Music I was listening to for writing this chapter, was Bag Girls by M.I.A and Bitter Rivals by Sleigh Bells (For BAMF Charlie moments, of which there are more to come) and The Wolf by Phildel, Falling by Bastille for Charloe moments and This Night by Black Lab. Give them a listen if you fancy it...
To IslandGurl90 - he does mean she could be preggers with Connor's son! As it has been some weeks since her and Connor slept together in New Vegas))
Enjoy and review pretty please! No Beta -and fast updates mean mistakes get missed... sorry!
In her dreams, she was in the trailer again. It smelled like sex, all sweat and musk, and it smelt like fear, tears and cries for help.
The filthy bedsheets, and mirrored ceiling. The restraints nailed into the headboard. She looked down at herself, and her skin prickled with horror to realise she was wearing the underwear again. The rotting bow for her unwilling buyer. She wriggled, trying to pull it down at the back, and up at the front, she stretched it as far as it could go, and it leapt back up in her fingers wake.
She had never felt more vulnerable, there, with her bare hands, in those foreign clothes, her bare feet. Her shackled wrists clanked against each other, and she saw to her horror, they had shortened the chain, there would be no strangling with this chain, which barely allowed her an inch to manoeuvre. She kicked her legs, thankful at least they were free.
A sound at the door stilled her, and she looked in panic at the metal handle, seeing it start to turn. She started to thrash around, a last opportunity for give to her hands, or the futile hope of something sharp.
The door swung open, and a man was filling the doorway, staring at her with a quiet intensity. He looked tired, had dust on his shoulders from the road, and achingly familiar. He came in, and climbed the stairs heavily, pausing at the top to sweep his eyes over her. She felt her body go cold under his hungry stare. He turned to the counter, and pulled his jacket off, and unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops.
"I have to say, you make a welcome sight after the day I've had" Charlie felt tears spring to her eyes. He sounded normal, like he did everyday, his scratchy, low voice, this time weary and resigned. She shook her head as he came closer, looking down at her with want.
"Don't touch me, I swear... I'll -" she breathed as his hand, dropped to her leg, and ran a slow line up it.
"You'll what?"
"I'll kill you..." she whispered.
"Like you killed me last time?" he asked, his voice rising at the end, even as his eyes dropped over her, drinking her in.
"Anyway, Charlotte... you asked me here" he said, tilting his head to the side.
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"Charlie… wake up" the rough shaking continued, jolting her from her dreams and into the real world, the predawn light gently filtering under the canvas, Monroe's hard back against hers and his arms around her, his voice low and concerned in her ear. She stiffened and pulled herself away from him, her heart still pounding from her nightmare.
"What was it… what were you dreaming off?" he asked, leaning up, pulled by his hand, still connected to hers as she sat upright, crossing her legs in front of her and turning her face from his.
"Was it… were you remembering?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head, her face still averted.
"No. Just a nightmare… regular one" she bit out, and glanced at him.
"How's the side?" she asked, and bit her tongue. When would she get it out of her head that he wasn't her ally anymore, or anything else for that matter. He stretched his injured side, grimacing slightly.
"I'll live" he muttered, and caught her hard gaze.
"Sorry to disappoint." He said and she turned away, inspecting the cuff on her wrist. She was quiet, massaging the pinched skin of her wrist, waiting for him to stand. They stood awkwardly, him grunting, the exertion pulling at his crude stitches, her, forced to stagger under him and support him, her wrist tethering them together. When he was finally up, she stood before him, trying not to react to their proximity and hardened her expression.
"So General Genius… what now? I hate to be indelicate… but nature calls" she said, and stiffened as he laughed, and rested his other arm, the one being supported by his injured side on her shoulder, pulling them closer.
"First thing… good morning" he murmured, and gave her what she was sure he considered his most winning smile, which, to be honest was much more affecting than she would ever let him know.
"And second?" she urged, rolling her eyes at his attempts at being cute.
"Second… we find Connor and open these cuffs" he said, and she started to turn away, stopping when he gripped her shoulder.
"And third… thank you, for saving my life… I mean it Charlie… thank you" he said, so close she could feel his breath against her face.
"Yeah, well, I didn't quite trust Connor's authority over your men, he's still a little green… just looking out for number one" she muttered, dropping his gaze, unwilling to let him see, to let him know how frightening it had been, seeing him unconscious, hurt, bleeding, how it had ripped something inside her.
"Right." He muttered as she turned away and went to the flap of the tent, relieved to spot Connor approaching from the other side.
