed-dead daughter several years ago as the leader of Avalanche, unable to remember her long-gone family until then.

"I had to go find her, Charlotte," Veld says desperately, his voice shaking with emotion. It's unlike him to seem so weepy, a stark contrast compared to the stoic and gruff leader he had been. "She was weak, getting weaker, and she needed me."

I needed you, she wants to say, but she has no right to say that. She isn't his daughter, and she never has been. It's likely that Veld had only been projecting onto her the entire time, and maybe 'little princess' was never her nickname, but his daughter's.

Was I . . . her replacement?

"It had nothing to do with you." Of course he knows her better than she knows herself. He had spent years at her side, guiding her through adolescence with patience only a doting and loving father could possess. "It was the only chance I might have ever had to see my daughter again. Surely you understand."

She toys with the hem of her dress. "I guess so."

"Look, princess, I'm sorry. I thought about you a lot, and I know that a lot was kept from you. You can't blame Tseng or Reeve for that, all right? They were only honoring my request. If you're going to be upset about that, then be angry with me."

"Why couldn't I know?" Charlie asks, feeling childish.

"It was all to keep you safe. I didn't want to get you involved. I didn't want your father believing that we were in league with each other, or that . . . or that you might know where I was, or that my daughter was heading an Avalanche cell."

She keeps her eyes lowered. She isn't mad at him, not truly. It still hurts very much to know that he had left her with hardly a second thought to chase after his true daughter, but Veld has done too much for her over the years to really say with confidence that he never cared. Of course he had cared, and how could she ever hate him when she knows that?

"By the time I left to go find my Felicia, I knew that you were in good hands. I could never have left if I thought you would be alone." Veld raps the top of the table lightly with his knuckles, which causes Charlie to lift her eyes again. "I made Tseng promise me to look after you, and you were busy starting your own life with Reeve. If I was not confident in your safety and wellbeing, I would have returned to Midgar, believe me."

"Did you find her at least?" Charlie asks, and Veld smiles weakly at her. "Felicia?"

"I did. I'll introduce you sometime."

The thought of being introduced to his daughter is painful, despite how petty it may be. It's not that she feels that she's been replaced, not really. It's the knowledge that Veld was willing to go to the ends of the earth for his daughter, and Charlie's own father didn't even want her, despite what he had written in his letters and said to her face during stolen and private moments.

"But enough about me," Veld chuckles, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her. "You've been raising hell across the planet, haven't you?"

Charlie scoffs quietly, looking away again. "It doesn't matter. It was all for nothing anyway."

"All for nothing?" he asks, sounding incredulous. "How could you say that? Weeks of traveling around on a mission to save the planet, and you think it was all for nothing? That doesn't sound like you, Charlotte."

"I didn't do anything. I didn't help. I didn't care about the planet. I left Reeve, and for what? I thought it would keep him safe, and all it did was hurt him more. The gun that I had of yours—I never even fired it. I've never even shot a gun at something other than a tree trunk—"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Rufus would have—"

"I don't want to hear that," Veld interrupts her, just as her eyes begin to fill with tears. "You're not Rufus, so why are you comparing yourself to him? If you want to know what I think, I think it says a lot about you that you didn't fire your gun, not even in the face of a monster."

She thinks of Scarlet, and of how badly she wanted to pull the trigger. Scarlet had spent years terrorizing her in the most subtle ways, through passive insults and cold looks, treating Reeve like he was nothing, less than dirt. Shooting Scarlet would have been a mercy, Charlie thinks to herself, and she still couldn't bring herself to do it.

The inability to put someone out of their pain and misery, however, doesn't seem to Charlie like something that she should brag about. She had grown up around people like Veld and Tseng—all of them murderers, and very self-aware of that fact—and yet, had not inherited the cool professionalism from them that such dirty things required. She would never have been able to become a Turk, not with her soft woman's heart.

"All I did was waste their time," she continues, wondering how the others are faring, wondering if they're going to rejoin Cloud to fight Sephiroth. "But they took me in when I had nowhere else to go."

"I'm sure you learned a little about yourself. Does that not count for something?"

Did I? she wonders. She hasn't really thought about it all that much, hasn't considered how much—if at all—she's changed during her time with Avalanche.

I learned that all of those people I once thought below me are all human beings with stories that are just as tragic, or more tragic, than my own, she thinks. And I learned that they are all far better people that I ever was, or ever will be.

I learned what Shinra means to the world. I learned what Shinra has done to even the smallest villages.

"I learned that I'll never be able to have the best of both worlds," she says bitterly, fleeting memories of their travels together flashing through her mind—laughing around a fire, dining on fish and fat birds, light teasing like she was one of them.

