Needs - Social Darwinism

The group had been travelling southeast for a few weeks chasing the Patriots. The change in latitude combined with an early thaw had made the weather conditions much more pleasant. As plant life began to reappear in green little shoots and migratory song birds could once again be heard chirping in the trees, Charlie and Bass had already settled into their own version of Spring Fever.

Maybe it was some level of jealousy from watching Miles and Rachel snuggle up together every night and make no qualms about flagrantly sneaking off together for some alone time. Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that no one in the group outwardly questioned Bass's intentions or motivations anymore, as if he was now as much one of the good guys as Aaron or Gene. It could also have been because they were getting into dangerous scrapes on a more and more frequent basis, reminding them that there was no guarantee that any of them would see tomorrow. Or maybe the sex was really just that good. But Bass and Charlie were having a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Any excuse to go hunting together, any night on watch where they weren't actively fending off soldiers, basically any time they could get out of sight or earshot for five minutes would find the pair wrapped up in each other in some state of undress.

In their desperation, they were starting to take greater and greater risks. In retrospect, what happened next was seemingly inevitable.

An attempted raid on a supply depot had gone well, but their getaway had not been clean. They'd been on the run for three solid days with no sleep and certainly no alone time. When they were finally out of danger and made camp on the fourth night, Bass and Charlie both nearly tripped over themselves volunteering to take first watch. It wasn't five whole minutes after the last group member's head hit their pillow when Bass and Charlie dragged each other behind the supply wagon and started tearing off their clothes.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the wagon's back tailgate, her pants hanging from one ankle and her legs wrapped around Bass's hips. His pants were down past his knees and he was already buried deep in her, pounding relentlessly against her pelvis. They were too engaged with each other to even realize that the motion of their bodies was causing the wagon to creak on its old axels ever so slightly. He had a hand pulling her hips against him and the other palming her breast through the fabric of her long sleeved top. Her hands were running through his hair, then dropped to pull off his shirt. Their mouths parted just long enough for the tee to be pulled over his head. Her hands dropped to trace over the contours of his chest and abdominal musculature as he continued to remove the shirt. His arms were still over his head, entwined in the cotton garment when disaster struck.

"Hey guys, what's…" Aaron had somehow appeared out of nowhere, drawn in by the creaking wagon sounds. They were caught in the act with no way to hide it. "Ah c'mon! No. NO. NO! This is not happening." He groaned, put his palms up to his eyes, and turned away before storming back toward the rest of the camp about fifty yards away.

"Fuck." Bass spat as he dislodged Charlie, pulled his shirt back down over his head, and pulled up his pants to chase after Aaron.

He caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder. Aaron instantly turned and got into Bass's face. "I have known her since she was a little girl… and you… YOU?" He looked so angrily horrified Bass was afraid something around them might ignite.

"Look, this isn't what it looks like."

"Really?! That's what you're going with?" Bass's confounded expression just seemed to anger him more. "I know that you can basically kill me with like your thumb if you wanted, but I swear to God, if you even think about saying that she tripped and fell and landed on your dick… I will punch you in the face."

At this point Charlie caught up to them and began to beg, "Aaron, please. You can't tell Miles."

"Are you kidding? Of course I can't tell Miles." They both seemed a bit confused. "I don't want to be on the same continent as the two of you when Miles finds out about this. And don't think he won't. I'm just sure as shit not going to be the one to tell him about it. I'm fairly certain that he has literally killed messengers before. That's not going to be me."

Bass and Charlie both seemed to relax a little. "And Miles probably isn't even the one you need to be worried about." He looked straight at Bass, "Rachel is going to kill you. First she will do unspeakable things to your junk, probably with some kind of dull rusty implement, and then she will kill you."

Bass looked like he was accepting the truth of the statement, which only tipped Charlie further into the state of anger that she'd been approaching. "No. No one is going to do a damn thing to him. This isn't his fault. There is no fault. We are two consenting adults…"

Aaron gave a joyless snort of laughter. "Not if you've lost your mind. Which has to be what happened in this case, because I can't imagine any other reason for you to be having secretive middle-of-the-night wagon sex with Sebastian Monroe." Aaron shook his head and grabbed her shoulders. "Do you even remember how all this started? Do you remember watching as Ben, your dad, died in the street after his men shot him?"

