Word count; 2648

Notes at the bottom.

CHAPTER 2:

The days were long. Luckily they had parked the wagon outside of New Vegas and it had been waiting for them when they had gotten out. But the comfort of not having to walk was diminished by the discomfort of sharing a wagon with 7 other people.

On the way to New Vegas it had just been Charlie, Monroe and Connor but now they had 5 of Duncan's men with them. This meant less space and a heavier load for the horse to pull so they made more stops than Charlie liked, to rest the beast of burden.

Duncan's men were silent for most of the journey. Understandably, they didn't know the other three and didn't seem like the type for Smalltalk. The only one up for conversation was Pete and luckily for Charlie he loved talking about what life had been like pre-blackout.

At first she had listened to him with enthusiasm. He was a good story teller and neither her mother or father had liked talking about the past so she hadn't really known anything about it since she'd been to little to remember herself. But after a while her thoughts drifted elsewhere and Pete's dulcet tones faded to the back ground.

They'd been on the road for a few days now but it was a lot different from the way to New Vegas. When they were headed there she'd been in the back as she was now and Monroe and Connor had been on the front bench, with Monroe holding the reigns, as he was now. However, on the way to, the two men had been chatting non-stop. Talking about themselves, about the life they had lead, about Emma, about Connor's aunt and uncle. But now, there was nothing but silence.

Aside from the occasional comment from Monroe to keep an eye on their surroundings when they entered a spot that he thought could form a potential safety threat, they had been silent. Connor was leaning back, his muscles relaxed and he seemed to just be enjoying the sun. Monroe on the other hand was a whole other story.

From where Charlie was sitting she had a pretty good view of his back. His tight, strained back. Shoulders tense and seated as far from Connor as he possibly could.

She thought maybe something had happened between them, but then again, it could also be that Monroe was pissed that Connor had bested him in the ring. Though she still wasn't sure if Monroe had been going full out, or not.

The sun was lowering in the sky and she knew they would stop soon, to set up camp for the night. They were running out of food so she reached out for her crossbow, checking the string and arrows, planning on going hunting for a bit.

It wasn't long before Monroe slowed the wagon and directed the horse through some trees and bushes. Making sure they couldn't be seen or easily heard from the main road. Charlie jumped off and told him she was going hunting. He grunted something non-committal as he started to detach the horse from the wagon so the animal could get some well deserved rest.

They had mostly been following the river so finding prey was not that hard. Before long she had strung a couple of rabbits, a duck and 2 squirrels on a rope around her shoulder. Moving towards the river so she could skin and clean them. It wasn't much, especially considering she was traveling with 7 grown men but it was better than nothing.

Soft splashing sounds reached her ears as she neared the river. She slowed and tread carefully, not knowing what could be waiting for her at the river banks. She made her way through the trees and bushes, careful not to step on any twigs.

Her breath caught when the trees gave way and she had an unobstructed view of the river. He was naked. He was wet and naked and he was glorious. She silently cursed, though whether it was because of her bodies reaction to seeing him this way or because the damn river kept her from seeing all of him, she didn't know.

He was waist deep in the water, scooping up handfuls of sand to use as a scrub to clean himself. He was methodical, sand, scrub, rinse with water, repeat. Until he was done, then he sank to his knees in the water and dunked his head under.

When he came back up his wet hair was matted to his face and he ran his hands through it as if massaging in shampoo. Charlie nearly salivated at the sight of him. Golden skin stretched across hard muscles and long limbs. There was no doubt this man was one of the better specimens out there, and not just because his looks are sinfully hot. There were plenty of hot men out there, she'd even had sex with a few of them but no one exuded quite the same strength as Monroe did. None had that aura of power, of violence, that edge of barely contained rage. You could look at that man and instantly know he gets whatever the hell he wants.

His back was towards her and she admired the muscles in his shoulders, the faint dip and rise at his waist where his back stopped and his ass, which was regrettably hidden from her view, began. She gasped softly when she noticed the mean, red scars on his back. A criss-cross pattern of angry lines.

