Chapter four

He was cold. And dirty.

He still is.

Somehow things like this, he does not care about anymore. He just slides. There is nothing more there that matter.

Miles' couch is his refuge.

Miles watches from the corner of his eyes, his hands aimlessly close to his body.

Charlie watches Bass. He smells. He has the dirt of the ground he sat on that night with the bottle and Miles, still on pants that have not left his thighs.

He barely eats. Then he does not eat at all.

He does drink.

She has opened the window to the room that he made his upstairs. The fresh air not able to cast out the grieve.

And when he is losing all grip around him, two friends are desperately trying to not let him loose himself.

Miles crouches down before Bass.

'Bass, you need to get out of these pants,' He looks at Charlie. And nods.

'We are going to get you cleaned up, okay?'

Bass looks at Miles, looks away. 'No,' he nods, 'I'm tired.'

'I know, but we've got you Bass.' Miles voice is low and unusually soft.

'Stay with him,' he says quietly to Charlie with just his eyes.

Miles walks upstairs to the bathroom and looks at the shower. In this state Bass won't even be able to stand on his feet long enough. He gets the warm water going into a bath. Then he walks downstairs again. Lifting an arm over Bass and Bass' arm over his shoulder, and his own strong hand under his brother's armpit he is carrying Bass with him as Bass' hand lands on his shoulder and Miles' covers his.

Charlie is on his other side.

He is being put on the rim of the tub. He could not care less. Miles starts on his boots. He helps him out of his shirt. His pants. His boxers. Socks. He looks at it, in a fuzzy this is not concerning me disconnected way.

'Come on buddy.'

Charlie sees her uncle, carrying Bass in some many ways through this and emotions rush over her. She loves them both so much. Miles, her uncle. Bass, his best friend and her friend through all of her life. He is almost ten years older, and been there in cards, Christmas day's and Thanksgivings Birthday, normal days. Any days. Her dad, older than Miles and in so many ways the definitely the adult when it comes to the group of three, Miles, Ben and Bass.

'You' re okay,' Charlie whispers softly standing next to Bass.

Bass looks up with haunted eyes that remind her of somebody completely lost.

He does not want to wash, he does not want to be here at all. Period. But it is Miles' stubbornness that gets him into the tub. Like he'd done before, on a mission across seas and humanity, when it had been them, taking care of the other, just like this.

Charlie walks over to Miles, crouches down besides and a little behind Bass. Grabs a cloth and some soap and starts, with calm and patience, to wash him. His shoulders, his chest. His wild curls when she lets her hand go over his scalp and temples. Her movements are easy.

'let's take care of this stubborn curls of yours,' she says easily. She wants to keep on talking to him.

And she refuses to not see him. She sees all of him. But is still here, next to him.

Dirt gets washed away. Tears. As she moves over his skin and a little scar that she knows is when he got into a bar fight with Miles.

She settles just behind him as Bass moves subtlety into her. The shift is small but warm skin moves into her wet shirt, warm water, warm steam as his cheek with beard touches her side. She sits with him. Just sits with him.

And as Miles looks at his best friend, silently and with dark eyes filled with compassion for Charlie and so much fucking hurt for his best friend, and Charlie taking care of him like she has never done anything else, or maybe she hasn't, he shoves the pants and Bass' other dirty laundry in a hamper in the corner and starts walking to the room where Bass is staying as he pushes to blankets filled with sleep from Bass' bed.

His bed is different. Charlie has helped him as somewhere in the back of his mind he is mad at himself how pathetic this feels. Shame. But not so much it can pierce through his grieve.

He ends up in boxers inside that bed, his hair still slightly wet. Soft hands and a softer towel go over his temples to drops of water.

Charlie moves from the bed and he watches her go. He can't watch her go. He knows Miles has already left. But not her. Not her too.

There it is. Screaming loneliness of something he cannot bear to see go.

He looks at her.

She looks at him.

Their eyes lock. He asks her not to leave. She doesn't.

