Guys, I thought we could all do with a little positivity after last Wednesday, so here we go! In terms of the Bachel reveal... well... it was shocking, true, but the interviews afterwards made me feel a little better - Elizabeth Mitchell did say things along the lines of 'it looks like one thing, but it;s definitely another" well - it looks like a dubcon weird icky fuck up, so hopefully it's not really that, and she also said the Bachel stuff is 'all in the past, way in the past - there's a ravine" I take to mean a ravine of time, between now and then. So - I don't think they have feelings toward each other, I also don't automatically think Bass is a rapist either... I think we need more information.
So - here we go, if I am very lucky... and get some encouraging reviews... lo review blackmail - I'll make it a double... just editing now!
"Dance with me, Monroe" she said, swaying a little in front on him, her lace dress scalloping her thighs, just out of reach of his fingers, where they lay on his knees. He looked up at her, hunger in his gaze, her words ricocheting around his head. That rushed conversation, pushed into stolen moments, had left a burning wake, a trail of fire. He could hardly keep his eyes from locking with hers every chance they had, and if he wasn't careful, Miles was going to notice.
"How does anyone dance to this?" he asked, slanting a glance up at her as she stood, her hands on her hips in front of him. She smirked down at him, and raised an eyebrow.
"That's right... I forgot.. you're a terrible dancer"
"You've never seen me dance -"
"That's because you're a terrible dancer..."
"And who gave you that mistaken impression?" Bass teased, his heart racing at the interaction, this interaction, finally free to talk to her again, grin at her, let his eyes slid down her and see her cheeks pink in response.
"Guilty as charged... sorry bud" Miles piped up for a moment, from his slumped position, before looking up at them.
"I'm beat.. time to call it... too old for this shit anymore... officially now" he mumbled as he stood up and shrugged his coat on.
"Are you leaving already?" asked a petite cocktail waitress who Miles had been flirting with all night.
"My shift was just finishing..." she said, and smiled at him, and Monroe turned his grin away, as Miles perked right up, slipped the old charming act back on like a glove and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Well, it's only gentlemanly that I walk you home, isn't it sweetheart?" the girl flushed and nodded, before going to finish up her work. Miles turned back to Charlie and Bass, looking positively smug.
"Still got it" he said as Bass gave him a high five.
"Seriously?" Charlie complained but couldn't help but laugh at her uncle's enthusiasm.
"Hey hey... it's his birthday" Bass laughed, as he saw Charlie's narrow look, before she rolled her eyes and went to get her leather jacket.
"Later you two... thanks for tonight. Now, get out of here, before you cramp my style" Miles was saying, watching Bass and Charlie gathering their stuff. They walked toward the door, and Charlie felt a heavy weight of nerves, and anticipation burn in her stomach, on top of the alcohol. She stepped out onto the cool street, practically deserted at this time, and walked a couple of steps, before feeling a warm arm slip around her shoulders, carrying her forward. She looked up to the scruffy face above her, as they meandered along, knowing her smile was too full, and seeing his eyes were just as bright.
"What is that?" she asked him as he beamed down at her.
"What?"
"That... look" she managed as they crossed the empty street, heading toward her apartment.
"There's no look" he said, with a slight smirk that made her hit him in the stomach with her bag.
"What?"
"There is so a look... seriously... you are only walking me home... you know that right?I'm seeing someone" she protested as they marched on. It was a quiet moment again and she wondered if she had upset him, but when she glanced back up, that smirk was back.
"Stop it! What is that face?" she demanded, bumping him with her hip as they continued to walk, prompting him to only pull her closer, and press a kiss onto her forehead.
"Maybe I'm just happy is all." he murmured there, softly. He stopped outside a seven eleven and disappeared inside her a moment, as she waited on the the street. When he stepped out, he was carrying a bag, and reached inside and pulled out a bag of chips, her favourite, and her secret hangover prevention method, and opened the bag, stealing one for himself before handing her the bag. She crunched down on one, and watched him. He looked altogether too innocent standing there, leaning against the wall, watching her eat chips, his smile entire too self-satisfied. Neither making a move to finish the short walk home, neither in a rush to end their time together.