She averted her gaze and remembered her mother telling her that he'd been whipped in Mexico, she hadn't given it much thought. The flippant way her mother had said it, she hadn't expected it to be quite this bad.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Her head shot up and her eyes connected with his. He was still waist deep in the river but now his front was towards her and she couldn't help but slide her eyes down his body. Taking in the lean, muscled chest, tight abs and a, from this distance, barely visible line of hair leading from his stomach to under the waterline where her eyes couldn't follow.

Charlie took a deep breath and gathered her wits before stepping out into full view. "Came to skin and clean my catch, didn't want to disturb you so I figured I'd wait for you to finish." She held up the dead animals to prove her point.

I

Bass eyed the woman on the river bank suspiciously but then settled when he saw the truth in her eyes. "Well, go on then. Don't let me stop you." He turned back around to continue washing himself.

A smirk on his face when he heard her shuffle towards the water. Part of him had expected her to turn and run. Brave little toaster.

He could hear the sounds of her skinning the animals and then the slice of her knife as she gutted them. Thankfully, he noticed, she had the sense to do it downstream from him so he wouldn't get washed over with the intestines of whatever she had killed.

On the shoreline there was a small towel and his clothes, but there was now way he could get there without her seeing him in all his glory. After thinking about it a moment he decided he didn't really give a fuck about what she thought about it. He walked out of the water and grabbed the towel, or really, just an old piece of cloth pretending to be a towel.

Acting like he couldn't feel her eyes on him he toweled off and slipped back into his clothes. He wasn't particularly happy about having to put on his dirty clothes but since he didn't bring his spares, cleaning them had to wait until they got back to Willoughby.

As he slipped into his jeans he heard her get up and move towards him. Nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt her soft, delicate touch on his back. Her fingers, cold from the river water gently traced the outline of one of the scars on his back. The scars he'd gotten by the hands of his son.

"Who did this to you?" Her voice was soft and if he didn't know any better, he'd say a little shaky. "Who..." And this time he swore he heard her voice break, unable to finnish her sentence.

"He didn't have a choice." His voice was rough but steady "He had to, if he didn't then that drug-lord bastard would have done the same to him. It was him... Or me, there was no choice." No choice for Connor, but certainly no choice for him. Besides, he had worse scars, most of them not visible on his skin.

"Connor?" Gentle fingers mapped out the scars "Connor did this to you?" He could hear anger in her voice. Anger because he'd been hurt and he didn't know how he felt about that. He could take care of himself, he'd done so for years, ever since Miles left. He didn't need anyone, he didn't need her, he didn't need another Matheson.

As he turned around he felt her fingers lightly graze his skin and then leave altogether. He fought to repress a shiver and to keep his eyes distant and hard "It's nothing." It was almost a sneer and he could see her pulling back. Her expression closing as she took a step back. Good.

He snatched his shirt from the ground and slipped it over his head, the action taking him a few feet away from her. He could breathe normally again. She was still looking at him. Those cerulean blue eyes fixated on him as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Then she blinked and turned around, going back to her task of cleaning the animals she'd caught.

Bass turned around and started walking back to camp "Don't take too long, or I'll send someone looking for you." The warning loud and clear, don't stay here alone for too long. Even though he didn't need her, he'd still protect her.

The camp was set up when he returned from his bath. Charlie's men were busying themselves with making a fire and feeding the horse. Connor was throwing down their sleeping bags onto the hard soil. Charlie's in between theirs, the three sleeping bags in the shape of an A, he'd made that point to Connor from the get go. Charlie's faced the fire while his and Connor flanked hers, so she would be warm and protected.

Miles counted on him to keep her safe. That's what he kept telling himself. Miles wanted her safe and that was the only reason Bass was so protective of Charlie, no other reason, no ulterior motives.

That was also the reason he'd been so angry, so upset at finding Connor and Charlie together that first night in New Vegas, because if Miles knew, he'd be furious. It'd had nothing to do with the pang of jealousy deep in his gut. That burning sense of betrayal when he found them together, it had nothing to do with that.

