fic: Scattered Pieces of Who I Am
Fandom: Revolution
Language: English
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~6.200
Spoilers: 1x10
Relationships: Sebastian/Charlie/Miles
Warnings: hurt/comfort, suicidal thoughts, INCEST, Stockholm Syndrome
Disclaimers: I don't own Revolution.
Summary: In which Bass, Miles and Charlie learn that all actions have consequences and parallel lives often intersect. Written for the 'fever/delirium' hc-bingo and the 'triangle' nbc-revolution prompt.
Download link on AO3
A/N: 1) The poem is from Triangles by Ellen Hopkins.
2) I tried to write something with plot, but it turned out more of a character study. Oh, well.
Scattered Pieces of Who I Am
THEN
Sebastian is nothing more than scattered little dots on a paper, and he can’t find the strength to connect them into a straight line. After the fate’s cruel twist in his life, he just cracked and fell into pieces.
He lost everything, though the thought that he’s all alone now didn’t really set in. Sometimes he still thinks if he opens the front door and steps into their house, his parents would greet him with warm smiles, and he would hear his sisters bickering about something trivial. But when he goes home today, only deep and total silence welcomes him. He’s never felt himself so small in his life ever, standing there in the middle of a house, which is clearly meant for a big and happy family.
And the worst thing is the lingering presence of his loved ones: the familiar and comforting fragrance of his mother’s perfume, the smell of his father’s cigarettes, the carelessly strewn clothes on the sofa, which conjures the image of his sisters in a cheerful hurry to choose the right clothes for the movies. It’s as if he can see them, his father reading a book, his sisters leaning over a magazine and gossiping and his mother cooking in the kitchen.
But all is still and silent like a painting or a photograph, which captures the life itself, and it can have all the bright and warm colors and all the details, but in the end it has an empty feeling to it, like something essential is missing. The indescribable essence of life: the warmth of a touch, the sound of a tinkling laughter.
The weight of loss is like a stone on Sebastian’s shoulder, and he can’t fight it, he crumbles, and he lands hard on the ground, but he barely notices the physical pain. He feels like there is a gaping hole inside of him, which is full of something cold and dark, a confusing mess of pain, hopelessness and loneliness, and a spark of something hot and bright, a sharp slice of anger and fury at the world and its unfairness. How come his family got this fate, when he was away laying down his life for this country? Shouldn’t that mean something on some kind of cosmic scale?
As he lies there with alcohol numbing his senses, he thinks of ghosts and how desperate people start to believe everything, grasping at straws, and even take a so called medium’s words for granted. And he wants to see the dead, because maybe they could ease his pain, or he could say goodbye, and maybe that would change something. He wishes for a ghost to haunt the house, and he half-laughs, half-sobs at the idea, because he is exactly that: a ghost, nothing more, an empty and hollow shell of the man he was once.
He feels left behind, and yearns for to go after his family, because if he’s honest, he’s as dead as them, the only difference is that his heart is still beating. That’s when he decides to get his gun and go for a family dinner. Tonight, finally, he will see them again, and a cold calmness overcomes him, so his hands don’t shake at all, as he grips the hilt of his pistol.
~oOo~
He’s sitting beside his family’s remains, when Miles finds him. He doesn’t know, really, why he’s not dead, why he’s still sitting in the cold night. Maybe his subconscious has hoped that Miles would come and search for him, maybe he’s just too selfish to kill himself, he isn’t sure.
Through the alcohol induced haze he contemplates the morbidity of putting flowers at the graves. It’s like a mockery of the dead, leaving bright, colorful and living things beside a cold stone, as if to remind people that here lies something that was once beautiful and vibrant and now it’s underground, rotting, much like as the flowers will wither in time.
Miles tries to sober him up, to tell him he’s not alone, and in a sense it’s true, they were brothers their whole lives. But he has to laugh at this, because, honestly, he was so lost in his own darkness, he didn’t stop to think about this, or maybe he didn’t dare to think about it. He can’t expect Miles to look out for him, and he fears if he opens up to him fully, if he admits that he wanted to end it all, Miles wouldn’t understand, or just laugh at him.
In the mix of all those feelings which are tearing him apart from the inside, there goes the guilt and shame. Now that Miles is here, the whole idea seems a little bit stupid. Oh, he still has that coldness around his heart, but maybe, just maybe, if he could talk about it, it would get better.
When Miles rhetorically asks what he would be without him, Sebastian almost laughs out loud, because he’s sure Miles is saying this to make him feel better, if anyone sees them, even they could tell that Miles is the strong and brave one. And when Miles asks for his gun, he finally understands that Miles really knows and needs him. It’s not a friendship in the good times only, but in the bad ones, too, Miles is someone who was always beside him and is there now, when he needs it the most.
And in that moment, he sees Miles as the light in the darkness, and wants to capture it so badly, so his light maybe can banish his demons. He doesn’t think about it twice, he moves instinctively, as if he knows deep down it’s his remedy.
He doesn’t know which one of them is more surprised when he kisses Miles. It’s only a brief, soft touch of lips, and tastes of salt and alcohol, yet it gives what Sebastian needs the most: someone alive. And he finds a moment of solace in the warmth and solid feels of Miles against him. When he puts his hand against Miles’ chest, he feels the strong and steady rhythm of his heart, and Sebastian can’t think of anything better than that. It has all he longs for: the undeniable proof of life.
When he pulls away, he’s shocked, but casts all the questions about this situation aside; he’ll have the time to mull over everything. He’s too broken now to think about his sexual orientation or the fact that maybe he did ruin his friendship after all, though Miles didn’t push him away, which has to count for something, right?
But he wants to express what he feels, so he hugs Miles tightly to show he needs him to keep himself together. Without him, he feels like a carelessly drawn dot on a piece of paper, he has nothing, and is utterly lost. But maybe with Miles on his side he can find a direction and the other scattered pieces of him along the way, and connect them into one straight, strong line.
Later, when they’re leaving the cemetery, Sebastian says, “You know, if we ever have a fallout or we’re just grown apart, I owe you for today, so don’t hesitate to come and ask for anything.”
Miles just waves off the offer and scoffs at the idea of them being not friends, they don’t even suspect what consequences this one little sentence will have.
NOW
Charlie feels hot and feverish one moment and she’s freezing the next. She remembers fighting with scavengers; they’ve encountered them on the way to a rebel camp, which Nora’s suggested. She can recall the glint of a sword, the clattering of metal on metal, the smell of sweat, the taste of salt and the sweet thrill of adrenaline, but try as she might she can’t get any further than that.
And suddenly, she’s at home, and sits beside a tree. Soft lights pulse in bright colors and lend a fairy tale feeling to the otherwise dim room. The air is full with the scent of pine and cinnamon, and as her mind comes to the conclusion that it’s Christmas, the scene before her abruptly makes sense. Though she’s sure she hasn’t celebrated the holidays like this since the Blackout, but somehow her thoughts are slippery, and she can’t quite place it what is wrong with the picture.
“What are you waiting for, honey?” Her mother’s voice echoes in the eerily silent room, and Charlie absently wonders about the lack of music or singing, which she always associated with the holiday. The quiet somehow turns the cheery picture into an uneasy one, which could be a start of a nightmare.
“Honey,” says her mother again. “Open your present.”
