Chapter Text
The crisp, cool evening breeze coming in through the open window made Charlie's wet skin tingle.
She had just finished taking a much needed bath in the hotel bathhouse. The warm, soapy water had felt wonderful as she scrubbed herself clean. Her long curly hair dangling around her face, dripping water droplets on the ground and onto her bare feet. Grabbing a towel, she dried off, then wrapped it around herself, securing it with a small knot.
It had been nearly a week since she had last been able to clean herself off. When traveling these days, the extra water wasn't easy to come by. Usually, any water one found while traveling, was saved for drinking. She hated it; feeling gross and dirty, and so was extremely grateful to have found this place. They had been able to buy supplies in the town market and had their weapons taken in to the local smith. And, as luck would have it, they hadn't encountered any bounty hunters or Patriots or anyone who seemed to know much about Monroe, aside from his name, let alone what he looked like.
Fortunately, Monroe hadn't needed much convincing to stop in town for the night. He needed the rest and time to clean himself up as much as she did. Mary had sent an employee of the motel, a woman named Anna, to take their clothes to mend and clean. Charlie hoped that Anna had been able to finish the clothes by the time that she and Monroe had finished in their baths, but as she started for the door, there on the bench was an extra pair of soft, cotton pajama pants and a baggy cotton T-shirt. Charlie smiled, grateful for the generosity and thoughtfulness.
Slipping the thin clothes on, she wrapped her hair in a knot and opening the door, left the warm, thick air of the bathhouse for the fresh, slightly chilly air of the Texas night.
The bathhouse was a large, converted shed in the back of the motel. The buildings were less than a hundred feet apart, the space filled with a small vegetable garden. Mary used it to make food for herself and her employees. Across the yard, there was a small pen full of chickens. Efficient, useful and reliable, it was a nice little self-sustaining environment that Mary had built for herself and the people who worked for her.
Rather than quickly making her way inside, Charlie just stood there for a moment, her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the busy lives all around her. She could hear Mary giving orders to a young boy to go get some milk from the farmer down the street. Someone was singing a tune she didn't recognize while they were washing up dishes. She could hear the chickens clucking, frogs were croaking, crickets were chirping, and there were small glass bells hanging from the corners of the house, chiming their sweet sounds as the breeze rushed by. Here, in this moment, it was easy to let her mind wander; to let herself go and forget about her troubles, even for just a moment.
Hearing the creak of a door opening behind her, Charlie turned to see Monroe coming out of the Bathhouse, pulling a shirt down over his head.
Just before the shirt covered his tanned torso, Charlie couldn't help but steal a quick glance. Every muscle was firmly and perfectly toned, his skin taught against them, the shadows of the firelight dancing across his abs, enhancing their appearance even more. But what really caught her eye, were the scars. There weren't enough to make him look disfigured in any way, or to distract anyone from his incredibly fine physic, but one look at him, and you knew he was a well-seasoned warrior.
"Nice PJ's."
Charlie quickly shifted her gaze to Monroe's face. He smirked.
"It's what they gave me." She shrugged. "And your's aren't much different."
Monroe glanced down. "No. But, as long as they give me back the clothes I came here with, I'll be fine."
After they made their way back up to their room, Charlie flopped down on to her bed, letting her exhaustion take over her. It felt so good to be on a proper bed again. Monroe checked their packs, for the umpteenth time and then seemingly satisfied, climbed into his bed, blew out the candle and finally allowed himself to relax enough to try and get some sleep.
"Shelly..."
Someone was crying, their voice filled with so much pain...
"Shelly, please... don't... don't leave me... don't go."
Charlie could barely hear the muffled voice, but where was it coming from? She didn't know anyone named Shelly.
"Please..."
Charlie's eyes shot open and she sat up, looking around the room. It had suddenly gone quiet. Had she been dreaming?
But just as she leaned back onto her pillow, there it was again.
"Shel..."
Charlie sat up again, staring at Monroe, her eyes wide.
He was restless in his sleep. His face was twitching fitfully, his fists clenching. Was he having a nightmare?
