They had initially left the training officer alive. He was bound and gagged, but if something went wrong they wanted to be able to try to use him somehow.
Charlie would say things had certainly gone wrong.
Bass didn't want to make the pit stop—there was no use going out of their way to kill him, the Patriots would already figure out who had thwarted them, and he seriously doubted there was any more information they could get—not after what the Neville boy put him through.
The Neville boy. Monroe knew that was the real reason Charlie wanted to go back. He put up an argument, told her they needed to get back to Miles or he'd think something had gone wrong. She countered with logical arguments, but she was just going through the motions. She was going whether he approved or not, so he might as well tag along. Watch her back. Miles would want him to, so he would. That was why he absolutely had to make sure she survived this.
He still hadn't convinced himself.
xxxxx
When they got back to 19 Arnell St. the area was empty. Walking through the storefront, Monroe spotted a belt with a sheath that looked like it would fit Jason's blade. Charlie hadn't thought to grab the original, so he grabbed it, knowing she would want to keep the knife.
The man had woken up by the time they returned. It looked like he had been busy—the ropes around his wrists were pulled completely taut, and the floor beneath the chair was covered in splinters from where they had scraped against each other. Charlie walked up in front of him, still holding the knife. The man's eyes followed the shining metal.
"Think he knows anything else worth knowing?" Charlie looked the man dead in the eye even as she was addressing Monroe.
Bass leaned back against the wall after he closed the door, avoiding the grenades beneath the floor the whole time.
"You already know I don't." He reached for his sword, intending to finish the job properly. Before he could draw his blade, Charlie leaned in toward the prisoner, crouching down to look him dead in the eye. Monroe paused, waiting to see what would come next.
She spoke softly, calmly. It almost sounded kind, if not for the words themselves.
"You think you knew him. You think he was just your broken little soldier boy." Slowly she slid Jason's knife into the man's gut as his eyes widened in shock and pain. "You have no fucking clue what you've been messing with."
The gag muffled the man's sputtering cough, but Charlie seemed satisfied. She stood as she pulled her blade out, ignoring the blood that spurted onto her. What was more at this point?
She turned to leave, but Bass grabbed her arm before she could reach the door. Gently, he pulled her to face him.
His eyes were intent upon her. He searched, pleading, hoping against hope that she wasn't—gone. That she wasn't him. He brushed her hair back to better see her face. Her eyes met his and he saw the despair lying in their depths.
It wasn't pleasant, but he could not have been more relieved. Despair wasn't easy, but it was something. It wasn't the nothingness; that was what he truly dreaded.
Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Charlie pulled away after a moment.
"Let's get to the others."
Wordlessly, Bass followed her out the door.
.
.
When they got back downstairs, the proprietor had returned and was pilfering through something in back. Charlie grabbed some jerky, stuffing it in her pockets while Bass headed for the door. She knocked the platter to the floor in her haste, which was enough to get the attention of the woman in back. She entered as Charlie was crouched down in front of the counter to grab a few last strips of food.
"You!" The woman shouted, and they both heard the click of her pumping the shotgun.
"Sebastian Monroe, you have been nothing but a nuisance to this great country." She hadn't seen Charlie ducked down in the front of the shop.
"When Patriot High Command hears I was the one to take you down, there'll be one hell of a promotion waiting for me. Who knows, maybe I'll get a parade."
She was a Patriot. She was at the rally. Charlie doesn't need any help realizing that two and two make four. This is the bitch who triggered Jason. This is the bitch who's going to suffer.
The second Charlie heard the initial pump of the shotgun, she was on the move. While the Patriot bitch talked, Charlie crept around the counter, around one of the many tables in back, to approach the woman from behind.
Before the woman could properly aim the shotgun, Charlie had stood up, grabbed another gun from a nearby shelf and whacked the woman upside the head with it.
Monroe quickly moved toward them, once again reaching for his sword. When he was close enough, Charlie placed her hand over his and shook her head.
"Seriously? I thought we'd gotten past the no-killing thing."
Charlie rolled her eyes at him before getting to work. She located some rope and looped it around her arm. They would have to wait until they were out of the city to tie the woman up. She grabbed a couple other items that could be useful, stashing them along her belt and in her jacket pockets.