Charlie wants to ask what present she’s talking about, because they’re sitting in a living room with a Christmas tree, but last time she checked there were no gifts anywhere. Her mother’s smile is warm - too warm and soft, Charlie notes, though she doesn’t understand why it’s a ominous thing - as she points down. And as Charlie follows her gaze, there it is, a box, wrapped in cerulean paper with a shiny, blue bow.
It’s supposed to be a blissful sight, but something is bothering Charlie. The box seems harmless, yet it has an underlying sense of danger, and her hands tremble, while she reaches for to unwrap it. She feels a knot of fear in her stomach, as if she’s waiting for some monster to pop out of the box, or fearing she would find a severed hand.
She pulls the crumbling paper aside, and just when she would open the lid, the inner side of her wrist feels like it’s on fire. She jumps up, dropping the box, grabbing at her sleeve, and when she pulls it up, she sees the Militia’s emblem on her skin, and the wound is not scabbed over, it’s burned flesh, oozing blood and throbbing pain again.
“Don’t you like it, Charlotte?” The voice definitely belongs to a man, and there’s a familiar lilt to it, and when she looks up, she only then realizes that Monroe stands before her and her mother vanished. “It’s my gift to you, a reminder.”
Charlie is confused, and the mix of pain and panic makes her falter, “I d-don’t understand. We escaped.” She swallows and takes a deep breath to steady her voice. “We’re far away from you,” she states, and her voice is more confident, than she feels. “It’s a dream.”
“Maybe,” Monroe says with a small smile. It reminds Charlie of sharp and poisonous things.
He steps closer to her, and as much as she wants to move, she can’t. It’s like he cast a spell on her, she can’t escape, her muscles are tense, ready to bolt, but the only thing she can do is to look into those icy blue eyes.
Monroe leans forward and he’s so close Charlie can feel his breath on her cheek as he whispers into her ear.
“You can’t run from me forever,” he says softly, and it sends shivers up her spine. “You will end up on my side, you’ll see.” Then he lightly traces the lines of the Militia’s emblem on her wrists. The scar seems healed again, her skin is sensitive, but what she feels is only partly fear, and that’s what scares her the most.
Whatever held her captive now it’s gone, so she turns and runs for the nearest door, while Monroe’s deep laugh echoes all around her.
As she steps through the door, she’s running in a non-descript, numbingly gray stone maze, and no matter where she turns she feels she has been there before. It’s like an endless nightmare and she can’t wake up. Her energy is slowly fading away, though she’s in good form usually, and can run hours if she needs to, but weirdly she can’t keep up the pace, and her breaths are becoming shorter.
But she only slows down when on one corner she almost stumbles over someone. But solid, warm, familiar hands catch her and hold her. She doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Miles, and she immediately relaxes against him. She does what she haven’t done in a long time, before Miles came into her life, and leans against him: She lets herself to be held, she lets her guards down, and her stone hard façade is slipping away.
Though on the journey to get Danny, she got harder in a way, but with Miles she could be herself, that young woman who needs support and caring from time to time. And with Maggie gone, she had only him; but she has to admit even she’s surprised how much she relies on Miles and how important he became to her.
Miles reaches for her, and cradles her face gently, lifting her chin up, so he can look into her eyes questioningly.
“What were you running from?” he asks, and there is no hint of the ever present sarcasm in his voice, so she thinks she has to look pretty shaken, and all the while she hates herself for how much Monroe affected her.
“Monroe.” It’s all she can manage. “He’s here, and I don’t know how -”
“I’m not gonna let him hurt you, you know that, right?” Miles states with defiance and such certainty, it washes away all of her fears.
And she can’t help it, she nods and smiles, even in such a desperate and weird situation, because this is Miles, and they, in a way, belong together, and not even the feared leader of the Republic could separate them, and when they’re close to each other, everything seems right.
But Miles does something that surprises her, he leans forward, touches his forehead to hers, and only just the sheer closeness of him thrills her. She would, of course, deny if anyone asks her, but her body doesn’t react to Miles as it should. It’s all catching breath, galloping heartbeat and butterflies in the stomach. None of this should feel so good, when it’s so wrong, and Charlie has to push away the thoughts about her parents, because they sure would be ashamed.
But when Miles’ lips are finally brushing against hers, all of her thoughts are gone and there are only soft touches, hungry kisses and low moans of desire, everything she lets herself dream under the cover of night. She can’t believe this is real, it can’t be really happening, or if it is, Miles would sure back off and say it was a mistake. But, she thinks, the sweetest one she’s ever committed and she would cherish the memory of it.
But when she pulls away, she notices that Miles’ eyes are blue, but before she could voice her fear, he cuts her off.
“I will help you, Charlie.” And it’s Miles’ voice, though worried, which doesn’t seem to fit in the picture. And then the velvety darkness swallows up everything.
~oOo~
“I will help you, Charlie,” Miles says, and lets himself do the one thing he swore he wasn’t going to. He leans forward, and kisses Charlie on the lips lightly, it’s only a brief touch, and he knows it’s wrong, hell, kissing any unconscious woman is not something he would be proud of, even if said woman wouldn’t be related to him. But he needs this kiss, and if he’s going to try to pull off his most reckless and craziest plan ever, then he could be a little irresponsible now as well.
Later, when Miles joins the rest of their group around the fire, Nora is the first one to ask, “How is she?”
Miles only shrugs and grunts, which means nothing has changed with Charlie, but he’ll never say that out loud, he doesn’t want to tempt fate any more than he needs to. Aaron and Danny look miserable, and Miles wonders about how they would survive on their own if they didn’t have anyone else. Their problem is not that they’re too sensitive and have warm and fuzzy feelings, but they let these to paralyze them. None of them are trying to save Charlie, they’re just sitting here, and everyone is blaming themselves, while she lies in a makeshift tent not far from them, shivering with high fever.
Miles doesn’t know whose fault it is, or maybe it isn’t anyone’s, but he would like to hold someone responsible, because then he could project his anger on a concrete target. But it doesn’t change the fact that when they were going to a safe house, they’d been attacked by scavengers and freelancers and while they managed to escape with only cuts and bruises, Charlie got an arrow to a leg, then the wound got infected, and without any kind of medicine, they’re where they were with Nora. The only exception is that while they had Drexel and his antibiotics back then, now the whole situation seems hopeless, and the best they can pray for that the rebels have some kind of medication, though they’re at least a week’s journey from there, and no one’s going to say it, but Charlie doesn’t have any chance to live that long.
So that’s why Miles has his own plan set in motion, he isn’t going to lose Charlie no matter the consequences; he’d do anything for her. For a moment his determination surprises him, he never cared for anyone this much.
Miles knows Charlie is the one who saved him, as Maggie so annoyingly pointed out; before her he was lost in his self-appointed exile and the numbing fog of alcohol. He felt like a line, a mass of dots going forever to nowhere, but when Charlie showed up he could connect again to his humanity, which was an unusually infuriating thing, because he carefully built a thick wall around himself on purpose, to not feel the guilt and shame about the horrifying things he had done in the past. But Charlie finds the cracks in his stone cold façade and starts to tear it down. While he knows he can’t go back to being the old, carelessly happy Miles, he at least has a small hope that he could have a normal life again, considering the circumstances, because beside Charlie he lives again, and he thinks he has a chance at redemption. And yes, he knows how stupid this sounds, so idealistic and naïve, he’s like a lovesick teenager, he’s aware of that. And he knows well if someone has this kind of blinding motivation, it could lead to stupid mistakes: like his own plan.
