Monroe/Charlie
Chapter 1
His weight felt satisfying, putting pressure on all the right places. His lips grazed her neck, moving down to kiss her collarbone tenderly as she let out a small moan. Her fingers ran through his curls and down his shoulders, digging into his skin to return the feelings of pleasure, pain, and angst. She could feel her temperature rising as their bodies began to move together rhythmically.
"Charlie, you gotta wake up."
A quiet grumble escaped Charlie's parted lips as she instinctively pulled the covers over her head. Light pouring in from the window across the room and the muffled voices from the streets outside her grandfather's house only added to her pounding headache. Memories of the previous evening slowly came to her – the blurred outline of a man pouring drink after drink, the familiar and warm feeling of alcohol taking its effect on her body. Charlie squeezed her eyes tight in an attempt to ease the pain of her overworking brain.
"I know you're not feeling well, but there's something you need to see."
She slowly opened one eye to see Rachel sitting at the foot of her bed, folding freshly washed clothing and placing it beside her. Charlie groaned, hiding her face in the pillow. Her mother was the last person she wanted to see at the moment.
Rachel let out an exasperated sigh. "Trust me, you'll want to wake up for this." After several painstakingly long minutes, she finally convinced her daughter to put on a clean pair of jeans and tank top.
When they arrived downstairs, Charlie heard a familiar voice. "Hey, kid. Hope you're doing okay after last night."
Charlie couldn't help the smile that crept its way to the corners of her mouth. Something about her Uncle Miles always seemed to brighten her mood; yet as her tired eyes made contact with Miles', she realized he looked just as terrible and she probably did. His hair, greasy and limp, lay flat across his forehead. Dirt and blood formed a trail down the side of his face from his bruised eye to his jawline. The bags under his eyes indicated he hadn't slept in days, although he managed to form a small smile as she inspected him. "What the hell happened?" Charlie croaked, her voice hoarse and dry.
Miles chuckled, limping over to embrace her in a hug. As she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, he looked behind her to Rachel. She nodded slightly.
"Charlie," he said, placing his hand on her shoulders. "We both thought Bass was dead—"
And then it hit her. Visions of General Monroe walking to his execution clouded her mind. She remembered him looking at her directly moments before the injection. She remembered her mother formulating the lethal injection herself, revenge burning in her eyes. She remembered the crowds of people rejoicing his death as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. And there had been a time when Charlie would have joined them in their celebration; she had spent months tracking Monroe and plotting his death. Yet, now that he was dead, she felt a certain bit of hollowness in the pit of her stomach. Maybe that was just hunger pains, though. She hadn't eaten properly in days.
"—and we coped together in the only way I know how…" Miles continued on, "Drowning myself in whiskey. I guess I convinced you to do the same, and by the looks of it, you've got yourself one bitch of a hangover. Sorry about that."
She nodded her head in forgiveness, but even the simple movement heightened her headache. God, she hadn't felt this terrible since the day after she was drugged in the bar. The day Monroe saved her. Charlie shook her head violently, opting to feel the pain of her hangover rather than relive all those moments with Monroe on the way to Willoughby.
Miles raised an eyebrow at her sudden movement. "Look, the bastard deserved to die, you and I both know that. But it's one of those things where when the thing you most wanted finally happens, you're left feeling unsatisfied."
What the hell was he talking about? Charlie tightened her jaw, glancing over to her mother and then back to Miles. "What did you want to show me?" she asked, growing impatient. She didn't come downstairs for some eulogy on Miles and Monroe's friendship. She had heard enough about that from the bastard himself.
"He's still alive, Charlie."
Charlie couldn't keep her jaw from dropping. A hundred emotions danced through her mind: anger, astonishment, relief, rage, confusion. "H—how?" her voice was barely audible, shaky and constrained.
Rachel began to pack a bag with water and weapons. "I'll explain later. We don't have much time."