Time for a trim

So, this was inspired in part by all the funny 'Bass needs a trim" stuff in the tag -taking place after the 2x15 - but when Aaron and Priscilla make it back to our main gang, and tell them all about the dream.

"Oh my god… so much better" Aaron said, rolling his neck, stiff from sitting still for so long. He waited as Charlie dusted the tufts of hair she had shorn off his face, as he waited in paralysed stillness. He didn't think he was too cut up, thankfully, he thought as he got to his feet.

"Well, it's hardly a masterpiece, but you'll do" she said with a smile, that Charlie smile and he realised how much he had missed her.

After telling everyone about the Nanite virtual mind fuck, and the life his subconscious had created, no one had really know what to say. What can you say, when their lives were such living nightmares, when they all dreamed of better days, of easier, safer times. There was nothing to say, and so as they had drifted away from the campfire, lost in their musings, Charlie had approached, and offered to help him with the infestation on his face, as she'd put it.

And, strangely, it had helped, brought a tiny measure of normalcy. Because, even if they were here, in this broken world, in this wretched time… they were still themselves, and there were still some things they could control.

"Thanks Charlie. I feel a little more human… G'night" he said, as he saw Priscilla waiting for him by their bedrolls. She smiled back at him, and started to dust the hair to the ground. Taking her knife in her palm again, she grabbed a whetting stone, and slowly drew the blade against it, enjoying the smooth motion, the simple movement.

"Is there a line for the hair cuts… or what?" Monroe asked as he approached her in the half-light of the fire. She glanced up at him, her hand tightening a moment on the hilt of her blade, then continued it's sharpening motions. He stood near her, and when he didn't receive a response, he tapped her foot with his.

"Hey… what do you say?"

"It depends…" she said softly, without looking at him. He crouched down beside her.

"Depends on what?"

"If you're going to stop blaming me for the mercenaries. It was Duncan's choice, not mine." She said bluntly, looking him in the eye.

"Well, it was a dumb one" he said, and she rolled her eyes at him, standing up, and sheafing her knife.

"Right, and I suppose that opinion has nothing to do with your butt-hurt male pride, right?" she said, getting in his face a little, as he mirrored her actions. Her tone was teasing, but it was under laid with steal.

"What's this about, Charlie? You expect me to be happy that Duncan doesn't trust me… or gives the men to you, in front of my boy?" he asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes snapping at hers in the firelight.

They held that pose a moment, one of those moments that seconds seemed to spool out, turning into minutes, and years. Breaking the spell, uncomfortable with the heat rising between them, she sighed, and stepped back, turning to the chair Aaron had vacated.

"Well, are you gonna sit down or what?" she demanded, and waited as he deliberated a moment, his eyes still resting hotly on her, before throwing himself down in the chair.

She took her sharpened knife, and walked around behind him. When she was young, she had cut Danny's hair, and her own with scissors, which was a little easier than with a knife, but she was adapting. She started sheering off reckless curls, running her fingers through his hair. It was damp, as though he had just wet it, and her knife easily sliced through the springy waves. It was long. His head felt hard underneath her fingers, and she saw his shoulders drop a little, relax an inch as her strong fingers pulled and twisted locks of hair, brushed his tight scalp occasionally.

"When was the last time you cut this?" she asked with a hidden smile, as he shrugged his shoulders, uncaring, causing her knife to slip a touch, just nicking his ear. He flinched, clenching his fists on his lap.

"Jesus, Charlie" she heard him mutter under his breath, now more still, more careful. She smiled, biting her lip to hide it as she moved around to his face. He was glowering up at her, looking uncomfortable.

"So – head's done… I don't suppose you want me to do your face" she stated, surprised when he leaning forward, pulling the towel she had put around the back of his neck, forward and tucking it into his shirt at the front.

"Actually… it's harder than it looks to shave without a mirror… so, just do it" he muttered, avoiding her gaze as she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. The silence between them played out, and finally he looked up at her.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded, almost flinching back as she leaned forward slightly.

"Why don't you get Connor to do it?"

"Because, I've seen him with a knife, it's not something I'd like to repeat with my neck as the chopping board." He said with a scowl.

She contemplated that a moment, before surprising him by gently pushing his thighs apart. He looked down in confusion, before seeing her settling into a kneeling position between them. She wasn't quite touching him, only her long hair, brushing the tops of his thighs, but with was enough to make his chest feel tight, and uncomfortably warm.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were complimenting me" she mused as she rubbed a dry looking bar of soap between her fingers, wetting them from a nearby bucket, before looking back up at his face, and directing his chin one way, then the other, smearing the acidic white foam on his chin and cheeks.

He just watched her, appreciating this chance to frankly observe her, to have this chance simply to look at her. The crease between her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the frank blueness of her eyes.

The knife scraped insistently over his face, but it never slipped. It wouldn't, because that was Charlie. Exacting and fearless… skilled and so much stronger than she knew. She wasn't being particularly gentle with him, but then, she wouldn't. Charlie wasn't soft with anyone, especially not him.

Her eyes were fixed in her task, her look, one of concentration, and unknowingly, she was biting her lip. He found his eyes drawn to it, for far too long, and before he knew it, the scraping had stopped, and he found her eyes on him. He swallowed awkwardly, wondering how long she had been aware of his rapt attention on her lips.

He wondered for a moment if his expression had matched the feeling in his chest. Hunger.

She sank slowly back on her heels, still watching him carefully, her knife in her hand.

"I was… complimenting you. You saved our lives in New Vegas, without help and I have no doubt you can manage those men… and if they give you any trouble… well, you're not alone Charlotte." He said, meeting her curious eyes, his voice honest.

She tilted her head, thinking over his words, before smiling.

It was just a little thing, small, unimportant, but he tucked it away for future consideration.

He had made her smile. She was happy to be complimented by him.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

She was standing now, her slim body still filling the space between his thighs as she pulled the towel from around his neck, and threw it against his chest carelessly.

"Good to know. Clean yourself up, you look like hell" she shot over her shoulder as she sauntered away, cleaning her knife against her thigh, the blade flashing in the darkness.