He’s not proud of this, but he has to do it, he has to do something, and the others tried their makeshift remedies and none of them worked. So when they sneaked in to a near town to buy some home made, mostly herbal, medicine for Charlie, Miles started his god-awful plan. He got some extra sedative and sent a message.
And as Miles watches the others get ready for sleep, he wonders about how these small acts will change his life forever, for better or worse. It’s like the damned butterfly effect, but instead of a butterfly’s wing it’s a piece of paper will doom him, but if Charlie gets to live, it’s worth it.
Miles takes the first shift while the others are sleeping, and he’s glad he could organize this arrangement, it’s an important part of his plan. Though Rachel is suspicious and watches him constantly with wary eyes. She was always a strong woman and has reasons to hate him, so it doesn’t bother him; it’s just an inconvenience, especially when he wants to kidnap her daughter. But he has to work with what he’s got and he tries his best for Charlie.
When the others fall asleep, he gets the unconscious Charlie and just walks away from everyone. He doesn’t feel (that much) remorse about what he’s doing, because he was always good at leaving people behind to deal with their problems on their own. He has a kind of déjà vu, he had left Bass the same way after all, when they had too much responsibilities and they couldn’t solve it in an easy way.
But now, Miles tries to rationalize, he doesn’t act only for selfish reasons. One could argue if his love for Charlie counts as this, because no matter how the stories paint love as some sort of pure and blazing thing, and no matter how it can build, it is also capable of destruction, and can be as dark as night, but either way: it’s addictive, sweet and tempting.
Miles worries about what will happen to Charlie, however he doesn’t worry about the others, he’s quite sure he mixed enough sedative in their food to only wake up when he’s long gone. And what if they’re found by Militia or others? He doesn’t really care, and he pulls up his walls again.
~oOo~
“Charlie.” Someone is calling her name, and it takes a little time to focus on her surroundings.
She blinks a few times against the bright light and realizes she sits on a cliff; she swears she’s never been here before. It has a calm, yet still feeling to it, as if it’s one of her old postcards, not a real life scenery, though she feels the warmth of the setting sun on her skin. She can’t resist, she closes her eyes and lets it warm her through. In her mind there is a lingering sense of dread, and she thinks of blue eyes, sharp smiles, burning flesh and monsters, but the peacefulness slowly washes it away.
“Charlie.” Someone is calling her again, and she opens her eyes and turns toward the speaker.
“Danny,” she says with a smile.
It’s so good to be with her brother again, she relaxes just by the sight of his golden hair lit up by the sunlight like a halo, and she’s reminded of angels. And it’s perfectly fitting to Danny, she thinks, because she was always there to put a wall between her brother and the world’s monsters, so he could have a childhood and be innocent a little longer than she has. She never minded this, she liked that she had some important mission, something that her mother trusted her with, it was Charlie’s own little crusade to prove she is a good daughter, to honor her presumably dead mother’s wish. But now that her mother is alive and well, she isn’t sure what it all meant, though she doesn’t regret anything, because she hasn’t wasted her time, Danny’s every smile and carefree moment made it worthwhile.
But now that she’s seen the world as it is, she doesn’t know if she can go back to living in a small town, she wants more from life. Though she knows these are just naïve daydreams, Monroe will hunt them for sure, and all of her life will consist of nothing more than being the prey.
She leans against Danny, and takes comfort from his familiar feel, and wills the darker thoughts away. Danny was always there for her, too, he was the one anchoring her to life, he was her purpose, to put it bluntly. But now she feels that she can finally let go, grow up, step out of her mother’s shadow, and be anyone she wants to be. And funnily enough, Miles is the one who comes to her mind.
“You know, it’s all right,” Danny says, as if he can read her mind. “You have to find him though, before anyone else. You have to help him.”
And though it doesn’t really make sense, she feels the urge to go and find him. But as they both get up, she catches a flaming red spot on Danny’s wrist. It’s just like her insignia, yet it’s so much more, it’s a little flaw on all his soft lines and bright colorings, it shows that he’s seen the dark things, too, no matter how hard she tried to protect him. Danny follows her gaze, and smiles a little sadly, and Charlie notices only now that there is something older in her brother’s eyes.
“You have to follow the road,” Danny instructs, and points to the other side of the cliff.
In the distance, she sees dark and menacing woods, which brings her memories of fairy tales and enchanted forests, and tales about lost siblings, and her anxiety is rearing up again. There is a narrow dirt road criss-crossing through the grassy plain, leading to the dark edge of the trees.
She hesitates only a moment, steels herself, and hugs Danny goodbye, then starts on the road as some book character from the old world.
As she reaches closer and closer to her goal, there are people passing her by. Mostly faceless figures, but once in a while, she sees someone she recognizes. First it’s Aaron, seeming washed out and miserable and as he looks at her he shakes his head, but Charlie continues her way, because she feels with every fiber of her body that she needs to. The next time it’s Maggie, and seeing her alive, breaks Charlie’s heart a little.
“Don’t go there, Charlie, please,” Maggie begs and Charlie only can wipe away her tears, and shake her head, continuing her way to the tempting darkness.
As soon as she reaches the edge, she stops and assesses her surroundings. Up close the trees look ancient with huge trunks and deep dark, almost black barks, and the branches grown so closely, they don’t let any light through. Still, she can see something pale, glinting on the ground, just inside the edge of the forest.
“Don’t.” Nora’s voice is terse, and any other time Charlie would listen to her, but she hears a soft hum, something akin to melody. Charlie doesn’t even bother to turn to Nora, she doesn’t need to see the other’s probably judging eyes, but she doesn’t move. Not yet. “Don’t go in there, Charlie, stay here.”
“Why? What is here for me?” she asks indignantly, because the song tells her whatever she really needs is in the deep dark forest, she just needs to get to it.
“Your father. Maggie. Happiness,” Nora replies, but with each name Charlie feels a stab of hurt, but doesn’t give in. Now, she knows, she’s dying, she has to, because her father is dead, his blood dried on her hands, so she remembers that painfully clear.
“I don’t want to die,” Charlie states simply, and yes, there was a time when she was so tired, she just wanted to sleep and never wake up, but there is something out there to live for.
“But, Charlie, do you think what you have out there is life? You are barely twenty, you should have fun and do silly things, fall in love, not march into a bloody civil war. That is no life, that’s living undead.”
Charlie can’t say anything only shakes her head defiantly.
“Here you can have an easy life,” the something, which wears Nora’s face says.
“But that’s the thing, I don’t want easy.” And with that she’s off into the woods, and as she reaches near the first pale thing on the ground, she sees it’s a bone, probably human.
She shivers, but crosses her arms to keep herself warm and walks along the path of bones in the near dark. She follows the haunting melody through the forest, her heart beating with anticipation, and in the end of the road, she finds the monster with blue eyes.
~oOo~
“So, are you going to help?” Miles asks with pretended indifference, though he knows he doesn’t fool anyone.
“Oh my, aren’t we in a hurry?” Bass replies, and sips his drink, comfortably leaning against a rickety table.
They met in an old, abandoned house, one of the many they had used as their hideouts. It was Miles’ idea to keep safe houses in case of emergency, and he’s a little shocked that Bass didn’t demolish them.