Veld hums, scratching the side of his face, the heavily scarred side. When she had asked about them, years ago, he had laughed it off and told her they made him look more handsome. "Why not?"

"It doesn't matter," she replies. "Meteor is going to kill us all in a few days."

"You think so?"

"It's too late now. Holy didn't work."

"Well, Vincent seems to think there's a chance. You should have a little faith in your friends." Veld shifts in his chair, turning to look at her. For a moment, Charlie feels like he's just another figment of her imagination. Blink too quickly, and he'll be gone. "Fine. We'll speak hypothetically, then. Say Holy destroys Meteor tomorrow and all the Weapons go back into hibernation and Sephiroth is dead in the ground."

"I'd go back to Midgar," Charlie answers. It comes very quickly to her. "I'd go back to see the condition it was left in, and if the people were okay."

"And after that?" After another pause, he adds teasingly, "Madam Vice President."

She doesn't like the title, and she doesn't like being addressed as such. It is a title that makes her complicit in Shinra's crimes, a title that weighs very heavily on her and doesn't seem at all appealing like it used to. Her father had known that, she thinks. Her father had known she would feel this way. He had all but said so in his letters, and part of Charlie resents the fact that he knew her so well.

Remembering the promise Reeve had made to her in the closet of their temporary home, she sighs. He wants to leave Shinra behind, and he will never be able to do so with Charlie at his side. "I don't know," she says after a long time.

"Feeling aimless, huh? What about Reeve?"

She purses her lips. "He's done with Shinra. He wants to walk away from this life, and I'm going to let him, without me."

Veld's face falls, and she blushes. He seems disappointed with her, and that's the last thing she wants. "You wouldn't want to go with him?"

Of course she would. Charlie would go anywhere with him, if she had that luxury. "How am I supposed to just walk away from the company? It's all I've ever known." She swipes at the tip of her nose, blinking back tears. "Even if I were to go with him, my very presence would just be a . . . black stain on everything he does."

"I don't think you give that boy enough credit, Charlotte." He leans forward, elbows on his thighs. "You don't think he knows what being with you means? You think he doesn't understand the possible implications? You think he hasn't been aware of that the entire time?"

She blushes harder. She doesn't want Veld to think she believes Reeve is anything less than one of the most intelligent people she's ever met in her life, but she truly doesn't believe that Reeve ever completely understood the baggage that came along with being with her.

"You know he called me a little while ago about his . . . intentions with you?"

Charlie sits up straighter, glancing towards the back door of the home to make sure no one is listening. "What do you mean?"

"He wanted my blessing," he laughs roughly, "to marry you."

At a loss for words, Charlie only exhales softly, trying to gather her thoughts. It's difficult, however, when all she wants to do is run inside and throw her arms around Reeve and kiss him all over his face. "He did?"

"You think I didn't tell him, little princess?" Veld smirks, like she was in the wrong for ever doubting him. "You think I didn't have that conversation with him? You think I would have given him my blessing if I thought he was ill-suited and ill-prepared for a marriage to the president's only daughter?"

She smiles, at both Veld's desire to protect her still and Reeve's obvious respect for her relationship with Veld. "Father was so pleased," she recalls, unable to wipe the smile off her face. "Sometimes I think Father loved Reeve more than he loved Rufus or me. I don't really blame him, though. I mean, I understand."

This makes Veld laugh again, and it's nice to know that he still finds her a little funny. "Your father loved you, Charlotte."

That wipes the smile off her face quick enough. "I wish he hadn't."

"No one says you have to forgive him."

Charlie is quiet for a long time. "I'm glad he's dead," she breathes.

It's the first time she's said it outloud, perhaps the first time the thought has been so clear. Even Veld seems surprised by her confession, but she doesn't regret saying it.

"I wanted you to be my father."

"I tried, darling." He's fraught with emotion now, and Charlie can see now just how old he's gotten. "Did I do okay? Did I do a good job? Did I do enough?"

The stress of his job had aged him quickly, and leaving the Turks must not have been the easiest thing in the world, either. His hair is graying very severely now, with far more streaks than she remembers throughout his brown hair. Even the days' old hair on his face is peppered with gray, and the lines at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead are deep and pronounced.

She takes a moment to look over his face, thinking hard about her childhood.

She thinks of all the trips to the beach and all the times he had carried her home. She thinks of all the I hate you!'s while she stormed up to her bedroom, the tears she had cried into his chest when she needed comfort, the bedtime stories and forehead kisses when he would tuck her into bed. She remembers starting in his bed at night, only to be carried back to her own bed when he came upstairs.

All things her own father never did with her, or never allowed her to do.

Charlie nods and, if she didn't know Veld any better, she would say he might be on the verge of weeping. Perhaps teenage-Charlie would not have known what to do. Teenage-Charlie likely wouldn't have been as perceptive of his emotions as she is now.