"We'll get more out of her alive. She's unconscious and bleeding. Probably just another person injured at the rally. Lucky for her we're such good Samaritans to help her get out of there. Now are you going to help me or do I have to drag her myself?"
A glint of anger appears in her otherwise empty eyes, and Monroe doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He'd often wondered what Miles saw when he looked at him; after his family died, or Shelly; after rebels tried to kill his best friend and brother.
Now he knew, and he wished to God he didn't.
Knowing there was nothing else he could do at the moment—God, he had to talk to Miles right the fuck now—he helped. He and Charlie each took an arm and wrapped it around their shoulders, then headed for the rendezvous point.
xxxxx
They do not talk on the way back to the rendezvous point. There is so much he wants to say—he is sorry about Jason; not that he was dead so much but sorry that she had to kill him. He is grateful to her for saving his life once again, but he can never say that. They never thank each other for that. He wants to admit his own culpability in the situation, but this is something he can never admit.
He hadn't wanted Jason to come, hadn't wanted him to be armed, hadn't wanted him anywhere near them. But he kept silent and he couldn't properly explain why. Not to himself, and certainly not to Charlie. Not without ending up with Jason's knife plunged into him at least. He suppressed that line of thought and hitched the Patriot woman up slightly to stop her legs from dragging so much.
They made it back to the rendezvous without incident to find an anxious Miles and Connor waiting for them.
"What the hell, Bass, I thought you were right behind us!"
Bass indicated the woman he and Charlie carried between them.
"Kid wanted a souvenir."
Connor stepped forward, brow furrowed. "The lady from the shop?"
Charlie responded before Bass could. "The Patriot from the shop."
Just then, the woman started to rouse. Charlie forcefully wrenched her from Monroe's grip and threw her down on the ground. Before she could fully awaken, Charlie was straddling her chest and pinning the older woman's arms with her knees. She covered the woman's nose with one hand and grabbed some pliers from her belt with her other hand. The woman opened her mouth slightly to breathe, and Charlie used the movement to fully wrench her mouth open.
She forced the pliers in the woman's mouth and started on one of her back teeth, unmoved by the woman's growls and cries. Two upper back teeth, two lower back teeth, now lying bloody on the ground. Blood was pouring from the woman's mouth and bruises would soon be visible.
Miles was frozen in place, watching in shock.
"Charlie… What…"
Charlie stood, tossing the pliers down out of the woman's reach.
"Wasn't sure if she'd have one of those cyanide teeth."
As she started binding the Patriot with the rope she'd found, Miles turned to Monroe, eyes wide.
Bass stared back, worry clouding his features. He shook his head at Miles, not knowing what to say.
Connor was the one to point out the obvious.
"Hey, Charlie, where's your boy-toy?"
Bass' eyes closed abruptly and Charlie froze in the middle of tying a knot. Her spine stiffened and in that moment Miles knew. Jason was dead. But what came out of her mouth next he never in his worst nightmares could have imagined.
"I killed him. So unless you want to be next, you should keep your fucking mouth shut."
She finished tying the Patriot woman up and rose.
"Let's get back to the others. We'll interrogate her when we're back at camp."
Miles hadn't said a word yet. He couldn't think of the words, the right ones, the ones he needed to say. He had seen Charlie go through more than anyone should have to. So many loved ones dying right before her, and she fought through it all. She struggled, let it chip away at her soul little by little, but she remained more or less intact. This? This robbed her of an innocence she would never get back.
Miles still felt tarnished from taking that young boy's life earlier, but this? Charlie's legs, torso, hands, face, hair; all over she was stained in blood. It was starting to seep into her soul as well.
What the hell had they done?
xxxxx
As they made their way to the group they had left as backup, Miles got Bass separate enough for the latter to explain what happened. He told Miles about Jason coming after him, how Charlie hadn't hesitated to shoot. That she hadn't recognized him until later.
He paused before continuing—he told Miles of his niece's ruthless manner with the man who trained Jason, and that it was her decision to take the Patriot woman hostage.
When he finished, Miles looked even more tortured than before.