"Do you remember the Tower?" Charlie spat back at him and slapped his hands from her. "Because I remember you siding with my mom and leaving me to watch Nora die. Should I be pinning her death on you?"

Aaron actually stumbled back a step. Never in the decade that he'd known her had she ever spoken to him that way. Charlie softened, realizing what she'd just done. "Because I don't blame you. That's war. People die or don't die regardless of whether we want them to or not. The last year and a half, none of us came out of that the same. Now we're back in it all over again and we probably aren't going to get lucky enough to all make it out of this one too. Right now's what matters and right now this is my choice."

Aaron sighed. "Fine. I get it. Ok, I don't really get this," He gestured back and forth between them with his hand, "but you've made your point. Don't worry. I'm still not going to rat you out." Then he looked at Bass, "Miles and Rachel are still going to kill you."

Bass just shrugged.

Aaron turned and left the pair of them standing amongst the trees. When she turned and looked at Bass his face was pensive.

"How do you not hate me?" His voice was soft and honestly curious.

"Seriously? Not you too." She looked exasperated.

"What he said about Ben… you didn't answer him, just threw another situation back in his face. I want to know the answer."

Was he really asking her to talk about her feelings? They shouldn't matter. This wasn't some kind of relationship, it was just sex. Lots of really good sex. Right? "Can we not do this?" She knew the answer she would give him and knew how he would take it. She just wasn't ready for that yet.

"Sure." He looked a little broken as he pulled away from her and started walking back toward the camp.

She grumbled with herself internally for a moment. Part of the reason she'd given him half a chance and let him in was because he didn't keep secrets. It was only fair. She reached out to grab his arm. "Wait."

He turned and considered her for a moment before stepping back toward her.

As he approached, she felt the scarred flesh under her finger tips where she'd grabbed his forearm. She let her eyes settle on the self-inflicted wound for a while as her fingers traced its edges. When she looked up he was staring at damaged skin as well.

"Hiding your identity wasn't the only reason, was it?"

He ground his teeth and shook his head. After a deep sigh he spoke, "The things that happened... I've never even apologized."

"And I don't want you to."

He looked her in the eye, surprised and not understanding her meaning.

"Words mean nothing. Actions are what matter, and what you've done for me and for my family in the last six months… No one asked you to. Everyone's been all over you about the past every step of the way, and you still stayed. It doesn't cancel out the things from before, it doesn't work like that. But where we're at now," She rubbed her hand back and forth softly over the burn scar that obliterated his old tattoo, "no point in hating someone that doesn't exist anymore."

He pulled her into an embrace and nuzzled the top of her head.

And with that admission there could be no more pretending that whatever was going on between them was something meaningless born of boredom and opportunity. She'd just forgiven him, accepted him for who he is, and told him she trusts him. She might be the only one on the entire planet willing to grant him that, but she knew him. To him it was enough, it was everything. The only question left was, was that something she was ready for?

"I swear to God, Bass. You start crying and I will never be aroused by anything you do ever again." She said it, only partially teasing, against his chest.

His response was a deep guttural growl, immediately followed by hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. They were in plain view of the others, and if any of them chose that moment to wake and look in their direction, Aaron wouldn't be the only one to know their secret. She gave him a look suggesting that they should take this somewhere a little more private. He just used the hand he had on her back to pull her into him and start placing kisses down her sternum. She grabbed a handful of his hair and forcibly pulled his head back to look up at her. That was one of the things she liked about when he would grab her up like this, it made her seem taller than him. She tilted her head down and kissed him hungrily. He responded in turn and after a few moments began ushering them off away from the group. Once they reached the supply wagon he dropped her to the ground and shuffled things around until he found a blanket. Then, with a firm grip on her wrist, he dragged her further from the camp.

"Don't we need to be back there on watch?" She asked, a sliver of guilt over shirking their responsibilities creeping out through the lust.

"No way Pillsbury's fallen asleep yet. He can handle things for an hour or two."

"An hour or two? You're impression of your own stamina is either really optimistic or delusional."

"Let's see what you have to say about that in a couple hours." He smirked at her.

He finally pulled her to a stop when they were about half a mile from the group, near a brook that was babbling loudly enough to overcast all but the loudest of their usual cries. As he spread the blanket out on the ground, Charlie began working her belt open.

"Don't."

She looked at him, confused. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her over to where he stood at the edge of the blanket.

"I want to take your clothes off." It was a scratchy whisper directed right into her ear. The words and their intent caused an instant clenching sensation between her thighs.