“Well, time is of the essence, you know,” Miles grumbles, but tries to keep his voice non-offensive, a hard thing to do, especially now when Charlie lies on the couch, breathing shallowly, and her skin is paler than ever.
“I don’t even recognize you, Miles Matheson,” he clearly mocks him with the usage of his full name, but Miles keeps his temper in check and doesn’t do anything.
“You owe me, Bass,” he says through gritted teeth, and clenches his fists.
Bass doesn’t reply immediately, but halfheartedly plays with his glass, and cocks his head.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even dare to bring that up,” he says evenly, with the barest hint of a smile.
Miles can’t help it, but thinks of how much Bass has changed: he is almost like a sociopath with a detached, calm veneer, but underneath all that there is nothing left, just a gaping abyss, a dark hole. He wonders if Bass was this hollow since his family’s death, or he’s to blame, because after all he dragged Bass into this.
“You tried to kill me, Miles, and not just once, if I remember correctly.” He looks to Charlie, staring her with such intensity, as if he’s trying to imagine her without clothes. Miles would really like to punch Bass in the face right now, but that probably wouldn’t help. “You said,” Bass continues somewhat indignant, his voice raised just a notch. “I’m not your family, that you have one. Her.” Bass spats the last word with such emphasis as if it tastes bitter on his tongue.
Miles would laugh at Bass’ plain hurt and jealousy, if it wasn’t a life or death situation.
“Come on, it’s a fair trade,” he insists. “You can have me, Charlie gets antibiotics and everyone’s happy.”
“You overestimate your own value, I hope you know that,” Bass says, but puts down the glass.
“I didn’t say you want me alive, but you can have your little revenge fantasy, torture me, whatever.”
“And what makes you think I can’t have that now?” he asks matter-of-factly, as if he has armed men everywhere. But Miles knows him too well, and he’s sure he came alone, because if he gets what he wants - and he will - all alone, it proves that he’s better than Miles Matheson.
Miles doesn’t reply, his silence says more, and Bass puts on that annoying smirk of his.
“Excellent. Then you have my word.” That’s all he says for a long time.
While they’re waiting for transport - presumably a helicopter, no less than that would suffice for an occasion like this -, Bass turns toward the defeated and handcuffed Miles.
“It’s an interesting thing, isn’t?”
“What?” Miles asks when it’s clear that Bass isn’t going to continue.
“Love,” he answers. “One little world, and it can bring anyone’s downfall. If it’s too strong, it can turn into acid and burn a hole in you. And that’s why losing someone is the worst torture.” A moment of theatrical silence later, he goes on. “I’m wondering how much do you love this girl and I think I’m about to find out.”
Miles doesn’t dare to say anything, because literally Charlie’s life is in Bass’ hands. He can only silently pray for that Charlie would get better, and then they would somehow escape. And above all he wishes he didn’t make a too big mistake, one he can’t right. On the other hand, he wonders if his unhealthy attraction to Charlie is really that obvious.
And here it is that little flaw which most people have, he let the emotions cloud his judgments, but he hasn’t really regretted it yet, while Charlie gets to live, all is well. Because he felt himself a handful of scattered pieces of himself, which he could put into a straight line, but he was lost in a vast and empty space. But when Charlie is there, she’s like a parallel line beside him, always there, giving him support, purpose, but in the end they could never touch, they could never have a life together. Miles would be happy with parallel lives though, if they get to live at all.
SOON
She’s reading again, sitting on the couch in the living room, with a steaming cup of a tea keeping her company. She can be so absorbed in books, that anyone can talk to her and she wouldn’t hear it. He envies this ability from her, he can enjoy reading, but all of his troubles are a constant weight on his shoulders. Sometimes he wishes life would be simpler, but wishes never come true only in - ironically - stories.
He watches her silently, and wonders about how much she looks like her mother. Funny, he thinks, how he wanted to break her, just to hurt Miles and obviously Rachel for their betrayals, but then he really saw her: she has some unique spark, which can shine through any darkness. She’s stubborn, cunning, clever, a brilliant fighter, and yet she doesn’t let this new world freeze her, she preserves that light and warmth which is the echo of a long gone era.
At first, he wanted to pull her into pieces, slice her up to see how she works, and she was nothing more to him than an object, a prize he can claim, and blackmail material to Miles. But as time passed by she get under his skin, and then slowly step by step fell for her. Well, he can’t honestly say they have a healthy relationship, but in these circumstances he takes anything he gets, and after all, who has the right to define what love is.
When she murmurs something softly, he decides to step into the room and sit beside her. She immediately reacts: she smiles at him, closes her book and leans against him. He has to admit sometimes he still thinks that all of this is a dream, however things are far from perfect, but at least he feels better, and a selfish part of him, which doesn’t care about governing or helping people, is absolutely satisfied with this situation.
“What were you saying?” he asks, as he caresses lightly her face. He remembers a time when there was hate blazing in her eyes, but now it’s all loyalty and acceptance, things he usually doesn’t see on anyone else that much.
“It was a poem,” she replies. “I’m searching for the full version; I’ve read a few verses from it a long time ago, and it came to my mind the other night.”
Sebastian looks at Charlie with a questioning look, arching one eyebrow. Charlie responds with a light nudge of her shoulder.
“Come on, even we had books back at home, don’t look so surprised,” she says. “And I was always searching for more.”
This he knew, she’s adventurous and restless, she can’t sit in one place for long, so that’s why he sends her to here and there, retrieving this piece of tech or that. And obviously that’s why he puts so much effort into increasing his library’s amount of books. He can easily picture her go scavenge hunting for mementos from the old world, even when she was little.
“What’s the poem?” he asks. “Maybe I’ve heard it, or I can ask around.”
“It has been noted that / a line is a collection of points / along a straight path / that continues / forever / in opposite directions. / Two lines that go / on and on indefinitely / and never / intersect are parallel. / Lines that intersect, / forming ninety-degree angles, / are / called perpendicular. / Perpendicular lines cross / each other, as / parallel / lines never can. Today, / I’m thinking about how easy / it is to be perpendicular. / And about how, while parallel / lines / may not intersect, / parallel lives often do.” She pauses, as if thinking hard, if she can remember more, but just shrugs. “There was something about triangles before it, I’m sure.”
“Mathematic definitions to represent relationships. Interesting,” he states, and it is, really. It’s truly amazing how the author used the simple and sterile things to explain the messy and complex ones.
“You really think so?”
“Yes. You have good taste, and I’ll look for the poem, I promise” he says with a smile, and leans in to kiss her, not saying, but suggesting that she doesn’t have excellent taste only in literature.
Her lips are soft, tastes of sugar and something he calls ‘hope’ in his mind, because whenever they share a moment, her warmth seems to melt him, and smooth his jagged edges around the hole in his chest.
He understand perfectly well why Miles fell for her, because she’s a little like he was back when things were much simpler. And maybe the world will never be the same again, and Charlie, Miles and Sebastian lost too much, went through too much to get back what they’re missing, but they have each other.
And Sebastian thinks that yes, the poem is perfectly fitting to them: They were scattered pieces of themselves, three wobbly lines. They were three parallel lives and it’s really fascinating how the coincidences or fate brought them together, when they needed each other. Because they may be three unsteady lines separately, but together they form a strong, if not perfect triangle, and they could have their happy ending in their unique way.