She reaches out across the table with an open hand, and his real hand meets hers in the middle. She takes it in her own, the callused skin of his palm and fingers rough against her hand, but she doesn't mind. There's something comforting about it.

"You've grown into a fine woman, Charlotte. I'm proud of you, kiddo."

Veld squeezes her hand. It makes her feel lighter, and in that moment, it's as if all of her burdens have suddenly lifted. Perhaps the journey hadn't all been for nothing, she thinks to herself.

She had visited Modeoheim and felt something akin to Angeal's spirit within the bathhouse. She had spoken to him again, even if it had all been a dream, but she suspects now that her close proximity to the Lifestream within the Northern Crater had something to do with it.

She had found out what happened to her mother and kneeled before her grave with her friends behind and beside her, hands on her shoulders and arms around her neck as she wept.

She learned how to shoot a gun and how to build a fire and how to catch fish with nothing but a net. She learned to trust her friends to catch her when she falls and she learned to trust them with her innermost secrets, and she learned what it felt like to laugh around a fire with people who didn't care that she was the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company.

She was finally able to tell Tseng what he meant to her, even if it had been under the worst circumstances imaginable, and she found the strength to finally fight back against her brother.

She had stood upon the deck of her airship as it sailed just below the clouds, letting the wind consume her.

She had taken her rocket into outer space and been among the stars, floating in the expansive, unknown frontier. She had achieved her dream.

"You've had a rough few months, haven't you?" he asks her in a low voice, squeezing gently again.

Charlie doesn't know why it's those words that trigger the tears. They burn her eyes, and her free hand jumps to her face, desperate to hide those tears. She nods slightly.

"I know, princess. I know."

"Reeve was hoping I could salvage some of your things. I brought what I could, but your building had been damaged during Weapon's attack."

That doesn't surprise her. She lived so close to the Shinra Building that it was bound to be clipped by some falling debris. "Oh, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Tseng seems to have salvaged more than some of her things. He's managed to save her box of treasured pictures and letters, a few makeup boxes, as well as much of her jewelry. There are pictures in cracked frames and trinkets that had been displayed upon the shelves in her home office. In addition to that, however, several duffel bags sit closed on the bed, duffel bags that she can't recall ever seeing before.

She creeps closer, holding her hands out to unzip the nearest one. Charlie glances over her shoulder at Tseng, who gives her a little nod.

The bag is full of money, of bills all fastened together by colorful bands. The other five bags are full of money, as well, enough money to last her years without requiring much frugality.

"What is this?" she asks quietly, turning back around to face Tseng, bewildered.

Tseng hesitates, his hands held behind his back. "I thought you might need some money. It's all your own, so you shouldn't feel guilty about keeping it."

Charlie scoffs, zipping the bags back up. "I don't need this. Meteor is going to destroy the planet in days. I won't need money if I'm dead."

"The Turks are operating under the impression that Meteor will be destroyed, along with Sephiroth." He steps forward a little bit, breaking his professional demeanor very quickly and cleanly, a difference that's as clear to her as night and day. "Would it kill you to have a little hope?"

She purses her lips. "What do you expect me to do with all of this?"

He doesn't answer right away. "Reeve told me you accepted his resignation from the company," he begins slowly, "and I thought this might save you an unnecessary trip back to Midgar."

She understands, then. It's a sweet gesture from Tseng, giving her the option of walking away. She wonders if this is something he has discussed with Rufus, wonders if Rufus was the one who suggested it. Is it possible that Rufus is willing to let her go if they survive?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if she's allowed the chance to walk away.

"Tseng, I'm . . ." Charlie shifts uncomfortably on her feet, smiling weakly. She lowers her voice, as the door is halfway open. "If we survive, I'm . . . not going with Reeve, wherever it is he chooses to go."

Seeming genuinely surprised by this, Tseng narrows his eyes at her. "Why not?"

"Well, so long as he's associated with me, it's like . . ." She blushes terribly, biting down on her lower lip as his eyes fix intently upon her face and don't look away. "I don't want to hold him back. He could do anything he wanted to, but not with me. I would only be a burden."

It's surprising to her that the thought of surviving Meteor is more painful than the thought of dying.

Looking Tseng up and down, she pauses, unsure how he'll react to her question. "Can I see it?" she asks, and then adds softly, "Your scar?"

He looks very reluctant, and she regrets asking, but he doesn't chastise her or purse his lips or shake his head. Instead, after a few moments lost in thought, he slips the suit jacket off his shoulders and places it on the end of the bed with care. Charlie bites down hard on her bottom lip as he untucks his shirts and pulls it up to reveal his torso.

