Fic: Let me hear you speaking just for me
Let me hear you speaking just for me, Charlie, Bass, Rachel, (mentions of Charlie/Miles, mentions of past Charlie/Bass) AU, PG (swearing), (2,543 words) || Prompt: Bargain.
She remembers back to Rachel and Ben’s wedding, when Bass'd gotten drunk, and she’d almost taken advantage of the situation. Bridesmaids were supposed to get off with groomsmen right?
Author's notes: Okay, so basically my mind is crazy. And it wanted me to do this, so it happened and it's not every good. Charlie and Rachel are sisters: there's a 8 year age difference, Bass is 4 years younger than Miles, this fic takes place 10 years after the Blackout. Charlie was 21 when the lights went out. She's just as intelligent as Rachel, if less stabby and more sarcastic. And now, Bass has had Charlie brought to Philly, were she's surprised and a little pissed off to find her sister's still living and being threatened. I don't know why i wrote this. *sighs* And now there's bonus Jeremy for no good reason at the end...
She doesn’t tell Bass she can get the power back on.
Not that's she's a hundred percent sure she could but-
His eyes are a touch too bright, his once full mouth, thin and twisted. She can feel Rachel at her back waiting for her to spill over. It might be what her sister deserves, or even - perish the thought - the right thing to do in the long run. But there's something to be said for family. Even family that should be dead.
Bass takes steps closer and Charlie has to focus very hard not to roll her eyes, she knows she's supposed to be scared... but really, she just wants to slap him. Or, Kiss him. Maybe, grab his broad shoulders and shake him. Anything to mess up the smug look on his face that says he’s in control.
She remembers back to Rachel and Ben’s wedding, when Bass'd gotten drunk, and she’d almost taken advantage of the situation. Bridesmaids were supposed to get off with groomsmen right? She’d only been sixteen, but something tells her it had been the thought of what Miles (not that he'd had a claim on her at that point, but there'd been significant eye contact) would do (not to mention Rachel would have freaked) if they'd been discovered, that stopped it going further. Bass'd kissed her, sure, an unsteadily hand settling at the base of her neck to press her close. He’d tasted like champagne and that ridiculously sweet strawberry icing from the wedding cake. And when they broken apart, she'd found herself sitting half in his lap, one of her hands under his shirt, flat to his rib cage.
Her heart had been beating so fast, Charlie had honestly thought she might be about to pass out, it was weird how you could imagine something only to be completely wrong about great it could be.
(Oh, to be sixteen again)
He’d looked at her for a long moment and then tugged on a loose strand of hair with a smile, and asked if she might be so kind as to help him stand up because he didn’t quite have his sea legs just yet. (Why Rachel had wanted to get married at sea, Charlie would never understand, half the guests were green around the gills, Dad included. But - what Princess Rachel wanted, Princess Rachel got.) They'd returned to the main room together, Bass staying half a step behind her. They'd paused at the door to the main room, listening to the music (disco, why couldn't it just die already), when he'd reached over and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it for a moment, before walking off to join Ben's friends who were trying to remove a drunken Miles from the dance floor.
There had been no need to ruin a perfectly good moment with talking.
Bass reaches out and strokes her cheek with a finger and something clicks inside her, like he’s just cocked a gun. She steps into him, fingers hooking into his coat, swinging him around a bit, and forcing him to follow.
“Tell me what you want,” she says softly, inches from his face. “Or take it. Playing your little mind games may work on the rest of the population…but we’re not the rest.”
A weird little smile twists his mouth, like he’s not sure how to do it anymore and his hands cover hers, before plucking them free of their grip on him. “And what do you think I want, Charlotte?”
“Everything,” Charlie says carefully, breathing the word right into his face. Focus on me. “But what I don’t understand is why you need me.”
“You don’t?”
Charlie remembers Bass at her wedding, he’d looked trapped and uncomfortable, like it was him she was frog marching down the aisle, he couldn’t stop pulling at his borrowed tie and grimacing. She’d asked if he had somewhere else he needed to be, and he’d grinned, shaking his head and offered his car as a getaway vehicle - telling her there was still had time to bolt. (She should have run - Rachel would tell her later - it would have made things simpler) But she’d rebuffed him; Porters don’t run, not from Monroes and certainly not from Mathesons.