Language: English
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~6.200
Spoilers: 1x10
Relationships: Sebastian/Charlie/Miles
Warnings: hurt/comfort, suicidal thoughts, INCEST, Stockholm Syndrome
Disclaimers: I don't own Revolution.
Summary: In which Bass, Miles and Charlie learn that all actions have consequences and parallel lives often intersect. Written for the 'fever/delirium' hc-bingo and the 'triangle' nbc-revolution prompt.
Download link on AO3
A/N: 1) The poem is from Triangles by Ellen Hopkins.
2) I tried to write something with plot, but it turned out more of a character study. Oh, well.
Scattered Pieces of Who I Am
THEN
Sebastian is nothing more than scattered little dots on a paper, and he can’t find the strength to connect them into a straight line. After the fate’s cruel twist in his life, he just cracked and fell into pieces.
He lost everything, though the thought that he’s all alone now didn’t really set in. Sometimes he still thinks if he opens the front door and steps into their house, his parents would greet him with warm smiles, and he would hear his sisters bickering about something trivial. But when he goes home today, only deep and total silence welcomes him. He’s never felt himself so small in his life ever, standing there in the middle of a house, which is clearly meant for a big and happy family.
And the worst thing is the lingering presence of his loved ones: the familiar and comforting fragrance of his mother’s perfume, the smell of his father’s cigarettes, the carelessly strewn clothes on the sofa, which conjures the image of his sisters in a cheerful hurry to choose the right clothes for the movies. It’s as if he can see them, his father reading a book, his sisters leaning over a magazine and gossiping and his mother cooking in the kitchen.
But all is still and silent like a painting or a photograph, which captures the life itself, and it can have all the bright and warm colors and all the details, but in the end it has an empty feeling to it, like something essential is missing. The indescribable essence of life: the warmth of a touch, the sound of a tinkling laughter.
The weight of loss is like a stone on Sebastian’s shoulder, and he can’t fight it, he crumbles, and he lands hard on the ground, but he barely notices the physical pain. He feels like there is a gaping hole inside of him, which is full of something cold and dark, a confusing mess of pain, hopelessness and loneliness, and a spark of something hot and bright, a sharp slice of anger and fury at the world and its unfairness. How come his family got this fate, when he was away laying down his life for this country? Shouldn’t that mean something on some kind of cosmic scale?
As he lies there with alcohol numbing his senses, he thinks of ghosts and how desperate people start to believe everything, grasping at straws, and even take a so called medium’s words for granted. And he wants to see the dead, because maybe they could ease his pain, or he could say goodbye, and maybe that would change something. He wishes for a ghost to haunt the house, and he half-laughs, half-sobs at the idea, because he is exactly that: a ghost, nothing more, an empty and hollow shell of the man he was once.
He feels left behind, and yearns for to go after his family, because if he’s honest, he’s as dead as them, the only difference is that his heart is still beating. That’s when he decides to get his gun and go for a family dinner. Tonight, finally, he will see them again, and a cold calmness overcomes him, so his hands don’t shake at all, as he grips the hilt of his pistol.
~oOo~
He’s sitting beside his family’s remains, when Miles finds him. He doesn’t know, really, why he’s not dead, why he’s still sitting in the cold night. Maybe his subconscious has hoped that Miles would come and search for him, maybe he’s just too selfish to kill himself, he isn’t sure.
Through the alcohol induced haze he contemplates the morbidity of putting flowers at the graves. It’s like a mockery of the dead, leaving bright, colorful and living things beside a cold stone, as if to remind people that here lies something that was once beautiful and vibrant and now it’s underground, rotting, much like as the flowers will wither in time.
Miles tries to sober him up, to tell him he’s not alone, and in a sense it’s true, they were brothers their whole lives. But he has to laugh at this, because, honestly, he was so lost in his own darkness, he didn’t stop to think about this, or maybe he didn’t dare to think about it. He can’t expect Miles to look out for him, and he fears if he opens up to him fully, if he admits that he wanted to end it all, Miles wouldn’t understand, or just laugh at him.
In the mix of all those feelings which are tearing him apart from the inside, there goes the guilt and shame. Now that Miles is here, the whole idea seems a little bit stupid. Oh, he still has that coldness around his heart, but maybe, just maybe, if he could talk about it, it would get better.
When Miles rhetorically asks what he would be without him, Sebastian almost laughs out loud, because he’s sure Miles is saying this to make him feel better, if anyone sees them, even they could tell that Miles is the strong and brave one. And when Miles asks for his gun, he finally understands that Miles really knows and needs him. It’s not a friendship in the good times only, but in the bad ones, too, Miles is someone who was always beside him and is there now, when he needs it the most.
And in that moment, he sees Miles as the light in the darkness, and wants to capture it so badly, so his light maybe can banish his demons. He doesn’t think about it twice, he moves instinctively, as if he knows deep down it’s his remedy.
He doesn’t know which one of them is more surprised when he kisses Miles. It’s only a brief, soft touch of lips, and tastes of salt and alcohol, yet it gives what Sebastian needs the most: someone alive. And he finds a moment of solace in the warmth and solid feels of Miles against him. When he puts his hand against Miles’ chest, he feels the strong and steady rhythm of his heart, and Sebastian can’t think of anything better than that. It has all he longs for: the undeniable proof of life.
When he pulls away, he’s shocked, but casts all the questions about this situation aside; he’ll have the time to mull over everything. He’s too broken now to think about his sexual orientation or the fact that maybe he did ruin his friendship after all, though Miles didn’t push him away, which has to count for something, right?
But he wants to express what he feels, so he hugs Miles tightly to show he needs him to keep himself together. Without him, he feels like a carelessly drawn dot on a piece of paper, he has nothing, and is utterly lost. But maybe with Miles on his side he can find a direction and the other scattered pieces of him along the way, and connect them into one straight, strong line.
Later, when they’re leaving the cemetery, Sebastian says, “You know, if we ever have a fallout or we’re just grown apart, I owe you for today, so don’t hesitate to come and ask for anything.”
Miles just waves off the offer and scoffs at the idea of them being not friends, they don’t even suspect what consequences this one little sentence will have.
NOW
Charlie feels hot and feverish one moment and she’s freezing the next. She remembers fighting with scavengers; they’ve encountered them on the way to a rebel camp, which Nora’s suggested. She can recall the glint of a sword, the clattering of metal on metal, the smell of sweat, the taste of salt and the sweet thrill of adrenaline, but try as she might she can’t get any further than that.
And suddenly, she’s at home, and sits beside a tree. Soft lights pulse in bright colors and lend a fairy tale feeling to the otherwise dim room. The air is full with the scent of pine and cinnamon, and as her mind comes to the conclusion that it’s Christmas, the scene before her abruptly makes sense. Though she’s sure she hasn’t celebrated the holidays like this since the Blackout, but somehow her thoughts are slippery, and she can’t quite place it what is wrong with the picture.
“What are you waiting for, honey?” Her mother’s voice echoes in the eerily silent room, and Charlie absently wonders about the lack of music or singing, which she always associated with the holiday. The quiet somehow turns the cheery picture into an uneasy one, which could be a start of a nightmare.
“Honey,” says her mother again. “Open your present.”
