Charlie followed Bass as they headed toward a clearing, where Miles was standing by a small fire.
"Miles!" She hurried forward, accepting the embrace when he opened his arms to her.
"How've you been, kiddo? You obviously didn't listen to your mom when she told you to steer clear of the Patriots."
"It was all Grandpa's doing, believe me."
"Aw, come on, Miles, don't hug her." Bass said from behind her. "She's been down in the quarantine camp for the last couple of days; you're going to get cooties or something."
Miles grinned as he leaned back from her. "No chance, Bass. I just talked with Rachel and she said the disease isn't contagious, it's not spreading. The Patriots made the townsfolk sick. Could have been in the food or water. Rachel wants us to go into town and see if we can't work out how they're doing it."
"Oh great, more fun-filled adventures," Bass complained. "Who does she think we are, the Avengers?"
Charlie glanced at Miles. "Who are the Avengers?"
"Never mind," Miles muttered in return, sending Bass an exasperated glance. "You want to take down the Patriots? This is where we start."
"I know, how about we head back into the Monroe republic, see how many troops we can scare up, and then open up a battlefront against the sons of bitches instead?"
Miles stared at Bass with a hard expression for a long moment. "I can't decide which part of that idea is more stupid. First off, you're meant to be dead and it would probably be better for all concerned if you stayed that way. Secondly, do you really think any of your former soldiers will follow you anywhere, let alone into a battle where they'd likely be outnumbered a hundred to one? Last time you were anywhere near your men, they were taking pot shots at you."
Bass clenched his jaw and glanced away from Miles, a frustrated expression crossing his face.
"Wait, what do you mean last time his men were shooting at him?" Connor demanded, though why that was the one thing he decided to focus on, Charlie couldn't guess… Actually, she could guess, and she didn't like the scenarios it created.
"Just before the nukes fell, a group of his men tried to stage a little revolt and almost succeeded in taking Bass out. Since everyone also thinks you're responsible for the nukes, I can't see how you think you'd be able to convince anyone to follow you anywhere."
"Well, that's just great," Connor muttered, shooting Bass a nasty glare, before stalking a little way off to sit on a log.
"Anyway," Miles said, returning his attention to Bass. "The townspeople are sick and dying now. We don't have time to go looking for reinforcements we probably won't find. Plus, if we can get proof of what the bastards are doing, it'll help us in the long run when we need to convince people exactly how bad these guys are."
Bass glanced at Connor, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I'll come along on your little fact finding mission. But if I catch typhus, I'll be spitting in your whiskey, just to make sure you catch it too."
"Wonderful," Miles muttered. "Charlie, you better head back to the quarantine camp before anyone realizes you're missing."
She nodded. "Good luck, Miles. And don't take too long, we're probably lucky none of us has caught it so far."
Miles cupped a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Just don't eat or drink anything they give you."
She backed up a step and cast one more curious glance at Connor, who was staring off into the distance with a brooding expression.
"Wait, Charlie," Bass said, grabbing her attention. "I'll walk you over there. I want to steal some fresh gauze for my back."
"What happened to avoiding the plague zone?" Miles asked.
"You just said that Rachel told you it's not contagious. I think I'll be safe enough to grab some bandages, as long as I don't get the urge to go french kissing any sick people."
Miles rolled his eyes. "Well, then, hurry up. Rachel needs us to go into town ASAP."
Bass nodded and walked over to join her. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Charlie sent Miles a small nod, before turning and heading away from the clearing, into the moonlit shadows of the scrub. Bass walked along silently beside her, and she couldn't help but notice the stiffness to his posture.
"Is your back giving you trouble?"
He glanced at her, blue eyes dark in the muted light. "No worse than can be expected after getting my flesh filleted."
She shook her head, a ripple of horror raking down her spine. She couldn't imagine how much it would have hurt, how appalling it would have been to watch.
"Lucky I wasn't there, otherwise I would have put an arrow through your son's chest. I couldn't have stood by and watch it happen like my mom did."
Bass glanced outward, away from her, a muscle in his jaw flexing. "He didn't have a choice, Charlie. I could have escaped and left him to his fate, but that psychotic bastard he'd been living with would have done the same to him. It was better that I took the punishment."
She didn't respond right away, taking a moment to digest the statement. So, Bass had let himself stay trapped, knowing what likely outcome would be, to spare a son he didn't even know? This was the kind of thing she couldn't assimilate with the heartless General Monroe she'd first met, the one she'd accused of being a sociopath. When Bass did things like this, it made it easier to put the past away and accept that she was beginning to like him.