The scar is bigger—and generally, far worse—than her own, puckered and swollen and very pronounced against his skin. She's certain that it's a very painful reminder of that day for Tseng, so she doesn't look for too long, turning away to give him a little privacy.

She catches sight of the money on the bed, her heart aching. She hadn't even thought to ask Reeve what his future plans were, and then she feels selfish. She knows that he doesn't really expect to survive the ordeal, but maybe he's thought about a life away from Shinra before now, and maybe he still has some plans.

Or maybe she would rather not know. Part of her would rather not have to listen to him describe a life without her, a happy life, one of peace and contentment, one that would eventually lead him to another woman with far less emotional baggage.

Charlie inhales deeply, clapping her hands over her face and sobbing into her palms. She quickly quiets herself, but it's enough to alert Tseng to something terribly wrong. A hand comes down upon her shoulder as she back jumps with each muffled cry.

"Charlotte—"

"I love him," she cries brokenly, nearly glowing with embarrassment.

"Who?"

She lowers her hands from her face, exasperated and incredulous. "Reeve!"

"Then why are you crying?"

Because our time is limited now and there are so many things he'll never know. Because he'll never be happy with me, and I'd rather he be happy than be burdened by me. Because he will never possibly know how much he means to me.

"I just don't want him to leave," she says, and she flushes at the childish and petulant way the words sound upon leaving her mouth. "I don't want him to leave me like everyone else."

"Well . . ." He inhales deeply, clearly very uncomfortable. "He's here now, isn't he?"

"I thought I was never going to see him again," she continues, the familiar feeling of shame bubbling up inside of her. "I never meant to hurt him—I just didn't want to be alone, and I thought I was going to die—and when I was in Junon—"

When she tucks her hair behind her ears, pushing it out of her face, Tseng stiffens. "When you were in Junon . . . ?"

"It's nothing," she lies, realizing too late what she's said.

Why is it that all she wants to do lately is cry? She's never been overly weepy, and it's something her father had always insisted she do in private.

Charlie wipes her cheeks, lifting Tseng's arm to drape it over her shoulders as they face the window. "How did it come to this?" she asks, peeking through the blinds and hoping he decides to move on from their previous conversation.

Tseng sighs, allowing her to rest her head against his own shoulder. "I've been asking myself the same question lately."

"Do you think Cloud will be able to stop it?"

There's a long pause. There is no love lost between the Turks and Avalanche, but Avalanche is their only chance now, and they both know it. "I can only hope. I'm not ready to die quite yet."

Charlie hums, and Tseng turns his head to look down at her.

"I still owe you dinner."

She can't help but smile, a small breath leaving her in lieu of real laughter. "That's right," she says quietly, straightening and closing the curtains to hide the impending apocalypse from sight, "you do."

I don't want to hold him back.

I would only be a burden.

I don't want him to leave me like everyone else.

It's not like he intended to eavesdrop, but upon hearing his name, he couldn't help himself.

Reeve won't deny to himself that Charlie is exhausting, and sometimes seems like an enigma that he'll never fully understand, always flighty and unsatisfied with some aspect of her life, prone to bouts of crippling self-loathing when left alone for too long.

The same woman that had been so confident and bold and playful in the kitchen this morning, now doubtful and insecure, crying over him to a Turk.

Doesn't she know what she wants? Has she ever known what she really wanted?

Truthfully, he hasn't given much thought to a future. It's one of those things that he thought he might deal with when it came—until then, he has more important things to think about, such as his last few days with Charlotte and how much he's going to be able to fit into those days.

Would Charlotte genuinely be a burden? No, he would never consider her such, and he would never use that word in regards to her.

Would his association with her make some things more difficult than they needed to be? He's sure it would, but he's seen his fair share of difficulties, and he's more than willing to work a little harder if it meant Charlie being there with him.

But telling her is not enough, clearly, and he has no intention of leaving her behind if they survive Meteor. He has invested too much of his time—of his life—into loving Charlie that it seems outrageous to just leave her behind.

Leaving her behind means leaving her to rot in a home with her brother, to shoulder the burdens of the Shinra Company without a real friend to care for her, to love her. It means not allowing her to move on with her life, to make something of herself that isn't solely the legacy of her late father.

And, of course, leaving her behind would mean aching for her at night, reaching over in bed to find she isn't there in the morning, thinking so often of her that he sees her in everything he does and everywhere he goes.

Reeve is very aware of the terrible situation he's found himself in, but it's pointless dwelling on it now.

Before going back downstairs, he looks in on the president. Rufus is awake, propped up awkwardly and holding a book up to his face. Reeve knocks twice on the door and opens it wider, letting himself in.

"Reeve," he says flatly, closing his book.

"Just checking-in. Can I get you anything?"