Charlie wants to ask what present she’s talking about, because they’re sitting in a living room with a Christmas tree, but last time she checked there were no gifts anywhere. Her mother’s smile is warm - too warm and soft, Charlie notes, though she doesn’t understand why it’s a ominous thing - as she points down. And as Charlie follows her gaze, there it is, a box, wrapped in cerulean paper with a shiny, blue bow.
It’s supposed to be a blissful sight, but something is bothering Charlie. The box seems harmless, yet it has an underlying sense of danger, and her hands tremble, while she reaches for to unwrap it. She feels a knot of fear in her stomach, as if she’s waiting for some monster to pop out of the box, or fearing she would find a severed hand.
She pulls the crumbling paper aside, and just when she would open the lid, the inner side of her wrist feels like it’s on fire. She jumps up, dropping the box, grabbing at her sleeve, and when she pulls it up, she sees the Militia’s emblem on her skin, and the wound is not scabbed over, it’s burned flesh, oozing blood and throbbing pain again.
“Don’t you like it, Charlotte?” The voice definitely belongs to a man, and there’s a familiar lilt to it, and when she looks up, she only then realizes that Monroe stands before her and her mother vanished. “It’s my gift to you, a reminder.”
Charlie is confused, and the mix of pain and panic makes her falter, “I d-don’t understand. We escaped.” She swallows and takes a deep breath to steady her voice. “We’re far away from you,” she states, and her voice is more confident, than she feels. “It’s a dream.”
“Maybe,” Monroe says with a small smile. It reminds Charlie of sharp and poisonous things.
He steps closer to her, and as much as she wants to move, she can’t. It’s like he cast a spell on her, she can’t escape, her muscles are tense, ready to bolt, but the only thing she can do is to look into those icy blue eyes.
Monroe leans forward and he’s so close Charlie can feel his breath on her cheek as he whispers into her ear.
“You can’t run from me forever,” he says softly, and it sends shivers up her spine. “You will end up on my side, you’ll see.” Then he lightly traces the lines of the Militia’s emblem on her wrists. The scar seems healed again, her skin is sensitive, but what she feels is only partly fear, and that’s what scares her the most.
Whatever held her captive now it’s gone, so she turns and runs for the nearest door, while Monroe’s deep laugh echoes all around her.
As she steps through the door, she’s running in a non-descript, numbingly gray stone maze, and no matter where she turns she feels she has been there before. It’s like an endless nightmare and she can’t wake up. Her energy is slowly fading away, though she’s in good form usually, and can run hours if she needs to, but weirdly she can’t keep up the pace, and her breaths are becoming shorter.
But she only slows down when on one corner she almost stumbles over someone. But solid, warm, familiar hands catch her and hold her. She doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Miles, and she immediately relaxes against him. She does what she haven’t done in a long time, before Miles came into her life, and leans against him: She lets herself to be held, she lets her guards down, and her stone hard façade is slipping away.
Though on the journey to get Danny, she got harder in a way, but with Miles she could be herself, that young woman who needs support and caring from time to time. And with Maggie gone, she had only him; but she has to admit even she’s surprised how much she relies on Miles and how important he became to her.
Miles reaches for her, and cradles her face gently, lifting her chin up, so he can look into her eyes questioningly.
“What were you running from?” he asks, and there is no hint of the ever present sarcasm in his voice, so she thinks she has to look pretty shaken, and all the while she hates herself for how much Monroe affected her.
“Monroe.” It’s all she can manage. “He’s here, and I don’t know how -”
“I’m not gonna let him hurt you, you know that, right?” Miles states with defiance and such certainty, it washes away all of her fears.
And she can’t help it, she nods and smiles, even in such a desperate and weird situation, because this is Miles, and they, in a way, belong together, and not even the feared leader of the Republic could separate them, and when they’re close to each other, everything seems right.
But Miles does something that surprises her, he leans forward, touches his forehead to hers, and only just the sheer closeness of him thrills her. She would, of course, deny if anyone asks her, but her body doesn’t react to Miles as it should. It’s all catching breath, galloping heartbeat and butterflies in the stomach. None of this should feel so good, when it’s so wrong, and Charlie has to push away the thoughts about her parents, because they sure would be ashamed.
But when Miles’ lips are finally brushing against hers, all of her thoughts are gone and there are only soft touches, hungry kisses and low moans of desire, everything she lets herself dream under the cover of night. She can’t believe this is real, it can’t be really happening, or if it is, Miles would sure back off and say it was a mistake. But, she thinks, the sweetest one she’s ever committed and she would cherish the memory of it.
But when she pulls away, she notices that Miles’ eyes are blue, but before she could voice her fear, he cuts her off.
“I will help you, Charlie.” And it’s Miles’ voice, though worried, which doesn’t seem to fit in the picture. And then the velvety darkness swallows up everything.
~oOo~
“I will help you, Charlie,” Miles says, and lets himself do the one thing he swore he wasn’t going to. He leans forward, and kisses Charlie on the lips lightly, it’s only a brief touch, and he knows it’s wrong, hell, kissing any unconscious woman is not something he would be proud of, even if said woman wouldn’t be related to him. But he needs this kiss, and if he’s going to try to pull off his most reckless and craziest plan ever, then he could be a little irresponsible now as well.
Later, when Miles joins the rest of their group around the fire, Nora is the first one to ask, “How is she?”
Miles only shrugs and grunts, which means nothing has changed with Charlie, but he’ll never say that out loud, he doesn’t want to tempt fate any more than he needs to. Aaron and Danny look miserable, and Miles wonders about how they would survive on their own if they didn’t have anyone else. Their problem is not that they’re too sensitive and have warm and fuzzy feelings, but they let these to paralyze them. None of them are trying to save Charlie, they’re just sitting here, and everyone is blaming themselves, while she lies in a makeshift tent not far from them, shivering with high fever.
Miles doesn’t know whose fault it is, or maybe it isn’t anyone’s, but he would like to hold someone responsible, because then he could project his anger on a concrete target. But it doesn’t change the fact that when they were going to a safe house, they’d been attacked by scavengers and freelancers and while they managed to escape with only cuts and bruises, Charlie got an arrow to a leg, then the wound got infected, and without any kind of medicine, they’re where they were with Nora. The only exception is that while they had Drexel and his antibiotics back then, now the whole situation seems hopeless, and the best they can pray for that the rebels have some kind of medication, though they’re at least a week’s journey from there, and no one’s going to say it, but Charlie doesn’t have any chance to live that long.
So that’s why Miles has his own plan set in motion, he isn’t going to lose Charlie no matter the consequences; he’d do anything for her. For a moment his determination surprises him, he never cared for anyone this much.
Miles knows Charlie is the one who saved him, as Maggie so annoyingly pointed out; before her he was lost in his self-appointed exile and the numbing fog of alcohol. He felt like a line, a mass of dots going forever to nowhere, but when Charlie showed up he could connect again to his humanity, which was an unusually infuriating thing, because he carefully built a thick wall around himself on purpose, to not feel the guilt and shame about the horrifying things he had done in the past. But Charlie finds the cracks in his stone cold façade and starts to tear it down. While he knows he can’t go back to being the old, carelessly happy Miles, he at least has a small hope that he could have a normal life again, considering the circumstances, because beside Charlie he lives again, and he thinks he has a chance at redemption. And yes, he knows how stupid this sounds, so idealistic and naïve, he’s like a lovesick teenager, he’s aware of that. And he knows well if someone has this kind of blinding motivation, it could lead to stupid mistakes: like his own plan.