Bass embraced his son, the best he could with one hand tied to someone shooting daggers at both of them. Charlie was watching them, trying not to be affected by the way Monroe tried to reassure him, still so young in so many ways, and convince him of his immortality. All parents died, and usually when you were least prepared for it, Charlie knew that better than anyone, a lesson that had come of knowing the man who was currently reaching for the little silver key to their bond as she watched.
A thought occurred to her as Monroe started to reach toward their joined hands, and before she could decide if it was a good idea or not, her other hand reached out to snatch the tiny thing. She then turned toward the open tent flap and threw it as far as she could. Connor and Monroe stared at her in surprise.
"Go find it" Monroe snapped as he turned unamused blue eyes to her.
'What the hell was that? If you wanted to sleep together again, all you have to do is ask…" his tone belied his joking words as she shrugged her hair over her shoulder and turned to watch Connor crawling in the grass and dirt.
"I don't see it" he called, and she turned a self-satisfied smile to her captor.
"Oops… there goes your pair of handcuffs, I guess…" she said innocently, hiding a smile as Monroe struggled to hide his anger at her.
"Yeah, what makes you think I'll bother cutting these off… maybe I like having you close"
"Yeah, that'll be real practical when you're taking down the next camp" she responded, calling his bluff.
"Fine. Have it your way. But you asked for it Charlie… don't forget that" he said, with a slightly manic smile toward the end, that made her doubt her plan for a moment. Anything else he came up with to restrain her had to be easier to get out of than handcuffs, she told herself, but there was something in his look that told her that her imagination might not be as good as his.
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Her wrists were free, the handcuffs long gone, cut off, though the bracelet remained as a souvenir.
That was something, she told herself as she gripped the horse's back with her thighs, and held herself as far forward as she could from the muscled chest resting behind her, and the strong arms circling her, holding the reins on her thighs.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but if she had known his revenge would be sharing a horse, she would have definitely rethought. Her hands were free, but her arms were tied to her sides, making moving precarious and highly dangerous on horseback. The slightest movement could topple her, and she had only his arms circling her from behind to correct her, as the horse moved less than smoothly over the rough terrain.
He sighed as her hair once again got in his face. She smiled. The last few hours had been about trying to find ways to annoy him, and so far, hair was the best.
"Ever considered a haircut?" he muttered as he reached up and pulled her long hair around the side, attempting to shove it into the collar of her jacket. She waited a moment after he was done, and with a practiced flick, sent it spilling out again.
"Charlotte…" he warned low and throaty, which she ignored, and continued her other proven methods for annoying him. There was kicking his shins, which, of course, she had been doing for several hours now, but not so often he would think it wasn't natural. Bumping into his injured side, though, that one she hardly dared to, for fear of causing real damage. Yet, the very best one had only recently occurred to her, and she couldn't believe it had taken so long for her to come up with.
Pretending to feel stiff, she leant back a little against his chest, and stretched her back, one way and then the other, making sure to fit her bottom snuggly into the space between his thighs. She saw his hands tense on the reigns, his sharp intake of breath, and allowed the motion of the horse to jolt her up and down in that position, letting the natural friction between her back and his front build and build, until she stretched forward again, removing the contact. She was rewarded with a glimpse of half-moon nail marks worn into his palms as he shifted uncomfortably behind her, clearing his throat.
As the sun started to set and she had began dozing with boredom, she came fully awake as scouts from up ahead came to speak to Monroe, she listen carefully. There were no camps around for just now, but there seemed to be a large body of men some way back, not really following them, but they seemed to be taking out those patriots that they encountered.
"What are they carrying?" Charlie asked before she could stop herself, and saw as the man waited for Monroe's ok before answering her.
"Mix of stuff… guns, swords, crossbow… you name it, they got it"
"Not patriots… war clan? Maybe a tribe?" she said, glancing back, directing her words to Monroe
"Maybe… Let's check them out" was all Monroe said before he started giving orders to set up camp. He turned the horse toward the woods, and Charlie sank back against him, thinking of the unknown group behind them.
"Do I get to come this time? Or do I have to waiting around like a sitting duck?" she asked.
"You can't come, because I don't trust you not to run off… but, I'll leave you a gun." He said, swinging down from the horse, and turning to lift her. She was completely immobile from the arms up, and glared at his manhandling of her as his hands touched her waist and she struggled to bring her leg over the horse. Finally off, she turned to find herself trapped between the horses body and Monroe, who had placed one hand on either side of her, one next to her head, the other lingered at her waist, and leant in.