(At least before the Blackout Porters didn't run from Mathesons. Afterward, all bets were off.)
They’d been in Canada of all places, the three of them, and she can’t remember whose idea it was to go, Bass in the months afterwards, would swear black and blue it wasn’t his. And why they’d told everyone they were going to Vegas, then gone to Canada, would probably forever remain a mystery, but she’d had the text messages - from Rachel, full of expletives, capitals and exclamation marks - as proof that they'd done exactly that.
It turns out you shouldn’t have a booze filled weekend away with your sort of boyfriend - who flinches every time you use that word - and his best friend, because you might just end up agreeing to proposals that again, no one can pinpoint the origin of. For weeks afterwards Miles refused to even admit that it had probably been caused by him saying it jokingly (thereby making all of it his fault)...despite the fact that he had no better explanation.
But that’s how it had always been with Miles; difficult, mysterious and fun. From fighting feelings and dodging looks at christmas and thanksgiving, to drunken one night stands whenever he was in town and she was back from college - to semi-secret dating (where Rachel glared and pretended not to notice how close they stood together), to weekends away with fake names at motels...ending in whatever their wedding day had been, other than a total mess. Of course Charlie had been happy, and of course she’d been completely certain of herself and her feelings during the vows, and of course she’d felt like she might just burst with how much she loved Miles in that moment because they were now officially each others person for…well, forever. But that’s how you’re supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be a whole year of that.
But they’d got eight months, and then the Blackout happened.
(And it had taken a year, but she'd eventually tracked down Rachel, Ben and the kid. Staying with them long enough to get the whole story, and promise she wouldn't use it against them. Hell, she loved Danny as much as anyone; they'd find another way to fix things.
But by the time she'd return to Philly - and local gossip had already prepared her a little - Miles wasn't the man she'd known and loved. He was the Butcher of Baltimore. Any thoughts of returning the lights fell by the wayside, as she learned that not only were all the stories true, they'd left out the sheer egotistical size which Miles and Bass' heads had grown to. Bass playing at dictator while Miles went out to cut people up day after day.
Sadly, she’d actually stuck around for a few years, thinking it had to get better. Thinking he’d eventually be the man he was before. But he'd just gotten worse, more pigheaded, and she’d run. Drugging his whisky and stealing away in the middle of the night. Probably a mistake again, because when Miles had run a few months later, things had got a lot worse for everyone. But she hadn't had the heart to kill either of them, which is probably what it would have taken.)
“Is it for my charming personality?” Charlie teases. “You want tips on how to win friends and influence people?”
“Charlotte,” Bass says smoothly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Charlie drops the pretence with a sigh.
“I don’t know where he is,” she says, not sure if she’s talking about Ben or Miles, or both. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you for all the world. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don't know if you noticed but the world ended,” he snaps, fingers tightening over hers. “And everyone abandoned me.”
"Miles tried to kill you," she retorts. "Did that hurt your 'ittle feelings?"
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and Charlie feels a stab of guilt she doesn't want to deal with.
“Jesus Christ, Bass,” Charlie sighs. “Pity party, table for one?”
“I’d be very careful about what you say to me,” he warns coldly, and Charlie doesn’t doubt for a second he’s got half a dozen terrible things in mind as punishment. It should stop her, but she’s not in the mood to be stopped.
“Can I fuck it better?” she asks sweetly. "Just once up against the wall. I know you've been aching to cross that one off your bucket list ever since I got legal."
Bass' jaw twitches, but it's only when the floorboards creak behind him that Charlie remembers her sister’s still in the room. Awk-ward.
“So..." Charlie yanks her hands from his grip. Needing to get some distance between them, she strides over to take a seat on his desk. This isn't suggestive at all. “What can I do for you, oh great overlord?”
She reaches over for the whisky decanter and a tumbler, and pours herself a stiff drink. She's raising it to her mouth when he speaks.
“I want you to bring Miles here.”