"Shel... please..." His voice was slurred with sorrow and exhaustion.
"Monroe." Charlie hissed, trying not to wake others in the house. The last thing they needed was someone barging in complaining about noise. Monroe was not the kind of person you wanted to wake suddenly, especially not if he was having a nightmare.
But obviously, he didn't hear her. He continued to moan and fidget.
"Monroe." She tried again, annoyed as she threw off the covers, letting her legs dangle off the side of the bed. Still, nothing. But then, Monroe's head turned towards her, and in the dim moonlight, Charlie could see tears rolling down his cheeks. Something tugged at her heart, seeing him like this. He was so helpless, something Charlie never thought she would've attributed to Sebastian Monroe, but there he was, suffering from a kind of loss that Charlie could actually relate to. The loss of a loved one. Not to say that Charlie knew who Shelly was or what had happened to her, but it was obviously something tragic, or Monroe wouldn't be like this.
She stood, tentatively walking towards him, careful not to startle him.
"Monroe." She whispered. "Come on Monroe, wake up. You're dreaming."
He became quieter, but he hadn't woken, which was odd since he was normally one of the lightest sleepers that she had ever met.
"Monroe. Wake up."
He groaned, seemingly about to speak again, but Charlie put her hand on his shoulder.
"Bass!" She called, louder than she meant to. She almost choked with surprise. Had she really just called him Bass? It was the first time she had ever called him that.
Monroe's eyes flew open and jerking back, he grabbed her wrist pulling her hand with him. She stumbled a bit, practically falling onto his bed.
"Hey, hey, hey! Bass, it's just me. It's me." She whispered reassuringly. She tried to sound calm and firm, but her voice was shaky. The intense look in Monroe's eyes was like a caged tiger that had just been set loose. Breathe, just breathe, he knows you. He won't hurt you. But how could she know that? Well, he had saved her life twice already...
As his gaze focused on her, recognition flooded his eyes, and he quickly calmed down. His face softened, his shoulders relaxed and he slowly released her wrist, which he had been gripping with an almost inhumane strength. Charlie absentmindedly rubbed it, sure that it would bruise by tomorrow. With her thumb, she could feel the rough bumps of the scar she carried there.
The brand, his brand on her arm. An 'M' wrapped in a circle. Monroe. Something else that connected them, bound them together.
She noticed him watching her.
"I'm sorry." His voice was rough and tired but surprisingly remorseful. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." Charlie replied, her voice flat. "You alright?"
Monroe nodded, rubbing a hand over his face, seemingly brushing away all of the pain and sorrow that had flooded his features just seconds ago.
She hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity and hotheaded stubbornness got the best of her.
"Who's Shelly?"
Monroe wouldn't meet her gaze at first, but eventually he looked up.
"Not now Charlie."
She was about to object, but he silenced her with a dismissive shake of his head.
"No, Charlie. Just... leave it alone, alright?"
She sat there for a moment longer, then simply nodded, stood and climbed back into her bed, pulling the blankets up around her.
Everyone is entitled to their own secrets, even Ba... NO! Don't call him that. Goddammit, it's too personal, you don't see him or know him the way Miles does...
What was going on with her? Calling him Bass? Where had that come from?
Monroe. That's his name. Monroe.
So yes, for now, she decided she would leave it alone.
The next day went by slowly.
Charlie found it surprisingly hard to leave the small town. It was so peaceful, so far removed from the conflicts that were going on around it. Just like the sheltered life Charlie had led in Wisconsin. Who would have thought that she would want to go back to the one place she couldn't wait to get away from just eighteen months ago...
But, they needed to get back to Miles, to her mom and Gene. They needed to warn them about these Patriots, and Charlie knew it was only a matter of time before they'd be starting some kind of war. Great.
They had made pretty good distance by noon, covering over twenty-five miles. But the hours dragged on.
Ever since Monroe's nightmare last night, they hadn't really spoken a word to one another, choosing silence as a safer alternative. Maybe they were simply just avoiding conversation, trying not to bring up what had happened, things that were said.
