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As the sun rises, the fear doesn’t dissipate, as one would expect. Crime may not be legal anymore, but both Leo and Charlie know that that won’t stop anyone from trying to kill her again. She gives him nearly as much as anxiety as his son did…
They’re at a hotel, taking turns patching up each other’s minor cuts, waiting for the rest of the chaotic energy to die down. Charlie had wanted to go to her house and salvage what she could from the explosion, but he’d insisted they wait until things went back to normal. Leo doubts things would go back to normal for a while, if ever. He had learned early on in the police force, after almost being killed on the job, that near death experiences changed things and nothing could ever be normal again… not when your life has flashed before your eyes, not when you’ve finally realized what’s actually important in life, not when, in what you believe are those final moments, you are filled with regret instead of acceptance.
He supposes Charlie’s already faced death before last night. While he’s used to the violence and suffering, he knows she isn’t, despite what happened to her fifteen years ago. He will carry on with his life, unchanged by the events that unfolded a mere few hours earlier. He’s built up his defenses and hardened himself against the cruel reality that Purge Night brings. He admires the Senator for not letting the world beat away all of her kindness and compassion, for the way she still is able to care and feel despite all of the pain she’s endured. While he had run and hid from his emotions, she’d embraced hers. It’s what makes her such a good politician. People can relate to her, people believe in her.
His arm suddenly goes cold, and he realizes she’s removed her hand. His eyes snap to her face, expecting to find some kind of fear in them ‒was someone standing behind him, poised to attack? Instead, he sees she’s looking at him, intently, and he can think of very few times when he’s been more uncomfortable than he is now. She makes him feel naked, exposed. It’s unnerving, to say the least, the way her cerulean eyes seem to pierce through every bit of armor he’s been donning.
“What?” He asks, his gruff voice loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“You,” Charlie answers, her soft voice a sharp contrast against his.
“What about me?”
“You’re thinking about something important,” she says, then looks down into the first aid kit. As she pulls out more gauze, she elaborates: “Your eyes always drift to the right when you’re thinking about something important.”
Right, details. She has a knack for remembering the most minute details about the most random things, times, phone numbers, locations, dates… people’s quirks.
“Care to share?” She lifts an eyebrow, one of her signature mannerisms. It’s one he knows all too well, having been directed at him more times than he’d care for. He sighs, knowing her question wasn’t really a question, but a request, and she won’t stop pushing until she gets what she wants. It’s infuriating at times, because it often leads to her landing herself in less than ideal situations, safety-wise, but it’s also one of them many things he admires about her. “Leo?” She prods, concerned that he isn’t telling her something ‒like they’re still in danger‒ or he’s more hurt than she thinks.
“I am thinking about something important,” he says slowly. She tilts her head, waiting for him to continue. “You.”
He watches her eyes widen a little, her face flush ever so slightly, can feel the breath hitch in her chest. She’s a politician, so she can hide what she’s thinking and feeling if necessary. He’s seen her describe, in gruesome detail, her family’s murder on Purge Night in front of thousands of people at a televised event without her voice even cracking or her eyes filling. He’s seen her keep the fear out of her face when she knows she’s losing a debate to the Minister (though losing is rare for her). He’s seen her somehow keep a polite smile on her face when pro-Purgers have told her that her family’s murder was so that crime won’t happen year round, and that she should be proud to have been a part of it. So yes, he’s a little bit proud of the fact that he’s able to get a rise out of her, no matter how small. It also scares him that he’s happy he affects her.
All she says is, “oh,” throwing it right back into his court, and he curses himself for thinking he could win a verbal sparring match with her. She’s the brains, he’s the brawn. That’s what he’d once heard another security guard say. He’s also heard that they make a great team, and he can’t help but agree.
“Are you okay?” He asks, finally. Those are the three words he’s been dying to ask, especially after her minor meltdown in the van, but he’d had to make sure they were safe first. They are, for the time being, and now he can afford for things to get a little emotional, a little messy. Her movements slow, and she inspects his arm one last time before standing up from the couch they’re occupying against the back wall.
“We’ve cleaned up the cuts the best we can, I think,” she says, her hand drifting to her neck. She’s ignoring his question, a tactic he uses all the time when she asks him about things that hit too close to home. It surprises him that she’s choosing to shut him of all people out. He’s seen what closing off does to a person ‒hell, he’s lived it‒ and he doesn’t want that for her. Before the sirens went off earlier in the night, she’d easily admitted she had been afraid. He wonders if maybe the couple more near death experiences have simply overwhelmed her.
