This is the story about many first times. Those first times tell the story of two people who are trying to figure out how to live life again. A story about war. Trust. Faith. Friendship. Brothers. Family. Love. And things time and war can never change.
I do not own Revolution, this is just a daydream about what could have happened too.
This first chapter starts somewhere at the end of season two...
Chapter
1.
The first time...she finds comfort in something belonging to him.
The thrill of battle is still in the air. He can sense it in the dark adrenaline that is pumping through his veins. He can feel it in bloody satisfaction that barely soothes his thirst for revenge.
The chill air brushes the sweat that is running down from the dark blonde curls at the nape of his neck on its way to the strong lines of his neck and shoulders. The gleam of battle sweat there on his chest, right above his shirt.
He is walking through their camp, shoulder to shoulder with the man that has been his brother since he was four. Brothers again. Fighting again, no matter how much bullshit is there. Fires are burning. They are filling the air with the scent of smoke and the red golden flames that pierce through the grey of the late afternoon.
Men are chatting around the fires as bottles are shared and weapons are laying close to their feet. The night is approaching. Nods of respect and approval for this attack follow them all the way through camp. He lead their group with Miles into the short but fierce battle against kaki. And for one fucking moment they are what they once were in Philly. Miles. Him.
They are approaching the tall abandoned factory close to the tree line on their left in the heart of their camp. Miles is avoiding Rachel's eyes as he approaches her. She is helping Gene with the wounded men and is taking care of a deep shoulder wound of a knife that found Scanlon's shoulder in battle.
Aaron and Priscilla are warming their hands near a fire in front of the building. Bass' eyes are now on their packs close to the fire.
'Did you see my jacket?' Bass grunts to Miles. He takes in a deep breath while he moves a couple of fingers over his mouth and his nose. He can taste his own sweat mixed with the copper of blood on his lips.
Miles is about to shake his head in a gesture of no and don't care when he sees Aaron's face. 'What in the hell is going on, Aaron?' Miles asks, his fingers craving a bottle in them.
'Well...I might know where your jacket is, Monroe.' Aaron says reluctantly. Priscilla follows their conversation without speaking. Bass turns his head to him as Aaron nods to door of the building behind him.
He narrows his eyes a bit as he looks from Staypuft to the building in front of him and then back to Staypuft again. A questioning, irritated and impatient look is appearing on his face. His eyes filling a bit more darkness.
Aaron snorts bitterly for the way Monroe believes he is actually going to help him. 'If you think I am going to wake her up to get your jacket, than you are seriously out of your mind.'
'Her.. ' Bass moves his hand to the hilt of his sword, '...excuse me...?' He moves his weight to his left boot as an uncomfortable as hell feeling settles in his damn gut. 'What the hell do you mean Staypuft?' Bass barks, more irritation for this whole damn situation and the adrenaline of the fight adding more force to his words now.
'Yeah..you figure it our yourself. Good luck with that.' Aaron says, annoyed, as he decides talking to Monroe is not on his things to do this afternoon list anymore.
Miles is about to roll his eyes at the both of them as Rachel's demanding voice stops him. 'Miles?' Her voice reaches the territory of ice lacing her words while her eyes move in a calculated way between Monroe and Miles.
With a incredulous huff of air for the way that bitch has his brother on a damn lash, Bass shakes his head as he watches his brother walk away two fucking seconds after Rachel summoned him. The ice in her eyes aimed at Miles a punishment for following Bass into battle.
Dark irritation is still there in his eyes as he walks into the building in front of him. The temperatures are dropping and he wants his leather jacket. Now. His eyes adjust to the different light inside the building.
There are only a couple of candles that illuminate the space. But he sees her nevertheless. Curled up on some old couch right in front of him. Her head against his jacket. A part of that black leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
'Dammit..' Bass curses as he stops a couple of feet in front of the couch. There is plenty of fucking space between them, but the image of her so god damn close to what belongs to him is nailing him to the damn ground. Messing with the fabric of his pants that feels too tight around his groin all of sudden.
