Requested Charloe one-shot with major deviations from the season 2 plot line. I'm experimenting with a new writing style, so I apologize for any weirdness in that.
Charlie knows several things to be absolutely true. Among those are that she hates Sebastian Monroe and that she wants him in equal measure.
Bass too knows several things to be true. Chief among those are that Charlotte Matheson has been a pain in his ass since the moment he met her, and yet he still finds that he wants her.
They both swear to themselves that they won't let anything become of the want that they feel; they lose themselves in other people to try and push their desire for each other away, but every time they see each other it seems to grow.
(They both pretend not to see the lingering glances the other sends their way and they both pretend that they're not sending the other any lingering glances too.)
Then, they can't seem to resist any more. It happens like this:
They're drunk and alone with just each other, and they both have an itch that needs scratching. Maybe it is just the alcohol that allows them to give into their baser urges. Maybe it's that this is the first time they've had to be alone with each other in so long and that makes it harder to resist. Maybe it's the fact that they've been fighting their attraction for so long, dancing around each other, neither wanting to be the one that gives in first. Maybe it's that they just don't give a fuck anymore. In their world, there isn't a whole lot of time for inaction.
The most likely reason is that in her drunken stupor she climbed into his lap and kissed him and kissed him, raised his shirt over his head, and everything else ceased to matter when his hands went under her shirt and cupped her breasts. His tongue meeting hers. Hands grasping, tugging off articles of clothing, leaving them both finally bare to each other…
So for whatever reason, they wake up the next morning wrapped in each other's arms and their legs entangled. She snuggles into his chest at first, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body and the scent that is so him and so comforting, and he pulls her closer, completely trusting in that moment and enjoying the softness of her body against his.
Then their eyes open and recognition sets in. There's a lot of stammering after that, pushing away, angry accusations (a flush to her cheeks when she finds herself looking at his toned torso and then down lower).
The blanket slips down sometime in their arguing and her chest is revealed; she only notices when she sees his eyes focused below her face. "Go away!" She shouts as she hurries to cover herself.
She pretends not to stare at his naked backside when he gets up to give her some privacy to get dressed ("I am, after all, a gentleman," he says as he walks away, bending down first to pick up his discarded clothes and ignoring her disbelieving snort), and he pretends not to notice her eyes on him. He returns, fully dressed-too soon, because she was not as quick as he was-and she quickly tugs on her shirt to remove her naked chest from his sight.
Permanently. She promises herself halfheartedly, not really meaning it, not even as angry with him as she is in that moment (she enjoyed the sex, and she finds that she's already thinking of ways to sleep with him again; but she pushes those thoughts away because she's mad at him, and she repeats that thought like a mantra). Mad at him. You are mad at him.
"It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before." He says, because there's a part of him that can't resist riling her up. "In fact, I think I'll have the image of your body for quite a while."
She glares at him and he glares back (they're very good at glaring at each other they find, and neither is willing to back down).
Finally, he breaks the silence and looks away from her for a moment, rubbing his face absentmindedly. "I don't think we should tell anyone about this."
She levels him with her best well duh look (and wonders why she ever had to force herself to be mad at him) before turning from him to angrily pack up their camp. He joins her, silently, and soon they find themselves back on the horse that they found (or stole more accurately), her in the front, and him sitting behind her.
The funny thing about silence, especially for prolonged periods, is that it gives you a lot of time to think. And they happen to have a lot to think about.
So she finds herself thinking about all the first tender kisses and the harsh, bruising ones and the hands that ran down her skin and how his chest felt beneath her hands and how she dragged her nails down his back in ecstasy, and oh God she slept with Bass….
….and he finds himself thinking of how good it felt to be inside of her and how good it felt to sleep with or fuck—whatever-someone who he actually cared about and how good her body felt under his and how much it's going to hurt him to never have that again because he wants it, he wants it bad, and now that he's felt something close to what he wants, he doesn't know if he can go on pretending that everything is fine...
They both hold their bodies rigidly, not wanting to accidentally touch the other person and have their bodies betray them.
"It didn't mean anything," He says eventually, because he can't stand the silence and he doesn't know what else to say. He realizes that there's a part of him that wants to push her away too, now before it's too late. Every time someone gets close to him, he ruins it. Ruins them, and he doesn't want to do that to her.
But she's Charlie, and so she presses her body back firmly against him. "Your dick seems to still want me," She murmurs before sliding back up and as far from him as she can comfortably get.
All he wants to do, he finds, is grab her hips and pull her back to him. "You're playing with fire, Charlie," He says instead as he grips the reigns tighter in an effort to still his hands.
"That would matter if I was afraid of getting burnt," She quickly returns, but he notices that she relaxes just a little in the saddle.
They spend the rest of their short journey in silence. The others are camped less than three hours ride away, and they are there before they know it. She hopes that what they did isn't noticeable to anyone else (she really doesn't want to have to explain to anyone else when she doesn't quite understand it herself). He hopes Miles won't read the small amount of guilt in his eyes (not that he slept with Charlie, but that he slept with his best friend's niece; he had separated the two in his head, so he was able to feel guilt because of who she was not because of what they had done).