He’s not proud of this, but he has to do it, he has to do something, and the others tried their makeshift remedies and none of them worked. So when they sneaked in to a near town to buy some home made, mostly herbal, medicine for Charlie, Miles started his god-awful plan. He got some extra sedative and sent a message.
And as Miles watches the others get ready for sleep, he wonders about how these small acts will change his life forever, for better or worse. It’s like the damned butterfly effect, but instead of a butterfly’s wing it’s a piece of paper will doom him, but if Charlie gets to live, it’s worth it.
Miles takes the first shift while the others are sleeping, and he’s glad he could organize this arrangement, it’s an important part of his plan. Though Rachel is suspicious and watches him constantly with wary eyes. She was always a strong woman and has reasons to hate him, so it doesn’t bother him; it’s just an inconvenience, especially when he wants to kidnap her daughter. But he has to work with what he’s got and he tries his best for Charlie.
When the others fall asleep, he gets the unconscious Charlie and just walks away from everyone. He doesn’t feel (that much) remorse about what he’s doing, because he was always good at leaving people behind to deal with their problems on their own. He has a kind of déjà vu, he had left Bass the same way after all, when they had too much responsibilities and they couldn’t solve it in an easy way.
But now, Miles tries to rationalize, he doesn’t act only for selfish reasons. One could argue if his love for Charlie counts as this, because no matter how the stories paint love as some sort of pure and blazing thing, and no matter how it can build, it is also capable of destruction, and can be as dark as night, but either way: it’s addictive, sweet and tempting.
Miles worries about what will happen to Charlie, however he doesn’t worry about the others, he’s quite sure he mixed enough sedative in their food to only wake up when he’s long gone. And what if they’re found by Militia or others? He doesn’t really care, and he pulls up his walls again.
~oOo~
“Charlie.” Someone is calling her name, and it takes a little time to focus on her surroundings.
She blinks a few times against the bright light and realizes she sits on a cliff; she swears she’s never been here before. It has a calm, yet still feeling to it, as if it’s one of her old postcards, not a real life scenery, though she feels the warmth of the setting sun on her skin. She can’t resist, she closes her eyes and lets it warm her through. In her mind there is a lingering sense of dread, and she thinks of blue eyes, sharp smiles, burning flesh and monsters, but the peacefulness slowly washes it away.
“Charlie.” Someone is calling her again, and she opens her eyes and turns toward the speaker.
“Danny,” she says with a smile.
It’s so good to be with her brother again, she relaxes just by the sight of his golden hair lit up by the sunlight like a halo, and she’s reminded of angels. And it’s perfectly fitting to Danny, she thinks, because she was always there to put a wall between her brother and the world’s monsters, so he could have a childhood and be innocent a little longer than she has. She never minded this, she liked that she had some important mission, something that her mother trusted her with, it was Charlie’s own little crusade to prove she is a good daughter, to honor her presumably dead mother’s wish. But now that her mother is alive and well, she isn’t sure what it all meant, though she doesn’t regret anything, because she hasn’t wasted her time, Danny’s every smile and carefree moment made it worthwhile.
But now that she’s seen the world as it is, she doesn’t know if she can go back to living in a small town, she wants more from life. Though she knows these are just naïve daydreams, Monroe will hunt them for sure, and all of her life will consist of nothing more than being the prey.
She leans against Danny, and takes comfort from his familiar feel, and wills the darker thoughts away. Danny was always there for her, too, he was the one anchoring her to life, he was her purpose, to put it bluntly. But now she feels that she can finally let go, grow up, step out of her mother’s shadow, and be anyone she wants to be. And funnily enough, Miles is the one who comes to her mind.
“You know, it’s all right,” Danny says, as if he can read her mind. “You have to find him though, before anyone else. You have to help him.”
And though it doesn’t really make sense, she feels the urge to go and find him. But as they both get up, she catches a flaming red spot on Danny’s wrist. It’s just like her insignia, yet it’s so much more, it’s a little flaw on all his soft lines and bright colorings, it shows that he’s seen the dark things, too, no matter how hard she tried to protect him. Danny follows her gaze, and smiles a little sadly, and Charlie notices only now that there is something older in her brother’s eyes.
“You have to follow the road,” Danny instructs, and points to the other side of the cliff.
In the distance, she sees dark and menacing woods, which brings her memories of fairy tales and enchanted forests, and tales about lost siblings, and her anxiety is rearing up again. There is a narrow dirt road criss-crossing through the grassy plain, leading to the dark edge of the trees.
She hesitates only a moment, steels herself, and hugs Danny goodbye, then starts on the road as some book character from the old world.
As she reaches closer and closer to her goal, there are people passing her by. Mostly faceless figures, but once in a while, she sees someone she recognizes. First it’s Aaron, seeming washed out and miserable and as he looks at her he shakes his head, but Charlie continues her way, because she feels with every fiber of her body that she needs to. The next time it’s Maggie, and seeing her alive, breaks Charlie’s heart a little.
“Don’t go there, Charlie, please,” Maggie begs and Charlie only can wipe away her tears, and shake her head, continuing her way to the tempting darkness.
As soon as she reaches the edge, she stops and assesses her surroundings. Up close the trees look ancient with huge trunks and deep dark, almost black barks, and the branches grown so closely, they don’t let any light through. Still, she can see something pale, glinting on the ground, just inside the edge of the forest.
“Don’t.” Nora’s voice is terse, and any other time Charlie would listen to her, but she hears a soft hum, something akin to melody. Charlie doesn’t even bother to turn to Nora, she doesn’t need to see the other’s probably judging eyes, but she doesn’t move. Not yet. “Don’t go in there, Charlie, stay here.”
“Why? What is here for me?” she asks indignantly, because the song tells her whatever she really needs is in the deep dark forest, she just needs to get to it.
“Your father. Maggie. Happiness,” Nora replies, but with each name Charlie feels a stab of hurt, but doesn’t give in. Now, she knows, she’s dying, she has to, because her father is dead, his blood dried on her hands, so she remembers that painfully clear.
“I don’t want to die,” Charlie states simply, and yes, there was a time when she was so tired, she just wanted to sleep and never wake up, but there is something out there to live for.
“But, Charlie, do you think what you have out there is life? You are barely twenty, you should have fun and do silly things, fall in love, not march into a bloody civil war. That is no life, that’s living undead.”
Charlie can’t say anything only shakes her head defiantly.
“Here you can have an easy life,” the something, which wears Nora’s face says.
“But that’s the thing, I don’t want easy.” And with that she’s off into the woods, and as she reaches near the first pale thing on the ground, she sees it’s a bone, probably human.
She shivers, but crosses her arms to keep herself warm and walks along the path of bones in the near dark. She follows the haunting melody through the forest, her heart beating with anticipation, and in the end of the road, she finds the monster with blue eyes.
~oOo~
“So, are you going to help?” Miles asks with pretended indifference, though he knows he doesn’t fool anyone.
“Oh my, aren’t we in a hurry?” Bass replies, and sips his drink, comfortably leaning against a rickety table.
They met in an old, abandoned house, one of the many they had used as their hideouts. It was Miles’ idea to keep safe houses in case of emergency, and he’s a little shocked that Bass didn’t demolish them.