Rufus snorts softly. "A bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, and a lovely woman. Or a man. I'm not picky right now."

"That almost sounds like you're celebrating something." Reeve lowers himself into the chair at his bedside. "Unfortunately, you can't drink on your pain medication, all of the shops downtown have been boarded up, and you should probably refrain from overexerting yourself."

"Gods, you're boring." Rufus pinches the bridge of his nose, his tone not entirely serious. "If this is the end of the world, I should be able to choose how I want my own life to end, and I refuse for it to happen like this."

Reeve notes the purpling bruises all over the president's body.

A scowl suddenly finds its way on Rufus's face. "You're probably enjoying yourself, are you? Messing around with my sister?"

Reeve exhales pointedly through his nose, not bothering to give him an answer. He stands up, meaning to walk out, but doesn't get the chance to take another step before Rufus speaks again.

"All right, all right—I'm sorry."

"Rufus, please," he pleads, too tired for this. "If Cloud and the others succeed . . . please, just leave her alone."

Rufus purses his lips, looking up at him. "If she wants to go with you, fine. I won't stop her."

"No tricks. No Turks. You let her go, no strings attached."

"No tricks, no Turks. But then we're even, you and me."

Reeve wouldn't say that's very fair, considering all Rufus has done lately, but he isn't about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth. "Fine."

Rufus closes his eyes, indicating an end to the conversation. "Leave me."

Charlie takes care to lock the bathroom door.

If someone thinks she's taking too long, at least one person in the entire house will come knocking.

She spreads her things onto the bathroom counter, all of the jewelry and makeup that Tseng had recovered for her. It will be good to feel like herself again.

Looking at herself now, it's hard to believe it's only been a few weeks since things were relatively normal. She's gotten used to seeing her face bare and without makeup, her hair wavy and unbrushed half the time, looking like she's just been fucked or like she's just woken up.

She brushes her hair first before washing her face, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, like she's skipped a few meals. She hasn't been eating well lately, and her sleep is usually punctuated by nightmares of Sephiroth's face looming above her own, blood on her hands as she cradles a dying Tseng, but those are manageable, especially with Reeve beside her to spoon her back to sleep at night.

Out of practice, it takes Charlie a little while to paint her face with makeup, feeling as if she's readying herself for a big speech or a quick photo shoot. When she paints the bright red lipstick across her lips, she drapes a diamond necklace around her neck and puts matching earrings in her ears, purses her lips, and takes a quiet moment to observe herself.

She looks just like her father—just like her brother. She can't help but wonder how many times Cloud or Barret or Tifa or anyone looked at her and came to that same conclusion.

It's the long nose and pointed chin, her full lips and perpetual pout, the narrow jaw and blonde hair. She'll never be able to hide in plain sight. Surely someone would always recognize her for who she is, so long as they haven't been living under a rock these past years. Her face has been on magazine covers and on television for years now, plastered alongside her brother or father.

All at once, resentment towards her father boils to the surface, pure hatred and contempt making her see red. She hates him, and she hates looking into her own face and seeing him there, like he's mocking her from beyond the grave.

All of it hits her at once—her mortality, the truth behind her father and his misdeeds within the company, the hell she's gone through and back recently, and her face . . . her father's face looking back at her . . .

With the back of her hand, she swipes at her mouth, smearing the lipstick onto her cheek and hand. She rubs her eyes until the makeup is smudged there and tries to get the glitter off her cheekbones, but it's no use.

Charlie grits her teeth and releases a muffled scream, her closed fist coming around sharply to connect with the mirror.

The glass shatters all at once, and pain shoots up her right arm from her knuckles to her shoulder, causing her to cry out and momentarily stunning her. She stumbles backwards and trips over her own two feet, sending her crashing to the ground and cradling her bleeding hand to her chest, the floor covered in small and large pieces of glass.

Her breath comes very shallowly, her entire body shaking as sweat rolls down the back of her neck. She can hear heavy footsteps making quickly down the hallway on the other side of the door.

"Charlotte? What was that?" Reeve knocks three times in rapid succession. "Are you all right in there?"

Charlie closes her eyes, propping herself against the wall and sighing. She thinks her pinky might be broken. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, painful and humiliating.

"Charlotte, are you all right? Unlock the door," he says again, panicking. The doorknob twists and turns to no avail. "Unlock the door or I'm kicking it in."

Her hand shakes violently, bright red and covered in blood, the back of her hand still stained with the lipstick she had tried to wipe off her mouth.

She doesn't really believe Reeve is going to kick the door in, but she hears the first kick come a short while after she doesn't answer him. She doesn't have the strength to, on the verge of fainting.