"Then get on with it already." She smiled back into his ear.

"Always in such a hurry." He said coyly as he knelt down in from of her and started untying the laces of her boot.

He stripped her, one agonizing piece of clothing at a time. First boots, then socks, then her belt. Next he'd stood and slowly peeled her shirt off over her head, followed by unclasping her bra and teasing it from her shoulders.

Charlie fought off the urge to squirm. He was tormenting her. The only touch of his hands on her body was the deft removal of clothes. There was no caressing, no lingering touches, or trailing kisses. But she could feel his eyes on her. For every newly revealed inch of skin that he didn't touch, his eyes traced over each molecule of flesh with an intensity that left it feeling flushed and ravaged in his wake.

His hands unfastened her jeans and slowly dragged them down over her hips, dropping again to his knees as he guided the denim to her ankles. She put a hand on his shoulder to stabilize herself as she raised each foot in turn to let him remove the article of clothing. Still on his knees before her, he looked up and locked her slate blue eyes with his own cornflower stare. Without looking away, he hooked a finger in the crotch of her worn cotton panties. The back of his finger barely grazed her arousal dampened folds before he pulled the fabric down to her knees. His gaze then shifted to extricating the garment from her legs. Once he had deposited the underwear atop the pile of clothes he had produced, he stood and took a step back from her.

Charlie wasn't one of those girls with a body image problem, but standing completely naked in front of those eyes that scorched over her body in the light of the waxing gibbus moon filtering through the tree limbs made her feel almost uncomfortably exposed. The look in his eyes was possessive and captivated. She didn't know what to do. Was she supposed to just stand there and keep letting him stare at her? Should she be putting on some kind of sexy peep show for him? She felt raw, and all she did know was that she wanted him to be naked with her.

"Your turn." She smiled in a way she hoped came across as seductive as she closed the gap between them.

Twigs and decaying leaves poked and clung to the soles of her feet as she stood in front of him and decided to follow his lead. She toyed with the hem of his shirt for a second before sliding it up over his torso. He graciously helped her by pulling it off over his head once she couldn't reach any higher. Stupid height difference. She wanted to run her hands over his chest, to trace the familiar lines and curves and explore the haphazard assortment of scars that marked his flesh, but she restrained her hands and let her eyes do the exploring. She wasn't sure that she could ever stare long enough to get her fill of the sight of him, but eventually she relented her visual cataloguing. Her hands drifted to his belt, and tugged him forward with her as she stepped backward onto the blanket.

"On your back." She commanded.

He gave a slight wry smile before obeying.

She straddled his knees, facing away from him, and slowly removed his boots and socks. Once they were tossed off of the blanket, she turned in place and unfastened his belt with limber fingers. Then she moved on to the button and zipper if his jeans before gently tugging the fabric down. He lifted his pelvis slightly to help her divest him of his pants, the movement only accentuating how obvious his desire for her was at that moment. She shimmied herself down his legs with the jeans and fully removed them. Now they were both naked. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had this luxury. It was probably that first time at her grandfather's house in Willoughby.

She sat at his feet and casually inspected the body of the naked male laid out before her. He was hard, cut lines of muscle accentuated with just enough soft light brown hair in all the appropriate places. Aside from the scars that popped up here and there along his flesh, time seemed to have been quite kind to his body. Even a detached objective analysis would conclude that he was an exemplary specimen of the human race, but she had other information that only made it all that much more enticing. She knew firsthand what it felt like for each of those well-defined muscle groups to tighten and work beneath her, on top of her, and against her. She knew the power and grace that occurred in the movements of those muscles during sex and battle when they moved in concert with single minded focus. Physically, he approached perfection.

Part of her mind wondered momentarily why it couldn't just be someone else inside that body. How much easier and less complicated it would all be if the simplicity of her attraction and attachment to the exterior could just be the same for the mind inside? Like if this were the body of some rebel fighter she had met with Miles and Nora on her way to Philadelphia. If he was just some regular guy that had helped her chase after her brother and fought at her family's side every step of the way. Perfect body, perfect person… it would just be so much easier. It would be so… boring.

She crawled up the blanket to lay next to him on her side. He turned to face her, letting his eyes continue to regard her with reverence and the slightly conflicted undertones that never fully seemed to disappear from them in situations like this. That was it. All the history between them, all the damage, how far they'd come… good or bad, it meant something that she was sleeping with Sebastian Monroe.