'And Charlotte… if we are going to repeat today, everyday from now on… you better be ready to follow through on it"
"Meaning?" she asked archly, embarrassed to be caught.
"Meaning… I might be a monster, and you might hate me… but I'm still only a man, a man who remembers what it is like to be with you… don't play games with me" he said hoarsely, and his burning look made her swallow hard. She let out a long breath, not bothering to deny it.
"Anything else?" she asked acidly, waiting for him to move back. He stared at her a moment longer, a muscle clenching in his jaw before he pushed back, shaking his head, striding away. She turned from where he had left her, feeling as though the very air between them was scorched in his wake and found Connors eyes on her.
"What?" she asked, feeling her cheeks redden slightly, and tilting her chin up at an angle to compensate.
"What's going on between you two?" he asked, glancing over at his father, deep into ordering everyone to run and do his bidding.
"Nothing." She bit out, and turned away from him as he continued to inspect her so closely. He didn't pursue it, and she walked carefully in the direction some random Militia guy was leading her.
He sat her down on a stump, and she watched the preparations around her, watched her makeshift shelter being strung up. If Connor thought it strange that she shared Monroe's tent, he hadn't said anything, but he was definitely starting to take more of an interest in their interactions. She found her eyes resting on the elder Monroe a moment, his strong arms, lifting things directing the men, the way his blue eyes kept checking on her.
She forced herself to look away. They were both in trouble, it seemed. She just didn't know how to fix it. She thought about her nightmare, a true nightmare, from Gould's pleasure trailer, and how close she had come to being raped. It had been terrifying, so it was hardly surprising that it showed up in her dreams, yet last night, it had been different. It had not been a faceless stranger paying top dollar to take advantage of her.
It had been him, Monroe, and the feelings inside her had been so coiled and complex, she could even begin to untangle them.
Why would she imagine him in that situation? She was sure he would never hurt her like that, never take advantage of her, so why would she picture him.
"Let's go" someone said, pulling her up and taking her toward the tent, already constructed. The sun was hot, and she was glad to get undercover, plus, she had started to feel a little sick again. What was up with her she didn't know, but she was pretty sure she didn't want to have a conversation with Monroe about the possibility that she might be pregnant with his son's child. Monroe, the grandfather. The thought seemed so ludicrous she almost smiled. She sat on the floor as the man tied her wrists to the pole, and she was able to move her arms a little more. She sighed and closed her eyes. How she was going to get out of this, was still unclear so far, but it was clear that Monroe had no long term plan for how to keep her with him. Maybe he was hoping she'd come round.
What he didn't realise was that, being against him in this, was vital, it helped her to separate him, from the man from the dream world, the one she had loved. Because, he would never want the Republic, and he had not been changed by the world, as Monroe had, and she, Charlie, could never love another like she had loved him, especially not this Monroe, the one who held her against her will, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with it. Her nausea rose again, and she closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to call out to him, tell him how she was feeling. But she bit it back, and tried to get comfortable, better to sleep when she could, save her energy, she thought, letting her eyes drift close, hoping for better dreams.
He listened to the soft crackling from the fire, echoing around the tent, and watched her sleep. He made an excuse that waiting for the cover of night to check out the other group was what kept him, there, with her, waiting. But truth was he didn't have much chance to look at her nowadays, without someone noticing, and this was too good an opportunity to give up. She had been out for hours, and he realised how tired she must be, how difficult this was for her, and how much of a monster he really was, to treat her, of all people, like this. His eyes lingered over her perfection.
Her hair, the slope of her cheek, and her face, so achingly flawless and familiar in repose, so sweet, unlike any look she had ever given him in reality. Her long eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks, and the shadows danced across her, hollowing her collarbones and deepening the dip between her breasts. But, she was not his to look at, not anymore, and in truth, she never had been, he reminded himself.
He had thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe she would be… but, she had chosen his own son, and whatever he felt, whatever he wanted didn't matter anyhow. His eyes skirted away, and he turned to face the ceiling. Taking a couple of deep breaths he tried to turn his attention to sleep, as hard as it was.
A sound from the fire caused him to tense, as Charlie suddenly sat upright, a cry on her lips. He watched her orientate herself, test her hands, look around. He considered feigning sleep, and decided against it, just before her eyes met his. Truth was, he wasn't tired, and he felt like speaking to her. It felt less bad when she talked to him, it felt less like he was losing everything he had.
"Bad dreams again?" he asked softly, as her eyes caught his and she let out a resigned sigh, slumping back against the pillar. She stared at him, silent. That was the thing about Charlie, she wouldn't be baited unless she wanted to speak, and even then, you would be lucky if she gave you the time of day. Every exchange he won from her felt like a gift, an indulgence on her part.
