A/N It's flashback time! How did little Emily come to be? Well, I'll let the flashback tell you. :-)
Oh how she wishes she hadn't said that. But Monroe had looked so sad and defeated when she turned to leave that she couldn't help but tell him she'd come back. Which she really shouldn't have done. Sure it isn't so bad to go see him once, but given the fact that they have a child together, once would turn into twice, which turns into three times, which turns into visits every Monday and Thursday as well as alternate weekends.
And that's a big commitment.
Spending the rest of her life shuffling Emily back and fourth for visits with her father doesn't sound good. But he is Emily's father and it's not like poor baby Emily got to choose her fucked up, ex-dictator Daddy. No, that blame falls directly on Charlie's shoulders.
Plus it's not like she's all rainbows and sunshine either, poor Emily got the short end of the stick in the parents department, but Charlie's determined to give her the best she can. Which unfortunately invloves Monroe. Which unfortunately means she'll have to tell Miles that his little booger-bear is actually the child of his ex-best friend/dead-as-far-as-he's-concerned brother.
Miles chooses that moment to plop down in his usual spot with their drinks in his hand. Studying her face for a second, he sighs and sits back, "alright, just tell me. How bad is it?"
The tears are already gathering in her eyes so she wipes them away and grabs her glass, downing the whiskey all in one. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Miles letting her gather her thoughts and Charlie trying to gather the courage to finally tell the truth. "It's Monroe," she whispers.
His eyebrows shoot high up on his forehead, dark brown eyes turning black with anger at the mere mention of his former friends' name. But Miles seems to notice the sadness in her and pushes his own issues aside to try and help his clearly struggling niece. "What about him, kid?"
Charlie shakes her head, wishing that Miles would just figure it out himself so she wouldn't have to say it out loud. His silence tells her that that isn't going to happen though. "Emily... he's her father."
Brown eyes widen in shock. Miles' face contorting into a look of disgust then changing to stern. "That's not funny, Charlie."
She shakes her head, the tears falling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. "I'm not joking. I swear." Even though part of her wishes she was.
Miles shakes his head, giving her a concerned look. "How... did he... did he hurt you?"
"No, Miles," she almost wants to laugh at the look of pure relief on his face. "It wasn't like that."
He nods, seeming to understand before abruptly standing up and going down the porch steps towards the shed. Charlie follows behind him anxiously. "He was here, wasn't he?" Miles grinds his teeth together searching the ground for footprints. "That's why you yelled the other night, it wasn't a fucking raccoon, Bass was here."
Unable to meet his eyes, Charlie nods and studies a particularly interesting blade of grass. "I'm sorry, Miles. I just didn't know what to do?"
"What you should have done was tell me!" He shouts angrily. "Hell, Charlie," lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, "what if your mom had seen him, huh? Then what were you going to do?"
"I didn't plan on anyone ever finding out, ok? I didn't think I would ever even see him again."
Closing his eyes, Miles pinches the bridge of his nose. "Charlie... Bass is weird about family. He's not just going to go away because you wish he will."
"I know that. I told him we would go see him again on Thursday."
Miles blinks at her. "Are you insane? You talked to him?"
Getting irritated with being treated like a child, Charlie points an angry finger at his face. "Yes, I talked to him. As you can imagine he was a little curious about the baby that happens to look just like him!" She leans against the shed trying to calm herself down.
Miles leans next to her and sighs. "How did this even happen, Charlie?"
Her head falls back against the shed with a thud, her eyes staring up at the dark sky. "It's a long story..."
Last August...
It's almost too easy. Jeff tells her exactly where to go and she can't help herself, she's there by the end of the day. The crowd in New Vegas is just starting up for the night as the sun sinks down on the horizon. The fight tent is easy to find, Monroe even easier.
Shirtless, sweaty, and covered in blood Monroe looks like the perfect fighter. Muscles rippling with every movement, his jaw set in determination. Charlie watches and is surprised when she finally catches a glimpse of his face. There are dark bags under his eyes, his face is a little gaunt, and his eyes are a bottomless pit of nothingness. This man is nothing like the one she'd met back in Philadelphia. This man looks like he's standing on the brink between life and death.
Pity worms it's way into her gut, but Charlie brushes it off, reminding herself that she doesn't care. After he's pummeled his opponent into the dirt she watches closely to see were he goes. The blonde hooker on his arm loses interest after he loses all of his money at the tables and she finds herself chuckling at the thought that the great Sebastian Monroe has to hire hookers.