"What ever you're thinking about right now... stop" she instructed. He tilted his head to the side and slowly pushed himself to standing.
"How do you know what I'm thinking about?"
"Because... I know you, and that dirty mind of yours" she responded easily.
"Well well, looks like you're the one with the dirty mind this time... I was thinking that you have been fed the most vicious untruth, and I should rectify it right now" he was saying, pulling the bag out her hand and discarding it beside the rest of the things on the table..
"And which one would that be?"
"About my dancing skills... you see... I am really not too bad" he said, coming to stand before her, and stepping close. She looked up at him confused, finally hearing the music coming out the speakers onto the street.
"Now, this is music to dance with a woman to..." he murmured, pulling her close, one hand coming to rest on her hip, and the other gathering her hand and holding it against his chest, his whole body coming into contact with hers, swaying to the music, and before she even realised it, they were dancing. Right there, on a dirty, city street, trash blowing from the can behind them, fluorescent lights from the 24 hour store blinking overhead, and somewhere far away, the trash collectors where banging around, barely muted by the tiny speakers
.
"I got a bad desire
I'm on fire"
Springsteen sang, the song suiting Monroe, a little roughish, a little rough around the edge, and incredibility sexy. She melted a little against him, as he slowly spun her around, holding her close, requiring nothing from her.
"Tell me now baby is he good to you,
Can he do to you all the things I can do"
She found her other hand moving to cup the back of his neck, and saw his eyes close a little as she caressed the skin there, before they were back on hers, a blue shock to the heart.
"Sometime it's like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley
Through the middle of my soul"
She should have felt embarrassed or self-conscious, dancing in the street, but she didn't, because, this was Sebastian Monroe, and nothing he ever did felt predictable or ordinary. She smiled at him, and felt wholly complete for the first time since she had thought she had been late.
"There it is... I missed it" he whispered.
"What?"
"Your smile" he replied. They danced on, and on, she let her head rest against his shoulder, revealing in his scent, his hard chest, the warmth of him, surrounding her.
"I don't know if I ever want to have kids" she muttered, before leaning away and looking him in the eye.
"Do you?" she asked straight out. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, as he nodded slowly.
"With the right person... hell yeah" he said, with a grin at the end.
"I kind of think that being a parent... it's like a curse or something. Parents disappoint their children... fuck them up. I don't know if I ever want that responsibility"
"Sometimes it's not a choice... and if it isn't, I can guarantee you, every person who is a parent... you ask them their greatest accomplishment... the thing they're most proud of... it'll be their kids... hands down." he said.
"So – you're saying that even if you don't ask for it..."
"It will be your most defining moment... that point where you just have to jump, have faith, hopefully you have someone holding your hand when you do." he stopped moving them, and dropped her hand, sticking his own into his pockets, his face taking on a more pensive look.
"Look, Charlotte... I know our relationship... probably put a lot of strain on you... it's not exactly hallmark perfect, and then the thought of a kid on top of it..."
"No, it wasn't that – it wasn't you. I don't know if I want kids at all... and I was pretty sure you didn't... so..." she finished quietly, feeling his hands tighten on her for a moment.
"There's nothing I wouldn't want with you." he murmured, making her heart squeeze. She leaned away a moment and gave him a searching look.
"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you... you just left"
"Because, I'm well aware that I am not the best option for you Charlie.." he started and overrode her as she started to protest.
"I'm not. I'm too old, and we both know it, if we did have children... well... it would be complicated, and make a lot of people uncomfortable... but, if you were sure, really sure that it was me you wanted all that with, if it didn't matter to you.. then... even though I might be damned for it... I would have taken it, god help me. But... if you weren't sure, if I could see how it would hurt you, and how you would suffer... I couldn't be that selfish, not to you" he finished and they stopped moving as she stared up at him, silent.
