Disclaimer: All rights of the world and characters go to other people. Not me. I don't own squat.
AN: For octaviashieldmaiden to whom I forever ago promised a Charloe fic, but never delivered. This isn't that fic, but I think you'll still like it.
*o0O0o*
* Hypothetical Daughter (or that time Bass accidentally predicted the future) *
*o0O0o*
Miles is late for their night out to the town. And he's never late for that, especially not on the day after getting back from service. He also hadn't been picking up the phone, so Bass doesn't feel all that guilty for letting himself into his brother's apartment.
"Hey, Miles? You here buddy?"
No answer. Bass frowns from the hallway and as he steps into the room lets his eyes roam the living room. There's a light by the couch, and a bottle on the nearby tea table, but he can't see if the leather furniture hides his best friend or not, so he takes a step forward and accidentally kicks something on the floor. Looking down he finally notices the mail that's littering the carpet. But before he can think on it there's a noise from the couch and he quickly steps over the dropped envelopes to reach whoever is being concealed by the back of the dark couch.
He finds Miles slumped across it with a bottle in one hand and staring drunkenly at an envelope in the other.
Bass thinks about asking him why the hell he didn't answer him when he called, but something about the way he's staring at that letter clues him in on the fact that it's probably better to stay quiet. Instead he reaches for the paper Miles seems to be so incredibly fascinated with, there's a high chance that it will answer all his questions.
'You are hereby cordially invited to the wedding of Ben Matheson and Rachel Porter.'
It does. Damn.
He sighs, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face. That's all Miles needs right now, it's not like he hasn't been moping for months already.
He throws the letter to the table and pushes Miles' legs off the couch to slump down next to him.
"I'm sorry Miles."
"Yeah, well… it's not like I wasn't expecting it."
His friend's voice is coarse from the alcohol and probably from having just felt his heart breaking. He curses out Rachel inside his head, because a wedding invitation? Jesus. That woman was cruel. The least she could have done was call Bass and warn him so that he could buffer the impact.
Instead all he can really do is grab a bottle of bourbon from the table and swallow down a mouthful of the distasteful swill. God, why Miles likes this stuff Bass will never understand, normally he would exchange it for the bottle of whiskey in Miles' hand, but under the circumstances Bass doesn't have the heart for it.
He doesn't really know what to say either. But he knows he can't leave, not that he would, and that just leaves getting drunk in camaraderie as brothers should.
—-
Two hours later they're both drunk off their asses and way more talkative than they started out. The mood though hasn't improved all that much.
"Do you think we'll ever get muhr-married?"
"Nah. We'll be bachelors till we're forty." Bass takes a moment to consider himself and almost gets distracted by the way the lamp's light shines through the brown glass in his hand. "And then of course you'll find out you have a daughter and I'll-"
"Hey, why do I find out I have a daughter? You could find out you have a daughter."
"Because you're a slut Miles. There's no way you don't find-"
"So 'r you." His friend slurs back.
"…point."
Bass doesn't really remember what his own point was supposed to be but he opens his mouth to finish it anyway.
"And she'll be like… mini-you, only hot, so I'll probably marry her."
He doesn't see the fist coming, but he definitely feels its impact.
"Don't touch my daughter."
"You don't have a daughter." His eyes don't exactly focus, but he sends a glare in Miles' general direction anyway.
"Oh right."
They go silent for a moment, thinking that over.
"You probably don't have a daughter." Bass corrects himself.
That puts an end to the conversation and they spend the rest of the night drinking Miles' stash empty. Neither one mentions either Rachel or Ben even once.
Neither do they later ever talk about the night Miles found the wedding invitation, so Bass forgets the drunken conversation inside a week.
—-
Some 23 odd years later.
—-
"You let Charlie ride into town alone? What the hell is wrong with you Miles?"
Bass is leaning back against the wall observing the two Matheson's screaming at each other. He has no idea what set them off, but the past two days Miles and Rachel can't seem to agree on anything. It's a nice change from the disgusting gooey eyes, but the screeching is getting on his nerves.
"Charlie is more than capable enough to take care of herself Rachel. And why would you think she'd listen to me? I'm not her father I can't-"
Rachel had flinched. Bass feels himself freezing in place, his eyes swing back to Miles to see if he noticed too, and by the slack jaw and wide eyes Bass will guess that yes, Miles definitely noticed as well.
"Rachel?"