“Are you okay?” He repeats, calmly yet firmly, knowing she needs to process everything that’s happened before it eats her alive and, in all likelihood, causes her to lose the election in the process.
“Are you okay?” She shoots back, and he can practically feel the anger radiating off of her. She’s not a violent woman, very much a pacifist, and is most definitely the calm one between the two of them. It takes a lot to push her to the point of near-rage, and it seems she’s reached that point. He’s been on the receiving end of her anger once. He’d found out the hard way that while she’s appreciative of everything he and the rest of the security staff do for her, she doesn’t take kindly to being treated as a damsel in distress.
He takes a moment to collect himself and keep his own anger at bay. He doesn’t appreciate being yelled at for only trying to help.
“I’m used to this, Charlie. I was a cop, I dealt with death and violence and destruction on a daily basis. The insanity of these people no longer surprises me.”
“You think I don’t know the death and violence and destruction of Purge Night?” She’s taken aback, and hurt, he thinks, and now he desperately wants to fix the situation.
“That’s not wh‒”
“I watched my entire family get murdered by some psycho! I heard as my mother agonized over having to choose which child would live!” She crosses the room, back in front of him again, and stands toe to toe with him. “Don’t think for a second that just because I choose to see the best in people, the good in the world, and choose to talk to people rather than punch them, that I don’t know how shitty everything can be.”
He closes his eyes and nods, taking a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t have yelled,” she says while stepping back. It’s as close of an apology as he’s going to get, and they both know it; she doesn’t apologize for her thoughts and opinions. He nods again, reaching out to grip her shoulder.
“I know you know how bad the world can be, how bad people can be. You choose to see the better side of humanity, and I admire that, and I’m thankful for that. You see the best in me even though I almost committed murder on Purge Night two years ago. You gave me a chance… you give people chances to be better, Charlie. I wasn’t implying anything, I just… that night’s never easy for you, and after almost being killed a few times tonight, I thought you might be a little shaken up.”
“I am,” she says quietly, her anger dissipating as she plops herself back down onto the couch with a sigh before her hands over her face and through her hair. “I hate it,” she adds even quieter.
“It’s a perfectly normal reaction,” he offers, and suddenly he’s anxious. He’s never been good at heart to hearts, and he’s even worse at comforting people. His gaze meets hers for a fraction of a second and he sees his own discomfort reflected back. “You haven’t been close to anyone since that night, have you?”
The words are out of his mouth before his brain even registers what he’s saying, and he immediately wants to smack himself. He’s known her long enough to know that these types of conversations simply don’t happen, not with her, because she doesn’t let them.
He knows why.
Her eyes flick back up to his and this time, they don’t dart away. Instead, she holds his gaze, and he can see the war raging within her: let him in or push him away, just as she does with everyone else who tries to get too close. She doesn’t want anyone getting killed ‒on Purge Night or any regular night‒ because of her. Because the NFFA wants her to back down, if they can’t kill her.
She can’t lose anyone else.
“You can trust me,” Leo says, his voice more sincere than she’s ever heard it.
“Of course I can,” she replies, feeling the sudden urge to reach out and cup his cheek. It scares her, that need for physical contact. She nearly shifts her legs so that she’s sitting on top of her hands, but decides that would look weird. Charlie instead opts for a smile. “I trust you with my life, don’t I?”
“That’s different than trusting me with your heart,” he points out, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her.
“Leo‒”
“I didn’t mean it quite like that,” he rushes out, and if he was the blushing type, he’s sure he’d be beet red.
“I know…”
“I just…” he sighs, frustrated at his lack of tact and social skills in general. “You need someone, Charlie. Someone you can open up to, because if you don’t, you’ll end up like me.
And this country doesn’t need me to be President, it needs you.”
It’s been a long time since anyone’s bothered to ask her ‒really ask her‒ how she’s feeling and want to hear the real answer. The fact that Leo cares so much about her (not Senator Roan, who promises to end the nightmare March 22nd has become, not Senator Roan, who can change the direction the country has been heading), causes tears to prick her eyes.
“Why do you care so much about me?” She asks, voice wavering. “Nobody‒ nobody’s cared. My entire family is dead, Leo. Hell, even my grandparents are all dead. My parents were both only children, so I don’t have any cousins or aunts or uncles… and here you are, completely unrelated to me, and you care. You give a shit about me, and not just because I’ll end Purge Night if I become President. Every single person that’s been on my staff, sure they like me as a person, but they like what I can do even more. But you’ve always at least made an effort to connect with me. Why?”