"You thought I was rethinking being with you..."
"Weren't you?"
She let out a deep breath, her shoulders rising with it, and tried to find the words to tell him how she felt, how it had hurt when he'd left, and how the absence of him had been a physical ache. But there were no words she could find, they were paltry and fell short. Instead, she raised her hands, cupped his cheeks, their touch, and rose up, placing one feather light kiss on the corner of his mouth, and the frown lines that were turning it down.
"I'll never regret you." she whispered.
In the end, he had walked her home, and kissed her goodnight on the cheek, even as she battled her urge to tug him inside the door. They had stood in the pre-dawn light, tired but bright, full, their hands clasping and unclasping, intertwining and squeezing, hard to let go.
"So, I guess this is goodnight." Bass murmured as he finally pulled himself together and stepped away from her. She looked up at him with a tired smile, but a happy one, and he answered it with his own.
"I'll call you later... you know... after" she said, straightening his top button, and tie, which had been yanked quite out of shape over the course of the night. He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his stubbled jaw.
"Let him down easy, poor boy... take it from me, being dumped by you is no picnic"
"Hmmmm, well, just remember that in the future" she teased, and was surprised to see a more serious note come into his eyes.
"Believe me, it's not something I'll be forgetting anytime soon. Now, go get some sleep" he said, finally taking a step back, after brushing a light kiss onto her cheek. She nodded, turning the key in the door behind her and stepping in.
Her trail wasn't hard to follow, a fact that only alarmed him even more. She wasn't this sloppy, he thought worriedly as he followed her tracks, a pace which varied between a run and a fast jog to conserve strength. She must have been injured, or sick, he decided as he used the footprints and snapped stems, crushed grass to find her. Conner had wanted to come, had buckled up and made to go with him, the men watching them in silence, unsure of their place. But Bass had talked him down. It was only one person, he'd be faster in and out on his own. But it was also clearly a trap. They had debated, and come to a decision, and now Bass was running across the land around Willoughby toward the main patriot HQ, following Charlie's footsteps. He saw where she had bedded down, no doubt a cold and inhospitable site, before pushing on.
His mind was veering between steely determination that she would be fine, that they wouldn't hurt her before they were sure he would come, and a fatalistic sense of dread, that teetered on the edge of madness, that whispered that she might already be hurt. When night fall came, he finally lost the trail, just as he was approaching the camp. It had to be where Charlie was being held, as it was the only place around, and much more fortified than other places. He hunkered down, observing, and waited as the last streaks of sun faded from the sky and the moon rose up. It was quiet, the wind blew softly around him as he sat for hours, sit as a rock, watching, remembering, biding his time, trying not to think of her, broken, bloody or hurt.
Charlie stared at the wall, shifted her handcuffs again and waited as the heavy lock in the door turned rustily before swinging open. She shivered, feeling the cold floor cutting through her jeans and grateful that they hadn't stripped her down or anything else, or she'd be in a worse state by now. She waited, patiently, silently as the guard entered, holding a napkin with some dry bread in it, and a metal cup of water. He set them down, and left without a word. She ignored the food, her empty stomach making her sharper, more focused. She heard when someone else approache and spoken softly to the guard. She could almost hear the faint clink of diamonds being passed between them, before the door swung in again.
"Charlie... are you alright?" Jason asked her, like he did every time he visited, as though the answer could ever really change, after all, how fine could you ever be chained to the floor of a freezing room, being held as bait.
"I'm fine." she reassured him, flexing her wrists so the chains clanked, reminding him of his purpose. Jason stared at her, seeming lost for a moment in the horror of her situation, before focusing, slipping his hand into his pocket and withdrawing a piece of paper and a key.
