It had been almost a week seeing only his face. As they traveled through Texas, at first they'd stopped in small settlements along the way. But now they were in the long stretch between the border of Texas and New Vegas-in the Wasteland. It was always a fraught experience running into others on the road out here. On one hand, novel human contact was reassuring when you thought you just might be going insane from looking at the same butte in the distance for the last five hours. On the other hand, another human was always someone who could kill you. Not that she worried too much about that with Monroe at her side.
Charlie glanced up at him, riding several paces ahead of her on his horse, she on hers. When they returned to Texas with the men they were going to pick up, everyone would walk back and it would take twice as long. But for now it was just the two of them, and they were making good time crossing the desert. The horses were energetic, and their riders rarely stopped to rest. Resting meant talking, and neither of them wanted to do too much of that.
They rode far later into the night than what typical travel called for-past when the red of the sun dipped below the horizon, past when the stars became dimly visible, until their horses refused to go any further because they couldn't see their feet in front of them. Monroe called back to her that they would pull off and stop here, and once they'd dismounted, the horses got to work inhaling the desert scrub. Monroe and Charlie silently gathered branches to start the fire. One nice thing about traveling in the desert was it was never hard to get the fire going.
With the orange glow crackling in front of them, they pulled dinner out of their respective packs and got to work. The fire was for light, reassurance, warmth and comfort, but not cooking. Charlie absently downed her meal of canned beans. She'd have liked fresh meat, but hunting in the desert was basically impossible unless a hog or hare wandered into your camp. She glanced up and saw Monroe staring at her with the penetrating gaze she'd come to expect. Her stomach clenched as it always did when he looked at her that way, and she quickly lowered her eyes, kicking herself. Why don't you call him out next time? she thought. "What are you looking at?" Charlie sighed. She told herself that every time. On the other side of the fire, she saw Monroe look down and resume eating his own meal. She was glad he was a safe distance away this time.
A few nights before, he hadn't been sitting on the other side of the fire but sharing a large rock with her. As they sat, he reached forward with a stick in hand to adjust the logs. His arm brushed against hers when he reached out, and again when he pulled back. Charlie's heartbeat quickened, and she got very still, trying to act like she didn't notice. Monroe certainly didn't seem to have. Then again a few minutes later, he leaned even further over, dragging an escaped twig back into the fire pit. When he sat down, he did so significantly closer to her, so his hip and thigh dragged against hers, and he settled in flush against her. Her heart hammering in her chest, she could only stand it for a minute or so before she flew to her feet under the pretext of going to the bathroom. As she walked away on rubbery legs, she could feel Monroe's eyes burning into her back and thought she might have heard a low chuckle.
Charlie was sure at this point that it wasn't her imagination that Monroe kept finding excuses to touch her. She hadn't needed help getting on a horse since she was twelve years old. But that morning, as she prepared to mount, Monroe came and stood behind her, firmly (and unnecessarily) placing a hand on her hip to steady her as she got up. Once she was in place, he let his hand run a few inches along the length of her thigh before pulling away. "Thanks," she said so quietly she wasn't sure he heard, rolling her eyes internally at herself even as she did it.
Charlie was no meek schoolgirl. She'd survived, she'd fought, she'd killed in cold blood. But these past few days, on the road with Monroe, just the two of them, she found herself slipping into a duality with him. He was confident, brusque, bold, demanding. She'd become unsure, accommodating, quiet, and acquiescent. It doesn't matter, she thought to herself. It's just because we're out here. Things will be back to normal soon.
But she knew it was more than that. She'd always been intensely attracted to Monroe physically. Even when he was the evil dictator, General Monroe, she'd have to have been blind not to notice his chiseled jawline, bright eyes, beautifully cruel smirk and his corded, tight body. Since the last time they were in New Vegas, he'd saved her life several times, and her feelings had grown into something more like a crush. Now that she suspected the attraction might not be entirely one-sided, she barely knew how to act around him.
He's probably just bored because his options are to either flirt with me or flirt with a cactus. Once we're in New Vegas, surrounded by all his favorite whores, he'll stop. She already felt the disappointment, but resigned herself to it.
