When I write my stories, there are always those moments when the Charloe chemistry explodes. I have a little notebook filled with those moments. I've decided to use those little ideas. Because in every episode, there is that energy. What would happen if that energy would turn into something more? Every one shot is an answer to the question of what would happen if something more happened between Charlie and Bass in this point of the story you know from the episodes? In every one shot time resets, so the story until this scene will be the canon story you know from the episodes.
These are 22 one shots, one for every episode for season two. Today we start in New Vegas.
Her
You're asking the wrong question, ask me why I couldn't?" " "Because we are still brothers."
Miles words, the last time he saw his brother after he ran, ran from anything. Walked for miles, endless days, alone, solitutde. Finding a miserable life of fucking, fighting. There is guilt. Shame. And the endless directionless as he lives his life here in this messed up trailer and this tent town where he can disappear, live his life as Jimmy King.
The door of his trailer was shut again. Footsteps disappeared. Bass grabbed his shirt from the bed behind him and puts on his shirt. while his trailer smelled like nauseating perfume that screamed whore. He had just banged another whore. Before that he had fought another fight. The fight tent had been crowded and he had filled himself with numbing rage.
Took the punches to fight his pain.
After the fight, the hollowness came.
And now he ended up here, in New Vegas. He fought his fights in Gould's tent, and there was one person in the middle of this miserable place who knew who he really was. He had trusted Duncan Paige with that. One connection to his old life.
It had been six months after the tower, and now it was just him in a pathetic trailer in New fucking Vegas, images hunted him down again with flyers about the Philly fall out always there in his trailer to read again. And Again. Flynn, the tower, destruction. He had no fucking energy to keep them out anymore.
Loss. Miles. Guilt. The Tower. Rage. Philly.
Miserable endless days after Miles had let him the fuck go when Tom Neville had the fucking nerve to take over.
Miles should have fucking shot him right there, that day outside the tower. But he hadn't. Because they were still brothers. He was not even sure if Miles was alive.
And from Miles, his mind took a detour and ended up with her. His niece. Somebody, some girl from his past, a girl from pictures, living in Chicago, he met a couple of times. But that was before.
He met her again on that one day just outside Philly.
When he had walked into the scarcely lit room, his focus had been on Rachel Matheson, the amplifier and the fact that he had been completely and utterly done with her games.
One of his men had informed him the children were waiting with Rachel. When he had walked in the room his attention was on Rachel, on what he just told Strausser to do if she would make one wrong one.
A piece of Miles, so fucking close. Deep dark blonde hair that was lightened up by the candles in the room, a brown leather jacket, legs curled up under her, her attention on her little brother who was slouched down a small couch, just behind Rachel.
He had heard her name countless times. Ben and Rachel's daughter. He had seen her name in so many damn reports. She seemed to be everywhere and the reason why his brother had been on his way to him.
Nice to finally meet you, Charlotte. I am General Monroe.
There was this flash of insecurity in her eyes, sitting in front of him, close to Danny, him towering over her, calm. But then, those blue eyes had filled with determination and loathing and so much fucking more that it had blew him away. His voice calm, his insides raging. He swore that god damn amplifier would work, and he did not care what the fuck he had to do. He had her children, right there. He had here where he had wanted her to be.
Rachel Matheson had walked away from her children, from Ben, from her family. To protect them. But he knew her secrets. She had walked away from them, leaving her entire fucking family on the side of the road. She had walked away from them, but to Miles. She had a part in messing this whole world up beyond recognition.
He had told Charlotte, that there was so much about her mother she did not know. He had seen the cold hate and panic in Rachel's eyes. Because it was the fucking truth. He mentioned what she had done, the screwdriver into another's man chest to save her own fucking life. He used it. Watched Charlotte look up from him to her precious mom.
Rachel's eyes had told him he won.
Oh I am sure there is a lot about your mom you don't know.
His eyes held Charlotte's eyes, and it was blue that locked into blue.
Submissiveness. Fear.
Flirtation, smiles, woman where he wanted them to be in seconds.
But not her.
While Strausser was only adding more pressure, Charlotte talked to Rachel. Her voice strong, her eyes strong. Eyes that reminded him so much of Miles. Rachel was in tears, but not her. Not Charlotte. He saw the emotions running behind her eyes, but she stayed so fucking determined.
She was blazing, storming. A wave of loyalty and protectiveness and so much fucking bravery when she stood up for her brother, when she stood up for him in front of the most dangerous man in his republic. In front of him.
Charlotte stood in front of that gun, her eyes fixed at Strausser. Blue firing. She did not move. She did not move one fucking inch.
His heartbeat picked up, his mouth fell open slightly. He felt something stir against the fabric of his pants. His eyes were glued on her. His tongue pressed against his teeth while he felt a first raw shot through his gut.
Rachel pleading for him to stop. Weakness. Her voice far away but his had only been eyes on her. Only on her. Only on Charlotte.
He had turned around, calmly. One more loot at Rachel. And when he had walked out of the room, he had to look at Charlotte again, Charlotte's piercing eyes in his.
He had walked back to his office. Nodding at his men in the hallway. When he had reached his office his hard on had been throbbing with her intensity. He put his hands on the desk in front of him, told himself to get a fucking grip. Poured himself a whiskey.
And even after months, she, that moment, her strength and those fucking blue eyes would not leave him the hell alone.
His system filled with bad booze, the hooker he had just banged had just left his trailer. But it was not enough to keep her out.
Charlotte Matheson.
She broke lose raw desire, the need to pin her down, her thighs between his legs, keeping her in one damn place while he would fill her. Fuck her. Those blue eyes firing into him, his hand in her hair, around her neck, on her hips pulling her close. And when he took her, she would moan, she would always give the fuck in at the end, with every rigid trust inside of her he would draw her in.
He was hard again. He was in Philly again.
Her eyes were mocking him, playing with him while he would take a step towards her. His hands would touch her slowly. Her tits would fill his hands, her first moan a personal victory. Her slender body, curves and young strength, trained by Miles, would be all his. His.
His hand disappeared into his pants, and he eagerly started to jerk off. He leaned into the wall with one hand. His fingers around his hard on, moving and pumping slowly.
He would wait. Wait for her to give in. Because she would. She would move her smooth skin against his, standing between his legs, and his eyes, they would fucking beg for him. Only then, he would take her. Fill her. Fuck her.
The thought of his name, her surrender, almost made him come in his own hand. His movements were faster, while he needed that release. Her ass against his stomach, her hips under his hands, her moaning. He was pounding into her, fast, intense. Against his desk, between papers, with his men outside. Tasting her, pushing her into him. His body all around her.
He came with force, letting out a deep groan.
Release.
Tomorrow he would wake up. Maybe see Duncan. Meet Gould. Still miserable. Hung over. He would fight again. Be Jimmy King again.
Forget about who he used to be. What used to be. Forget about Miles, forget about her. Charlotte.
He would meet a young blonde girl, who he had met before after a fight at the bar. SHe would ask him how he could do this every night. He would tell her it was better than his last job. She would have shoulder length straight blonde hair, a dress that floated around her tits, deep eyes and lush lips. She would flirt with him, would be asking him for a part of him for that night, he would give in.
But she, this woman here in Vegas with so much of Charlotte in her, she would not fill his raw hunger.
Because she was not her.
In less than 24 hours she would crash back into his life.