She could not let him go.
So here she was. Tracking down Sebastian Monroe. Again.
But this time, she was not tracking down Sebastian Monroe.
This time she was looking for him.
She was looking for Bass.
Chapter One
Five weeks ago
Sunset
A wide round blazing golden sun was setting. Covering the landscape in a serene quiet shade of yellow. The light touched wood. Wood of the final silent marks in the landscape. There was no handholding. Miles stood on my left. Monroe next to him. Four rises in the landscape. Four goodbyes. Four more wholes in our hearts and souls that could not take any more, for such a long time.
Bradbury. I would never be able to hear that name again without breaking into pieces, and then put the pieces together again only to find one missing, again.
Miles was Miles. Broken. Dark. A remark about making a star from sticks and grass for Aaron. Sarcasm, a final last attempt to keep us standing on our feet. I could not respond. The landscape was pressing heavy on us as I relived the moments where I watched my mom in my arms again. As Miles pressed a kiss on her forehead, our tears falling on her cheeks. As I watched Monroe scream Connor's name in agony, as he was holding his son, with so much love and rage and disbelieve, it would forever stay with me. The depths in this man, of love and loss and wanting to protect what was his, there on that street in devastation in his eyes and body.
We were in this together already. Monroe, Miles and me, from the moment I choose to fight with them. Fight with them both, leaving my mom behind who already left me behind. This time not to leave me at a side of a road, but to escape into guilt and needing to make things right in fighting the nano. I thought I was done with her shit, but appareantly you can never be done with love when it comes to your family.
The three of us. It had been like that for a very long time. It was like that, forged for good the moment I choose to fight with them. When I left Aaron and Priscilla and my mom behind.
Those two men. They were my home now. My fighters, my family. Even Monroe. He had been for a very long time. But after the fighting, after this, now the sun was setting, setting on the day they had been still with us, he was locked in my blood, as we had locked eyes so many times before.
Bass walked away. Away from the blinding light that spread over the small hills of sand and ground they had made. Made by his own hands because he had to watch somebody go. Again.
He did not want to leave him behind. His son. His kid. His blood. Emma's eyes, Emma's gentleness. So much of himself too. So much of him in Connor. Of who he once was, of who he had become. All lost now. He had held Connor. Touched his curls, gentle large fingers going through the dark curls. He held him as he once held is baby girl, next to Shelly. Poured all his love in that hug.
And then it was goodbye. Miles on his right. Charlie on Miles' right. Three people that time had brought together. Bass felt her, felt his brother. Charlie. He had seen her. Seen her saying goodbye to Aaron, to Rachel. To Connor, as he had allowed her close. She had put a hand on his shoulder. As tears fell from her endless heart of grieve for his kid too. And the love he poured into his kid, he watched her pour hers into Rachel.
Both of them knowing what it was like, having family, your blood, impossible love filled with so much darkness, but nevertheless family. He understood. She understood. Her struggle with Rachel had been his struggle with Connor. In a different way.
They walked away from the graves, Miles first, an arm around Charlie, his hand covering her upper arm. Both of them silent. In tears. In shock. Bass following them. Miles'hand on his shoulder. The gesture did not reach sun was setting, darkness came.
They made a fire. A small one, that did not seemed to be able to warm them. They sat the way they had stood earlier. Miles in the middle, Bass on his left, Charlie on his right. They did not speak.
Charlie could not find words for the dark feelings that made time fly by. She fell asleep, not realisng when the moment came her body crashed into sleep. But Miles, he was right behind her. He turned her way, his chest against her back, as he pressed her close. She felt warm muscles and watched the little dark hairs on his arm before her, as she fell asleep, Miles nose and grieve nuzzled in her hair, as she felt him breath.
Long hours passed. Charlie fell asleep, and Bass knew Miles would keep watch. His brother now turned to Charlie, his larger body covering hers, his large arm over her. But he would not stay. He could not stay. In the night, he did sleep next to them, although a bit further ahead.
Regret, love, what was, what could have been. All of that, leaving it here. Here in Bradbury.
He had to go.
Sunrise
He could not stay. Grieve and hurt were swallowing him whole. Not Charlie, not even Miles, not even his brother, could be enough now. Nothing would be enough. He could feel them, their eyes, with him.
He could not speak. Neither could they. Broken people had nothing to say.
He got his horse. Got himself together. And then, a final piece of brotherhood and family returned.