Her dark blonde curls are flowing over his jacket. She is fast asleep. Her eyelashes are resting on her cheeks. Fucking hell. His heart swells at the sight of Charlie, asleep against his jacket.
He looks around him until he finds what he is looking for. A woollen blanket, close to the couch. He softly walks over to her. Never startle a sleeping Matheson.
He takes a nervous breath when he crouches down next to her, her cheek still softly against the leather that is normally around his shoulders. He can see the faint stains of blood that remind him of the battle she followed him and Miles into, giving him her silent support for what had to be done.
'Hey, it's okay Charlie...just making sure you're warm all right? ' His voice is barely audible.
Hell, he used to be good at this. His mind is trying to find some words because a part of him wants her to get some sleep. He wants to tell her she can, with him and Miles close. She needs it. He knows how fucking much she does, even when her brave, loyal stubborn fighting spirit can push her to keep on going without much sleep. So much like Miles.
Charlie hears a low gruff voice. She can't understand the words but she feels the low rhythm of the voice reaching her. She feels a familiar hand far away in her heavy sleep. She knows those hands. She has felt them when drugs had filled her system. When she had known so little about him. Before he had showed her more. It had been raining then. There is no rain now. Only the pull of a battle that is messing with her muscles, an old couch and the desire to sleep for hours without being bothered.
She fell asleep one hour ago, or maybe it has been longer. She doesn't remember. She does remember walking into the strangely comforting shadows of the room after hours of battle and crouching down before a bucket of cool water to rub the worst of sweat and blood from her hands and face.
One couch stands close to a non working fireplace. It is all she needs. It is small, but big enough for her. She is too tired to think about another option. When she curls up against the left side of the couch the scent of leather, and him, reaches her before the cool material brushes her face. She has not even seen it when she moved onto the couch. She feels it now.
She knows. She knows it's his. And something strange happens as his scent mixed with black leather soothes her confusing battle and death filled thoughts and the spikes of adrenaline in her blood. She moves her knees to her upper body, curling up on the couch. She is cold. He is close. Her body feels heavy with something blank and relaxed at the same time. With the heavy pressure of solace she moves a part of his jacket over her shoulder before she falls asleep.
She feels a large hand moving over her shoulder. She knows it's his. She knows it is him.
Bass is so close he can hear her breathe evenly. But he also knows she is awake enough to know it is him. The fact that she is not moving, or has opened her eyes in annoyance or is trying to kill him, makes him have to swallow everything away he can't feel for her.
He knows he shouldn't. But he is still crouched down next to her and she almost disappear into the nook of his arm. His fingers brush the soft skin of her cheeks for one fucking second. Touching the red stains that he wished he could take away from her skin. From her. It is everything he allows himself to take from her, as her soft skin warms a part of him that has been cold and chilled to the bone for so long. Then he tells himself to get a fucking grip.
Charlie feels his tall, wide body next to her. She does not have to open his eyes to see him. She feels him. The scent of his hand, and him, and the calloused rough skin of the gentle touch of his hand is close and wrapped around her cheek. Comforting fingers linger longer than they have to, so close to her. Or maybe sleep is changing everything. But this is war. Hard fights and long days and so much death and dark despair. So for one second, Charlie breathes out as she leans into his touch before she falls asleep again with something heavy and warm that now embraces her again.
His hand is slowly moving over her shoulder as he moves his jacket away from her as the image of her under it is burned in his mind like his mark on her wrist. Before he moves the woollen blanket over her, he keeps her warm with his body so close to hers.
She is asleep before she can hear his heavy boots leave the room.
Charlie is there, imprinted in the scent of his leather jacket as she soothes the worst of the raw lonely steel rage in his blood. Bass walks through their camp with his leather jacket around his shoulders and her scent lingering around him.
Author's Note I am so happy I finally have time to start publishing this story with this first chapter and scene with that one leather jacket that is one of my favorite characters in Revolution. The image in my mind of Charlie on that couch is the scene that was the inspiration to start this whole story many months ago. I am currently working on the next chapters with more first times that will tell more of their story. Thank you so much for reading, I love knowing you are all here to enjoy Revolution! Love from Love