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She doesn’t quite remember when things change between them, but she does remember with a fondness that she no longer shows, that it had been a steady, gradual fall in love. A fall that had been the subject of many bets amongst their friends, and she half wonders if that played a role in her feelings for him. If people constantly telling her that they were in fact perfect for one another made her believe in it more than the rationale of her own mind. It is a thought and nothing more, and it passes her troubled mind in a heartbeat, but the thought of him never truly leaves her. If it does leave her, then it leaves her nothing but breathless and aching for more.
She thinks she has always felt something for him, admiration, attraction, attachment, but somewhere amongst it all, her heart had fallen in love before she could caution otherwise. And just when she had decided to bury the feeling in the depths of her soul, he had approached her decked in his Kid Danger suit moments before a mission, and trapped her against his chest, kissing her as though she was the very oxygen he needed to breathe. She supposes that is where things change, but they still string along those around them, exchanging secret glances and meeting in rendezvous for nights of passion that still manage to bring a pretty blush to her cheeks.
So, what she doesn’t quite understand is when things change, or how they end up on different chapters of the same book. The blip incident had broken her, broken them all in ways that she would only ever admit to him. The move to Dystopia was quick and fragmented. But she had deluded herself to think that they could work like this. Work without a sense of closure that she had known he needed before he even looked at her.
He does not spend long with her and Jasper, and he deserts them in the heat of the night with a rushed letter that offers nothing but excuses and apologies that she curses as half-hearted. She had lost him and gained him and then lost him again in a matter of seconds. She remembers then, him holding her, kissing her, and uttering goodbyes that only gain their meaning now.
He had decided.
And he could not sacrifice Swellview for himself, for her. And so, he returns, and Swellview rejoices in the rebirth of their hero. Of Man Danger. She watches it happen afar with Jasper, but she turns her back and whatever had grown with them over the years dies the night he chooses to go back.
What follows is lack of communication. She is shut out from his life, and she supposes she does the same, but she has the right to be angry. Jasper does his best to keep them together, but the Facetime calls are tense at best and when she finally has enough of the fakeness and snaps so harshly, the truth bleeds out in front of her best friend’s, Ray and Schwoz. The older men exchange a look of worry as her chest heaves, and she looks at Jasper, ignoring the look and the call of her name from the screen from him. Her head shakes and she leaves catching the chaos that ensues until the sharp slam of her door has it seizing.
There is no communication between them after that, and she has to hear through his sister who comes to her a mess over some guy that she can barely recall, that he, the love of her life, is back together with one of the game shakers. She remembers feeling nauseous, remembers the pitying glance from Jasper who had watched her for the better part of a year pine for his other best friend and she remembers Piper apologising so hastily that she would have laughed if the situation was not at her own expense.
Her move to Harvad is tense, and she rushes through barely enjoying the feeling of her dreams coming true. She feels suffocated without him, aches to hear his voice, and she spends her time listening to his voice messages from years prior to quench the homesickness she feels. It does nothing.
She pushes her limits, spends the years rushing to finish her law degree in record timing and uses whatever spare time she does have to train into something she knows Ray would be proud of.
She is vicious and violent when she first takes to the streets of Massachusetts, but she makes a difference and gains a reputation that ensures people are safe. But it isn’t enough for her, and so when she gains her diploma and smiles into nothing but camera’s flashing to capture a historic moment, her heart breaks knowing that not even one familiar face stands in the crowd to share the moment with her. She thinks she does catch something for a moment, a hue of blonde that she had always associated with him, and a smirk that was so him shining in the distance. Her eyes are desperate to believe and as her gaze filters through the crowd she notices a muscular man accompanying him. She notes the other short companion covered with a hood far too big for him, but by the time she recovers from the disorienting effects of the camera’s the three figures are gone, and her heart deflates.
It is days later when she makes the decision to return to dystopia, not quite being able to stomach the thought of being back home, in his domain, and when she hears a cough behind her and Jasper emerges from wherever the hell he had been, she chokes on sob and flies into his arms. He holds her gently, in an embrace so comforting that she half believes nothing could ever go wrong, and together they make their own vow to the people of dystopia.
In hindsight she should have known better. She should have been able to anticipate this, but she gets lost amongst her feelings and suddenly she is responsible for Jasper’s death. She had led him to defeat, and he had taken a series of bullets meant for her. She doesn’t think then, puts years of heartache on hold and calls him, begging him to come, to save Jasper, to do anything and the silence that echoes breaks her heart beyond repair.
Her pain turns into a thirst for revenge, and she knows she is taking things too far, but she craves for blood and with every movement she takes against the organisation responsible for Jasper’s death, she finds the air to breathe again. It is the only means keeping her alive, and so she strategizes for months, wages a war on two fronts and she will be damned if she does anything but succeed.
And so, when her hand is forced to stop by a man who holds her wrist painfully tight the night before, she fights against it. She wonders if she ignores the emblem on his chest, and whether she should have clocked then, but she doesn’t, far too occupied in her destructive dance.
When her prey escapes, she growls under her breath at the man before her, and he attempts to tame her, but they are distracted by a call for help, which has them both launching into action, before any other words can be exchanged. She supposes she should have clocked with the way they worked together, so in sync, so in tune, she berates herself for not realising it then. And as he saves her from a stray bullet, just like her best friend had, she is immobilized and barely comprehends his words.
“You know when a hero saves the day, he usually gets a kiss in return.” When she does finally process his words, she snarls almost viciously, putting the thought of Jasper to rest for a moment and turning to give the masked man a piece of her mind.
“Like hell.” She hisses, her anger returning, her mind trying to gather its bearings to plot a course of action against the prey he had let loose. But she is distracted for a moment by the smirk that splays lazily against his lips. It is exhilarating. It reminds her of him.
“I’m still waiting for that kiss.” She remembers her eyes widening.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable or not. I will get that kiss eventually.” He shrugs casually, and she remembers glaring to the point that she hoped he would be vapourised beyond recognition, but her own powers are unfortunately limited and so she turns away, mumbling and ignoring the chuckle she definitely hears escape him.
She had remembered hoping that tonight would go more smoothly than the last, but Charlotte Bolton had run out of luck and now she had realised why.
Her eyes catch onto his as though they had been waiting for her all night, and suddenly her burgundy dress feels all too tight and smothering. The distant chatter fades to a sharp hum and she is enthralled, completely captivated as he stands with a flute of champagne, eyeing her so heavily, that she is forced to gulp. Her gaze filters over him appreciating the way his blazer fits over the broadness of his chest, and the way his biceps seem to tense so naturally in a display of masculine energy that has her knees buckling before she can berate herself for even having these thoughts.
But the moment he steps forward towards her, reality comes crashing down and she evades him, successfully she might add, for most of the night, eyeing her prey and finally striking under the watchful eye of her lover. She can see it in his eye, the veiled confusion and as she turns on her heel sharply to escape the commotion of the death of a minister, she can hear his heavy steps fast approaching her, until it is too late to escape.
She doesn’t quite understand how she ends up here again, trapped against his chest and barricaded in by his arms. She doesn’t quite understand how she lets herself give into his pleading eyes, his beg for a moment of her time, when all she can remember is the hurt, he is responsible for causing her.
But as her gaze meets his, the answer stares her in the face. Henry Hart. Her biggest weakness. She lets the silence fester, and he sways her gently to the beat of the soft music that can faintly be heard in the background. She turns her head to the side when he leans to press a soft kiss on her hair, her heart aching, and her nausea rising.
She doesn’t quite remember if it is her who murmurs his name, or if he calls it with utter devotion, but she remembers being anchored in a moment that she knows spells her defeat. She is unsure if it is her who surrenders first, or if he does, but by the time she thinks of an answer it no longer matters.
Their lips meet instead, he is demanding, coaxing her to him, causing her lips to part at his will, she succumbs. He begins walking at a moment that she cannot bring herself to pinpoint, but he moves them back ever so gently until he has her flushed against a wall and his chest. The movement elect’s a gasp from her lips, and as he swallows it like a starved lover, she cannot help but think that she is finally, finally home. His hands travel to her waist, and she lets her own wrap around his neck in a new sense of desperation, as she seeks answers in his embrace as opposed to her mind.
He breaks the kiss, gently, and she chases his lips with a need that almost embarrasses her. His fingers graze over her cheek, brushing to push a curl away from her face, in a moment so tender, that she is reminded of a time when they weren’t so complicated. Her heart pauses then in pain, and her eyes flutter closed in hopes to commit the moment to memory before he breaks away and leaves her standing again.
“I told you I’d get my kiss.” He whispers against her lips, and her eyes flash open at the words in alarm. His gaze is hooded, layered with a desire that she has a hard time believing is for her, and she inhales sharply, watching in mild satisfaction as his jaw tenses. Her effect on him is palpable for once, and yet it leaves her feeling disoriented. The moment passes too quickly, and she is left guessing if her effect on him was just a fragment of her ever-growing imagination, and the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face, leaves her to believe exactly that, until his words finally sink into her frazzled mind, and her eyes widen.
“Oh my god…” She mumbles, not quite believing exactly what her mind has finally worked out. He takes a step back, and she repeats the phrase of shock, louder this time, a hand flying towards her mouth to encase any other type of sound that may leave her lips. A horrified look overtakes her features as she thinks back to the night on the rooftop.
His hands entrap her wrists harshly, and as his jaw tightens her head whips to the side.
“How long have you-since when-what do-.” She fails to string a sentence of coherence, and her chest rises and falls in preparation for battle.
“I expected better from you Char.” He breathes heavily. Her name sounds like a prayer from his mouth, and he looks at her like she is the only type of sin he is willing to commit. But he had caught her effortlessly, and whilst she still had trouble processing everything, he waits patiently. Ever the gentleman.
“How did you know it was me?” She finds herself questioning, her eyes glazed.
“The same way you found out I was Kid Danger all those years ago Char. I paid attention.” The sincerity takes her by storm. His gaze lifting to filter up her body in a tempting, almost seductive manner.
“What the fuck?!” She lashes out, her hand clutching her head, as if letting it go would suddenly cause her to implode. She can barely think coherently, and she wonders why she turned to this vigilante life in the first instance. She gathers her bearings soon enough, and finally, finally makes a move.
She strikes him then, lands a punch that she admits hurts her more than it has probably hurt him, but it serves as a distraction that gives her enough time to shove at his chest to give her a window of opportunity to run. He doesn’t allow her to get far, extends his arm to wrap around her waist, and all but throws her back into the wall.
She squirms and fights against his hold, and soon she is kicking and punching as he deflects and defends. She curses Schwoz and Ray under her breath then for their bright idea of regenerating his hypermotility genetically, something she helped in, so she curses herself next, as her chest tightens.
He forces her back into the wall, locks her wrists above her head and as she gazes into his eyes, gathering her bearings, she sees the fire in his gaze. It tames her in a way that she will not admit too, but they had always been Henry and Charlotte, the counterbalance to each other, and as his anger rises hers simmers into gentle stillness. Momentarily of course.
His grip is unforgiving, but she finds herself enjoying it, in a sadistic way that she would only ever admit to herself.
“You are out of control.” He states. His tone is deep and rich, and she ignores her aching heart yet again.
“I do not care what you think.” She hisses back, and she somehow manages to free her wrists. She wonders if he lets her slip her wrists from his grip and her answer is confirmed when he holds her firmly in place with a possessive hand across her stomach. She attempts to conceal the shudder that passes through her at his touch and reads the warning clearly in his actions and his eyes.
But she has never been one to listen. Especially not to him.
She snarls up at him. “You do not get to come to Dystopia after years of no communication and comment on a life that you walked out of Henry Hart.”
“Charlotte.” He breathes her name in warning. And she pauses for a moment, looking at the man he has grown into. Looking at the hero he always was. She sees the light around him and feels the darkness within herself. She shakes her head.
“Swellview is your domain. Dystopia is mine.” She states. “You do not get to interfere with how I run things Kid Danger.” She hurls mockingly. His fists clench tightly, and she sees it in his eyes, that she is pushing too far, and her own mind reverts to Ray’s screams, the sound of the blip crashing, and her own promise to never leave him.
He had a way out, but he stayed, and he suffered, and he ruined them in the process.
“It becomes my business when you’ve killed someone Charlotte. It becomes my business when Ray, Schwoz and I sit watching you on a foreign news outlet extend justice in the most chilling ways possible. It becomes my business when the danger force kids who loved you so dearly fear the mere mention of your name. This is not who you are, and if it takes me coming here to stop you, to make you realise that you have fallen then so be it. If it takes me saving you from falling further, you should know damn well that I would be here.”
“I am not yours to save.” She lashes out. And she takes satisfaction in watching him recoil at her words which are far from true. She had always been his.
“I know losing Jasper was hard on you.” He attempts to be sympathetic, but the mention of their best friend causes her remaining patience to fracture.
“You know nothing Hart.”
“Charlotte.”
“No. You don’t get to do this. You do not get to walk back into my life and…reminisce. When I needed you, when I needed Ray and Schwoz I called you. I begged you to help me and you didn’t. I was at wits end, falling apart and I let Jasper die. I led him to his death, a painful, lonely death that could have been avoided if he hadn’t followed me here, but he did to keep me alive and happy because you did not want too.”
“That is unfair Charlotte. I loved you. I love you.” She looks up at him then, her eyes bleeding with tears.
“Just not enough to stay with me.” She chuckles dryly. “Just not enough to finally live your life.” She continues. “You loved me, but when it came to having a life with me, you chose Swellview, and you turned your back on me.”
She sees his fists clench again, and her head shakes. “I don’t hate you for that decision Henry, I always knew you were too selfless for your own good, and it was one of the many reasons I fell in love with you in the first place. But what I do blame you for is the way you discarded me out of your life. What I do blame you for is when Jasper died, you still left me alone, so you don’t get to save me from the fall when you are part of the reason why I jumped in the first instance. You weren’t here to pull me back, so don’t try and hold on to me now, because the only person who is going to get hurt this time round is you, and I will fucking make sure of it.”
She takes a menacing step forward, into his space. “And if I had known it was you the other night, attempting to weasel your way back into my life with nothing more than the callous flirting you are prone to exhibit I would have slapped you in the face earlier.”
Silence falls over them as her chest heaves. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, and he repeats the words with a desperation that she has only ever seen visible in her own eyes, his sincerity is palpable, and she half wonders if he’s about to fall to his knees and repent in the way she remembers when she is alone.
“But I can’t watch you like this Char, I can’t live with myself knowing that you’re slipping down a path that you may never come back from.”
“Then look the other way. You have for the past five years, you should be able to manage it for the rest of our lives, however long or short they may be.” She hates herself for choking on her own words, because she knows that he knows she does not mean them. Now she knows she has shown him a fragment of the Charlotte she once was and now she knows he will chase it until he has her tamed.
She finds it strange that she can still anticipate him, and as he leans down once more in a frantic chase of her lips, he whispers words so reverently, that her knees almost give in there and then.
“Never again.” He says. “I made the mistake of letting you go once, but I am not doing that again. I’m bringing you home to me. However long it takes.” His lips claim hers then punishingly and she falls repeatedly, with his grip on her waist her only anchor. He is unrelenting, and she feels herself coming undone at his touch. She hears the soft music in the background deepen until she can only think of the man before her.
But her consciousness brings her back abruptly with a sharp image of Jasper dead in her arms and the moment breaks for her yet again. And she curses herself for her lack of tolerance against Henry Hart. And then she curses him wholeheartedly.
“Wait.” She stutters out, pushing herself away from him. She refuses this time to look him in the eye, knowing where her own weakness lies is important. She is sure her friend Bruce would agree with her in monotonous rasp, and as her thoughts spiral from there, she chooses to focus her gaze on the broad chest in front of her, her breath far from being caught.
His own patience has gone up in flames, she is sure, because he passes her a mere look before placing a hand around her neck and another around her wrist, pulling her back in. The sound of their kiss overtakes the passageway he holds her hostage in, but only for a brief moment, before she is stopping him yet again.
Her voice is firmer, and she shoves him away, placing ample distance between them before taking a few more steps back for good measure. When she is satisfied at her attempt, she almost pats herself on the back, her mind plotting her course for escape until it is ripped from her yet again. He takes her wrist in a much harsher manner this time, and like a well-seasoned dancer, as if they have done this dance countless times before, he traps her against a different wall with an even more tantalizing smirk.
His arm comes back around her waist, turning her face towards him by her jaw before pressing their lips together once more, before tangling his hand between the curls he had always loved to play with when they were younger. His eyes close in pure euphoria, and her protests grow less forceful, despite her mind screaming otherwise.
He breaks the kiss this time round too takes a step back, followed by another and just when he takes one more her eyes open numb. Neither of them says anything until he is closing the distance yet again to rest his forehead against hers. The gesture is intimate. Her eyes close along with his.
“I am sorry Char.” He breathes again. And as he repeats the phrases like mantra a starved devotee uses to invoke his goddess, she finds her heart answering to his call before her mind can tell her otherwise.
Henry Hart is her undoing. Charlotte Paige Bolton has known that very fact from the moment they met in the sandbox when they were nothing more than infants. She had believed that fact at every twist and turn fate had seemed to throw their way, and so she berates herself for thinking she could ever outrun this. Outrun him.
She doesn’t quite remember what happens next, but she remembers the sob that falls from her lips. She remembers saying she hates him even though they both know that her words are nothing more than a lie she hopes to weaponize against him. It does wound him, but he conceals it in the way he keeps his gaze focused on her. And as she steps forward into his embrace, he conceals it further by allowing her fists to pound into his chest. She repeats the words with less hellfire, as if convincing herself because she has done a poor job of convincing him, but he is smart enough to not point that out, and when she falls into his chest, only then does he wrap his arms around her.
She mourns Jasper after months. Finally allows herself to feel all sense of emotion she had long buried in her crusade for justice and as her legs give in, Henry falls to the ground to break the fall before she feels it. He cradles her against his chest, whispering soft words of understanding and tenderness that leads her to hold onto his suit blazer tighter. His lips press into her temples to ease the emotional turmoil and when she brings herself to look at him, she can see his own tears, his own guilt so clearly.
But above that she sees a vow in his eyes. Hears it in the beat of his heart and her own gaze softens to a point that she cannot seem to fully comprehend.
“Guide me home.” She pleads with him.
“However long it takes.” He answers back.