"Hey Charlie." Monroe's voice was slightly raspy from disuse during their day of silence. "When we get to New Vegas tomorrow… don't try to kill me again."
She snorted. "Can't make any promises. Don't piss me off and you'll be fine."
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought she saw a corner of his mouth quirk in a half smile. "Even if I do, try to control yourself."
"Nah," she mused. "I probably won't kill you. Over the last couple months, you've proven yourself to be pretty useful." She was referring to everything from him saving her life multiple times to slaughtering dozens of Patriots by her side.
"Trust me, babe. You've barely scratched the surface of how useful I can be." Monroe stretched the words out languidly, loading them with meaning. He raised his eyes skyward as he spoke, almost as if he were talking to himself, seemingly exiting the conversation with that final one-liner.
Seeing that he expected no response, and having no idea what to say anyway, Charlie let his words sink in. They had the intended effect, she was sure, as she began to imagine a few ways he could be useful to her. His body on top of hers, naked, slick, hot, filling her with fast, determined strokes… His strong arm holding her face down against a bed as he slammed into her from behind, drawing screams from her throat with each thrust… His strong fingers of one hand deep in her mouth, the other hand down below, pushing into her in sync, making her gag… Shaking her head, she rose to her feet, laid out her bedroll, and announced to Monroe that she was going to sleep.
He simply nodded, getting up, grabbing his pack, and coming around to where she was. As he did every night, he laid between her and the dark wilderness beyond, so the fire guarded her one side and he the other. Though she hardly needed the protection, it was a small act of chivalry that made her heart melt every time.
"'Night, Charlie," he muttered once he was laying beside her, almost asleep already.
"Goodnight," she whispered back.
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They rode into New Vegas the following afternoon. As they'd planned, they headed directly to the set of tents where Monroe once made his living, fighting bloody battles for the entertainment of crowds every night. Charlie watched him covertly for any sign that he was having a hard time returning to the scene of a dark period in his life, then caught herself, realizing he'd had far darker. In any event, he seemed perfectly businesslike as he threw back the tan flap of the large tent that served as the main bar and dance floor/fight ring where his former boss, Gould, could usually be found. Closely clustered around it were several tents that served as whorehouses.
The place was still relatively quiet this early in the day, though there were some men bellied up to the bar. A few bored whores stood near the wall, talking amongst themselves, not even looking at the men, seemingly unmotivated to drum up business yet. Monroe wasted no time in striding over to the bartender, as Charlie hustled behind.
"Hey, Steve," he said in what was in Charlie's opinion one of the nicest tones of voice she'd ever heard him use. "How ya doing? Been awhile, good to see you, man," as he held out his hand for a firm shake and mutual slap on the back not-quite-hug with the redheaded bartender.
"You too, Jimmy," the bartender said without missing a beat. "I'm good, I'm good, same old, you know. You back in town?"
"Just for a couple nights. Is Gould around? I have a business proposition for him."
"Yea, that old shitbag is in his trailer. For you, I'll risk life and limb to go get him."
Monroe actually smiled and quickly laughed. "Thanks, I owe you one." Steve turned to head out from behind the bar but hesitated, looking at Charlie who was obviously hovering next to Monroe's shoulder. Monroe followed his gaze and added, "Oh. This is Charlie. Charlie, Steve."
Steve nodded, "Hey," and continued on, heading out a flap opposite the one they'd entered.
Monroe and Charlie stood for several minutes, until Steve returned with Gould in tow. Gould looked simultaneously thrilled and furious to see Monroe in his bar.
"What the hell are you doing here? You leave me high and dry with no warning and just come waltzing back in here like the queen of France two months later? Are you kidding me?" Gould wastes no time with pleasantries.
"I was kidnapped by bounty hunters," Monroe said flatly.
"Hey, Jimmy, I don't wanna know about any of that shit. What, it took you two months to escape? Whatever, I don't need to hear it. What do you want? Steve said something about a business proposition?" Now his mood had shifted and his eyes were narrowed with eagerness and avarice. "Whattya got for me?"