All Charlie could think about was Shelly, whoever she was, and what had happened to her. It was something she would probably never know.
And maybe, she didn't have the right to know, just as Monroe didn't have a right to know everything about her. It was part of his past, obviously a tragic part, something that she knew he wouldn't be open to discussing.
It was another thirty minuets before they decided to stop and take a rest for lunch.
Mary had given them a parting gift of a few slices of bread and cheese, courtesy of the local baker and dairy farmer.
"I can't remember the last time I had cheese." Monroe chewed slowly, relishing in the rich flavor.
Charlie shook her head. "Me neither."
Smirking, Monroe added, "Miles would be pissing himself if he knew we were eating cheese right now without him."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Miles?"
"Yeah. He used to be a cheese junkie, back in the day. Couldn't get enough of it." He chuckled to himself. "It was a good thing being a Marine kept him in such good shape, or he would've been a hell of a fatty."
Charlie smiled, amused at the thought.
They were silent again for a few minuets, then Charlie spoke up.
"What else did Miles like?"
"You mean besides booze and the occasional hot chick?"
Charlie rolled her eyes. Monroe gave her a knowing look.
"Well..." He sighed, seemingly unsure where to start. "He liked cars, older sports cars."
"I remember the red one he had..." Charlie said, nodding.
"Yeah, that old hunk of junk."
They both chuckled at that, their own memories taking them back in time.
"He also loved eighties rock. Especially Foreigner, though he probably won't admit it."
"What were some of their songs? The name sounds familiar," Charlie took another bite of bread. "but I'm not sure."
Monroe shook his head. "It's times like these that I really feel old..."
He brushed the breadcrumbs off his hands. "Umm... well there was 'Feels Like the First Time', 'I Want To Know What Love Is', and, uh, there was 'Juke Box Hero'. Jesus, I hated that song..."
Charlie laughed. "I remember that one! Miles would sing that song while we drove in his car. He would sing it really loudly."
"... And quite off key. Yeah, hence the reason I hated it."
Finishing up the last of the cheese, Charlie stood and started prepping to go.
Before they had left, Mary had been generous enough to give them another gift of sorts, a map of Texas and what was once Oklahoma.
Monroe had it open and was trying to find their location.
"There." He pointed to a small dot along a blue line. "That's where we are. Hamilton City. There was a sign back a ways that said it's just a few miles further south, so we're right near where the Texas border used to be."
Charlie followed the blue lines further down the map.
"There's still a long ways to Willoughby."
"I know. That's why we gotta keep moving."
"You sure are keen on getting there, even though Miles or my mom might just shoot you before they even give you a chance to speak."
Monroe was quiet, his own thoughts occupying his mind.
But, as they both climbed back onto the wagon, he turned to her. "Well, I guess that's gonna depend on you."
Charlie stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Monroe's eyes bore into hers, yet there was a slight hesitance. He said simply, "Would you let them kill me."
Charlie couldn't tell if it was a question, or a cautious statement. Was it a strange way for Monroe to tell her that he trusted her? She didn't say anything.
Would she? Would she be willing to protect Monroe from Miles and her mom if it came to that, which it probably would.
After everything that happened, after everything he had done to her family? After losing her dad and Danny... could she ever let that go?
But, he had saved her life. Twice now. He could have left her there in that bar, he could have gone off on his own and found Miles another way, he was smart enough.
And yet, for some reason, he had come back for her. He had saved her. There had been a fire in his eyes, an animalistic fury that she had never seen before. She almost dared to wonder if he had somehow become protective of her.
But things had begun to change between them. She now remembered the old Bass, even if only vaguely. She was beginning to see him in different ways, seeing different sides of him. And, remarkably, she felt she was, just barely, beginning to understand him. Not the part of him that had been General Monroe, but the part of him that was just, Monroe.
Bass.
If she could put aside her differences with him, couldn't Miles? Frankly, she wasn't sure about her mom, she wasn't sure about anything with her mom. But Miles, maybe Miles could see her side of this. He'd understand. He may not like it, but he would understand.
Well, there's only one way to find out...