He walked over to Charlie. Silently. She had her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. She was so goddamn pale. But the moment he walked up to her, Charlie let her arms fall, as her guard dropped. Their embrace did not last long, but they pressed each other's bodies firmly against the other. Needing that goodbye, needing to hold the other.
And when he did not think he could bare it, her eyes met his, right before he let go. He understood. She understood. She had shared a road with them, he had saved her life, she had saved his. That would not change. Miles would take care of her, he was sure. So damn sure. It was his brothers turn to take care of her now.
Charlie felt his fingers brush the skin under her tank. Briefly, His large hands and strong arms around her, as she held him as she never thought she would hold Monroe.
He took her in, like she never let him take her in. Her smaller body, disappearing into his arms. The scent of her hair. He did not know it now, but he would remember all of it.
One more look, one more touch before his fingers moved away from her skin and her hands were not soothing his back anymore.
Bass turned to Miles. Turned to his brother. One more embrace, one more pat on the shoulders.
No tears. Both men were fighting them.
And then, he stepped away. Rage already filling his veins. He knew where he would go. Where he would start. He got on his horse, as two people, always family, watched him ride away.
Chapter two
Her eyes went to the ground. She was listening to the landscape. The ground, the trees whispering back.
Charlie brushed away a branch from her face. The leaves moved over her face, as gentle tiny fingers. She was sweaty, and dirty. But the walking did her good. She kept on grieving. Grieving for her mother. And their relationship after she came back into her life, was hard and rocky. But grieve was there again, only this time more differently. Each day out here turned it into a more bearable feeling. Each step soothing it somehow. It brought her closer to herself.
Grieve she had shared one night with Miles and Monroe. And then, shared with Miles. With lonely hours on horses, just them in the landscape.
She crouched down, her sandy boots in the dirt. Just like they once were. On a road, with a bounty hunter. She watched the road before her. Smiled. Adam. That was his name. Cute. But stupid. Real stupid.
Miles. She thought about Miles.
One week ago
She had made up her mind. And god help somebody who tried to change a Matheson's mind. Their stubbornness would not let something else be.
She had started packing. After weeks on the road with Miles they had found a small nothing town. Quiet, nothing ever happened here town. With a bar. Enough booze to kill the strongest grieve as Miles had crashed open the door, walked in with boots with unruly tied boots and had ordered his drink.
They had found a place, it was small but it would do for now. She left the appartment behind. She found Miles in the bar. In his place where he would sit and drink quietly.
He watched her. He probably already knew.
'I will bring him back Miles,' Her voice sounded more steady then it had been in a very long time.
'Any chance I can talk you out of it?'
She just smiled. She said goodbye. And before she turned Miles moved. He grabbed her hand, held it tightly in his two larger hands. The warmth of Miles radiating into her own skin.
She waited. He nodded.
She had left the next morning, early, right before dawn. Just like she had done, once with him. Him. Monroe. Bass. She was out here, the elements beating around her body. The sun on her skin. She had walked for weeks and with every step she realised she was feeling more of who she thought she was. With every night under the stars were grieve could run wild, she felt more calm. Like she could breath. And somehow, on the road, she had just known. Known where he would go. What he had wanted to do.
She was not using the little clues in the landscape anymore.
She was tracking down Bass with her heart.
She felt it in her heart, she was closing in on him. On Monroe. On Bass. She was close.
50 Miles south from Charlie
Bass crashed open the door. A trail of blood and death already behind him in this large cool house, when the sun outside was strong on the roof. His hand went to his two swords, his mind to one moment where he had done the same, to get to her, to slay his way through every asshole who dared to hurt her.
He would slay his way again, through this house. Until he would find him. he needed this, needed them to fight him, so he could fight them. His eyes filled with the image of his son, his kid. First man, one kill. Then another as jaws locked and sweat filled his shirt, next to the blood.
Another room, a room he recognised from years ago. A staircase, he circled back. He lost count. And then, the guy he came for was there, in the room. The guy that had stolen years from him. The guy that had pretended to be a father to his kid. Connor already had a father, him. He was his. Only his.
'What...' words in Spanish, as he watched the smaller man in front of him. The look in his eyes told Bass the asshole knew he was going to die.
And then, with strong boots on the tile floor under him, he reached him. And with one slice and a torn face and jaws locked and rage, so much rage, Bass killed Nunez.