"Me," Monroe said. "Two night appearance. Five hundred diamonds. Take it or leave it."
Gould glanced at Charlie suddenly, as if just noticing her. "I don't discuss business in front of strangers," he pronounced. He grabbed Monroe's arm and pulled him over to a table in the corner. Steve had already returned to the bar, and Charlie wandered over there and perched on a stool, watching the two men in the corner.
Steve came over, pouring her a glass of liquor, "On the house. Any friend of Jimmy's is a friend of ours."
Charlie took it gratefully, in desperate need of a drink after their long journey. She drained it in a swallow and put it down softly. Steve smirked, grabbed the bottle, and refilled. This time she took it easy, swirling the liquor around in the glass for a moment before saying, "It's so weird to hear you all calling him Jimmy."
Steve glanced around quickly and leaned in toward her. After a slight hesitation, he said, "Look, Charlie, this may be the Wasteland, but we're not a bunch of hicks. We recognize that man over there for who he is. But Gould says he's Jimmy King, so he's Jimmy King. That goes for you, too."
"Why?" she asked.
"Your man just said bounty hunters kidnapped him. Coulda been from Texas, coulda been from California. Both nations are hunting Sebastian Monroe and have made it clear that anyone giving aid or shelter to him would be put to death. So, Gould isn't employing that man. He employs Jimmy King."
Charlie nodded, understanding, then felt the need to clarify, "He's not my man. We're just…" Not friends. "Traveling together."
Steve looked at her skeptically, but said, "Got it. Well, you're probably better off. You don't seem like his usual type."
"What's his usual type?"
"For hire," Steve said. "Not that there weren't plenty trying to give it for free. But he always told me it was easier than the muss and fuss of free tail. Maybe he didn't put it quite like that."
"Charming," Charlie said. She hated herself for needing to ask the next question, but hoped Steve wouldn't think anything of it. "So there were, uh, a lot of… women for hire? That he hired?" Damnit, Charlie, shut up.
"Uh, yeah, you could say that. Basically every night after he fought. Usually someone different. No one could ever handle him for very long." Steve glanced guiltily up at the table where Monroe and Gould were still talking. "But whatever, it's not my business."
Charlie nodded, sensing he was done feeding her information. Anyway, Monroe and Gould were coming toward them now. Monroe looked grim; Gould looked satisfied. Charlie hoped this meant Monroe was able to bargain for the five hundred diamonds they needed to hire twenty men from Duncan's militia to help them fight the Patriots.
"All set?" Charlie asked.
"Yeah, we're good," Monroe said. "Let's get out of here."
"See you tonight!" Gould said with a singsong lilt to his voice. "Fight's at ten! Don't be late!" He watched them as they made their way out, brushing past him as they went.
As Monroe lifted the tent flap, he muttered, "I know when the fucking fight is."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Charlie stood at the back of the crowd gathered for the fight. Candles, torches, and lanterns cast the room in long shadows. The scent of liquor, tobacco, and sweat filled the air. Charlie felt out of place in her jeans and tank top among the women, all of whom were wearing flimsy dresses or even less. Last time she'd been there, her mind was totally consumed with her murderous mission. This time, she cared about blending into the crowd.
The air crackled with tension and anticipation. The return of Jimmy King! Rumors had been flying all afternoon about where he had been, why he returned. Charlie had heard that he had tried to assassinate the President of California, had led a war clan to invade Austin, and that he'd been ordained a Catholic priest, among other crazy things. She stayed silent, realizing the danger in knowing Monroe's true identity and not wanting to give anything away inadvertently.
This would be the first time she'd seen Monroe in the ring since the night she tried to kill him. That night, she'd been so blind with rage, combined with the euphoria of having finally found him, that she didn't recall the fight itself clearly. But she knew he was good. He'd told her stories, and she knew his record. Unbeaten. She wasn't nervous for him; they were both confident he would win.