"I'm… I'm not feeling well… again" she said quietly and he sat up to attention. He went to the pail lying on the floor and filled a canteen, settling across from her as he handed it to her. Her joined hands brought it up to her lips, and she drank deeply, closing her eyes as she did. He found his eyes lingering on the long column of her neck, as it swallowed the water.
"Here" she said, handing him back the glass. He swallowed, his mouth a little dry as he took it.
"A thank you would be nice"
"Thank you for tying me up in a wagon for days, giving me dirty water to drink and then lashing me to the ground to sleep" she intoned, humourlessly.
"Who gave you dirty water to drink?" he asked.
"I don't know… one of the men, I suppose" she said, resting back and moving her hands in her lap, trying to get more comfortable.
"Which one?" he pressed, irritated.
"Why, are you going to kill him for me?" she asked innocently, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Maybe… if you want me to" he answered honestly, arranging her blanket around her, trying to make sure she'd be warm enough.
"You're insane." She muttered, raising her fingers to her temples and gently making circles, easing a headache.
"You could just agree to join me… come with us, fight with us… I'd keep you safe" Bass said, forcing his tone to be casual, teasing almost, waiting for the rebuke.
"Oh really, that simple, right? Why don't you just let me go… I'll get Miles and my mom, and we'll go to California, and live quietly, we'll leave you alone to rebuild your empire of doom" she teased right back.
"You know… the Republic wasn't always a bad thing, you know. In the beginning, it was a way to protect innocent people, people like Aaron, or Gene… people who just wanted to live their lives, free of worrying about bandits and warlords."
"So… what happened?" Charlie asked, as Monroe looked into the fire, the orange light flickering across his blue eyes, his face haunted in the shadows of that amber glow. His forehead creased as he looked into the past, and she watched him.
"I don't know. I – really don't. One day, we were defeating bad guys, and helping our camp, and then there were people doing things for us, and arriving to fight for us, and asking us to help towns in trouble. And if we didn't do it… who would? Nobody cared about anybody else, post blackout, it was kill or be killed… But Miles still cared… and because of him… I cared" he finished, and seemed surprised at himself, at his candour and looked away a little guiltily. Charlie pressed a little closer, intrigued by his account.
"Why did Miles leave then, what did you do?"
"I… I just got lost, I think. Maybe I just started to see winning as the objective in itself, and not as a means to an end anymore… that's what happens with power Charlie, it absorbs you, eats you from the inside out, until you look in the mirror every morning and don't quite recognise the person staring back. I became so afraid of losing the things I had… that I held on to them too tightly, I crushed them… and I lost it all anyway" he muttered, and when his eyes met hers again, glancing away, hiding their luminous quality, she was quiet, taking in his words.
"If you really believe that… then what the hell are you doing now? You are making the same mistake all over again… what's the point?" she asked plainly.
"You don't understand Charlie… I – I have a son. And I have nothing to give him, but a legacy of failure. The Republic is my legacy, it is the only thing I have, as damned as it was… and… Connor, it's what he wants, he wants it all, he's ambitious, you didn't meet him in Mexico…" he trailed off. She shifted forward, and looked at him with those clear blue eyes, more open and kind than he'd seen of late.
"Connor's not a bad kid, tell him, teach him why he should want something else, aspire to be something different… he would listen to you" she murmured, even as he shook his head sadly.
"No, he wouldn't, you don't know. He wants the Republic back, and I want to give it to him, I want to give him something. I have to" he said, and met her gaze, seeing disappointment seep into her look.
"Then… you've already failed him. You've doomed him to repeat your life" she surmised, sitting back, and resting her head on the post.
"That's why I have to be here… and why I need your help, and Miles', to make it different this time"
"Miles will never help, and neither will I. You and I… we just don't work. We are dynamite and a match… and we should be apart, for both our sakes." She murmured, letting her eyes close.
"Or, we are exactly what each other needs, and you're too afraid to admit it" he said, and shifted closer to her, making her eyes snap open and look at him warily.
"You can't tell me, that what you felt in the other place, the non blackout world was something usual, mundane… because, you'll be a liar Charlotte and we'll both know it." He said.
"It wasn't real, just – let it go. Stay back" she whispered, her voice holding a warning as he leaned closer to her, and his expression became even more absorbed, more intent on her.
"Oh, it's only ok for you to play games, right? I thought I had no effect on you?" he asked, and without warning, ran a calloused finger down her bare arm. Goosebumps sprang up in it's wake, and he watched her shrug it off.