He was breathing harshly. The house silent. Bodies he did not even see. he whiped the sweat from his nose with the swords still in his hands. He roamed the house. Grabbed a bottle of something. He did not give a fuck. Empty. Broken. He did not stop looking until he had found what he was looking for. He knew it the moment he walked in. A larger bedroom, one bed. Connor's. He found a closet with shirts, shirts with a scent he learned to recognise in the years on the road.
He let himself fall on a chair next to the bed, watched his swords, watched his son's shirt. And then, there was nothing left to do. The emptiness returned. The feeling of his son not here, took him whole.
He grabbed a chair. He grabbed a bottle.
He started drinking.
Connor's shirt still in his hands.
Charlie made her way all the way to the steps of the villa. The compound was silent, eerie silent. She had a long week behind her, but the more she felt him, the more she could not stop. She opened the gate. No one there to guard the gate. She watched as she saw the first men. And she felt it, he was here.
Empty hallway, empty rooms. A staircase she climbed. And then, open doors, more grieve slashed down to the ground. She knew that the cuts in the men belong to him.
The door was half closed as she saw him. In a chair, a shirt in his hands, looking like hell. He was thinner, there was still blood dried up on his skin. There were bottles, more than one on the floor. One in his hand.
He looked up at the sound of her coming eyes, eyes and the lines around them she knew now by heart, that were normally filled with steal, or softness or challenge for her were hollow. It ripped right through her as she sucked in a breath, a gasp of her for him, for so much of his pain.
Bass saw her, but could not understand why the hell she was here. Charlotte. Charlie. Blonde curls, the sun through a window catching her in all of her strength. His hands started to tremble, the bottle crashed through the ground. The shirt not, still grasped in his hand as a lifeline.
He reached out for her and within two big steps she was with him. Her hands found his shoulder, moved his rocking trembling grieve filled tall body towards her belly as Bass could only let his body fall against Charlie.
Charlie caught him. And he did not know if his own arms were around her first, or her arms were around him first.
It did not matter.
All that matterered is that her body was locked against his, that she was here. Light in this fucking dark nothing world.
She held him, for as long as he needed to. Then she made a decision. This cave of grieve, she needed to get him out of here. She offered a hand, an arm around his shoulder as she helped him up from his chair. He smelled of whiskey and grieve. They walked back down the stairs. They walked outside.
He did not look back. The shirt clamped into his fingers.
They started to walk and somewhere in the air, on the road, after leaving behind what was once, his arm moved around her form, as they walked together. Instead of turning back and head north, they moved deeper into the land. High trees above them, the earth that carries new scents and colours.
They stopped for the night. She made sure he drank. Water. She made him eat something. Charlie walked over to Bass. She crouched down in front of him as she helped him out of his shirt and pants, as she washed them for him, rinsing out sweat and hurt. Charlie watched his golden skin, his scars on his back that made her feel his pain as she was crouched down between his legs again, his tall in front of her as she washed the sweat and tears from his face with the cool cloth in her left hand.
Bass felt her between his knees. He was completely bare in front of her, but he did not care Because this is Charlie, a part of his inside, and she carried him with so much dignity that her fingers were soothing when she helped him out of his shirt and pants and she let a cloth of cool water run over his skin. He felt the coolness everywhere and he bowed his head at so much care. He could not look at her. He still had not talked to her.
There was a fire. Somehow there always seems to be a fire. A fire on the road where she woke up next to, with thunder and the rain around her, after he saved her, and carried her there, that night in Pottsboro. A fire of goodbye.
They sat together. They did not talk. They drank.
And then, after hours of her being with him, he looked at her. She felt it. After a while she felt his eyes no longer on her, but on the fire. It's the shift you feel after spending so much time with someone, the shift that is small and almost a whisper.
When he talked his voice was low and rough and beaten.
'I wish I could have brought him home.'
Bass spoke the words with raw real tears behind them. Honesty and truth in each and every of his words.
Her voice had never been this empathic and warm and strong for him. Until now.
'He is already home, Bass. With you.'
It was the moment he surrendered to tears as he pulled a hand over his face. His tears howled through his body. He couldn't stop.
This time, near this fire, Charlie did not keep her distance. She moved closer as he pulled her closer. Both crying, here under the solace of Mexican trees. Finally admitting their grieve. Together. He blinked, the salt of his tears stinging in his eyes. He cried more. This time she cried with him.