She follows him to where ever he's headed, intent on getting the job done quickly and getting the hell out of Vegas. Maybe when it as done, she'll finally be able to sleep without her dad and Danny's faces haunting her dreams. As they round a corner and he climbs into a rusty, old trailer she takes one last strengthening breath before taking her knife in hand and flinging the trailer door open.
Monroe is standing with his pants around his ankles and his boots tangled in the mess around his feet. Charlie's eyes immediately flick lower to find that he isn't wearing any underwear. When she looks back up at his face, standing in the doorway of his trailer with a knife in her hand, she's a little surprised to see no anger there, no fear. Nothing.
They stand and stare at each other for what seems like hours, him finally breaking the suffocating silence. "So are you gonna do it or should I make coffee first?" She doesn't respond. The cavalier way he's taking about the end of his own life doesn't sit right in her stomach, it feels too... familiar. He shrugs, "I'll get the coffee going then," and pulls his pants back up to head over to the tiny kitchenette, leaving his boots in the middle of the floor.
The knife is in her hand and yet he's still breathing. Not just breathing, but making coffee. For her. Who is there to kill him.
"You gonna come in or just stand there with that knife all day?" He asks without turning to look at her.
There's something like amusement in his voice and it sparks white hot anger in her chest. She lunges towards his back with the knife raised high, but he deflects, turning at the last moment and pinning her body up against a wall of cabinets. One hand twisted behind her back, the other holding the knife forced far up over her head, Monroe's face inches from hers.
"This is the only free bee you're gonna get, Charlotte. Now you should walk away." He twists the wrist above her head and the knife clatters to the ground.
She twitches involuntarily, suddenly feeling very vulnerable pressed against his body with no weapon to protect herself with. He seems to sense her uneasiness and chuckles low in his throat causing his whole body, and hers, to vibrate with the effort. "Relax, I prefer my woman willing."
"Wow, you're such a gentlemen," she growls.
He shrugs, "not really."
His nonchalance about the entire situation is really starting to grate on her nerves. Especially since he still hasn't let her go and is still pressed firmly up against her. She angrily pushes herself against him in an attempt to get away. "Let me go."
"Are you done trying to kill me?" He asks with a sly smille.
"Not a chance."
"Then I can't let you go. I may not be doing the best job of taking care of myself, but I'm not about to sit here and let you kill me."
She's not sure what to say to that so she keeps her mouth shut, trying to figure out the increasingly irritating man holding her hostage. They're both silent for a long time, Charlie's arms are getting tried but Monroe's grip hasn't slipped once. If she doesn't do something soon she'll probably fall asleep standing right there. She's focusing on the wall behind him, uncomfortably aware that he's watching her face with rapt attention. Oddly enough, she doesn't feel threatened anymore, she just feels confused... lost... broken.
She didn't leave Willoughby because she needed to get away from her mother, though she did needs that, Charlie left because she needed to do something. Anything. She'd become so numb that she couldn't even feel it when she cut her finger while sharpening her knife. She left because she wanted to feel like a person again, not just the shell of one.
And now here she is, feeling things. Overwhelming sadness for the loss of her brother, her father, Nora. Guilt for the role she played in their deaths as well as the thousands that died when the bombs dropped. A single tear slips down her cheek and she sucks in a shuddering breath. Monroe gently swipes it away with his thumb and she looks into his eyes, finding a deep sadness buried away under years of pretending. A sense of understanding passes between them and Charlie realizes that he's released her arms but hasn't backed away, leaving their bodies close and a familiar heat stirring in her gut. His eyes burn with something fierce and intense, and she knows he feels the heat too, like a friend coming home after a long winter.
Finally, they can feel again.
His leans in those extra few inches and brushes his lips softly against hers, the sensation strange after so long without noticing the things around her. The hairs of his beard tickle her skin, making her tingle all over and suddenly her whole body is gushing with desire. She grabs the back of his head and yanks his lips down to her level, covering them with her own. His tongue sweeps out and she opens up form him, moaning as his rough hands grip her hips and he pulls her towards the bed.
Clothes drop to the floor on their way there, leaving them both stripped clean of past mistakes, even if only for a while. Charlie stretches out on the bed, him following and trailing kisses up her body. They melt together in a tangle of kisses, limbs, and regrets.
When the sun finally breaks through the dingy curtains on the dirty window, Charlie silently dresses and slips out the door. She makes her way through the sleepy town, leaving it and the problems she'd brought with her behind. It won't be until she washes up in a stream later that night that she'll notice the white substance pooled in her underwear and another few weeks before she realizes what that truly means.