"We shouldn't have brought Jason—dammit, what the hell was I—"
Bass interrupted "Miles. It wasn't your call, we all agreed to it. But that's not all. I don't think it was just shooting the kid. She's been headed here for a while."
He gave an abbreviated recount of their conversation—he kept the reason for their discussion to himself, but told Miles about Charlie's fatalist attitude. To his surprise, Miles looked disappointed but not overly shocked.
"Rachel told me the same thing. She's convinced this won't go our way, but… She's still determined to fight."
Bass stared back at him, shocked.
"What the hell Miles, you knew and you didn't say anything to her? How long were you gonna let this go?"
"What the hell am I supposed to do, Bass?!" Miles' desperation caused him to forget any and all volume control. He didn't want to think of Charlie going through any of this. He didn't want to think of what it might do to her. Connor and Charlie heard the exclamation and stopped, turning to face Miles. The prisoner remained between the two youths.
From the looks on both men's faces, Charlie could tell they were most likely talking about her. Poor Charlie, she had to kill someone she loved. Poor Charlie's too weak to fight, shouldn't have to see the big bad things in the world. Well, too fucking late.
"If you haven't forgotten, the whole damn country is crawling with these Patriot bastards. Pipe down or get shot, it's your call." With that, Charlie tugged the prisoner (and by extension, Connor) forward along the trail.
Miles hung his head for a moment before continuing on.
"She's still fighting. This will be a setback, but she'll get through it."
Monroe was having none of it. With attention to his volume level, he continued at a hiss.
"Have you even been paying any attention to her lately? She's been dead on her feet since the Neville kid came to camp, and she's been spiraling for a lot longer than that. Have you really been so wrapped up in Rachel that—"
"Dammit, Bass, leave her out of it!"
Miles was fed up with the conversation, as was Charlie. She couldn't tell exactly what they were saying, but the fact that they were saying it at all was getting under her skin.
"That's enough, both of you. Miles, you and Connor watch the prisoner. Monroe, watch our six. I'm going ahead to scout and I don't want to hear a goddamn thing from any of you."
Maybe Bass had a point, because that wasn't Miles' niece talking; that was a military commander. Hell, that easily could have been Miles talking.
xxxxx
In that formation, they made their way to the backup group. Charlie arrived about five minutes before the rest, informed the men they would be leaving shortly, and started prepping the wagon for the prisoner.
She was methodical. She checked to make sure there was absolutely nothing that could be used as a weapon or instrument to free herself in the vicinity. She checked spots on the wagon where the Patriot could be chained up, finding the strongest ones. She tracked down chains and rope, not wanting to take any chances. She was careful. Thorough. Almost mechanical. Completely focused, trying to shut out everything else.
She didn't know how else to get past each minute. How to stop seeing him in his own blood on the ground, with her spot-on headshot marring his handsome face.
She supposed she could be proud of how good the shot was. He had been mostly facing away from her, but she managed to get it right above his eye. The one holding the tattoo, she remembered. Maybe that was poetic? Aaron hadn't taught them much about poetry or literature, so she couldn't really say.
She could think about how she still had his blood on her hands. And her clothes. Everywhere, really. But there was nowhere to clean up.
Everyone had seen it. Probably no use even trying to clean herself up at this point. Though it was all starting to feel uncomfortable. Itchy? Something. She started rubbing at it, but it wasn't coming off. Why wouldn't it come off?
Her breathing started to escalate, and just then Mac was there with a canteen and a washcloth.
"You're a bit of a mess there, lass. Your group are just rounding the corner now. It'll be a bit longer, so take a moment or two." He spoke softly but firmly, reassuring her.
Charlie nodded absently, and hopped off the wagon to find some more private area. She paused as Mac started to move away.
"Wait." She reached into her boot and grabbed the switchblade, handing it back to him.
"Thanks, but I think this luck was only meant for you."
She strode off to wash the blood from her skin.
xxxxx
Author's Note: I am so floored by the positive comments the last chapter received! I'm glad people seem to like it—I wasn't sure about abandoning canon like that, but I'm really glad I did now.
"Just" a week and a half left till the new episode!