But somehow, mercifully, the people they care most about don't seem to be able to tell what they did. They're focused on the success of the mission (as Bass and Charlie both realize that they should have been), and they quickly move on to other missions, and other problems with the Patriots.
Charlie and Bass can't move on from the other things that happened on their trip though, and they both try.
She wonders what's the sense in trying to have sex with anyone else, when she can tell just from their kisses that they won't be half the lover that Bass proved to be.
He wonders what the sense is in trying to have sex with any of the women in the bar—prostitute or otherwise—when all he can think about is the small sliver of his old self he felt when he was with her.
It happens again three weeks later, though they do their best to avoid each other—and Miles' suspicious questioning—in that time. They're alone again ("You two are the best for this mission," Miles had said), drunk on the high of surviving what seemed like an impossible situation, and so they find their way back into each other's arms.
"But Miles—" He protests weakly when her hands go to the button of his jeans, stopping her still moving fingers by encircling both her wrists in one hand.
"Bass." She interrupts, and she tries to go on, but he interrupts her in turn.
"Your mom—"
"Bass!"
"Aaron, Gene, everyone—"
"If you don't stop it, I swear I will tell all of them." It's those words that finally get through to him, and he looks at her for the first time since he felt her hands on him through his pants. "I don't care about them. Not right now. And maybe later I will, but right now? I want this. I want you."
It's enough for him, and he gives in (he was fighting a losing battle to begin with, and they both knew it; he wanted it just as much as she did). He tugs her shirt off over her head, and her bra soon follows. His mouth finds its way to first one pert nipple and then the other. She finally gets his pants down, kicking them off with her feet when he lays her down on the ground. They rush to undress each other after that; he abandons her chest to kiss over her brand. She doesn't know if he's apologizing or staking claim, and right then she couldn't care less because his thumb is stroking her clit, and he very slowly pushes two fingers into her.
"Inside me now." She says suddenly, because she can't take his teasing fingers anymore, and he's taking too long. He laughs, grinning down at her, but then he lowers himself to kiss the scowl off her face. He tilts his hips forward and then enters her with one swift stroke.
"I'm not going to fall in love with you," She states after they're done and their breathing has calmed, in case he had any questions about the state of their relationship. She might enjoy the sex, and this time she wasn't sure she wanted to lie to herself and say that she didn't want this again, but she would not be forming emotions for him, and its best that he know that now.
"Good," He says in reply, "because I have no intention of falling in love with you."
It's easier then for her to give into her want for him. They're just fucking. No emotions or expectations of emotions. And it is some damn good sex.
(Neither is willing to admit that they're in denial; that it's something more than really great sex that brings them back for more. No, to admit that might mean the unraveling of everything that they'd worked so hard to build up. He has his walls because he's been hurt one to many times and the last straw was when Connor walked out of his life; he won't risk emotion any more. She doesn't want to care about anyone—she's lucky to still have Miles, her mom, and Aaron, but she's afraid of losing them too, like she's lost everyone else, and she doesn't want to care about another person. Another person that she could lose.)
So when his body is ready again, she flings a leg over his hips, rests comfortably on top of him (but she doesn't let him enter her body—not yet). She enjoys seeing the great Monroe struggling to restrain himself, knowing that she's making him squirm. She leans down and brushes her nose against his skin, inhaling his scent (why did he have to smell so good?). He grips her hips trying to coax her to let him do what they both want him to, but she's not ready yet. Charlie grabs a his hair to pull his face up for that they can kiss, their tongues dancing, their arms wrapping around each other… and all the while she can feel his dick pulsing beneath her (she won't admit it, but it takes all her willpower to wait as long as she does because there's an ache, and she's so wet for him and all she wants is him inside her). She takes pity on him—and on herself—eventually, and lowers herself inch by inch onto him.
His hands move to her hips, pushing her up almost all the way off of him, before pulling her back down. She loses herself to the sensations, the pressure mounting inside of her….
And it all crashes down as she breathes out, or screams, she's not really sure, his name. And them murmurs it over and over again against his skin when she collapses against him. "Bass. Bass. Bass. Sebastian. Bass."
He flips them over, riding out her orgasm, prolonging it for as long as he can… before he pulls out of her quickly and spills himself on the ground.
They fall into a pattern: Avoid each other when anyone else is around ("I don't want their questions and I really don't want to deal with their disapproval," Charlie says and Bass agrees; it's for the best that no one ever finds out what they did and what they were still doing). They find some mission to go on that only requires the two of them. Fight side by side and save each other's asses when the need arises. Survive. Fuck. Rinse and repeat.
He notices other differences in their relationship—aside from the obvious addition of sex. Where before he would instinctively know she had his back in a fight and that she didn't need him to watch her every move, now he worries about her getting her and finds his concentration slipping when he does fight.
(Miles had only sent them in to gather intel; but fights seemed to follow or find Bass and Charlie wherever they went when they were separate from each other. When they were together? They couldn't avoid getting into a few skirmishes, and if he were being honest, he'd say the Patriot bastards deserved it.)
She calls him an idiot and curses at him while she stitches him up when his preoccupation lands him with a knife in his side (he's ashamed that he didn't see it coming because it seemed so obvious after the fact that of course that's where they'd try to get him; he wasn't protecting that side, and if he'd been in his right mind, he would have).