Survivor’s guilt, Leo realizes, lies beneath the calm yet defiant veneer, along with a decade and a half of pain and anger. She deserves none of what life has thrown at her, yet she’s taken it with surprising grace and little complaint.
“Because you’re worth it,” he says. “Charlie, you are an amazing human being who deserves to be cared about… All these assholes only see you as the person who can make the fear and pain stop. They just don’t realize you’re also a person. I admit, I was guilty of doing that exact same thing, but after I’d worked with you for just a week, I recognized who you are as a person. And you, Charlene Roan, are the person that puts everyone before herself and is willing to risk everything ‒including your life‒ to do the right thing. And it’s pretty damn infuriating because it makes my job a hell of a lot harder,” they both laugh at that then lapse into a comfortable silence.
After a few beats, Charlie tilts her head up to look at him.
“Thank you,” she smiles. He shrugs, his way of saying ‘don’t mention it’.
“You will win, Charlie. So stop saying ‘if’.” She gives him another smile, and he can’t help but offer her one in return.
She stares up at him, her eyes once again filling. “What would I do without you?” She asks, her voice sounding far smaller than he’s ever heard it, and it tugs at him.
“Oh, you’d be fine,” he tries to play this whole thing off like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t do well with emotional people, and she doesn’t do well with emotions. Sure, she’s great with other people’s emotions, but he knows she hasn’t let someone this close to her vulnerable core in a long time. “I mean, you might eventually run into some trouble if you keep going into the crowds at debates, but you’d be just fine without me.”
She laughs, swiping at her eyes.
“I’m not a crier,” she says and laces her hands behind her head and starts pacing the room. “I’m sorry I‒”
“Hey,” he rushes over and wonders where this sudden ability to comfort is coming from. “You’re allowed to be human, Charlie. People have been trying to assassinate you all night, I think a little breakdown is understandable.”
“I need to win, and I can’t do that if the people think I can’t handle the job, if they can’t believe in me because they think I’m weak, and I’m sure as hell not giving those bastards
the satisfaction of seeing my cry.”
“It’s just you and me, okay? There’s no need to be in politician mode right now. You can let your guard down with me.”
“I’m okay,” she says, tilting her head up and blinking back the last of her tears.
“Charlie‒”
“I’m still scared shitless and I probably will be for the next little bit, but I just… I’m okay. I know I’m safe with you, plus there’s work that needs to be done, and I should also get used to people trying to kill me cause that definitely won’t stop with or without The Purge, especially when I’m President.”
He gives her a look and she quirks her eyebrow up at him.
“If you want to talk…”
“I know,” she smiles, taking his hand in yours. “I do have a request, though.”
“Anything,” Leo replies.
“You’ll need to teach me how to fight.”
“What?” He can’t quite keep the disbelief and uncertainty off his face.
“I don’t exactly like being dependent on other people, Leo. It would just give me some piece of mind, and while I’m happy to let you do the protecting, it would be nice to know that if it came down to it, I could take care of myself.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“Why?” She demands.
“Well one, you could get hurt‒”
“Not any more than what happened to me tonight‒”
“And the last thing any of us needs is you going commando on us‒”
“I wouldn’t do that‒”
“You venture into crowds when we specifically tell you not to,” he points out.
“Because you’re overprotective and a little paranoid.”
“Am I?”
She bites her lip, then finally relents. “No, not that paranoid. I have to admit, you were right to not trust everyone on the security team ‒another reason why I should be able to defend myself.”
“Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up in surrender. “You know, next time we disagree, just remind me that it’s your job to argue with people and win, and I’ll just skip to the part where I end up giving in to whatever it is you want, alright?”
She smiles triumphantly and takes a seat on the bed. “We should get a few hours’ sleep, though I suspect you won’t even if I asked. So wake me up in two hours so I can start preparing a statement.”
“You need more than two hours,” he says as gently as possible, hoping she won’t argue.
“No, what I need is to kick his ass the next time I see him and since I don’t condone violence, I’ll have to be witty,” she says, and Leo knows who the ‘he’ she’s referring to is.
“Alright,” he acquiesces. “Two hours it is. And… maybe I’ll also teach you how to punch, you know… just in case you have the urge.” He sees her smile contentedly before her breathing evens out.
He sets up solitaire on the table, but only half pays attention to what he’s doing, too focused on keeping watch out the window and the sliver of light under the door. The two hours fly by fast, and as he gets up to wake Charlie, he realizes that with the new day’s light hits the earth, new hope has been reignited.