The moment she got closer to Monroe, Bass pulled her closer and they got all entangled in the other. Her nose and side of her face ended up against his chests and the passage to his strong, wide neck. His taller beaten strong wide body move up against and all over her side as a shield, her chests, the arch of her breasts now close to him. Theirs arms were all around the other, were everywhere. Touching and seemed to never want to stop, but so did their touching and stroking and seeking fingertips on skin from the other. Her hand around his wide strong side, his hand going over and through her hair.
They fell asleep together.
Chapter three
They travelled, she hunted. He sat. Dark broody thoughts with sharp jaws and endless blue eyes. He drank. She drank with him. His shoulder close to her upper arm. A dark cloud around him.
But always close to the other.
It was theirs Again.
When they have to sleep, she crawled under the blanket with him. He was close enough to sense his breath, to take in the scent of his neck, just above his collar bone.
It is what settled her every damn night.
She somehow was not ashamed of it. His scent, his rock solid shoulder, his gentle touch when she was sure she could not take anymore grieve that touched whatever skin he could caress.
She took it all. It was comfort, it was the last thing to hold on to before tumbling down of an cliff. She slept in Bass' arms, breathing against his strong neck, her hands on his chest. He slept, her curled up around him as he sought out solace in her hair. And dammit, he needed her, her warmth, her weight of her chest and hips and breasts against his body. They learned to somehow get through the next second again. The next minute. That turned into knowing how to get through the next hour on the road. They remembered. Together.
They spend long days on the road, both pushing each other, staying on the road during the day, to keep other thoughts out.
Charlie realised now he was quiet, too quit, how much she missed him being a crude ass. He was too quiet and she missed the banter, that she looked back now upon as easy banter, as something that was already revealing so much about them both. Because somehow they had become a both.
She doubted if they will ever fall in that easy banter again. If she would hear him make a well placed and very personal infuriating remark about movies and people she never got. If she would ever see those blue eyes fire up at her, if she would ever get so close to him she can feel her heartbeat going fast and so much sizzles in those moments where their eyes look for the other.
But for now, he was here. With her.
And she was taking him back to Miles.
It was at the evening of the last day of their seventh week on the road they reached the small town where Charlie had left Miles. They rode in silence. Bass next to her as the ride into the town. They got of their horses and walked the last part. She needed her both feet on the ground for this last part.
Miles was looking through the street, one glass of whiskey in hand when he saw them. And when he did, he could not hold back. His hand started to tremble. He had to put the damn glass down as he moved away from the bar. His shirt open, his swords, ever there, strapped to his belt. Once, Charlie had came to Chicago to ask for his help. She had brought him back from his own hole of self-hate he had created there in that hotel. In that moment Miles remembered how Charlie had brought back Bass, as he walked with her to the town boarders, and he met his brother again under that old bridge.
And now, they had both come back. To him as he watched Charlie walk next to his brother, his insides, the guy, the brother he had fought many years with. He had grown up with. He had shared his life with. She walked close to Bass, their arms brushing every now and then. He walked towards them.
Bass watched Miles. The man, the brother, and how much they had both tried not to be, the men that was still his brother. They stood still, Charlie close with them. They stood still in front of the other. Watched the other. And then, strong wide long arms searched for the other, as Miles pulled him close, and bass did the same.
Charlie was the kind of person that would not let her colours show that easily, just like Miles, but tears were ambushing her at the sight of brothers. Two brothers. She had found out the truth about the depth of their love on their way to Philly, many years ago. She had seen that truth as she had brought Bass back to Willoughby. In the field, Bass fighting next to Miles, Miles fighting next to Bass. In the struggle, in the love, in the fighting, the insults.
Miles pulled away from Bass just long enough to pull her close, one arm around Bass, one arm around her. Bass' large hand found her back, as she threw an arm around Miles as she found the back pocket of Bass' jeans to steady herself. She felt the tall strong wide chestt of two men around her that she could not do without anymore.
She would not let them go anymore.
They were hers. She belonged to them. They belonged with her.
Authors Note: Thank you so much for reading this first part, the second part will be up tomorrow!
I stopped at an earlier 'frame' in the comics. But I had to. I could not not write this story this way.
So many other talented Charlie fanfiction writers have written stories, starting where the comic had stopped. They were of such beauty that I wanted to do something else, because I already loved all those stories that I felt I did not wanted to add more there. They are fabulous!I choose a different route. I don't know if it is a fix it story for the challenge, but here we are...my take on the story, with a part comic, but then, with a twist.
Feedback and reviews are always welcome, I love knowing you are still there.
Love from Love