Charlie can't believe that the Atlantic is this huge. The horizon has never seemed so far away. Water is everywhere, and so is the sand.
While she's been busy gaping at the body of water, Bass has stripped down to his underwear and jumped in. The guy's swimming like he's never done anything else. His arms keep breaking the surface with every stroke. The president's head turns every few feet to take in some air.
He looks like Miles does when he kills, at home. He is completely confident and comfortable with the movements that he probably hasn't used in ages. Muscles ripple under his sun tanned skin, and Charlie takes her time to stare.
There are no people on the long stretch of beach, which Monroe must've known when he left his weapons in the sand, leaving him vulnerable. To think that a year ago, she would've shot an arrow into his body without a second thought.
Now though, she's more likely to jump the guy. She can be honest about that with herself at least. Monroe is handsome, available, has saved her life more than once, they're alone and will be for a few weeks at the very least. No reason she shouldn't make a move.
She strips out of her jeans and boots, gently lowering her crossbow to the ground and throwing off her belt. She decides to keep on her shirt, seducing Monroe should be fairly easy if she just joins him butt naked, but she wants more from him. Not a white picket fence and two point five kids, but someone who puts her first, and Bass could be that.
It's amazing how much lighter he seems now that he has been away from war and death and Miles and Rachel for just one day. He hasn't actually had an episode in over a day, which is very different from the daily temper tantrums she's been dealing with all the time.
She wades into the water, which is not exactly freezing, but pretty far beneath body temperature. Her toes are encased by mud like she's stepping in quicksand. It's like Bass knows that the surface has been disturbed, for he looks up from where he was swimming and moves himself until he's back to vertical.
"You gonna drown?" he shouts when she is in to her waist and stops. She knows how to stay afloat, sure, but actual swimming was not a priority where she lived. "I'm pretty sure you'll save me," she grins back, "After all, you promised to teach me, Professor Monroe." He pulls a face at the title.
"Come on, Charlotte, get over here." She pulls the same face at her full name, especially since he just uses it to get to her this time. Cautiously, she approaches her friend. Because he is, her friend that is. She stops when the water laps at her throat. Her hair floats on the liquid surface.
Bass is dripping wet and panting from the strain of exercise. "You do know that this is a horrible cliché, right?" he asks for conformation. She's pretty sure it's the euphoria of the freedom that has had them both grinning since they left. Nevertheless, it doesn't take away the reality of their first kiss.
He looks at her with those soulful baby-blues that take her breath away and wraps one muscled arm around her hips, pulling her to his bare chest, the cauterized tattoo brushing against the small of her back. It's Charlie who reaches up and pulls his head down with her own hands, her shirt crawling up as their lips connect.
They kiss like the world is going to end, passionately without inhibition. Her hands are circled around his neck, and to get her closer, Monroe moves his hand to her ass, where a bruise is forming from her fall that morning and tugs her up. Charlie gets the hint and jumps up, winding her legs around Bass' hips.
They over-balance and topple over, submerging under the water. They struggle to get up, sand slipping away beneath their feet, before they break the surface again and gasp for air, whether from the kiss or the impromptu dive, neither can tell.
"Just so you know," Charlie coughs, expelling the salty liquid from her lungs, "I really can't swim."
He wants to react, but instead has to nudge Charlie to alert her of the people that just came into his line of sight. The girl can't see them as her back is turned to the beach. The group of four men looks armed, and it will take him thirty second to get to his swords, after which he will have to fight them in his boxers. Bass snorts at his life.
She turns around in confusion and immediately spots the danger. They haven't been spotted yet, but she'll need a good minute to get back to dry land. "You think there's a chance they won't see us," she whispers, though the men are too far away to hear them at all.
"With our luck, I doubt it. Two hundred feet and they reach our bags." Their gazes meet, and Charlie is glad that the war with the Patriots has tuned her to Bass' strategies and plans. "Go, I'll distract them."
The good thing is that he doesn't hesitate, diving soundlessly and making his way toward the beach. Charlie takes a deep breath and waves at the men, who spot her like she wants them to. "Hey guys!" she shouts as loudly as she can, "Care to come in for a swim?"
These guys are no Patriots, she's guessing war clan, and she hopes Bass will hurry. One of the guys strips most of his clothes, intent on getting her from the water, when Monroe slits the throat of the first guy. The others turn around to see what is happening when he stabs the second just below the ribs. The last one in full gear has drawn his gun, but is too late. Bass whirls the blades above his head and takes of the guy's head. The half-naked clan member is scrambling for his own sword when Bass throws his straight at the guy's heart.
Charlie is out of the water by then and has her crossbow aimed at the bushes when the guy with the stomach wound gets back up. Bass is already checking his other victims for anything interesting and can't see him.
She takes aim and shoots the guy between the eyes, the body dropping like a log. Bass startles and yanks his sword out of the fourth corpse, brandishing it in her direction.
The young woman berates herself. Bass reacts badly to projectiles in his direction. It was apparently too much to ask for a longer period between his episodes. She quickly checks for other enemies before slowly lowering her bow. She'll have it up in no time if Monroe attacks, but for now, she appears non-threatening.
"Bass!" she shouts, "It's me." It has no effect. She must look like a stranger from this distance. PTSD, her uncle calls it. Her mom insists that it's been festering since all the Monroes died in a car crash. It started worsening with Shelley's death and his loss of the baby, again with Miles' desertion and assassination attempt, and Emma's death following that. Adding the paranoia when his Militia turned on him and spending months on the run, she is surprised he still has sane moments.
Thankfully, the sane moments are increasing with every day she knows him, as the past two days can attest to. Right now, he could hurt her really badly. Yet she's still sure he stops before he'll get fatal, though she knows there's no such thing as control with deceases like this.
"Get it together," she whispers, a wish more than anything. All she can do is wait him out. It takes a while; his breath and heartbeat have to steady, he has to get his bearings and check for danger, before he approaches her.
They don't talk about it, never have. Bass looks slightly ashamed, feeling weak because he can't control himself and this badly-diagnosed mental illness. These last few months have mostly curbed his power hungry insanity, and with it came the realization of the pain he caused with his paranoia. The worst is his memory of killing Captain Baker, one of his few real friends.
"When was the last time you had fish?" he asks, trying to pretend that everything is okay, though they both know right now is not a time for continuing what they just started. Charlie reminds herself that they have all the time in the world.
She'll play along, it's not like he's the only one that's damaged. The past two years have harmed her psyche more than she likes to admit. She nostalgically thinks back to the girl that begged Miles to save her brother by storming the heavily guarded Philly. "You know how to catch some?" she banters back. Doubting his skill always pushes him to prove her wrong. They'll have an amazing dinner, and she might have brought more than the one bottle of whiskey they emptied yesterday.
A/N Still enjoying the reactions to this immensely, keep them coming!