A/N: This ship is slowly turning into a veeeeery (un)healthy obsession of mine. While I should be in college right now, I sit here, dreaming about Marlie, publishing this fic... But hey, the coldness and snowy, rainy weather is a good excuse, right?
Anyway... This is a little one-shot set right after episode 7 (The Children's Crusade). And yes, this is a Miles/Charlie fic. I swear, the writers and actors make us ship them on purpose! Otherwise there wouldn't be so much UST. With that being said... Enjoy the fic :)
This is for entertainment only, no copyright infringement intended, you know the drill.
Hope For The Hopeless
Your head leans against the trunk of a tree, while you watch the tiny flames of that campfire you had built earlier dancing. You should probably get up and find some more wood to keep the fire burning but you just don't have it in you to move. Every inch you'd move away from here would mean one inch too far away from her. The soothing warmth of the flames does nothing to calm the erratic beating of your heart or to relax the clenching of your fists or to free you from the bitter coldness that has you chilled to the bone.
A rush of emotions runs through you. Fury, pain, anger, desperation, wrath, self-loathing, confusion. They make you want to run. Away. Into her arms. And then even farther away. They make you want to scream in agony. Make you want to kill the next best person crossing your way. They also make you want to cry. Oh yes, how you would love to cry. For yourself. For her. You haven't been crying in a very long time, never really felt the need for it. Neither when the person you really cared about broke up with you. Nor when you deserted your best friend. Or when you heard about the death of your big brother. It all paled in comparison to those feelings evoked in you because of what had happened to her that day. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes wander to that beautiful creature lying right next to you, tonight a little closer than ever before. You would only have to reach out and you'd be able to touch her delicate hand. To entwine your fingers with hers. Maybe her warmth could chase the ice from your veins?
But for even thinking such thoughts you want to beat yourself because clearly these are not thoughts an uncle should have about his niece. And yet, there is nothing you can do about it. From the moment she had walked into your pub, everything about her has captivated you. Her spirit, her strength, her fierceness, her assertiveness (or are you just too weak to deny her anything?), her stubbornness, her determinedness, the light in her eyes, the way she looks at you and treats you (even in moments where she had just heard what kind of monster you are). What is there not to (love) admire?
The moon above you rises higher and higher, illuminating the little meadow you've found shelter in for the night in a silvery light. A light breeze blows through the trees, its leaves rustling and some of them floating silently to the ground. You pull your favorite khaki jacket a little closer around your body to try to keep yourself from shivering, ignoring the fact that it isn't even that cold to begin with.
That's when you hear a slight groan and immediately your mind is on alert and focused on the woman before you. You watch her as she moves, coming to lie on her side, facing you. The white bandage wrapped around her right wrist is shining like a neon sign that says YOU ARE A MONSTER and THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT and STAY AWAY FROM ME. And you almost believe those signs. After all, if it weren't for you, things like the militia or soldier factories or the Monroe Republic would not exist.
But then, lately, when she looks at you with those big blue eyes of hers, full of warmth, forgiveness and affection, that's when you feel that tiny little flame called hope awaken in your soul. That maybe down that long and stony road, there might be redemption for you after all.
Your eyes scan the meadow, making sure that your companions are still asleep, before you slowly and very quietly leave your tree and lie down next to her, just a tiny little too close as is deemed necessary for relatives. You look for the strength within you to battle whatever kind of feelings you held for that young woman. Deep inside your heart you know that it goes beyond any kind of feelings an uncle should have for his niece, that it goes beyond anything you have ever felt before. And you know that it is wrong, not just because of her being your dead brother's daughter but because feelings like those always meant having a weakness that is bound to bring down even the strongest man. And you can not afford that, not when the destination of that journey is killing your best friend. You need to get your act together, be strong and tough, just like the whole world sees you. Let them think you are still the ruthless killer (which you sometimes (are) have to be, for her) who doesn't care about anything but (her) yourself.
Yes, that is exactly what you are going to do. Get yourself together and be what she needs you to be. You just want to touch her one more time, before you will try and get some distance between you two. And so you reach out, your finger slightly hovering over the bandage, tracing the brand (that should so absolutely not be there, which just another item on your list of sins for which you're going to hate yourself forever) . The moment you finger touches her, she opens her eyes. They don't look sleepy or tired at all and you wonder for how long she might have been awake already. Did she even fall asleep?
You look like a deer caught in the headlights and you don't know what to do, what to say or how to react. Everything in you screams to close the distance between you two but you know very well that you can never do that because it would destroy whatever she sees in you. So you slowly withdraw your hand, only to be held back by her, which sends a surge of fire through your body. She lies her hand over yours and places them both on the tissue covering her brand, looking at you with that special look she seems to have reserved only for you.
Feelings and emotion run through your body and brain, and suddenly you want to do and say so many things but when she looks at you like that, open and trusting, (love and) gratitude and admiration in her eyes, what could a man possibly say? Especially when your eyes lead a silent conversation all by themselves anyways?
Your breath hitches - and you feel like a fool for feeling like a 14-year old boy again when you should be the grown-up here – as she carefully leans in, testing the water. You try to resist, should be resisting with everything you have in you. But you just can not do it. And then it happens, there, in the silvery golden light of the moon and the fire, she kisses you. And it's fireworks and birthdays and Christmases all in one. It's like coming home after a hard and exhausting journey. It's relaxing like smoking your favorite kind of cigar and intoxicating like drinking your favorite kind of single malt whiskey. It's warm and cold and earth-shattering. It's wild like a tornado and calm as the sea. It's innocent and hot and passionate. And then, it's not like any of these things but so so so much better.
You never want it to stop and yet you know that it has to. After what felt like eternity – maybe it has been two eternities? – you break the kiss, trying to catch your breath. You look at her with wide eyes and are again at a loss of words. Not that there could anything be said about such a kiss anyways. Maybe you should scold her for such a behavior? Tell her that something like this could never happen again? (After all it was you who decided to stay tough and strong). But then she moves even closer, her head nuzzling against your bent arm, only slightly touching it before finding a comfortable position. With a shy smile, that is so her, she closes her eyes and within moments, her breath evens out and the slow and steady rhythm of her breathing pulls you into a deep slumber before you even get the chance to overthink what had just happened.
It's the first night in forever your dreams aren't plagued with blood, weapons and death but with a beautiful golden-haired angel.
A/N: If you liked the fic (or even if you didn't like it), would you be so kind to let me know? That would be totally awesome of you!