The coolness in the damp spring night suddenly registered with her body, and she gave a small shiver. He broke the unspoken look-but-don't-touch detente to rub hands along her arms in an attempt to warm her. She moved in towards him, content to let the heat of his body temper her chill. As they pressed fully against each other, the only ironic word Charlie could think to use to describe the sensation that hummed through her was "electricity". Their mouths met and they finally allowed their hands to start exploring.

For the next half hour they touched and tasted every inch of each other. He'd started the game as a form of foreplay, but it somehow became much more than that. Maybe because it was so uncommon for them to have the seclusion to be able to take their time and be fully exposed, but the wanton stares and ghosting hands became something just as intimate as the act they were leading up to.

Fingertips traced over familiar and unfamiliar scars. The unknown ones were given explanations between measured breaths.

"Shrapnel from an IED under our Humvee in Baghdad."

"Tusk wound from the first time I tried to take down a wild boar with my bow when I was fourteen."

"Grazed by sniper fire carrying Miles off the front line in Trenton."

"Broke my arm falling off the swings before the blackout. Bone stabbed through the skin and everything."

"Assassination attempt after we took Baltimore."

"Bell tower collapsed on me last year."

She tried to down play it, but she could see the small flashes in his eyes whenever she revealed that one of her scars had resulted from a battle against the Militia the previous year. She didn't ask about the obvious bullet wound on his left upper abdomen. She'd been there in his home town when that shot had been fired. That wasn't something she felt either one of them would want brought up. Then there were the numerous wounds that they'd incurred together in the last few months. Those were well known, as they'd been the ones to caringly tend to them. Good, bad, and neutral, every scar had a story. Their bodies told the narrative of their history without them having to utter a word.

As his lips traced over the one particular scar on her wrist that would forever link her to the man before her, he gratuitously moaned out, "Mine."

That did her in. She could only imagine what seeing his mark stamped on her body did to him. Knowing that he'd had an instant attraction to her because of the way she defied and refused to submit to him, only to find that she had already forcibly been branded as his. It was a little twisted, but damn was it arousing. "Bass, I need you in me now."

He was only too happy to pin her on her back and oblige. They started out fast paced and needy, but after the initial sprint they slowed to a pace more suited for endurance. Over the next hour he worked her through two orgasms before finally emptying himself onto her stomach as she stroked him between their bodies.

"My apologies to your stamina. I stand corrected." She smiled as they cleaned off in the creek and dressed.

"A good partner makes all the difference." He smiled back.

"So we're partners now?" She asked semi-seriously.

"I suppose. We fight together, fuck together. What else would we call it?" He managed to make it sound casual, but she could tell he was forcing the attempt at apathy.

She mulled the word around in her head. She liked it. It denoted some level of attachment, but didn't go so far as to suggest something stupid like boyfriend or lover. "Partners works."

He draped an arm over her shoulder as they walked back toward their camp. "We're a regular Bonnie and Clyde."

"Didn't they both die in a bloody shootout?" Charlie questioned.

"There's six of us trying to take on the entire US government. How do you think this is going to end?" His tone was mostly honest, but held a touch of sadness.

"You go ahead and get yourself killed. I plan on making it through this." She nudged his ribs with her elbow and smiled, trying to avoid the depressing topic.

She barely heard him mutter toward the ground, "So long as I'm breathing you will."

They separated before getting within sight of the camp just in case someone had woken while they were gone. Aaron was sitting next to the fire and shot the pair a reproachful look as they entered the camp. He got up and walked toward his sleeping bag, making sure that his shoulder slammed into Bass's as he passed them.

"That doesn't happen again. I might not be a nark. But I am not going to be your accomplice in this." Aaron grumbled at Bass.

Bass nearly laughed. It was amusing to see Aaron finally standing up for himself.

…..

The next morning, Miles wondered aloud if the creek they'd crossed the previous day might contain any edible fish. Charlie grabbed her crossbow and offered to go find out nearly before the words were out of his mouth. Bass, of course, offered to go along as lookout. Thankfully Miles didn't see the violent eye roll Aaron gave as the pair set off.