His second kick causes the door to splinter above the doorknob, and his third kick does the trick. The door opens hard and fast, slamming against the wall as Reeve hurries inside, kneeling down in front of her and grabbing her wrist.

"Oh, Gods, what are you doing? What happened?" he asks, reaching for a hand towel and holding it to her bleeding knuckles, glass crunching underneath his shoes. He says nothing about the state of her face.

Charlie watches him fuss over her hand, digging around in the medicine cabinet while holding the towel to her fingers. Her eyes sweep up and down his face, so close to her own, but it's like he doesn't even notice.

She can't even feel the pain, her head swimming. His mouth is moving, but she doesn't hear what he's saying.

Reeve lifts his eyes from her hand. He takes hold of her face, giving her a gentle shake. "Hey," he says, "are you with me?"

The pain comes back with the force of a freight train. Her hand is numb, but her wrist aches terribly, and there's still a full, throbbing pain in her shoulder. Charlie's breathing picks up.

What was she doing?

What was happening?

What sort of madness just possessed her to do something so stupid?

Tseng, Veld, Vincent, and Elena are packed in the doorway. Charlie isn't really sure how long they've been standing there, watching. She fixes her gaze on Reeve's face again, ignoring everyone else but him.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, wishing Meteor would just strike now. She's tired of thinking about her own death, and the lack of time she has left. "I'm so sorry."

He smiles, shaking his head. "It's okay."

"No—"

"Charlie," he says firmly, the smile still on his face, cutting her off before she can explain what she's even sorry for. "Really, thank you, but it's okay. Does this hurt?"

She looks down at her hand. When had he started to properly clean it? Whatever is on the towel in his hand stings the cuts on her knuckles. "It hurts really bad," she admits.

"I know, sweetheart, just hang on. It doesn't look like you've broken anything."

"I guess it's a good thing I can't punch very hard, then."

The words come out hoarse and choked, and Reeve pauses his work to look at her for a moment, as if he hadn't heard her. She blushes, only having meant to lighten the tension between her and the five other people inside the bathroom.

And then he smiles again, resuming his work with soft laughter. "Yes, I suppose that's a good thing."

He's the only one that laughs, but that's all that matters to her.

"You're back!"

Marlene is still awake when they return that night, dressed in flowery pajamas and reaching up for Charlie to hold her. Unable to do much with her bandaged hand, Reeve distracts her with a few gil in his pocket, and she promptly runs upstairs with it to hide it away.

Barret is still awake in the living room, watching a news broadcast on the television. It must be being broadcasted from nearly the other side of the world, judging by the quality of the video. While Reeve goes upstairs to probably avoid Barret, Charlie chooses to join Barret in the living room.

"What'cha got in the bag, Shinra?" he asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Charlie sits down on the sofa beside him, looking over the crayon drawings that are scattered on the coffee table. She sighs, lowering the bag to the ground.

"Shit, what'd you do to your hand?"

"I had an accident," she answers quickly, and Barret takes it at face value. "We saw Vincent today. He and Veld came from Midgar. He said you're leaving tomorrow."

Barret's face hardens and he looks away, off towards the foyer of the house. "Yeah. Can't put it off any longer. I'm gonna have to ask you three to look after Marlene a little while longer. I know I ain't got room to ask that of you—"

"No, it's fine. I don't mind, and I'm sure Reeve and Elmyra don't mind either." She even smiles reassuringly at him when he doesn't look entirely convinced. "When you leave tomorrow, I want you to take this."

Charlie hunches over, unzipping the bag. Barret sits up straighter when he catches sight of the bills are tucked inside. "Whoa," he breathes, reaching down to touch the topmost bundles. "What's this for?"

"It's my end of the bargain. The twenty-thousand I promised when you brought me back to my family." Charlie zips it back up and shrugs. "And a little additional compensation. Call it hazard pay, if you will."

"That's . . . a lot more than twenty-thousand."

"You're going to need it, aren't you? You don't want to face Sephiroth ill-prepared with those rusty weapons you're all fond of carrying around."

Barret nods, rubbing the back of his thick neck. "Thanks."

"There's more when you come back. Come find me when this is all over," she promises him, kicking the bag towards his legs. "I'm sorry if I was a burden to you all. I had no right to impose myself on you, but . . . you let me stay when I had nowhere else to go, and . . . I'm really grateful."

"Yeah, yeah. You're all right. I know you didn't have nothin' to do with Corel, and I know you ain't like that brother of yours."

"You have no idea what that means to me."

Barret smiles, leaning back against the sofa again. "Marlene's told me a lot about your boy." He shrugs his massive shoulders. "He's all right too. Kinda thought he'd be taller."

This makes Charlie laugh weakly. "Barret, Reeve would never hurt Marlene. I hope you know that."