They arrived on the outskirts of the camp, and Charlie motioned for Bass to follow her. She rounded the perimeter, tracking the precise patrols that never changed, knowing exactly where she needed to be so no one would see her. After a few minutes, they slipped under the fence and Charlie led Bass into a smaller tent at the edge of the cluster.
"What's this?" Bass asked once they'd stepped inside.
Charlie paused to light a couple of lanterns and then turned to look at him.
"This is where I've slept the past couple of days, when I've managed to find the time. You should be safe to wait here while I go and grab those bandages for you."
Bass took a step closer to her. "Now hang on a minute, that wasn't the plan. Just tell me where the supply tent is—"
"So you can get caught and give the Patriots a second shot at executing you? You can't play happy families with Connor if you're dead. I'm in and out of that supply tent a dozen times a day, no one will look twice at me. Just stay here, and I'll be back in a minute."
He shot her a look that told her he didn't like it, but he moved to sit on the cot she'd been sleeping on. "Fine, but if you're not back in five minutes, I'll come looking."
She shook her head at his stupid stubbornness, before leaving the tent again. The supply tent was on the opposite side of the triage tent. It only took a few moments to walk in, help herself to a pile of pristine white gauze, and walk back out again. She passed several Patriot soldiers, but they were all used to seeing her, and didn't even spare her a glance.
She was walking back into her tent well before the five minutes Bass had given her were up.
"I got extra, so it should last you a few days."
He stood, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Good, 'cos the bandages Miles put on me a few days ago were questionable at best, and the last thing I want is to get an infection."
She stood there, her gaze following his fingers as they trekked downward, until he'd slipped free the last button. As he shrugged out of the shirt, he made a pained noise, and she snapped her gaze back to his face.
"Here, let me help." She stepped forward and helped pull his shirt off. Almost his entire back was covered in bloodstained bandages, and she swallowed hard at the sight, worse than she'd imagined.
He leaned forward and braced his hands against the table she'd set the gauze down on. With another swallow over the tightness in her throat, she gently started peeling the dressing free. Some of the lesions were starting to scab over, but some were still weeping. His back was a mess, no two ways about it. When it all eventually healed, he'd be left with a crisscrossing of scars all over his back. A new wave of anger toward Connor bubble up within her.
"How could he have done this?" She whispered as she pulled the last bandage free and dropped it at their feet. "I shouldn't have punched him; I should have stabbed him, see how he'd like to be the one bleeding."
Bass glanced over his shoulder at her. "Its okay, Charlie. If I can forgive him, then you have to as well. He's family."
That she didn't agree with, but she swallowed down her arguments and picked up a piece of gauze, wetting it down slightly before gently pressing it against his back. He flinched under her touch, but then his muscles went rigid as he braced himself for the next dab of material.
In the weighted silence, she gradually cleaned him down as best she could, before securing the fresh gauze over his wounds. When she was finished, Bass blew out a long breath, before straightening.
"Thanks, Charlie," he said quietly, as he picked up his shirt. She busied herself tidying up, not letting herself watch him as he stiffly slipped into the shirt and buttoned it back up.
"I better get going; Miles will be having kittens over how long I've taken." He paused in front of her. "Be careful around these Patriot assholes."
"I will, don't worry."
"Its hard not to," He muttered, his words, as well as the intent stare he leveled on her unsettling her heart beat.
He reached out, and before she could work out his intentions, had slipped a hand around her waist and tugged her closer. He enveloped her into a hug, bringing her tight against his chest. For a second she stood there, shocked to her core. Sebastian Monroe was actually hugging her. And it didn't feel anything like the platonic, fatherly hugs that Miles gave her. Something in the way Bass had his arms wrapped around her, in the way he held her against him felt too intimate. But the sensation warmed her in a way no other embrace ever had. With hesitant movements, she slipped her own arms around his waist, being careful not to touch his wounds.
He shifted, and she felt his mouth brush against the outer edge of her ear, sending a shudder cascading down her spine.
"I missed you, Charlotte," he murmured.
She closed her eyes, grabbing in a sharp, uneven breath. But before she could regain her equilibrium, Bass let her go and moved back. By the time she'd opened her eyes, he was gone, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the tent.
Charlie shifted back a step and leaned heavily against the table. Holy hell, that had been some hug. She closed her hands over the edge of the table, clenching her fingers against the hard corners while she waited for her heart rate to wind down a notch or two.
Yeah, she'd missed Bass while he'd been gone as well. She'd tried not to think about him, about how when he was around, everything just seemed a little brighter, a little sharper, and the harsh unpredictability of the world a little easier to bear.
She sighed and made herself straighten. She couldn't dwell on this, had to force these feelings away. She wasn't stupid… it was easy to see that where Sebastian Monroe was concerned, her heart was leading her down a dangerous path.