"I can't lose you!" She finally yells when she gets no response or apology from him through all her ranting. He finally pulls her to him at that, his sudden need to comfort her overwhelming his confusion at her words. There's an apology clear in his eyes, and he buries his head in the crook of her neck. He doesn't let go, even when she rails against him because dammit she wants to be mad at him for being so stupid, and she tells him that. "I can take care of myself, you moron!" But he just holds her, rocks her gently when the tears come (it's the first time she's cried in what feels like forever and she hates it; she hates that he's the one that brings this out in her. Every emotion. Anger, happiness, bliss, worry, sorrow—all the things she worked so hard to suppress).
He can't promise her that she won't lose him because it would be a lie and he won't lie to her—anything could happen in this world and you never know how much time you have left—but he undresses her slowly, showing her without telling her just how much he's come to care (he ignores the pain his wound causes him; some things are worth the pain, he finds, and she's at the top of that list).
They pretend it didn't happen the next day, and life goes on.
Except they can't forget that night and how it changed them, because it was different. They were different. It was soft and slow and unhurried; everything they hadn't let themselves do until then. There was emotion, real emotion, and they didn't want those things with each other.
They try to go back to the way things were—pretending they don't care about each other—and for a while it works. They stop agreeing to go on missions together, and Miles accepts this with a shrug and a role of his eyes; he's stopped questioning both their mood swings a long time ago. They avoid each other like the plague. They stop acknowledging the other's existence in an effort to push the fact that they both realized that they cared about each other away.
The damage has already been done, though, amidst their best efforts. They miss each other like a physical ache, so they give up.
Charlie sends him a glance over the fire as she announces, "I'm going to go get more water."
Bass gets the message and shortly after she's gone, he leaves, making the excuse that he's going to get more wood for the fire.
He finds her easily enough; she's standing with her back to him on the edge of the lake. He stands next to her, and jolts in surprise when her hand clasps his.
"Charlie—" He starts, but she stops him when she turns her head toward him and uses her free hand to pull his head down to hers. She kisses him, just a soft brush of her lips over his.
"I don't want to talk about it." She says as she pulls away. He nods, because what else can he do? And he doesn't really want to talk about it either.
And after that, it's all too easy to give into everything they'd fought for so long. They don't ignore each other around their group anymore. They talk and sit next to each other and share secret smiles. Miles and Rachel and Aaron all look at them curiously, question them when they're apart from each other, but they don't give in. What they have is private, and they don't want the intrusion. It's still too new.
Miles, though, being Miles, can't let it go, not when his friend is starting to remind him of the man he knew before the Blackout, and the Matheson's don't really hold their tongues when they've had a few drinks. "You've been in a good mood, Bass, and if I know one thing it's that you're friendlier when you're getting laid. The only thing I can't figure out is who'd want to sleep with your sorry ass?"
Bass rolls his eyes in response. "I've been told that I'm an excellent lover." He doesn't let his eyes go to Charlie, but he feels her eyes on him.
"They were probably just drunk." She challenges quickly, and that's when both Miles' and Bass' eyes go to her. She ducks her head quickly at the attention, focusing on her food instead.
(Bass thinks he sees a blush stain her cheeks, but he's sure the light is playing tricks on him.)
Miles guffaws loudly and suddenly. Bass shots him a glare, ignores the smiles that Rachel, Gene, and Aaron are enjoying at his expense, and stalks into the woods. It isn't long before he hears the telltale snap of twigs behind him, and he whirls on her.
(She'll only wonder later how he was so sure it was her, that he knew she would be the one to follow him.)
"So. I'm only a good lover when you're drunk? Is that what keeps you coming back for more?" He's irate, and neither of them is quite sure why he's so affected by her words.
"You know that's not true." She whispers gently. Soothingly—or it would almost be soothing, if there wasn't a note of anger in her voice. "Though I'm surprised that you think so little of me as to think that what I was saying was true."
He stalks closer to her, eyebrows drawn together. "Then why did you say it?"
"I've never told you that you were an excellent lover, so I thought you must have been talking about someone else!" She explodes, turning her body from him and running her hands through her hair.
"What are you saying, Charlotte?" He asks, his voice gentler now, more like how she's used to him talking to her.
She lets out a noise of frustration. "Nothing, I'm not saying anything."
"Charlie—"
"I was jealous, okay?" She's still yelling, but she turns back to him finally, and she stalks towards him this time. "Is that what you want to hear? That I'm jealous of someone that may or may not exist? That I'm jealous of every person that you've touched before me? That I—God! I want to find them and torment them? That I've never—" He silences whatever else was about to come out of her mouth when he grabs her hand and tugs her the rest of the way to him, slanting his lips over hers and kissing her long and deep.
He pulls back slowly when they're both breathless, only enough so that he can look at her face. "I was trying to rile you up, and it obviously worked, a little too well. "
"You wanted me to get pissed at you?" She asks incredulously, all the while wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
"No," He answers, laughing softly, and then laughs louder when she glares at him more. "I wanted to know how you'd respond. I thought you'd follow me out here when I left, which I was playing on doing anyway, and ask me to prove it. Obviously, my plan backfired a little."