"I trust you. That's why I need you here to keep an eye on her, too."

Her heart swells with affection for Barret. Briefly, she remembers looking into his face clearly for the first time, his fingers tangled in the front of her shirt as he lifted her off the ground in a rage. She stands, brushing herself off with her left hand.

"Well, good-night," she says, listening to the soft pattering of Marlene's feet coming down the stairs.

"Night."

"Barret . . ." Charlie hesitates, clearing her throat and shifting uncomfortably.

He chuckles as Marlene runs back into the living room, kneeling back in front of the coffee table and picking her crayons back up. "He's okay, Charlie, don't worry," he replies, as if he can read her mind.

"All right." It's reassuring, and not quite as painful as she expected. "Tell him I'm sorry again when you see him tomorrow, okay?"

"You got it."

He wants to broach the subject carefully, especially after what she had done to her hand earlier today.

Charlie lies sprawled on the bed with Cait Sith, staring off into the distance as her fingers move slowly up and down the cat's chest. She misses Cat, he knows, but unfortunately, the anxious bastard has taken too much to Marlene and seems to have finally acknowledged that both Reeve and Charlie abandoned him.

"He's deactivated, love," Reeve tells her after she continues her ministrations for a few moments, oblivious to the limp way the cat leans against her.

"Hm?" Propped up on an elbow, she lowers her eyes to Cait Sith. "Oh. I thought he was just really enjoying it."

"I'm sure he would, if he were awake to appreciate it." He smiles at her, removing the tie from around his neck and sighing. "Be kind to him, Charlie. He's partially me, you know, which means he's very probably in love with you, too."

"You're in love with me?"

Yes, that sounds more like her. He turns around to face her again, unbuttoning his shirt and pausing at the sight of her face, looking up at him with wide eyes and a frown. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I am."

Charlie hums, looking back down at Cait Sith and smoothing his fur back down distractedly with her bad hand. "Me too."

With his shirt still only half-buttoned now, he sits down on the side of the bed and smiles at the way she closes her eyes, resting her head on the pillow as he combs his fingers through her hair. "I think we should consider what might happen after Meteor, should we survive."

"Well . . ." Her eyes flutter open again when Reeve pulls his hand away. "What do you want to do?"

"I thought I might go to Junon," he confesses, something he had spoken at length with Veld about earlier today. "And from there, depending on the damage Meteor inflicted, see what I can do to help the planet recover."

"Sounds like you plan on staying busy."

He laughs quietly, reaching out for her bad hand and bringing it close. She can hardly move her fingers from the curled position they're in, but he avoids them best he can, kissing her palm and lowering her hand safely back to the bed.

"I want you to come with me," he says lightly, as casually as he can. "I want you to—" He can't help but blush at the desperately pleading way it sounds. "I want to do this with you."

Charlie quickly averts her eyes. She's still wearing her dress, and diamonds around her neck and in her ears that he had bought her only a few months ago, shortly before they became engaged.

Finally, she says, "Well, I don't. I don't want to go to Junon."

"It doesn't have to be Junon. It can be anywhere you want. Anywhere in the world."

She's quiet for a long time. "Who would ever want my help?"

At least she's being honest. At least she isn't making him false little promises. Maybe she is, and maybe—if they survive Meteor—he'll wake up to an empty bed again once she decides for herself that he's better off without her.

It wasn't true then, and it's not true now.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

"Hm?"

"I don't want you to feel responsible for me simply because you pity me."

Reeve furrows his eyebrows, frowning. "I don't want you to come with me simply because I pity you. I want you to come with me because I love you."

She turns her head again to look right at him, teary-eyed and defeated. Has she always looked so sad? "I would only be a burden," she says hoarsely. "People will only ever look at me and see Shinra. That's all I've ever been to them. Why should that ever change, even with the downfall of the company?"

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up. He hadn't expected her to say it aloud, to talk about her feelings with him. He hadn't expected her to allow herself to become so vulnerable.

"You would never be a burden to me," he whispers, rolling onto his side and splaying a hand across her stomach, the fabric slightly rough beneath his hand. "I don't care what people might think of me. They don't know me. They don't know you. Not like I do."

Charlie only continues to look at him, not at all convinced. "I never should have gotten you involved in all of this."

"I don't regret it, if that's what you're thinking." His thumb brushes against her dress again, her eyes glancing down at his hand. She covers it with her own, squeezing gently. "If I regretted it, I wouldn't have brought you here."

Reeve presses a kiss to the side of her neck, feeling encouraged when Charlie lifts her chin, exposing her throat to him.

"When this is all over," he tells her in a low voice, letting his lips graze over her throat, "I'm not leaving here without you."

"You should," she breathes, and then she's crying again, but her fingers still thread through the back of his hair as he continues to place kisses on the soft skin of her neck, "if you know what's good for you."