As the chatter of the crowd turned to hoots and screams, Charlie craned her neck and saw him being announced. Her breath caught in her chest. Monroe looked like a god. He was clad only in the leather pants he always wore to fight, laced low on his taut stomach. No shoes. Leather straps wrapped around his knuckles for some small protection. The expression on his face was absolutely fierce yet detached. Charlie thought he'd never looked so beautiful.
His opponent stepped up into the ring, and the crowd got even louder. The man was about Monroe's size, bald, and covered in tattoos from his waist to his neck. He kept sticking his tongue out and wiggling it at the crowd. The announcer called his name out, "And the challenger…. Troy Malum!"
The bell rang. From the back, Charlie couldn't see most of what was going on, but she didn't want to get any closer. She kept her eyes on Monroe when she could. She admired the flex of his arm as he sent a punishing blow across Malum's face. She heard his primal grunt as Malum got a shot in, then his roar of exertion as he gave one back. The fight wasn't long. After a few intense minutes, she saw Monroe standing up straight with the announcer holding his hand in the air in victory. Between the thronging bodies, she saw Malum crawling to the edge of the ring.
Immediately, Monroe was surrounded with admirers. Men wanting to shake his hand and thank him for the diamonds he'd just made them on his first fight back in months. Women wanting… other things. Charlie seethed with jealousy as she watched at least three scantily clad women rubbing Monroe's sweaty chest and purring in his ear. He'd acted like going to do the fight was such a chore. Yeah, right. Charlie was sure he just hated having an entire bar full of people fawning over him. One of the women pulled Monroe's face to hers and favored him with a tongue-heavy kiss on the mouth.
That was it. Charlie whirled and stomped out of the tent. She couldn't watch any more.
Once she was free of the humid, smoky room, she strode straight for the edge of town and when she reached it, kept going. She walked out and out into the desert, much farther than was sensible, until the sounds of the city faded into the wind. She glanced over her shoulder every so often to make sure she could still see the lights of the city: the bonfires, lanterns and candles calling her back to safety. She wanted to get as far away as she could. Away from Monroe, away from her feelings for him. As much as she'd tried to ignore it, she wanted him. It didn't matter that he was so much older. It didn't matter that he was her uncle's best friend. It didn't matter that he had been-and possibly still was-a remorseless murderer. Despite it all, she was drawn to him, falling for him more every day.
Being alone with him on the road, she'd gotten spoiled, she now realized. She'd gotten used to his attention being only on her. Actually, it went back further than that, since the only other women Monroe spent any time with back in Texas were her mother and Cynthia. Neither much of a threat. But here, in New Vegas, Charlie realized just how out of her league Monroe was, how foolish she'd been to think he was attracted to her. He just hadn't had any other options.
Tears streamed down her face now as she cried. She'd allowed herself to start to really care about Monroe, to think that maybe the next time he flirted with her would be the time it escalated to the next step. That he might not just hold her for a moment here or there, but take her in his arms and not let go. I'm such an idiot, she thought.
Even more idiotic, she was now thirsty and probably an hour's walk out into the desert, empty-handed. Immediately she began to make her way back to the dull yellow smudge on the horizon that she knew was the town. Trudging over scrub bushes and ducking around cactuses, she tried to clear her mind and compose herself. She would have to face Monroe at some point-their hotel rooms were right next door to each other, and he'd made it clear that she was not to spend the night anywhere else. She smirked at that, allowing a tiny spark of hope that he was actually interested to stay alive.
As she was almost back to the town, close enough that she could begin to hear shouts and strains of music, she saw a figure silhouetted subtly beside the outline of a rock formation. She halted and pulled her knife from where she had it sheathed in her pants pocket. Slowly, she crept toward the person, preserving the element of surprise. Charlie couldn't tell whether his back was toward her-for it was definitely a man.
Just as she was within several feet, the man whipped around lightning fast, lunging at her and grabbing her still-lowered knife arm. He slammed her up against a rock, not even breathing hard. In the dim moonlight, they recognized each other.
A/N: I have about three or four more chapters of this written already, so they'll be posted pretty soon. Please leave reviews and let me know how I'm doing on my first fanfiction attempt!