Title: Elevator
Author: Traxits
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Rating: G.
Word Count: 405 words.
Request: Final Fantasy VII, Reeve/Midgar: commitment - Privately, he thinks of it as his city.
Summary: Reeve spends an evening looking out over Midgar.
Author's Note(s): Written for the "Are You Game?" community on Dreamwidth.

[[ … One-Shot … ]]

He worked long nights, and, if he was perfectly honest with himself, his favorite time was long after everyone had left. Some nights, he'd take his paperwork and sit in one of the glass elevators, back against the panel with the buttons, looking out over the night skyline of Midgar. In those moments, with the moon and star light filtering between the clouds, he could see the city as he'd originally intended it, majestic and quiet, humming softly with the energy that lit her up. In the dark, the barren countryside didn't seem imposing, didn't stand out, a stark contrast to the dark metal.

He rarely had anyone else in the elevator with him at that point in the night, only the occasional guard, and all of them knew him. They'd nod their head, get off on their floor, and before the doors shut, reach back in and tap the button for the top floor. Reeve would offer them a little smile and reach over his head to key in his ID number, so that the elevator would chime and whisk him away. He was a little eccentric, he supposed, but then, who in this city wasn't? She attracted that sort, broken people who needed something external to motivate them.

At the top floor, he could feel a tightness in his chest, and, inevitably, he abandoned his paperwork to stand at the glass edge of the elevator. Standing right there, he could see why the entire top floor was practically made of glass- a frivolous expense, but one that was almost justified by the sheer view. It overwhelmed visitors and made the president's office that much more imposing.

He touched the glass lightly, his forehead leaning forward until it touched as well. His hair was beginning to fall, the product that held it back long worn off. Black wisps of it curtained around his face, and as he dragged a finger over what he could see of the outer edge of the plate, he could imagine, just for a moment, what it was supposed to be. His city. The floating city of Midgar.

Sighing, he went back to sit under the button panel, and he picked up the papers he'd abandoned there. Another glance at the plate, and he smiled slightly to himself. It was still his city, no matter who was president, and he did everything in his power for her. He always would.