“Well, time is of the essence, you know,” Miles grumbles, but tries to keep his voice non-offensive, a hard thing to do, especially now when Charlie lies on the couch, breathing shallowly, and her skin is paler than ever.
“I don’t even recognize you, Miles Matheson,” he clearly mocks him with the usage of his full name, but Miles keeps his temper in check and doesn’t do anything.
“You owe me, Bass,” he says through gritted teeth, and clenches his fists.
Bass doesn’t reply immediately, but halfheartedly plays with his glass, and cocks his head.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even dare to bring that up,” he says evenly, with the barest hint of a smile.
Miles can’t help it, but thinks of how much Bass has changed: he is almost like a sociopath with a detached, calm veneer, but underneath all that there is nothing left, just a gaping abyss, a dark hole. He wonders if Bass was this hollow since his family’s death, or he’s to blame, because after all he dragged Bass into this.
“You tried to kill me, Miles, and not just once, if I remember correctly.” He looks to Charlie, staring her with such intensity, as if he’s trying to imagine her without clothes. Miles would really like to punch Bass in the face right now, but that probably wouldn’t help. “You said,” Bass continues somewhat indignant, his voice raised just a notch. “I’m not your family, that you have one. Her.” Bass spats the last word with such emphasis as if it tastes bitter on his tongue.
Miles would laugh at Bass’ plain hurt and jealousy, if it wasn’t a life or death situation.
“Come on, it’s a fair trade,” he insists. “You can have me, Charlie gets antibiotics and everyone’s happy.”
“You overestimate your own value, I hope you know that,” Bass says, but puts down the glass.
“I didn’t say you want me alive, but you can have your little revenge fantasy, torture me, whatever.”
“And what makes you think I can’t have that now?” he asks matter-of-factly, as if he has armed men everywhere. But Miles knows him too well, and he’s sure he came alone, because if he gets what he wants - and he will - all alone, it proves that he’s better than Miles Matheson.
Miles doesn’t reply, his silence says more, and Bass puts on that annoying smirk of his.
“Excellent. Then you have my word.” That’s all he says for a long time.
While they’re waiting for transport - presumably a helicopter, no less than that would suffice for an occasion like this -, Bass turns toward the defeated and handcuffed Miles.
“It’s an interesting thing, isn’t?”
“What?” Miles asks when it’s clear that Bass isn’t going to continue.
“Love,” he answers. “One little world, and it can bring anyone’s downfall. If it’s too strong, it can turn into acid and burn a hole in you. And that’s why losing someone is the worst torture.” A moment of theatrical silence later, he goes on. “I’m wondering how much do you love this girl and I think I’m about to find out.”
Miles doesn’t dare to say anything, because literally Charlie’s life is in Bass’ hands. He can only silently pray for that Charlie would get better, and then they would somehow escape. And above all he wishes he didn’t make a too big mistake, one he can’t right. On the other hand, he wonders if his unhealthy attraction to Charlie is really that obvious.
And here it is that little flaw which most people have, he let the emotions cloud his judgments, but he hasn’t really regretted it yet, while Charlie gets to live, all is well. Because he felt himself a handful of scattered pieces of himself, which he could put into a straight line, but he was lost in a vast and empty space. But when Charlie is there, she’s like a parallel line beside him, always there, giving him support, purpose, but in the end they could never touch, they could never have a life together. Miles would be happy with parallel lives though, if they get to live at all.
SOON
She’s reading again, sitting on the couch in the living room, with a steaming cup of a tea keeping her company. She can be so absorbed in books, that anyone can talk to her and she wouldn’t hear it. He envies this ability from her, he can enjoy reading, but all of his troubles are a constant weight on his shoulders. Sometimes he wishes life would be simpler, but wishes never come true only in - ironically - stories.
He watches her silently, and wonders about how much she looks like her mother. Funny, he thinks, how he wanted to break her, just to hurt Miles and obviously Rachel for their betrayals, but then he really saw her: she has some unique spark, which can shine through any darkness. She’s stubborn, cunning, clever, a brilliant fighter, and yet she doesn’t let this new world freeze her, she preserves that light and warmth which is the echo of a long gone era.
At first, he wanted to pull her into pieces, slice her up to see how she works, and she was nothing more to him than an object, a prize he can claim, and blackmail material to Miles. But as time passed by she get under his skin, and then slowly step by step fell for her. Well, he can’t honestly say they have a healthy relationship, but in these circumstances he takes anything he gets, and after all, who has the right to define what love is.
When she murmurs something softly, he decides to step into the room and sit beside her. She immediately reacts: she smiles at him, closes her book and leans against him. He has to admit sometimes he still thinks that all of this is a dream, however things are far from perfect, but at least he feels better, and a selfish part of him, which doesn’t care about governing or helping people, is absolutely satisfied with this situation.
“What were you saying?” he asks, as he caresses lightly her face. He remembers a time when there was hate blazing in her eyes, but now it’s all loyalty and acceptance, things he usually doesn’t see on anyone else that much.
“It was a poem,” she replies. “I’m searching for the full version; I’ve read a few verses from it a long time ago, and it came to my mind the other night.”
Sebastian looks at Charlie with a questioning look, arching one eyebrow. Charlie responds with a light nudge of her shoulder.
“Come on, even we had books back at home, don’t look so surprised,” she says. “And I was always searching for more.”
This he knew, she’s adventurous and restless, she can’t sit in one place for long, so that’s why he sends her to here and there, retrieving this piece of tech or that. And obviously that’s why he puts so much effort into increasing his library’s amount of books. He can easily picture her go scavenge hunting for mementos from the old world, even when she was little.
“What’s the poem?” he asks. “Maybe I’ve heard it, or I can ask around.”
“It has been noted that / a line is a collection of points / along a straight path / that continues / forever / in opposite directions. / Two lines that go / on and on indefinitely / and never / intersect are parallel. / Lines that intersect, / forming ninety-degree angles, / are / called perpendicular. / Perpendicular lines cross / each other, as / parallel / lines never can. Today, / I’m thinking about how easy / it is to be perpendicular. / And about how, while parallel / lines / may not intersect, / parallel lives often do.” She pauses, as if thinking hard, if she can remember more, but just shrugs. “There was something about triangles before it, I’m sure.”
“Mathematic definitions to represent relationships. Interesting,” he states, and it is, really. It’s truly amazing how the author used the simple and sterile things to explain the messy and complex ones.
“You really think so?”
“Yes. You have good taste, and I’ll look for the poem, I promise” he says with a smile, and leans in to kiss her, not saying, but suggesting that she doesn’t have excellent taste only in literature.
Her lips are soft, tastes of sugar and something he calls ‘hope’ in his mind, because whenever they share a moment, her warmth seems to melt him, and smooth his jagged edges around the hole in his chest.
He understand perfectly well why Miles fell for her, because she’s a little like he was back when things were much simpler. And maybe the world will never be the same again, and Charlie, Miles and Sebastian lost too much, went through too much to get back what they’re missing, but they have each other.
And Sebastian thinks that yes, the poem is perfectly fitting to them: They were scattered pieces of themselves, three wobbly lines. They were three parallel lives and it’s really fascinating how the coincidences or fate brought them together, when they needed each other. Because they may be three unsteady lines separately, but together they form a strong, if not perfect triangle, and they could have their happy ending in their unique way.