Charlie was still on the floor. After Jason fell she cradled his head in her lap, her tears falling onto his face. Her fingertips traced his features, committing them to memory. Her other had was clutched in his jacket. He looked so peaceful now. No longer broken. No longer troubled with his father's meddling. His blood was pooling on the floor beneath him, matting into her jeans. She felt it, but didn't care. Why hadn't he come back? Why hadn't he snapped out of it? Deep in her heart, Charlie knew that he would have killed her, but for some reason it didn't seem matter that much. He was one of the few people in this world that she knew felt something for her.
She regretted not trusting him when he walked into camp. Regretted parting with him in the crowd. Maybe if she had stayed with him he wouldn't have been activated. She should have stopped it.
Her tears had slowed, but she didn't stop touching him. She couldn't let him go. Not yet. It's so easy to let someone go when you know you can get them back. She couldn't get back to him now. Her pointless daydreams of just finding him and running together were shattered. They would never run into the sunset together. He had made her feel whole again. Younger and more innocent. And now he was gone.
Charlie heard boots on the stairs. One pair, two pairs, three pairs. She didn't look up as Bass and Connor and Miles called her name lowly, trying to find her. Briefly, she tried to answer them but her voice didn't work. Her throat was dry and scratchy, if she tried to speak past the lump in her throat she would cry. Connor stopped at the door to their room. The awful, awful room.
Turning back down the hall he called, "Found her." He turned and walked past the doorway, stopping next to it and sliding to the floor. The other boots were quickly advancing to the room. Both of them also froze in the doorway, unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Bass stayed next to his son, but Miles made his way into the room. Right now they didn't have the luxury of leaving Charlie to grieve. They had to go. He stopped next to Jason's lifeless form. Charlie had obviously been the one to kill him. No one deserved that. Unbidden, thoughts of Emma swam to the surface of his mind. He shook his head to clear it, turning his attention back to Charlie.
"Charlie." She still didn't look up. She knew that once she acknowledged him she wouldn't get to stay here. With him. "Charlotte," he tried again, crouching and grabbing the wrist of the hand that was still stroking Jason's face. "We have to go," he said quietly, regretfully. She looked up to him, their eyes locking. Her eyes were begging her uncle to change it. To fix what had happened. And give him back. All he could do was look back at her with an apology in his eyes. A sob rose in her throat but she swallowed it.
Without a word she nodded, willing herself to move. She looked back down at the man on the ground, gathering her emotions. Locking them in cage that had become their home.
She bent and kissed Jason's forehead for the last time, only then allowing Miles to help her to her feet. Her dark jeans were darker still, and the metallic smell of blood clung to her. Wordlessly, she bent and pulled off Jason's belt, as well as collecting one of his knives. His belt joined her own around her waist; his knife joined the one in her boot. They hadn't connected in a while, but she was unwilling to let all of him stay there. The Patriots didn't get all of him.
When Charlie met Miles' eyes again, she was emotionless. She had broken before. Only now she would never be fixed. The meaningless, useless apology was still there, shining in his eyes. She brushed by him down the hall.
Miles stood for a second longer. He hadn't wanted the kid to die. He was glad it wasn't his niece, but he wished that she hadn't done the honors. Another loss hit her, the fires that he had inadvertently and indirectly caused tempering her soul. He followed her through the door, back to Willoughby.