"Monroe?" Charlie asks as they walk back to Independence Hall together. His bodyguards have been left behind at the scene, apparently not all that necessary in the first place. They'd have to corner the president with ten well-trained men to even consider winning. Even then his attackers would still have a bigger chance at losing. To think that Miles is even a better fighter is something Charlie can't quite wrap her head around.
"What is it, Charlotte?" Monroe shoots back impatiently, high on adrenaline and unable to release the tension that accompanies it. He feels on edge in his own city, every soldier a suspect and the blood on his swords the steady reminder of the increasing lack of his own safety, and most importantly Miles'. The attacks have been increasing in number, the amount of casualties growing with it. His ribs ache, most likely severely bruised from the sword hilt Severide tried to jam into his heart. Good thing the idiot still hasn't learned to use the pointy end of his weapon.
The girl grabs his arm and forces him to a standstill, waiting for him to meet her eyes as she puts on her sweetest facade. "Could you not tell Miles what happened?" she requests, not expecting for Bass to snort, shake his head, and laugh at her. He does just that, shrugging her hand off his arm and continuing their walk just a little bit faster, waiting for her to catch up.
"First of all," he starts, glancing down at Miles' niece with increasing amusement, "What makes you think he doesn't already know? After all, we weren't exactly subtle with the arrests and at least two men went looking for Miles right away when they noticed we were both involved. Second; I don't keep secrets from Miles, definitely not when it concerns your safety. He would skin me alive if I did."
The question was rhetorical, but Charlie protests anyway. "Look, I like my freedom, and Miles is gonna be all overprotective and I'll get a bodyguard and I won't be allowed out as much and I just don't want things to change." She says this all with one breath, her hands still shaking and her tone turning to desperate. Charlie needs her freedom like she needs air. She cannot stand the thought of a babysitter and the constant supervision. The idea alone is enough to make her feel claustrophobic.
It's outdoors where she feels most at home. It is the places where she can see the star-littered sky that she feels at peace. She has to keep moving, otherwise she will be trapped. Trapped in her own mind like her father, ignorant of the world around him. Like her mother, drowned in work just so she doesn't have to think about what could have been. Like her baby brother, whose illness has left him vulnerable to anything and everything beyond the four walls of their house.
Bass hears the tremble in her voice, the subtle shake of her hands as her fear increases to panic, her breathing getting harsher as he stays silent and considers her words. Charlie carts a hand through her tangled curls, a move she copied from Miles not long after she arrived. He can see the gears in her head turning, an escape plan forming. He stops her before she can come up with something. "Not his style, kid. Don't worry so much. You're old enough to wander around the city if you want to." Some combat classes and an extra concealed weapon or two and she is good to go. Locking her up is no way of keeping her safe, Bass would know, he tried it often enough with Miles. His friend only gets into more trouble.
His reassurance seems to calm her somewhat, though her shoulders stay tensed for the remainder of their walk. Miles greets them at the steps, his arms circling around Charlie, his chin resting on her curls. "Glad you're okay, kid," he whispers, his eyes flickering to Bass to make sure they're both unharmed. His best friend nods and walks inside, gesturing for them both to follow.
"Where's Baker?" Bass asks Miles as they take their usual seats in the suite. The generals sit on the luxurious chairs facing each other and Charlie perches on her uncle's armrest even though there is another empty chair forming a triangle. As far as Charlie has been able to tell, it is Jeremy's.
"Guess," Miles snorts, unstacking newly washed tumblers and pouring some alcoholic concoction into three of them. The men both grab one, and Charlie is reaching for the remaining tumbler when Miles pokes her in the side. Charlie squeaks, loses her balance and flails as she heads towards the ground, her hands already positioned to catch her fall. Her uncle's reflexes save her, a strong arm catching her around the waist and pulling her back. She lands across his lap, her head bouncing on the other armrest. Charlie glares up at him, but stays put as Miles sips from his glass.
Monroe watches them with a raised brow and an amused smirk. He waits until they're done messing around before he answers confidently. "Taking a hot bath, with company." He rolls his eyes at the predictability of his favorite captain. Then again, they all have their rituals for home-coming. Jeremy might not be all that original, but he is dedicated to the few hours of free time he gets between his briefing and the celebratory dinner for his safe return.
"He should be here any minute," Miles says, swirling around the oddly colored liquid but not actually drinking from it. He almost spills half his glass when the double doors to their suite bang open and Jeremy strides inside with a satisfied grin and a dramatic bow. Behind him, the guards hasten to shut the doors again while the captain, newly clean and wearing a brand new uniform, immediately turns all his attention to the girl who is looking at him upside down from Miles' lap with curiosity.
"So the rumors are true," Jeremy says, mostly to himself. He half-circles Miles' chair to get a good look at Charlie, who watches the generals' friend with rapt attention. He's never ever considered Miles as a parent. The captain was forced to consider a daddy Monroe when Shelley got pregnant, and back then it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world, knowing how much stock Bass put into family. After she and the baby died, neither of them would ever really be father material of the year again.
Baker throws himself in the third chair, his, and notices that the girl hasn't bothered to move, still unarmed and vulnerable. She feels powerful here, at home, and thinks him no threat. He's kind of insulted, but he hadn't expected any different. He knows what it's like to be under the full protection of the generals. It's invigorating and their collective egos rub off on you within the week.
"There's actually a living and breathing mini version of Miles in Philly." He grins and tips an imaginary hat at Charlie, "Captain Jeremy Baker, it's a pleasure." Charlie looks incredulously at the man that's so very different from Miles and Monroe that it's almost not funny. She pushes herself up on her elbows. "Charmed?" she hesitantly replies with suspicion in her tone. Bass laughs loudly, and Miles snickers.
"Yup," Jeremy nods, "I see the resemblance clear as day." He snatches his glass from the side table and throws it back in one go, keeping a straight face even when he really, really wants to pout as he remembers good quality whiskey. "Please tell me she doesn't have your sense of humor," he says, moving his eyes to Miles and then Bass, "or yours."
Charlie grins. "I like him," she states, and wipes the grins off the generals' faces and puts one on the captain's. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship.