Chapter Text
"Charlotte? You're bleeding."
Charlie turned to glance down the back of her arm at the long, thin red line, that was slowly oozing. Blood had dripped from her triceps, all the way down to her fingers, which where still gripping the sword that she had just killed three men with. Well, three among thirteen that had tried to kill them and take their wagon and horses.
That was their mistake.
Then again, if the thieves had known who it was they had attempted to rob, they might have had second thoughts.
After traveling for a week without any trouble, and without trying to kill each other, Monroe and Charlie had come across a collapsed bridge over a deep river. Pulling on the reins, and with a gentle "Whoa", Monroe stopped the makeshift wagon. Charlie jumped down from the bench and walked to the river's edge. Staring down, she could see remnants of the old wooden bridge, shattered and thrown about in the water.
"Well... this was a waste of time." Monroe sighed lazily, jumping down from the wagon and walking over to join her.
Charlie just shook her head. "I don't get it, when I came this way, the bridge was stable. It was fine. How could this have happened? Some freak accident?"
Monroe knelt down, getting a better look. "Who says this was an accident?" he whispered softly.
"What are you saying?"
Monroe stood and turned to look at her, shrugging. "Just a thought."
His icy blue gaze unnerved Charlie, and yet, strangely fascinated her at the same time.
There was always a hidden message in the eyes of Sebastian Monroe, his stare a cold and calculating one; she could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
She was starting to become familiar with these looks, learning to read the subtle hints he would give. What she read in his eyes right now, was something she didn't like.
Suspicion and frustration, mixed with was that contempt?, as if he were annoyed and even amused that she didn't see this as some kind of a set up, a trap.
He walked back to the wagon, climbing up to the bench. Charlie stared down at the ruined bridge for a moment longer, then turned and grudgingly followed Monroe.
Heading back down the road another half-mile, they came to a turnoff, which would take them deeper into the woods. Reluctantly, Monroe lead the horses on.
The further they continued into the woods, the more tense Monroe became. His hands tightened on the reins, his shoulders curved, his eyes constantly shifting, watching, taking in any and every movement, his ears taking in every sound. His growing discomfort made Charlie uneasy.
Sebastian Monroe was a suspicious person by nature, but he wasn't the type to get anxious unless he had a good reason.
He had a frighteningly heightened sense of awareness, maybe even more so than Miles, and he was strikingly cunning and ruthless; so to see him on edge, Charlie made sure to have her crossbow ready, her fingers tightening on the trigger, notching a bow. She also noticed Monroe slowly bending down to pick up the shotgun he kept under the bench, and placing it across his knees. With a slap of the reins and clicking his tongue, he pushed the horses to go a little faster.
Charlie turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.
Monroe gave her a quick glance. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."
They rode on in silence for a few more minuets, both of them tensed and ready, like wolves waiting to pounce on their prey. But as it turns out, they were the intended victims.
The single snap of a twig, and suddenly there were men everywhere, coming from all sides of the road. Rough, dirty men, with greedy eyes and hungry for blood, moving in so fast that Charlie didn't have time to count how many there were.
In one swift motion, Monroe cocked the shotgun and fired, killing one scrawny bandit, barely missing one of the horses' shoulders. Charlie stood and released an arrow into the nearest man, shooting him right between the eyes. As she notched another arrow, Monroe had already shot two more men. Charlie readied herself to release another arrow, but a huge hand shot out and ripped the crossbow clean out of her hands, breaking it in half. She turned to see a large man, at least six foot five, sneer as he threw what was left of her crossbow to the ground, brandishing a blunt sword.
Her breath quickened and she turned to grab another weapon, when she heard Monroe shout, "Charlie! Heads up!" tossing her a sword.
She grabbed it, jumped down from the bench, and stood back in a defensive stance, waiting for the bandit to make a move. He lunged, and she quickly spun around and brought the sword down across his ribs, slicing his side open. Yelling in agony, he fell to the ground, only to be replaced by two more men, coming in swinging at her. Charlie darted to the left, and felt a sharp pain in her upper right arm, but not before she struck one of them in the stomach. He dropped to his knees, his mouth open in a silent scream, and the other brought his sword down on Charlie. She parried the blow, and fought him off with a quick thrust to the shoulder.
They continued to fight, taking turns blocking and attacking.
This guy was much faster than the other two, who were both now lying still as stones. Charlie was beginning to have a hard time keeping up with him.
Somewhere in her mind, she could hear Miles groaning, 'C'mon Charlie, is that the best you got? After everything I taught you? This guy is all over you, make a move already.'
Yelling in frustration, she used all of her strength, and finding a weak spot, caught his hand, twirling his sword free, and with a quick singular motion, sliced his neck open. Warm blood splattered on her neck and face. As he fell to the ground, she looked up, breathing heavily, and took in the violent scene around her.
All the would-be thieves were dead, lying on the ground, seemingly flung about like rag dolls.
As much as she hated to admit it, there was something darkly impressive about the fact that it was so easy for Monroe to overpower so many men at once.
There were nine bodies sprawled around him, and he just stood there as if it were nothing, bending down to the nearest body, wiping his sword on the dead guy's shirt.