Charlie is Miles'… suddenly Bass gets hit by a fuzzy memory from a lifetime ago. A hysterical laugh surges forth before he can swallow it, and suddenly the other two occupants of the room turn towards Bass, blinking at him like they'd forgotten that he was there.
And then he's being treated by the ever familiar murderous glare Rachel is so fond of.
It'd be smarter to shut up, but after that small sound he can't even begin to contain the rest of it, and in moments he's leaning against the wall barely able to breathe through the laughter.
Fucking. Perfect. Goddammit. Because of course, of course, Charlotte is Miles' daughter.
God he's a moron. What's more, he's a dead moron. Because he just had to go and fall for her.
It's not bad enough that the youngest Matheson still probably hates him. That she will always blame him for Ben and Danny, and that she should, because it's his fault and he knows that. It's not even bad enough he had to find her in that New Vegas field with his son - the memory of that moment scorches him again, like it always does when he thinks back on it, the both of them naked under the blankets, her mussed hair, her satisfied little smile that's like a dagger into the bleeding wound, god, the way she was still fixing her clothes as she walked by him, and worst of all the slightly raw lips because not ten minutes ago she'd been… she'd… no, he's not thinking about this, even his masochism has some limits.
It's not bad enough that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that Charlie will ever… but now she's Miles' daughter too.
He keeps laughing. He keeps laughing because if he stops he'll have to do that other thing and that isn't happening.
"What the hell is so funny about this Bass?"
He looks up and into his ex-brother's eyes. There's a suspicious glint to them that's always there now, but there's something else too, Miles is having that look he gets when there's a thought on the edge of his mind. Like he's trying to remember something.
Shit.
There's no way Miles will remember that night though, right? It's been twenty years and he'd been even more drunk than Bass. Shit. There's no way he's taking that chance, he needs to leave.
"Nothing. I'm just… I'm gonna go check the perimeter."
He flees Miles' narrowed gaze.
—-
Bass has been avoiding him. It's in stark contrast to how up until this point he's spent practically every opportune moment trying to remind him of the friendship that used to be there. And it's driving Miles crazy.
Because this started when Miles found out Charlie was his… damn he still can't say it, not even inside his head. How the hell could Rachel keep this from him?
He shuts that down. He needs something he can deal with. Like that Bass has been avoiding him.
And then there's that itch at the back of his mind that's trying and failing to be heard. He knows if he could just grasp whatever that thought is trying to say he'd figure it out, but it's so elusive that nothing comes to him except for yet another migraine.
It's been three weeks. And nothing.
"MILES!"
The scream comes from outside, it's Bass' voice and he wouldn't be yelling without reason so he grabs a shotgun on his way to the door.
As he runs out he's met by the sight of Bass jumping down from his horse and reaching up to help Charlie down from hers. It takes a second for him to notice the way she's clutching her shoulder, trying to slow the bleeding, and he runs the rest of the way toward them trying not to panic.
It doesn't look fatal but this isn't the old world and there are no hospitals that might guarantee it.
"Get Gene."
Bass' voice commands, as he takes on her weight and lets her steady against him. Something in his brain short circuits and Miles practically growls at him.
"Don't touch her."
And the alarm bells that have been ringing for three weeks straight quiet and something he didn't even know he remembered materializes in his memory.
Wedding invitation. Lots and lots of alcohol. Bass. Daughter. Married. That goddamn…
"Bass." He says almost silently. "Tell me you didn't."
Bass isn't meeting his eyes, but after a long exhale he does and smiles with a faked brightness that almost makes Miles go for his throat.
"Well… I didn't marry her."
He feels a moment of pure rage, but then Charlie whimpers and he's back to the present. The present where Charlie is bleeding from what appears to be a bullet wound while she's resting her head against Bass' shoulder and seeming to be drawing some kind of comfort from the man's presence.
"We're not done Bass."
"Yeah I know. Get Gene first. You can shoot me after."
And he will. He's definitely pulling the trigger this time. Bass should thank his lucky stars that he has arms full of bleeding Charlie because otherwise… arms full of bleeding Charlie who's conscious enough to be standing and yet isn't trying to fling off Monroe's hands.
Shit. Whatever the hell this is, it isn't one sided.
Rachel will kill all of them in their sleep.
Cursing to himself all the way, he turns away from the injured Charlie and the soon to be badly injured Bass to go look for their resident doctor.
—-
"Miles?"
He looks to the bed and breathes out in relief. She's awake. She'll be okay.
"Yeah Charlie?"
"I'm not gonna let you kill him."