She scoffs. "You're a moron."
He smiles bigger at that. "You say that a lot."
She's still glaring at him, but she can feel the beginnings of her own smile. "Only because it's true!"
He nods slowly. "You're probably right."
"Of course I'm right!"
"Mmmhmmm," he murmurs his assent. "Can I kiss you now?"
"I don't know. " There's a spark in her eyes, one of her dangerous ones, and he knows he's about to pay for his foolish plan. But maybe he's wrong because her next action is to rise on her toes, in the same motion clutching his shirt to pull him closer, and place her lips just over his—but not touching. "I think I've had better."
He laughs in disbelief. His surprise is short lived though, and she sees a glint in his eye. "Really?"
"Yes." She responds, but it comes out more like yesssss because he moves his lips to kiss up her neck, sucking on her pulse point and oh god he's good and she can't stop the breathy sighs that fall from her lips when he nibbles on her ear. His mouth moves to her cheek, her nose, her eyelids, and his hand slides down the length of her body toying with the hem of her jeans. She pushes her hips up, trying to convince him wordlessly to touch her, but he moves his hand in between her thighs (smirking when he feels the wet heat radiating through her jeans). She grinds down on his hand, delighting in the friction even though she wants—needs—more.
"Are you sure you don't want to take that statement back now?" He questions as his nose skims over hers and she can taste his breath in her mouth (when did she open her mouth in anticipation?)
"Prove me wrong." She challenges softly.
He smiles. Their tongues meet before their lips do-
"I can't believe this shit!"
Bass and Charlie jump away from each other at Miles' voice and they both curse themselves for being so stupid. Of course he would follow them; Charlie hadn't even tried to hide the fact that she was going after Bass, and he'd been suspicious of them for weeks.
Miles' fist slams into Bass' face before they can say anything. "How long has this been going on, you bastard?" He continues to pummel Bass, and Bass lets him, to Charlie's combines shock and horror.
"Miles!" Charlie yells, trying to pull her uncle from her… whatever Bass is to her. She's finally able to tug him away, and she fixes him with a stern look before moving to help Bass up. He brushes her off, rising to his feet by himself. She rolls her eyes at him and then turns back to Miles. "Really? Was that completely necessary?"
"He had his hand—and his tongue—and your tongue—" He emphasis each statement with a move of his hands, his agitation completely clear.
"Ugh!" She says, because she really does not want to do this right now. "You're drunk, and I don't want to talk to you right now. So. We're all going to go back to camp, and play nice with each other, and I'm going to try not to kill you Miles for leaving me frustrated!"
"Frustrated?" He asks slowly, confused now.
"Yes, Miles. Frustrated. As in sexually." And with that, she turns and walks away, ignoring the disgusted look that appears on Miles' face at her words. Both men watch her swiftly retreating form before looking back at each other.
"Seriously, Bass? Charlie! She's my niece! What the hell were you thinking?" He punctuates his final question with a hard shove into Bass' shoulder.
"I was thinking—"
"No! You weren't thinking!" Miles interrupts. "If you'd been thinking, you wouldn't have done it!"
"You really think Charlie would do anything if she didn't want to?" Bass questions calmly. "'Cause I sure as hell don't."
Miles sputters at that, but regains his gusto quickly. "If you hurt her—"
"Don't bother, Miles. You and I both know that if I hurt her I'll be dead long before you get to me."
Miles sighs. "I guess we should get back to camp then?"
Bass nods slowly, rubbing at his sore shoulder as they start walking. "Damn, Miles. Did you have to punch me so hard?"
"You deserved it, you bastard."
Its Bass' turn to sigh at that, and he does. They walk in silence after that, slower than Charlie was (mostly because Bass has to stop and help Miles up every few steps. He's surprised that Miles got so many punches in in his inebriated state.)
"Always wanted you to be real family. Never thought it would be because you're sleeping with my niece," Miles gets out right before they reach camp. "Don't let Rachel find out. She will kill you, what Charlie wants be damned."
Bass sends Miles over to his sleeping bag before going to sit next to Charlie. "Well, that was interesting."
She takes a swig of the drink in her hand before responding. "To say the least."
He's taken aback by her tone of voice. "Are you angry with me?"
She levels him with a glance.
He gets the hint though, quite easily. Frustrated. As in sexually. "Yeah. Uh. I'm sorry about that but-"
"Do. Not." She says between clenched teeth, her gaze murderous. Or maybe, he muses, maybe her gaze is clouded in lust.
He'd only ever seen it when she was in the throes of passion; it surprises him to see the difference. She was looking at him like she might jump on his lap and let him take her there for all to see. "We could wait until Miles is asleep?" He suggests feebly.
She ponders it for a moment and then nods her agreement slowly, turning her gaze back to the fire. "So we're not going to let Miles' little discovery stop us?"
"I don't want to stop. Do you?"
"I think the answer to that is pretty obvious."
He smiles at the obvious want in her voice, and grabs the bottle of alcohol out of her hand to take a sip. "Alright. So, what do we do until then?"