"Depends if boredom or revulsion counts" she whispered, and he could feel her breath on his face. He raised his fingers to her cheek, and gently caressed the smooth skin there. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he laced his fingers into that thick mane, and pulled her head forward, aware that she couldn't do anything but follow his direction, bound as she was. Gently, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, and let his lips brush across hers. He had been conscious much longer than she'd thought the previous night, had heard her goodbye and felt her farewell kisses. He had suddenly realised maybe Charlie was missing him just as much as he was missing her.
His heart was pounding, making his blood rush through his veins, the fire felt white hot on the side of his face, and everything about the moment had became unbearable heightened.
He wasn't sure when he had stopped goading her, stopped punishing her for her cruel words and indifference, and yet, somehow, that was forgotten as he stood on the cusp of kissing her. He had wanted to kiss her, he realised now, since he'd first seen her, first watched her face down a gun without flinching, since long before the dream world and their history there.
She was magnificent, and he had wanted to taste that, for a moment. That fierceness, was a magnet to him, and often in the past weeks, he'd found himself gravitating toward it. Charlie's appreciation, her smile, her thanks or even just acknowledgement had become the reason he did most things, as ashamed as he was to admit that.
Now, he searched her eyes for some sign that kissing him would mean the same to her, as it did to him.
Her wide blue eyes were moving over his face, and then, her tongue darted out, and licked her lips, bringing his eyes to her mouth, and his inner battle was lost. His lips met hers gently at first, testing, asking for permission, begging for acceptance. He kissed her tentatively, and waited for a sign, some signal. He was on the brink of pulling back, when he felt her roped hand tug on his neck, and tensed, waiting for her to attack him, attempt to hurt him.
The only thing he wasn't prepared for, was the tugging motion she made, pulling his mouth more firmly to hers, opening her lips and letting her tongue touch his, making him groan softly, his body reacting, his hands aching to touch her, claim her. He kissed her hungrily, and greedily, eating her lips with demanding kisses, biting her lips and slaking his tongue against hers, until they were both gasping for breath. She broke off the kiss, gulping down air and he found his mouth pressed against her neck, as he tried to satisfy his urgent need to feel her skin against his. Her lips were against his temple, and she pressed a soft kiss there, so light that it made his eyes close, savouring it's simplicity, until he heard her soft words, interspersed with scattered kisses.
"Hmmm, like father, like son" her words froze him, and he dropped back, pulling away, recoiling physically, sitting back on his heels to look at the girl who had just kicked him in the face, emotionally. Her lips were swollen, stung and red, the colour in her cheeks red, tousled hair and her brilliant blue eyes blazing at him, she had never looked more beautiful, than now, rejecting him.
"You wanna play games… let's play" she breathed, her face impassive as she stared at him. Upset with her body, and her heart, and the way it kept betraying her.
Monroe stared at her in shock. She was pushing him with everything she had, trying to make him snap, make him react, make him either hurt her, or slip up somehow, and she'd escape. They stared at each other, battle lines drawn.
He had shown his hand, revealed how very much he wanted her, missed her, needed her. And she had revealed nothing, she had been acting, manipulating him. Her look was triumphant as she watched him stand, and turn from her, his own body a betrayal in its want of her. He strode outside, gulping down some fresh air, and just hoped her ropes still held, because nothing was going to make him go back in there right now.
Charlie watched the flap where Monroe has disappeared. Her own heart was beating a tattoo in her blood, and her body was still simmering from his touch. But it didn't matter how he made her feel, what mattered was that he was just as much a lying bastard as when they first met, and he had fooled her, fooled all of them every step of the way. He was not the same man, and none of it was real, goddamn it, she told herself angrily, feeling surprising tears well up behind her lids.
She heard a commotion outside, a yell, cut short, and through the flap, saw a guard, the very one who had been gathering the water before she gotten sick, go down, a vicious kick delivered to his ribs, and then his head. Monroe's face was a mask, unblinking, cold. As a loud crack sounded, and other soldiers gathered around to see, he finally finished his beating, and glanced at her, barely breathing hard. His eyes met hers, just a moment, knowing she was watching. She saw his face, a death mask of blood spatter and anger, his blue eyes, boring into hers. She thought she could read that expression… your move, it said. He reached out for a firearm, slinging it around his shoulder, and strapping on his sword belt.
"Let's go" he called to the men, with a last scorching glance, turned and strode off.
It suddenly dawned on her, that being hated or hunted by Sebastian Monroe, might be a lot less dangerous than being loved by him.