He chooses to ignore this, kissing the tough scar left behind by Sephiroth. "Brave girl," he murmurs, pushing himself onto his hands and knees to hover above her. Even as his hair falls into his eyes and face, she clumsily pushes it back with her bandaged hand. "I missed you so much while you were gone."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"I know." And he does. Trailing kisses down her throat and across her neckline, he fumbles with the skirt of her dress, pulling it up to reveal long legs and—"Gods, Charlie, you weren't wearing anything underneath this the entire time?"

She flushes head to toe, smiling nervously despite the tears on her cheeks. "I didn't know where you were taking me. I thought we were going to be alone. I just wanted to be prepared."

He laughs, but not at her. Charlie gives him a weak and nervous smile, as well as an embarrassed little shrug of her shoulders. Lifting her dress higher to reveal a taut stomach, expanding and contracting with each shaky breath. When he kisses the hard muscle there, he can feel the heat from her center radiating onto his chest, causing fervent desire to pool in his stomach.

"Reeve . . ."

"What?" he asks, lifting his head when she tugs gently at his hair.

"You can't convince me to go with you like this," she tells him very seriously.

"I'm not trying to convince you of anything." A kiss on the inside of her thigh. Another on the other thigh. Unbidden thoughts of Rufus plague him suddenly, wondering what her brother might have tried to get her to do this way. "Except perhaps that I love you, but you know that already, don't you?"

"Yes," she answers quietly, like she doesn't quite believe it at all.

"Good. Then why are you shaking?"

"I don't know. I just love you so much."

He knows they're only saying it so boldly because the world is ending, but that doesn't keep his heart from throbbing upon hearing the words. "Charlie, relax. I'm not going anywhere. Let me take care of you."

"Why?" she asks quickly, almost sounding defensive, nearly knocking the sides of his head with her knees when she tries to close her legs, her cheeks still pink.

"Because I love you, and I want to make you feel good." Pulling away from her, he lowers her dress again and moves up the bed to kiss the tip of her long nose. "That's all it is, darling."

A small, genuine smile finds its way onto her face. "I'm sorry."

Reeve shushes her softly, moving back down the bed to push her dress up again, nudging her knees apart and settling between them.

His reward is hearing his name repeated in soft sighs, fingers in his hair, whispered i love you's and shudders that ripple through her entire body. It's all worth it, he thinks, everything that he's gone through these past few years, to see her writhing on the bed and whining his name like they won't be dead soon, like they have years left to them, like they have the luxury of doing this every night for the rest of their lives.

And later, as he leans back against the headboard while Charlie moves her hips atop him in some impossible way, wearing nothing but her necklace and earrings and breathing heavily, it's too perfect to be anything but a dream. He presses his fingers harder into her sides, until her good hand catches his wrist.

"You're hurting me," she whispers, not unkindly.

"Sorry," he replies, pulling his hands away immediately. "I just—" It's hard to think when she's moving like that. She must be some sort of witch.

"I know," Charlie smiles, tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to kiss his sweaty forehead. He doesn't quite think she does know, until she says, "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up any minute now."

Reeve sits up straight, wrapping his arms around her and crushing his mouth against her own, swallowing her soft sound of surprise.

She's still there when he finishes, lights bursting behind his eyes, certainly no dream, and he continues to hold her in his lap for a moment, burying his face into the crook of her neck as their breathing slows again.

It takes him a minute to realize she's crying again, his normally stoic Charlotte weeping against his shoulder. "What is it?" he asks in her ear, not ready to let her go yet.

"It's just not fair," she cries. "I wish we had more time."

"Me too." He hasn't given himself a moment to really consider his death. It's not something he's keen on thinking about, truthfully. "We'll just have to make the most of it."

Charlie pulls away from him, draping her arms over his shoulders just to look into his face and smile. "All right," she agrees, smiling wider when he wipes away her tears with a thumb. "Then I want you to kiss me every five minutes, every five minutes on the dot. And I want you to hold my hand whenever it's within reach."

"That's not unreasonable, I suppose. I think I can manage that, starting now." Reeve kisses her, fingers running up and down her spine. "After all, I really do have all the time left in the world."

Something in her face seems to soften, her smile suddenly not as forced. "I am so glad I met you," she tells him. "I don't know what I would have done without you all these years."

He blushes. "I'm sure you would have managed somehow. You had a lot of very capable people surrounding you. People who cared about you."

"Maybe," she admits carefully. "But I've never loved any of them the way I love you."

"Is that so?"

"You're the only man who's never broken my heart."

"And I never will."

The words come easily to him, and as he places kisses to every inch of her face, she laughs, and it is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard in his life.