"We could just drink," She punctuates her words by taking back the bottle and makes a show out of wiping the rim before taking a sip herself.
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" He asks in a low voice, his body leaning towards hers.
She rolls her eyes at him again and pushes him away playfully. He smiles, and this time she passes him the bottle. "You think he's going to tell everyone?"
He shakes his head. "Nah."
Charlie raises her eyebrows at him. "You gonna tell me why you sound so sure or…?"
"He's drunk, he probably won't even remember trying to get us to admit to our relationship, let alone actually finding us together."
"And if he does remember?" She challenges.
There's a pucker to her brow, and he wants to lean over and smooth the skin, but he stops himself. A part of him thinks she won't appreciate the gesture and the other part of him doesn't know where the desire to sooth her and keep her happy came from.
He's still not sure if he likes it or not.
"Then we'll deal with it. Anyway, would it be so bad for them to know?" He doesn't know where the question comes from either; maybe it was her earlier uncertainty that allowed him to voice some of his own.
"Well, I am fond of certain parts of your anatomy, and it would be a shame if any members of my family were to cut them off."
He doesn't miss how she changes the topic, how her tone goes from serious to joking, but he chooses not to question it. "That is true. I find I'm fond of those parts myself. You make such enticing noises when said parts are inside of you."
She laughs; she finds that she can't help it. "Yeah, well, if Miles hadn't found us…" she trailed off, knowing he would be able to finish her thought.
(If Miles hadn't found them he would have been inside of her already and she wouldn't feel like she was about to explode with want.)
"Yeah, if Miles hadn't found us." Bass agrees.
They wait for hours…
(It's fifty minutes, tops.)
…to be sure that Miles and everyone else (with the exception of Aaron who's keeping watch) is fast asleep. They make their whispered excuses ("We're going to get some water.") and slip in the woods once more.
They divest themselves of their clothing in record time. He starts to kiss his way up her torso, but she's having none of it.
"Screw foreplay," She says, tugging him up so their lips can touch. She let's her other hand trail a quick path down his body, and she grasps his hardened length in her hand before guiding it to her entrance. He enters her, inch by beautiful inch, and they fall into an easy rhythm together—they've done this so many times now that their bodies seem to know instinctively what to do.
And they don't stop until they're both satisfied.
They avoid Miles the next day; Charlie is glad that his punches don't seem to have left any bruises on Bass—at least not any visible ones. She's not sure how they would have explained that one.
(She tries not to stare at Bass' ass when he walks in front of her.)
They're moving on to new territories. New skirmishes, new battles, new plans, new problems await them and they can't stay in one place for too long.
(Charlie hopes that the added pressure from the Patriots will keep Miles' mind off of her and Bass—she hoped that Bass was right though, and that Miles didn't remember anything of that night.)
They decide to go back to Texas—while the trail led them out of the state months before, their information had led them back there.
They avoided the towns that seemed to be filled with Patriots, but sometimes amidst their best efforts, they still ran into the soldiers. It was torture for Bass to have to sit and play nice with them, when all he wanted to do was take them all out.
Miles was strongly against that idea. He had a strategy, he told them, and Bass and Charlie were to both go along with it and try and stay out of trouble.
They both rolled their eyes at that, but Rachel agreed with Miles.
"First of all Bass, the Patriots think you're dead. That gives us an advantage. If they find out who you are? And second, we can't take out the whole Patriot army on our own. We need allies, and to do that we need to gain people's trust. We're not going to be able to do that if you start killing people."
"We don't want to kill random people, mom. Just a few soldiers here and there. You know, even the odds."
"Charlie, we don't know where these people's loyalties lay. We can't just kill the soldiers if the people actually like them."
Bass and Charlie both snorted at that, but they nodded anyway, promising to not start any fights (intentionally, that is). Gene had found them a house to stay in; one with a room for nearly all of them, and Charlie can't quite hide her excitement at being able to sleep on a bed again.
She's trying to fall asleep hours later (finding that it's harder than she would have thought; she almost misses the familiarity of sleeping around a fire with everyone together; and maybe that's the problem, she muses, she's not used to being alone anymore, and she's uncomfortable being alone) and she's finding the task nearly impossible. She's ready to give up, maybe slip downstairs and find something to drink, but her door cracks open. She shoots up, ready to fight off the intruder, but she relaxes when she sees Bass' familiar form.
"What are you doing here?" She asks in a whisper.
"I couldn't sleep." He replies, coming over to the edge of the bed. She sighs, and flips the covers back for him to join her.
"I couldn't sleep either." She says as she watches him strip his shirt off before getting into bed with her. He throws the cover over his body, and then pulls her body against his. "What, you're not going to even try to seduce me?" She jokes, curling her body against his.
He kisses the top of her head in reply. "Go to sleep, Charlotte." He murmurs sleepily.
So she closes her eyes, and within minutes she's asleep.
When she wakes, she's by herself. She sighs and stretches. She wishes they didn't have to do this; that they didn't have to pretend they weren't… together. But she's glad he left before anyone could discover them.
(She wishes he had stayed.)
Charlie gets up and gets dressed quickly, finding everyone in the kitchen eating breakfast. Rachel hands her a plate of food, which she gladly accepts.