His eyes followed her from the moment she stepped back into the camp, several cleaned, dead prey hanging from a rope in her hands. He watched as she skewered them on sticks and placed them above the fire to cook them.

She was strong. He admired that about her. From the moment he met her, when she'd stood up from that sofa demanding Strausser he pick her he'd admired her strength. When she told her mother to let them kill her, that she wasn't as important as thousands of other people.

Being near her for so long, living near her, fighting with her, beside her, he'd realized she was wrong. Thousands of people weren't even close to being as important. Her strength had helped bring down the republic. If she hadn't gotten Miles, if she hadn't made that trip maybe everything would have been different.

Funnily enough he was glad she made the trip because though he'd never admit it out loud, he was glad to be rid of the republic. Glad that he wasn't holding that tiger by the tail anymore and even though he'd told his son differently, there was no way in hell he was going to try and get that back.

So, yes. Protecting her because Miles asked him to. Because he promised Rachel he would keep her daughter safe. That she would not be losing another child if he had anything to say about it. But it was getting hard to maintain those lies, even to himself.

Because it wasn't because of Miles that he admired her strength. It wasn't because of Miles that he felt a connection between them. And it sure as shit wasn't because of Miles that every time she brushed past him, every time she bend over to grab something, his body responded. Tightening, feeling every nerve ending in his body come alive. No, that wasn't because of Miles, it was because of her.

The first time was when she'd tracked him down, when those blue eyes opened, narrowing in realization that she was tied up, with him. When she had looked at him and told him that maybe he'd sucked at his job. Her eyes angry and accusing.

He'd admired her strength, her courage. Even after he'd hit her in the solar plexus, she'd been down for a mere moment before coming after him, once more. He respected her, that respect had kept him from killing the bounty hunter when she ordered him not to. When she'd sneered at him that he wouldn't be able to follow her so he'd better shoot her, he hadn't been able to decide to do just that or throw her against the nearest tree and rip her clothes off.

In his musings he hadn't noticed how much time had passed until she sat down next to him and offered him a piece of, what he thought had been a rabbit. A growling sound in his stomach made her smile and he accepted the food "Thanks. Obviously I was hungry."

The smile she gave him made him think, just for a moment, that he hadn't been wrong about their connection. That when he'd sensed something between them the past few weeks it wasn't all his imagination.

Connor sat down across from them, chewing on his own food and smiled at Charlie. "Great catch. It's nice to have something fresh to eat every once in a while."

Bass got up without saying a word, his jaw clenched tightly. "Where are you going?" Her voice was soft and melodical, if not a bit hurt. "Scout the surrounding area, just to be safe." His answer was clipped and clinical.

No, he'd had it all wrong. He chewed on the meat and walked away from the camp, away from her and Connor. No, if there had been anything between them it had all been one sided, his to be exact. That much was obvious when he'd found her naked, covered by nothing more than a blanket, and Connor.

He felt the anger from that night bubble to the surface. That sharp pang of, not hurt, he didn't know what it was but it wasn't hurt, he would allow it to be. Kicking a branch on the ground, he let out a few choice curse words before calming himself down enough to actually pay attention to his surroundings.

There wasn't anything out there aside from some wildlife. He could hear the soft sounds of the people back in the camp talking but otherwise the night was void of any sound. Not that he wouldn't set up a watch, he wasn't stupid, but so far it seemed like they would have another uneventful night.

Author's notes.

First two chapters were written quite quickly. I wanted to get the 'origins' of their feelings out of the way so I could get to the good stuff. I apologize if they seem a bit hurried.

I'm basing Bass not only about what's seen on the show but also about what David Lyons has said in some interviews. On how he feels Bass is deep down so that's why my Bass is most likely a bit gentler than the Bass in the show.

As always, please let me know what you think and if you feel there are some things I need to change or improve. Constructive criticism is always wanted and welcomed, please keep it civil, though.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this chapter, I hope it was an enjoyable few minutes.

Love, Marisa