They traced their path from the night before back to the creek, and then followed it upstream to where it broadened out and had a few eddies along the bank. Sure enough, some decent sized speckled trout were surfacing not far from the water's edge. Charlie handed Bass an arrow to try his hand at spear fishing, while she tied a piece of twine to an arrow and then to the stock of the bow. Her first shot missed, but she adjusted her aim based on the distortion of the water, and the next shot squarely hit a fish. It flailed a bit on the end of the line before slipping away, and Charlie rolled in the twine, bringing her catch back with it.

"Fishing with a cross bow seems like cheating." Bass muttered as he struck out unsuccessfully at another fish.

"How is there cheating? This isn't a competition. There are no winners and losers." Charlie corrected.

"Tell that to the fish." Bass stabbed the arrow at the water again and then jumped back in near shock. He'd snared one. He proudly held it up on the arrow for her to see. "I'm totally winning."

Charlie was about to comment that the fish she'd caught was larger, when a deafening crack echoed amongst them. She saw Bass drop the arrow and the fish, then reach for a spot on his right side amongst his ribs where a red splotch was blossoming on his shirt. She instantly spun and saw the Patriot patrol closing in on them. There were only three, but they were armed.

An untethered arrow was launching from Charlie's cross bow before she even realized she'd loaded it. It lodged dead center into the gunman's chest, leaving only two to take on. They were only feet away now, and with no chance to reload before they were on her, she swung the stock of the wooden cross bow at the head of the one approaching. He deflected it. When he aimed a right hook at her, she used the bow to block him, then jabbed it up against his throat. He staggered backward a step and she used the momentum to rush him backwards until he came against a tree. She used all her force to keep her bow choking him across his neck. She heard the other Patriot coming up behind her, cocking his gun to fire. She knew she needed to turn to deal with him, but the one she had pinned to the tree wasn't quite unconscious yet. She was about to yield and turn to face the attacker behind her, when she heard a knife unsheathe, followed by some grunting and then a body hitting the ground. Then her victim finally stopped struggling and became dead weight. She let him drop to the ground, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and stabbed it through his neck to ensure that he was down for good. Then she turned to see Bass standing behind her.

He looked at her blankly for a second, before collapsing forward into her arms.

She half dragged him a few feet away and laid him on his back to evaluate the bullet wound. She pulled up his shirt and realized that it was a small caliber and had entered his chest at the bottom right of his rib cage. There was a bit of blood, but not any fatal level of hemorrhage. She rolled him over to check his back. There was no exit wound.

"Come on Bass. Get up. You're not bleeding that bad. You're gonna be fine, but we gotta get back to camp." Charlie tried to encourage.

He nodded silently and tried to stand. He barely got vertical before collapsing against Charlie's shoulder.

"It's my lung. I think it's collapsed." He gasped.

"Just keep breathing." She instructed as she tried to propel both of them forward.

They stumbled along their earlier route, what was a fifteen minute walk before quickly stretching out into what felt like an eternity. The idea that she might lose him tore through her chest as painfully as a bullet would have. She couldn't stop to think about why that was, or it might cripple her. They were a little over half way when she heard sounds of people approaching at a run.

"Charlie?" It was Miles's voice calling out.

"Over here!" She yelled back, and quickly Miles and her mother came into view.

"We heard shots." Rachel announced.

"They got him in the chest." Charlie panted, still supporting most of Bass's weight.

"Dammit." Miles cursed and leaned it to look Bass in the eyes. He slapped his face a bit to rouse him. "Hey buddy. Don't quit on me now. You gotta stay awake." Then he slipped under Bass's arm that wasn't already over Charlie and helped hoist the man down the path.

"How bad is it?" Rachel asked.

"It's not bleeding much, but he said he thinks his lung collapsed and there's no exit wound." Charlie answered.

"Shit." Miles cursed and sped up their pace.

"I'll go ahead and help Dad get ready. We need to get that bullet out and put in some kind of chest tube."

"And we need to do it quickly. No telling when there might be more Patriots." Miles agreed.

Rachel nodded and ran ahead.

"Were there any survivors?" Miles asked.

"No." Charlie replied.

"Well at least we don't need to worry about them reporting back soon."

"Is he going to be okay?" Charlie asked as they dragged Bass, now unconscious down the trail as quickly as they could.

"I don't know, kid. This is bad."

They didn't speak again until they made it to the camp. Everyone was ready and waiting for them, and directed them to place him on the makeshift operating table that was the supply wagon floor. Miles pulled off his shirt as Gene leaned in and listened with an ear on his chest.