He looked up, and gave her a curt nod of approval. "Not bad, kid. Just don't let someone get the slip on you like that again."
Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes, but unfortunately, she knew he was right. She had gotten lucky this time.
"Charlotte?"
She turned to look at him.
"You're bleeding."
She glanced down the back of her arm. There was a long, thin red line that was slowly oozing. Blood had dripped from her triceps all the way down to her fingers.
She shrugged, "I'll be fine. It's just a scratch."
"Still, we should take care of that." Monroe bent down and picked up what few weapons that could be useful from the strewn about bodies, and walked over to Charlie.
Tossing the knives and swords down on the ground, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hear, let me see."
She tried to push him away, "I said I'll be fine. Really, it's not that bad."
Monroe's grip tightened on her shoulder, but his voice was tired. "Just... let me look." He turned her around and grabbed her arm, raising it up to his face.
Charlie watched him as he studied her wound, silently wondering why he was acting like he cared about her well-being. Even if he had saved her life twice before, she couldn't shake the feeling that he had hidden motives. He was a liar. And she just didn't trust him. Why should she?
However, she knew he needed her to take him to Miles, so he was probably trying his best to stay in her good graces.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he let go and sauntered towards the wagon, opening the back door.
Charlie was cleaning off her sword, when Monroe reappeared with what looked like a small first-aid kit.
"Sit down." He motioned with his head to a log a few feet away.
Charlie just looked at him, placing her hands on her hips.
Now it was Monroe's turn to roll his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, "Charlotte, just come here."
She hesitated a bit longer, then shook her head, walked over and sat down next to him.
Grabbing a pale plastic bottle out of the box, Monroe turned to look at her.
"I'm gonna put some alcohol on it, so it'll sting a bit."
Charlie simply nodded. She held out her arm, her left hand gripping the wood tightly, bracing herself.
Monroe unscrewed the lid, and grabbing hold of her elbow with a surprising gentleness, started to pour the transparent liquid on the cut.
Charlie unwillingly flinched, sucking in a curse and holding her breath, her fingers digging into the log. She shot him a dirty look, but Monroe simply ignored her, remaining silent, completely focused on cleaning the wound. He reached for a cloth and started gently wiping the blood and alcohol off of her skin.
The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but the wound was still pretty tender. Charlie was biting the inside of her cheek, stubbornly refusing to let herself seem weak in front of him.
She knew it was silly, but she figured everyone has their own issues with pride; Monroe was a good example of that.
As he started wrapping a bandage around her arm, she looked over at the thirteen dead men lying on the ground.
"So, what should we do with them?"
Monroe followed her gaze. "Well, we don't have a shovel to bury them, or the time, so we're just gonna have to move them to the side of the road and leave 'em."
Charlie was silent for a moment.
Monroe turned to look at her. "Hey, they attacked us, not the other way around. They tried to kill us and steal from us. We don't owe these scumbags anything. They got what they deserved."
The way he said that so definitely made Charlie's eyes darken. 'Well, not everyone gets what they deserve...'
But then, her face softened, and she suddenly realized how tired she was. Not just from the fight, but from the journey and from all the pent-up emotions she'd been hiding for months, not to mention the hate she still held for Monroe.
It's funny how simple emotions can make you feel as tired as if you were carrying a few hundred pounds.
Pushing it aside, Charlie decided to focus on the task at hand.
"There, that's done."
Monroe paused a moment, inspecting his handiwork, and with a fleeting look of satisfaction, gathered up the medical supplies and walked back to the wagon.
Charlie looked down at the bandage. It was almost expertly done. The care Monroe had put into cleaning the wound and firmly securing the bandage was unexpected to say the least.
"Come on. We gotta move these guys before anyone sees this. We've been lucky so far."
Monroe picked up the feet of the nearest guy and started pulling him to the edge of the road.
Again, Charlie sighed. A year ago, she would've been horrified at not only killing a man, let alone four, but then helping to hide the bodies?... and all the while, doing this alongside Sebastian Monroe? The man who was responsible for the deaths of her father and Danny? The man who was responsible for so much that had happened to her and her family, not to mention the atrocities he committed towards his own troops and hundreds of innocent civilians.
But she wasn't that girl anymore. She was a mere shadow of her former self. That girl had all but disappeared, and yet Charlie could barely recognize herself now.
She had changed. She had stolen from people, whether they deserved it or not. She had killed people. She was a thief. She was a soldier. She was a killer.
She wasn't a child anymore.
And now lately, even though she would never admit it out loud, all this time she and Monroe were spending together, it was beginning to have an affect on how she saw him. There was something different about him now, she just wasn't quite sure what exactly that was, and part of her didn't want to. Part of her wanted to continue hating him, it had been an anchor for her when everything else had fallen apart and faded away. It was the one thing she had been sure of. But that very same hatred and anger was slowly making her feel dead inside, devoid of all other emotion and completely disconnected from other people; much like how she figured Monroe felt.
Time changes things, and it had most certainly changed her; for the better or for worse, she wasn't quite sure.