"Here... this is the best I can do... it's a map of the camp, there are some weak places in the perimeter, once you get there... and this" he held up the key, "find somewhere to hide it on you, and when you get the chance to use it – don't hesitate" he was saying as he came to her and bent down, slipping both into her boot at her instruction.
"Won't they punish you for this? Won't you get in trouble?"
"They can't do anything worse to me than what they've already done" he murmured, and her heart went out to him.
"What about your dad?"
"I'll handle my father. Don't worry. Just – get away. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you, not when I could have prevented it." he said, shaking his head a little and gazing at her, a little like her used to, but with more regret, more sadness, all the things they would never say piling up between them, and all the chances they'd squandered littering the floor around them.
She nodded mutely, watching as he collected himself and went to the door.
"Take care of yourself Charlie" Jason said.
"You too" she replied, saying goodbye as he slipped out, and the door swung shut again, the lock turn echoing in her cell, long after he had gone.
Monroe skirted the edges of the camp, dipping in, looking in tents and buildings, keeping out of sight, and silencing anyone who happened upon him, as quietly as possible. He had been watching food arriving and guards posted to a particular block all evening, and that was where he now headed. He ran from tent to tent, the darkness a welcome cover, his gun slung unused over his shoulder, his knife glistening with blood. He paused, looking around the edge of the tent he was currently crouched behind. It was a straight shot to the one he had focused on, with only two tents in between. All he needed was a little luck, he thought to himself, as he looked back and forth one more time, before going for it.
He kept low, ran, and in seconds he was reaching the shadowed safety, well, relative safety of the building. He gripped his knife, and listened, his ears straining for every sound, hard to hear over his heart beat, which was beating wildly at the prospect of getting to Charlie, making sure she was safe. He went in, poised for battle, yet, there was no one, the long hall deserted, he couldn't believe his luck as he started down. He paused, looking in different areas, ducking from people walking past, and keeping out of view. After a while, he had ruled out most sections, and the wetness of his palms told him he was getting close. Down another hall, and a couple of doors, looking in, finding empty cells he continued on. Only one left. He reached the door, and with a racing pulse, pulled his pick keys form his pocket and set to work. A sudden noise at his elbow sent his knife flying in an arch, and he turned to see a patriot about to raise his gun, when his knife took him under the chin. He caught the man before he could fall, and gently lowered him to the floor, spying a set of keys at his waist. There was that lucky break, he thought to himself as he grabbed the keys and started going through them. Finally, one of them turned, and he couldn't help himself rushing, so eager to see her face, to hold her and protect her and make her feel safe again. The door swung in, and he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the semi darkness, as he made out a chair in the centre of the room.
An empty chair.
Her leather jacket hung over the back, there were some drops of blood on the floor, and, against a radiator pipe in the far corner, an empty handcuff swung. He stopped, confused, his mind scrambling to catch up for a moment, when he heard the cocking of a rifle, right behind him.
"Well, ain't this good timing"
Charlie grunted as her knees struck the vent's cramped walls again, and let off a long echoing sound that she cringed over. Pausing, breathing loudly, her head swimming with fever, and her nose and throat tickling from the dust, she waited to see if anyone yelled. Hearing nothing, she was just about to move on, when she heard the screech of the door opening. She froze, her blood pumping with adrenaline, the urge to flee strong, yet, she was scared to move and make more noise. She strained her ears to hear, but didn't hear anyone shouting an alarm, didn't hear anything like what she expected to after a cell is found empty. The she could hear muffled voices. Not too far to make out the words, but too far to recognise the speakers.
"Well, ain't this good timing"
"Tom... I should have known this'd be your work..." a low voice, speaking slowly, cockily. She heard the sound of the hated and well remembered chair scraping across the floor.
"Make yourself comfortable" one of the voices, Neville's, she guessed continued.
"Why, don't mind if I do" the other voice said, and Charlie felt her mouth go dry. The tone, the mocking quality. There were only 2 men she knew who were unafraid of Tom Neville and would literally stare death in the eye without blinking, and neither of them, as much as it pained her to admit it, did she want to see dead. And, there as only one who had received Neville's invite, as far as she knew. She focused back on their conversation, finding the words coming and going, but getting the gist.
