Philadelphia isn't ready for a teenage Matheson.
Charlie age twelve had been a problem, disruptive, adventurous, inquisitive. She's spied, participated in Militia training without permission, fought with other kids, been kidnapped, fallen off a roof, rang the watchtower alarm when there was no danger and mouthed off against anyone and everyone that tried to convince her to respect higher ranked officers.
At age thirteen she'd seemed to calm down, retreating to Independence Hall and reading through Bass' vast collection of books, not even injured once, always letting her uncle know where she was and not interrupting during the nightly strategy meeting between the generals.
One year later, those same generals discovered that Charlie's investigations throughout the city had prompted her to find out about the secret passage in the library that led to a safe house in case someone needed to get away in a hurry. By then she's been using it for over eighteen months; trading in the wonders of the city for the peace and quiet in the forests. Her mandatory combat lessons have done wonders, but they are nothing compared to her increasing skill with her crossbow.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Miles paces across the library, not even looking at his niece. Charlie is on her reading chair, following her uncle with her eyes, not feeling the least bit guilty.
Jeremy is there too, accompanying Miles as they went to get her. He's leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on her head as he copies her movements. Miles is busy muttering to himself, more or less ignoring the other two.
"He doesn't even care that you went, you know," Jeremy whispers, trying to avoid the general's attention "He cares that you lied to him."
Charlie snorts. "He's just mad he didn't notice I've been omitting some details. It wasn't even lying technically." she doesn't bother with being quiet. The hatch is still open, but as Miles passes it, he kicks it shut, the metal clanging shut with a god-awful sound.
He has apparently heard her, and turns furiously to face her. "I'm going to the library, you said," he growls, his grip clenching around the hilt of his sword, "I am fine, Miles, you said," he doesn't even bother imitating her voice or tone, that's how furious he is.
"I just didn't stop at the library," Charlie shrugs, and Jeremy quietly groans behind her and bends his knees, hiding from the gaze the general suddenly turns to the occupant of the chair.
"Instead, you went out to the forest, where you predictably tried to take down a war clan. What were you thinking? Didn't we teach you anything? Back-up, extra weapons, provisions. You barely got away."
It's almost cute, Jeremy thinks as he peeks over the top of the chair. The only reason Miles is actually mad is because she'd gotten some bruises before she escaped. He's gotten so attached to the girl in just two years that he can't imagine anything happening to her.
Any other authority figure would have told Charlie that she was too young, too inexperienced, but they're not Miles. He knows like no other that stereotyping Charlie will make her fight back, while this way will make her fight harder and better, will allow her to survive this new world. "It was hardly a clan, and I was taking their weapons, not trying to kill them head on," Charlie retorts. Their argument grows louder.
Bass chooses that moment to enter, dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, looking like he was dragged out of bed, his curls a huge mess and his eyes half shut. The guard who'd alarmed him races away, experienced enough with these situation that he knows he wants to be on the other side of the building.
"I miss coffee," the president states, a yawn escaping his lips as he takes in the scene of his captain in hiding and two arguing Mathesons. He spots the uncovered hatch and quickly figures out most of the story from that and the shouted words.
Charlie jumps from her seat to increase her height, snarling at her uncle while he glares silently. Monroe strides forward, pushes Charlie back into her chair with one hand, and shuts Miles up with a look.
"Can't you two do this at a normal hour? Sometime not past midnight, if at all possible," he says, rubbing his eyes to clear the remnants of his disturbed sleep. Charlie only just notices him as she is forced back into her seated position.
In two years this is the most unguarded she has seen him. Monroe looks tired, the bags under his eyes having turned from blue to purple sometime in the last few months. His curls haven't been tamed, his stubble is showing and his creased clothing can't hide it like his uniform apparently does. The absence of power shows the man, and she is captivated.
The fight forgotten, Charlie turns to Monroe, frowning at his appearance and glancing at the other men to figure out if they see it too. They don't.
"Are you alright, Monroe?" she asks, her head turned slightly to the right in consideration. The president's shoulders are slumped, his weight unevenly distributed to compensate for his bad knee. His eyes are red with a lack of sleep, suffering from the same insomnia her uncle does most days.
"Huh?" Bass grunts, almost confused as he registers the words. She repeats the question, and behind her Miles frowns with worry. Charlie might have been out most days, running rampant outside Philly's walls, but he's been beside Bass for almost every day. The change in his friend's health has been so gradual that he hasn't even noticed, but Charlie has. She doesn't see him as often, sometimes goes weeks without catching a glimpse of him. Because of that, it is glaringly obvious to her.
"Bass?" Miles says, laying a hand on his arm and drawing his attention. Monroe turns to his best friend, and suspects that they're in for a long talk.
Jeremy nudges Charlie and gestures to the door, wanting to give his friends some privacy, even though even he is concerned now. However, Bass will never share this with him or the girl, and it is better for everyone if the two of them give the others some time alone.
Charlie protests silently, but then shrugs and nods, sneaking out with Jeremy at her side.