"Sleep well, kid?" Miles asks with a smile.
"Umhmmm." She responds, because she finds she's not really ready for conversation yet. So she eats and listens to everyone else laugh and talk.
(It almost feels normal and Charlie finds that she wants to wake up like this every morning, surrounded by the people she cares about.)
Bass passes her a cup of coffee, and she grimaces as she always does at the first bitter swallow. This of course spurs Rachel and Aaron to launch into a debate with Bass and Miles. Rachel and Aaron argue that creamer makes the coffee better, but Miles and Bass contend that black coffee is better.
"Care to weigh in, Charlie?" Aaron asks at one point.
"I don't even know what creamer is, let alone if it would make coffee better."
Of course, they all try to explain to her what it is at that point, and she stops them, laughing. "I don't think I'll ever understand, so it's no use trying to explain."
The conversation lulls after that, but it's a comfortable sort of silence. "So," Miles finally says. "About our friendly, neighborhood Patriots. We should probably consider gathering intel."
They all agree, and Bass volunteers to scope out the area. Charlie tries to volunteer to go with him, but Miles beats her to it.
Bass is disappointed; he had wanted Charlie to join him so that they could have some time alone. The night before, just sleeping together, had been nicer. Nicer than he cared to really admit. But he wasn't sure how she felt about it; nothing in her face gave her away. He was worried that she was upset, though why she would be he didn't know. Nonetheless, he was worried, but it seemed he wouldn't be getting any relief any time soon.
So he and Miles leave, promising to return in one piece (though something tells Bass that Rachel could really care less about his safety).
The pair walks around the little town, and Bass fights his urge to either fight or run every time they come across a Patriot soldier.
"A little nervous there?" Miles asks, careful not to say Bass' name.
"Wouldn't you be?" Bass returns.
"I don't know. It seems that you should be more nervous about the uncle of the girl you're sleeping with knowing that you're sleeping with her."
Damn. Bass groans in exasperation. "I was hoping you were too drunk to remember. Were you just letting us both sweat it out?"
"Well, I was hoping you'd have the guts to come clean to me, but obviously…"
Bass grumbles at that; he doesn't know what he'll tell Charlie now. "So?"
"So?" Miles hedges.
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm not going to do anything about it. I might not like it, but I'm sure Charlie can take care of herself. And I'm sure me going all protective, pseudo-father on both of you will only make you want to be with each other more."
"You're not going to even try to stop us?" Bass asks, incredulous now. This was not what he had been expecting, at all.
"What's the sense? You both know what you're doing, and I'm sure Rachel will take care of the angry reaction when she finds out."
Bass groans again at the reminder. "Are you going to tell her?"
"No," Bass starts to sigh in relief, but Miles' next words stop him. "One of you is. She deserves to know, Bass."
He lets out a breath of discontent. "I hate it when you're right."
"You'd think you'd be used to Matheson's proving you wrong."
"Ha ha, very funny."
"You know—"
Miles' words are cut off, not by any human interruption.
The wall of the store they'd been walking by, blasted outwards, knocking them both off their feet.
Charlie heard the explosion from inside the house. Her stomach had felt like it was in knots since Bass and Miles had walked out of the house, and she knew, she knew, when she heard that tell tale noise that something horrible had happened. She couldn't explain how she knew, she just knew.
So she ran out of the house, ignoring the calls for her to wait. She pushed past every instinct in her body telling her to find safety, pushing herself to find her uncle and her… Bass. She felt the heat of the flames before she found the source of them, and when she did get there, she felt the panic rise up, felt something grip her heart like a vise, felt her throat close up.
Everything was on fire. She coughed, putting a hand over her face. There was so much smoke. She couldn't see. "Miles!" She yelled, coughing more. "Bass!" She was screaming now, and she felt tears stream down her cheeks; whether from the smoke or her own fear, she was not sure. "Miles! Bass! Mi—"
She felt a hand on her arm, and jumped. "Charlie." She sagged in relief.
"Miles!"
"Come on, let's get out of here."
"But Bass—"
"No, Charlie. We need to get out of here before we can't breathe." He pulls her arm away from the fire, and she fights him every step of the way. He gets her back to the house, though, and everyone is outside, packed and ready to leave.
"No!" She screams. "I'm not leaving him! I'm not—" She breaks down. She's crying and she can't stop the tears, because she sees the look on Miles' face. One that tells her she's not going to find Bass. And she can't stand it; because everything she fought for so long, every small, positive emotion she had for Bass threatened to consume her. "Miles, he's not gone, he can't be gone!"
He grabs her shoulders and shakes her. "I looked for him, Charlie. I called for him. I couldn't find him. I'm so sorry."
She sobs harder at that, but she lets them lead her away from the town.
And she can't find it in her to look back.
So they leave, and there's a whole in Charlie's heart. She misses him, so much sometimes that she can't stand it. It was easier when Danny and her dad died because she still had something to do, a mission. Now, now she doesn't know what to do. She feels lost and adrift and the only thing that keeps her from floating into nothingness is her mom, Miles, Gene, and Aaron. They're all there for her in some way, large or small, and it doesn't make the pain better. But it does make it almost bearable.