"I know you couldn't stay away... the Matheson girl has quite the reputation... and I can see it, I can. While she was here, I started to get the appeal... she really is quite... lovely"
Monroe responded with something low and menacing that she couldn't hear.
"Oh, calm down General. Though, I do wonder where she's run off to... probably my idiot son could shed some light on the subject. Well, no matter... she has accomplished what I needed her for after all."
They talked on, and Charlie started to inch back in their direction, as silently as possible. Neville had a lot to get off his chest, it seemed, interspersed bursts of talk and the hard sound of flesh hitting flesh, she thought as she stayed there, cramped and miserable, listening to decades old grievances being aired. She chewed her lip and tried to ignore the burning in her legs. He'd come. He had come for her. She didn't know what to feel about it, except that deep down, she had known he would. He would always come for her, and the very fact that she knew this without a doubt made it irrefutable, the man from her dreams was not so different from the one who was sitting in the room beside her, spitting out blood, and receiving quite the beating by the sounds of it. She couldn't leave him, even while the notion passed through her mind, she knew it wasn't an option. She could no more leave him, than he could resist coming for her. They were tied together, in some frustrating and undeniable way. She couldn't take Tom, as tired and weak as she was, even with the element of surprise. She'd have to wait, and hope he was alone at some point. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around her legs, rocking herself ever so gently to keep warm.
Monroe had lost track of time when Tom finally wiped his bleeding knuckles on a rag and stood back, glancing at his watch, and whistling low.
"Well, time really flies, don't it... I'll be back shortly, once I get that message to the President sent. Better check in with Jason too... he'll have to get our female prisoner back in a cell before anyone notices... I bet he's had a great afternoon... entertaining our lovely Miss Matheson in private..." Tom leaned into Monroe's ear and whispered the next.
"Wonder if he bothered removing the handcuffs and gag or not"
He felt a snarl build, and ripped his head to the side, going for the older man's ear, his anger, and worry spiking even further, yet Tom only stepped back, a self-satisfied look on his face. He moved to the back and checked his restraints, and then left, without another word, still smiling to himself. The heavy door swung shut, and silence fell heavily over the room. He let out a long breath, his mind finally clearing of Neville's petulant whining. He flexed his jaw, and swore softly as it cracked, blood filling his mouth. He turned his head to the side and spat, a long stream of red, and blinked back the sweat and blood from his eyes. Next, he started to test his restraints.
The chair wasn't flimsy, unfortunately, so no hope there. He stood up, relieved at least he hadn't been handcuffed to the chair. He felt a crippling pain rip through his shoulders as his arms cramped, tight flush against his back. He walked slowly around the room, starting at the door. It was thick, military issue, and locked tight. No chance. He moved on, bare concrete walls and floor.
The only point of interest was toward the back wall, where several metal tables and chairs have been stored, beside the pip that ran along the wall, and a vent a good distance up. His eyes fell to the handcuffs, and the drops of blood, tied to the pipe, below the vent. Charlie. He felt anger shoot through him again, and kicked the pipe, swearing loudly as he turned back to the chair, planning on kicking it over ot get a better look at the air vent.
As he hooked the chair leg, and started to drag it over, as quietly as possible, he froze, hearing a noise coming from somewhere inside the cell. A bumping, metallic sound, twisting, as though something was being unscrewed.
The sound sent him twisting around, wishing he had his hands free to defend himself, as he backed away from the vent, which was now handing half open. He stared in shock as the vent was quietly placed to a side, and he watched long lean legs stick out the shaft, descending slowly, controlled, then a toned mid-drift, and a long spill of blonde hair.
There was of course the temptation to have our boy Monroe ride in an save her, cutting down all in her path - but, hey, Charlie's a BAMF too))