After a brief assessment Gene addressed his obviously distraught granddaughter. "The bullet tore into a lung. He's got a tension pneumothorax. Air from the damaged lung is leaking into the space between the lungs and chest wall and making them collapse. I've got to let the air out, get the bullet out, and rig some way to keep any air draining out of his chest until the lung heals so it won't collapse again."

Charlie nodded. "How can I help?"

"Get me a canteen or a water bottle filled two thirds full."

She didn't want to leave Bass' side, but she did as she was told. Before she could walk away, she saw her grandfather plunge a needle into Bass's chest and heard air hissing out. She arrived back with the water bottle just in time to see Gene cauterizing the edges of the wound with a fire reddened blade. Bass fought slightly against the searing heat, but didn't fully regain consciousness. Miles sat with Bass's head in his lap and holding down his shoulders just in case. Next Gene doused an instrument that resembled a long pair of tweezers in alcohol from Miles' flask. With a knowing nod to Miles, Dr. Porter stuck the instrument into the wound and began to fish around inside Bass's chest. The pain was too much and it brought Bass briefly back into a struggling and screaming consciousness.

"Keep him still. I've almost got it." Gene instructed.

Miles held his arms back and Rachel grabbed his legs. Charlie instantly darted to Miles's side and put a comforting hand on Bass's cheek. He looked over at her with pain and terror in his eyes.

"He's getting the bullet out. You're going to be fine, but you have to hold still." She whispered to him softly.

He nodded his head briefly and stopped struggling. He was still completely rigid, fighting down the torment of the instrument digging through his lung tissue.

"Got it!" Gene announced and retracted the forceps with a slightly flattened bullet grasped firmly between the ends.

Bass passed out again. However, this time his breathing was a bit more steady. Charlie felt her own breath come slightly easier after that. Gene quickly placed a few sutures to close the bullet tract and then readied a small scalpel blade and section of IV tubing. He poured some of the whiskey onto the skin a few inches about the stitched up bullet wound and made a small stab incision with the scalpel. Then he threaded a few inches of the IV tubing into the puncture and put the other end into the water bottle Charlie had provided. A steady stream of bubbles appeared in the water from the tubing each time Bass inhaled.

"Keep that above his chest at all times." He handed Charlie the water bottle. "The air will flow out through the tube, but the water will keep any air from flowing back in. It works like a one way valve." She nodded, accepting her new task as he placed a few sutures to hold the tubing in place where it entered his chest and make sure nothing leaked around it.

"Are we good to go?" Miles asked.

"I've done everything I can for him." Gene answered.

Miles extracted himself from the position of holding Bass's head and went to start hitching up the horses. They needed to be far away from this place like yesterday.

Rachel and Aaron drove the wagon, Charlie and Gene rode in back to care for Bass, and Miles rode alongside on horseback. Charlie and Bass's usual horses were tied to the back of the wagon to follow along. They'd been traveling for about an hour before Bass started to stir. Gene instantly shot a hand to the man's wrist to measure his pulse rate, as his eyes blinked open and he looked up at Charlie.

"Hey Bonnie." The words were raspy and seemed to take a lot of effort, but a small smile tugged at his lips after he got it out.

She let out a choked sob of laughter. "Hate to break it to you, Clyde, but it looks like we both made it through that firefight. Your metaphor's a little off."

"Like this ending better." He coughed out.

Gene watched the pair closely during the odd exchange and seemed to just begin to realize the depths of the concern his granddaughter held for his new patient. Charlie knew they were being watched and evaluated, but at that moment she didn't care.

"Kinda tired. Think I'll go back to sleep now." He muttered.

"You get some rest, partner." She tried to sound cheery for him.

He smiled and mumbled, "Partner." As he drifted back to sleep.

They stayed on the road throughout the day and only stopped briefly at night, using the wagon as a makeshift hospital room. Bass drifted in and out of consciousness over the next forty-eight hours, during which time Charlie never left his side. It was partially because she wanted to be there for him whenever he woke, and partially because she didn't entirely trust the others to be quite as concerned about his well-being, her mother in particular. She'd noticed the preponderance of sideways glances she'd gotten from her grandfather as she kept vigil over Bass the first day and realized that they were more than likely already outed. Maybe it was for the best. Miles was bound to find out sooner or later, and she supposed he was less likely to kill his friend while he was injured.