She learns to live with the pain because what else can she do? She can't stop living; even though at times she feels like she wants that, she knows she can't leave her family behind. Besides, Ben, Danny, Bass, they wouldn't want her to give up. They would tell her to keep going, even when it hurt. So she tries.
She's surprised when months later, her belly rounds. She'd been too consumed by… sadness? grief? to pay attention to her body's cycles. But she notices now, now that she has tangible proof that there's a child growing inside of her, and she remembers the night when they weren't so careful. The night Miles found them in the woods, he hadn't pulled himself from her, hadn't spilled his seed on the ground. He'd come inside of her. And now there was a new life growing inside of her.
His child.
It almost hurts to think it, but then she's glad. She has nothing else of him, nothing else to remind her of the man….
So she sits down her family, and she tells them everything (well, almost everything; she leaves out the details), and she announces that she's having a child. They don't berate her like she feared, and she's glad. Her mother holds her tight, and the rest of them talk about building a cradle and all that baby stuff Charlie hadn't even been able to bear to bring herself to think about yet.
(She'd been so surprised by how her mother responded to her grief; she never questioned, never pushed, never responded angrily anytime Charlie voiced just how much she missed Bass, only held her, or let her talk, and she was so, so grateful.)
"Have you been thinking about names?" Rachel asks later, when Charlie hardly feels like moving ever, and her belly is obviously rounded with child.
(Charlie feels like she's about to burst and sometimes, in very private, tired moments, she's glad Bass isn't there. She would hit him if he were for doing this to her. But then she thinks that it would be better for him to be there for her to be mad at, because he would be there.)
"Sort of. I was thinking… Sebastian Benjamin for a boy and Claire Lynn for a girl."
"Those are wonderful names, sweetheart." Rachel leans over and places a hand on Charlie's. "Bass would be happy with them, I think. Did Miles tell you his sister's names?"
Charlie nods. "I liked their first names, but their middle names… I just thought it would be better."
Rachel nods. "That sounds like a great idea, Charlie."
Five Hundred Miles Away
He gets flashes, sometimes. Memories.
A horrible heat crawling up his skin.
Pain… pain…everything hurts.
Sometimes that's all he can process. He remembers nothing else, nothing but the pain when it started and the pain he feels now.
But then other times, he sees a woman. And he can't remember who she is but he feels something every time he remembers her… something unidentifiable.
Then the pain returns, as it always does.
Other times, he sees two different girls, and there's another unidentifiable feeling associated with them, but there's also pain. Another woman and a man. More pain.
A different couple, he sees now and then. There's pain associated with them as well, but it's a different sort of pain.
It frustrates him to no end that he remembers their faces but can't remember who they are, that some feelings he knows and others he can't quite identify.
Charlotte.
He drifts in and out of consciousness. He thinks he hears voices, but no matter how hard he strains, he can't quite make out what they're saying.
Breathe, he reminds himself, you have to breathe to live.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
(Sometimes it hurts to breathe, but he keeps reminding himself to. Sometimes, he forgets why it's important, but he keeps doing it anyway.)
"He's got at least four broken ribs."
"His back is burnt."
"He could have internal damage."
"He's in a coma, and if he doesn't wake up soon, he might never wake up."
He hears the words, but he's not initially able to process that they're talking about him, but then the realization hits. At least he understood now why he was in so much pain.
Wake up, he urges himself, you have to wake up.
It's harder then it sounds though, and the task takes more effort than he would have thought possible. Eventually though, and he has no idea how much time has passed, eventually he gets his eyes to open, bit by little bit.
"Dad! He's awake!"
His eyes fly to the young boy sitting in the chair by his bed and the voice echoes through his ears. He tries to speak, but his throat feels so parched. The last time it felt that way….
….he was in the middle of Iraq with Miles.
Miles.
"W-water?" He chokes out, and he feels a cup pressed to his dry lips. He drinks with the assistance of the boy. "Thank you." He says when he's taken the edge off his thirst.
"My dad will be up in a minute," The boy says excitedly, nearly bouncing on his feet. "He was worried you wouldn't wake up. A lot of people died in the explosion, but he saved you!"
The door to the room opens, and the new presence, an older, bespectacled man, ushers the boy out of the room.
"What happened to me?"
The man sighs, sitting in the chair the boy vacated. "We're not sure. Rebels? The Georgia Federation? They blew up our weapons store in any case. You're lucky, the blast originated from the building behind the one you were near. If you'd been closer—"
"I would have been dead." He says with absolute certainty.
The man nods. "I'll just check on your wounds then."
As the weeks go by, he remembers more and more. Heals more and more. There's a nasty scar on the side of his face, other new scars all over his body, but he's alive.
He remembers his family and how they died. He remembers Miles and the Blackout and Rachel. Charlie. He remembers Charlie.
And he's going to find her.
It takes every ounce of his willpower to get on the horse, but he will not infringe on the man and his son's lives any more and he has people he needs to find.
He wonders absently if Miles died in the blast, if he was among the deceased, but he doesn't let himself think like that. If there's one thing he knows about Miles Matheson, it's that he isn't that easy to kill.
He finds their trail through paying people off for information.