Downstairs Miles has grabbed a beer as he sits his ass down on his couch. It is a long afternoon, as the light and the hours stretch out in their town. Rachel and Ben will stop by later and he hopes to god they have some food with them. With his skills to go to a supermarket and Charlie's ability to make a decent meal they are pretty much in for hell. Rachel probably will drill a meal together with the efficiency that is all her. Rachel.

His lips go to the rim of the bottle.

As he sits there, his thoughts go to his brother. The guy he met in their small school here in town. Nobody knew exactly what happened.

But there had been some shoving around on the playground.

'You're stupid.'

'You more stupider.'

'That's not a word, you moron.'

'Who thought you that word?'

'My dad,'

'My dad has a book about war and gross pictures of soldiers.'

'Cool.'

'Want to watch?'

Curiosity about a new curse word that was not yet theirs to say as they were not the tough badass guys they were now, had turned into a friendship and the dispute had been settled over a war book and the plans about playing soldiers near grass close to Bass' home.

He gets up from the couch, needing something stronger. A glass was there.

And now his brother, his friend was up there. As dads would never thunder about where the hell they had been. His little brother. Ben was his big brother, but Bass, Bass was his to take care off. And moron or not, he loved him.

He was worried about him. About what it could mean for his career in the Marines. He sighs. As the clock ticks on inside his living room, with memorabilia of his old man on the wall, his lips move and swallows down more liquid posion.

Charlie looks at him, he has looked at her a long time.

Bass looks at her, blue eyes mirroring his looks. The shift between them happening. He can feel her warm hands in his hair. It makes him feel a fucking bit less alone.

He needs more from that.

He moves his hips and legs towards her.

Charlie watches as he finally moved his arm. Not because they gave him a beer, a glass. Whiskey. But this time, because he was reaching. Reaching for her.

He touches her hair, like he had to tell himself it was there.

She watches him. The little lines close to his eyes, a tanned skin, the long neck that was so strong, like you could let your forehead glide into the strong waiting arms of his neck.

He watches her, watching him.

It makes him feel like he still exists.

The sun is setting, over the small square in town, over the small towns that had been here for ages. Over the gardens, over the play sites they know so well, over the small library and the story where they bought candy. It gives her a warm glow and it reaches him inside.

And then his cock twitches. It just happened, reaching for her, asking for her.

He looks at her, with an intensity that had nothing to do that Monroe ego. Or his warm Bass likeness. Or what there had been between them, before it all changed. It was a blazing asking curiosity.

Charlie looks at him. But it is also a plea, a delving into something she knew he would regret later.

She has felt his cock. It touches her, the strong movement impossible to ignore.

Bass Monroe never took advantage of anyone. He is kind and descent. And she did not want to do that to him.

She sees the whip of pain in his eyes when she gentle stopped him with her eyes.

He bows his forehead.

'Fuck,' he lets put.

He is about to pull away, feeling damn guilty for using her like this, no knowing what he is doing anymore and not knowing what the hell is happening. She stops him again, this time with her arm.

He is agitated, and he sits on the side of the bed, bowed down. He gets up.

She feels him, smells him. And then, to let him know this is not about pushing him away, and that whatever this was, could be real, in a space outside of this, she kisses him.

Somewhere on the tip of his lips, close to his cheek, halfway into his stubble, Charlie Matheson kisses Sebastian Monroe. It is a kiss filled with love and warmth and humanity and telling him it is all right he is here, it is all right she was here.

That this, this is not a pushing away. This is about waiting for that moment, to see if they could be that. She lets him know with one kiss, that she is here.

But today, it would have be this.

The kiss lasts. She lets him stand there, as long as he needs, as long as she needed. It was a clinch with their lips.

She slowly untangles from him, as she puts her arms around him before she walks downstairs and Bass crawls back into bed, with her touch, her kiss and finally able to get some sleep as he pulls the blanket over his shoulders.

So, here we are. More comfort coming through this hard time...I wanted to thank you for your reviews, knowing you are reading my stories, and are with me with our love for these characters is so nice! Thanks for reading this sad story, next chapter will be an important changing point. Next chapter will be up soon! Love from Love