On the third day, Bass managed to stay conscious for longer periods of time, the pain was manageable, he could take a full deep breath, and very few (if any) bubbles were still appearing in the water bottle. That was also the day that Charlie noticed the others attempting to hold some kind of secretive meeting without her, which ended in Aaron suspiciously yelling "I know nothing!" and darting away. Espionage was not his strong suit. There was little doubt what the topic of that conversation had been.

On the fourth day, it was deemed time to pull the chest tube and they stopped to make camp early. Everyone lingered nearby, showing a small amount of support for their ally that had once been their arch nemesis. Charlie stayed steadfastly at his side and gave him a hand to squeeze as the sutures holding the tube in place were snipped and the tubing was pulled out of his chest. Gene warned him that the sensation would be more unnerving than painful, but as the six inches of tubing slid between lung and ribs and then out through the hole in his chest and a suture was placed to close the incision, he gently squeezed Charlie's hand as he focused on looking up at her face. Aaron made yet another indiscreet eye roll. Gene was optimistic that as long as he didn't get an infection his body couldn't control, he should make a full recovery. Though he needed to be on the wanted rebel fugitive version of bed rest for 2 weeks.

After the procedure was finished and the doctor's orders were given, Miles climbed into the back of the wagon and evicted Gene and Charlie. At first Charlie refused, having a good idea what the topic of conversation was bound to be, but the stare Miles gave her indicated that there was no room for compromise on the topic. She begrudgingly climbed out of the wagon and walked aimlessly around the night's campsite for a few minutes. She didn't hear any yelling or commotion coming from the wagon, which she supposed was a good thing. But then again, it didn't make much noise to slip a knife between someone's ribs.

Charlie sat down near the fire and tossed small twigs into it, needing something to busy her hands as her mind raced. She turned suspiciously as her mother sat down next to her.

Rachel swallowed, as if she were preparing for an important speech. "Charlie, I don't…"

"Mom." Charlie cut her off. "We're not really doing this, are we?"

"I could ask you the same question." She retorted snarkily.

"Congratulations. You all finally figured it out. Kudos to you and Miles on finally noticing something besides each other after four months."

Rachel looked equal parts affronted and ashamed. Good, Charlie thought. Then her face hardened and she came back with, "It's just… after everything… I don't understand why you're debasing yourself with him. You deserve so much better."

Charlie wasn't quite sure if there was a compliment wrapped up in there, or if it was all just meant as a dig at Bass. "I hate to break it to you, Mom, but since somebody destroyed civilization as we know it, 'better' doesn't exist. I'm not going to meet some nice boy at college that wants to be a scientist or a business manager. I've actually lost count of the number of times in the last year that disgusting men have inappropriately propositioned me. And that's not even counting the ones that just straight out tried to rape me. Saying we all have some bad history with Sebastian Monroe is kind of the understatement of the century, but ever since the Tower, he's actually been there for me. He's gotten me out of more than a few stupid situations I've gotten myself into. He's on our side now, we fight well together, and he's a good lay. What else is there these days?"

"And that stupid bastard is willing to die protecting you." In all her ranting at her mother, Charlie hadn't heard Miles come up behind her. He dropped Bass's sword belt and a few assorted knives next to her. "Which is exactly what is going to happen if he does more than just lay there for the next two weeks. That means you need to stay out of trouble until then." He ruffled Charlie's hair.

Rachel shot him an angry glare.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not ok with this." Miles cautioned. "But I can't remember the last time a damned one of you actually listened to me, so I'm just going to save my breath."

Charlie stood and smiled at her uncle. She may not have his explicit approval, but this had gone far better than she ever imagined. She stepped forward to hug him, but he put a hand up to stop her. His voice was sad and deadly serious. "You have no idea how badly this is going to end. This isn't just something you play at. He breaks again, for any reason, and one of us is going to have to put a bullet in him. Just remember that."

Charlie felt her mouth go dry and nodded silently. Then Miles turned and walked away.

Rachel stood, collected the confiscated weapons, and looked pityingly at her daughter. "What I wanted to tell you, is that even though I don't approve of this choice, I'm still your mother, and I'm here for you if you need anything."

Again Charlie could do nothing but nod mutely. Her family sure did have a way of taking the fun right out of dysfunctional. Rachel turned and followed Miles.