(He has to take up fighting again to do it, and there's times when he thinks the pain may kill him, but he keeps on going, keeps on fighting, and he gets closer and closer to them.)
And then he's in the town where he's almost positive they are, but when he describes them, no one in the place seems to know who he's talking about. He's frustrated and ready to give up hope. He came so far, searched so long, and now he's faced with the reality that they could be dead.
The thought is a horrible one, but try as he might to push it away it remains, torturing him with what might be. He stumbles into the one bar in town, willing to take whatever alcohol they have. He'll face reality in the morning; he'll find another trail, but all he wants right now is something, anything, to chase the pain away.
(He thinks that he'd even take just Rachel being alive if it meant he wasn't alone in the world. He can't stand the thought of that.)
Bass is about to bring his drink to his mouth, when a voice stops him cold.
"Bass?"
A few houses down the road
Charlie has never known such pain. Nothing she has ever imagined feeling came close to this.
"Push, Charlie, you have to push!" Gene coos up at her, and so she tries, she tries so hard, but she can't stop the hoarse scream that comes from her throat. "You're doing so good honey, so good. One more push should do it."
She breathes heavily, waits for the contractions to return. She steels her body, ready for the pain. She has to push, she reminds herself, and she has to bring her child into the world.
It comes, and she pushes with a surge of strength she didn't think she had in her anymore. She waits, baited breath, and then she hears it; the cries of her child.
"It's a girl, Charlie." Rachel says gently, wiping Charlie's brow. "You did so well sweetheart."
"Can I see her?" She asks, her body tense in anticipation, hardly conscious of Rachel helping to clean her body and the sheets under her.
"Just let me clean her up a little bit, and then you can see her." Gene calls from across the room.
She cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the child she fought so hard to bring into the world. "Someone should probably go get Miles and Aaron."
Rachel had sent the two other men away; they were the most nervous out of all of them, and Charlie couldn't stand it. Their nerves were making her more nervous than she had already been.
"Ummm, you're probably right, Dad?" Rachel takes the bundle from Gene's arms, brings her over to Charlie and pushes Gene out the door.
Charlie, with Rachel's help, takes her daughter into her arms after she struggles into a sitting position. "Claire Lynn," she coos. "Oh, she's beautiful Mom."
Rachel places a kiss on Charlie's forehead. "She is. Here, let me show you how to feed her."
Once Claire has had her fill and falls asleep, Charlie starts to nod off herself.
"Here, let me take her," Rachel says in a low voice. "She'll be right here when you wake up."
She hears herself murmur some kind of an assent, and lets herself drift.
She dreams she's home, and her father and Danny are there. So is Maggie, Nora, Rachel, Gene, Miles, and Aaron. Little Claire. And Bass. Bass is there and she's in his arms and he's smiling down at their daughter and there's nothing she wants more than for this dream to be a reality. Because then he's be alive and she'd call him a moron and yell at him for getting her pregnant but they'd both know she wasn't really mad at him, and they'd smile and be a sort-of-normal-sort-of-how-the-hell-did-that-ever-happen sort of family and it would be wonderful.
She wakes with tears streaming down her face, and a soft thumb wiping them away. She turns her head to see who it is, already prepared to say that she doesn't want to talk about it, but the sight before her stops her cold.
It's him, but how is it him, what's he doing here and alive, and she wants to punch the smile from his face because how dare he show up now after she went through eight months thinking he was dead? But he's smiling at her and he's alive and…
"Oh my god." She gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. "Bass?"
"Hey," he says, and she can't help it, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him to her, ignoring the pain in her body.
"How are you alive?" She cries into his neck.
"You really think I'd leave you after everything we went through?" He jokes.
"You're a moron," she says, slapping at his arm playfully, but she smiles at him and it removes the venom of her words. "We have a daughter." She says, suddenly serious.
"I had the pleasure of meeting her. Thank you, for, umm, you know… the name."
"Well, it is a pretty name."
"She's a pretty girl. She's sure to grow up to be as beautiful as her mother."
"Don't think compliments are going to stop you from having to explain how you're alive and why you waited until now to show up."
He laughs softly, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
She doesn't get her explanation yet, though, because Claire interrupts them, waking up and crying. Bass leaves her side, and she watches him pick up their child. She notices the little new things about him, the way he walks as though he's in pain, and she makes a note to ask him to add that to his explanation. He shushes Claire, and Charlie is amazed when she falls back asleep in his arms.
"You're good at that," she whispers.
"Two younger sisters." He reminds her as he sets Claire back in her crib and returning to her side, this time taking her invitation to crawl into bed beside her.
"Ah of course." She stops, thinking for a moment. "I'm glad you're alive Bass. I'm glad… I'm glad you came back to me."
He pulls her closer, and starts to tell her what happened. About the coma, the doctor and his son, his own injuries, Miles and Aaron finding him in the bar and explaining that she was giving birth to his child, how Rachel hugged him when she saw him enter the house. And then, at the end of his explanation he leans his head down to hers, and whispers softly in her ear, "I would tear the world apart to get to you."
She can't help thinking that it's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to her.
A/N: Sorry this is so long, I got a little bit carried away.