Charlie just sat by the fire for a few more minutes. What Miles had said nagged at her. Was she just playing with Bass? She'd figured out that first day that what he truly wanted was a connection with someone. She'd probably underestimated the importance he placed on that attachment. He was like a lightning rod. He attracted danger and, without someone to ground him, he could prove perilous and fatal to everything around him. Miles had served in that stabilizing capacity for nearly four decades, and towards the end had failed miserably at it. The entire continent had felt the fallout. Would she fare any better? Did she want that kind of responsibility? Was it already too late to back out if she didn't?

Aaron sat down next to her and held out his flask. "That went better than expected." He said with a slight grin as she took a swig from it.

She barely had a chance to swallow before she laughed hard enough that it surely would have sent the alcohol out her nose. If nothing else, you could always count on Aaron for comic relief.

"Remember that one time when I was about thirteen and you caught Jack Simpson trying to pass me a note in school?" She asked with a smile.

Aaron pondered for a moment. "Wasn't it one of those very original 'Do you want to be my girlfriend, yes/no?' kind of notes?"

"Pretty much."

"What about it?"

"When did everything get so much more complicated?" Charlie sighed.

"I'm not trying to sound judgmental here, but it was probably about the time you dropped your pants for a former dictatorial war monger. Ok. Maybe I'm a little judgmental."

"Point taken." Charlie took another swig of liquor and handed the flask back.

Aaron took a draw from it before looking over at her. "You do realize why this is a little difficult for us all to grasp, right?"

"I still don't grasp all of it, and everyone keeps looking to me like I'm supposed to have all these answers for them. I just don't right now, and I don't know if I ever will."

"Well, I'm more than happy to just stay the hell out of it and indiscriminately provide you with alcohol as needed." Aaron tipped the flask toward her and then took another sip.

"Best. Teacher. Ever." She smiled at him and they both laughed.

Once their laughter died down she added, "Guess I should go check on the war monger, see how much damage Miles did when they were alone together."

Aaron smiled weakly and let her go.

She climbed up into the wagon to find him lying on his back, fingers laced behind his head, looking as if he was deeply contemplating the wood grain on the wagon's roof. She didn't see any fresh bruises, so it appeared that he and Miles had actually talked. She wondered if that had done more damage than physical blows would have. She sat next to him quietly.

"How you feeling?" She asked as if nothing had changed.

"Doesn't hurt so much when I breathe anymore."

"Good. And the other stuff?" She asked, knowing he would get the meaning.

He sighed. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Don't tell me you're suddenly starting to feel guilty about defiling Miles's niece that's half your age." She teased.

He cocked his head to the side and gave her a look that said he was not amused.

"Come on Monroe. Guilt is for people with souls." She let the sarcastic words sink in for a minute, hoping he'd get the point. She was implying that he had one. "Whatever Miles said, this isn't wrong. It shouldn't work, but it does. And I'm not going anywhere."

He used a good amount of effort to prop himself into a sitting position, braced with a hand on the floor behind him. Looking straight in her eyes, he asked, "Charlotte, do you trust me?"

"With my life." She answered without hesitation, because she did. That much she knew for sure.

He looked a little surprised. "Don't even need a second to think about it?" He smiled as he said it.

"Nope." She smiled back. "Ask me how I feel about this… whatever it is between us, and I don't know what I'd tell you. But I do trust you, and that seems like a pretty good place to start."

He nodded in quiet acceptance.

"You gonna kiss me now or what?" Charlie said with a smirk.

He put the hand that wasn't holding him up on her cheek and leaned into her. It was short but meaningful, their tongues barely meeting before he needed to break to breathe. As he dropped down to lay flat on his back again, she followed. She curled around his left side with her head on his shoulder and snaked her arm around his waist. With the stress over defining their relationship finally abated and daylight fading into the golden hues of dusk, the dull metronomic thud of his heart beat reverberating under her ear put her deeply at ease.

She blinked her eyes open to find that darkness had descended upon the camp and she'd obviously been out for a couple of hours. She was still wrapped around Bass, who was also sound asleep, his face buried in her hair at the top of her head. Someone had draped a blanket over them and left a plate of food by her side. Sitting up and casting a quick glance around the campsite showed her uncle to be the only one awake. Miles sat on watch near the fire with his back to them, running a whetting stone over his blade. Bass squirmed in his sleep, the loss of contact with her body and the draft she was allowing under the blanket unsettling him. Charlie curled back against him and he stilled. She'd thank Miles for the food and blanket in the morning.