She sniffs and sets the tumbler down.
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Ah,” Charlie says, hopping off his desk. “Well, what’s to stop me agreeing and then running as far from this hellhole as humanly possible?”
Bass looks pointedly at Rachel.
“Riiiight,” Charlie sighs, grudgingly. “Hostage.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And what’s to stop me killing you here and now? Your manly might?”
“You’d never make it out of here alive.”
Unable to help it, Charlie laughs.
“And what on earth makes you think living is my idea of great time? Have you seen the world lately? Your little corner is troubled, sure, but the world at large, now that’s scary…I do not recommend California. Avoid Disneyworld at all costs.”
“You left the Republic?” Rachel asks, speaking up for the first time since her sister entered the room.
“I was looking for someone,” Charlie says. “An old friend.” Information.
Rachel frowns at that and Charlie tilts her head, “Family friend.” Stop being so nosy.
“Who?” Bass cuts in, and Charlie turns to him with a grin.
“None of your business. So, if I find Miles and bring him here - allowing you to do god knows what to him - are Rachel and I free to go?”
“I can’t promise that.”
"You know, it's almost like you're not giving me a choice."
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
“We both know Miles is a better way to get to Ben than Rachel is. Not to mention, Miles could probably find Ben a lot quicker than Tom can.”
At Bass' frown, Charlie raises her eyebrows; “I travelled two days with Jeremy. Did you honestly think he wouldn’t talk?”
"But then I'd need something that Miles wants, something he'd sacrifice his brother for," this time Bass gives Charlie gets a genuine smile, "are you be offering yourself as bait?"
Charlie's mouth opens and closes, and she rolls her eyes. "In your dreams."
Bass walks over to take a seat at his desk, giving Charlie the distinct impression she’s dismissed. “Captain Neville will meet you outside. You'll leave immediately for Chicago. Say goodbye to your sister.”
“No.”
Bass eyes Charlie and she eyes him right back.
"It's settled, Charlotte."
“No. One, Neville hates me. I was married to the second most powerful man in this entire fucked up empire. I may not have liked it - but it happened. And I was rumoured to be fucking the most powerful man,” she gestures between them, “but I swear if Tom could have come up with a clever way to hide my corpse, he would have killed me without a second thought.”
Bass taps the desktop with a finger. “And two...”
“Two,” Charlie collapses into one of the chairs opposite his ridiculously massive desk. Adequacy issues much, Bass? “I would have killed him... if I could have come up with a clever enough way to make sure Julia never suspected me. And three, Neville's authority issues make mine look insignificant. If he were a postman I would say he’s two letters from going postal. But no... he’s what? Your fifth in command and you give that maniac a gun…although I guess in that respect he fits right in with all the other maniacs under your employee-”
“Charlotte.”
“Send me with Jeremy. I trust Jeremy…to an extent.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Bass says, and picks up her abandoned drink.
“Your whiskey’s been poisoned,” Charlie murmurs, propping her feet up on his desk. “Just FYI.”
Bass lowers the tumbler, setting it on the desk with a glower. “Get your feet off my desk.”
“You’ll notice,” Charlie says, not removing her feet. “That it smells a little overtly sweet. Or, maybe you won’t,” she smiles, “coz habitual drinkers tend to lose some of their smell over time.”
“Why not let me drink it?”
Charlie sweeps her feet off the desk and stands up. “We used to be friends once." She glances back at her sister. “And your minions would have thought it was us.”
“Would have been worth it,” Rachel says softly.
“Perhaps,” Charlie admits, and turns back to Bass. “But now he owes me. And I want Jeremy as my travelling companion, not Tom.”
Rolling his eyes, Bass stands up and heads for the door. “Fine. But if you're not back in a month with Miles, your sister will suffer for it.”
“What are you planning, Charlie?” Rachel asks, moving closer to her sister while Monroe’s occupied making arrangements with the men stationed outside his office.
“I’m going to find Miles, kick some sense into him, drag him back to the Hellmouth, get him to kick some sense into Bass, get you out of here and back to Ben and the munchkin, and if there’s time: save the world and get laid - in that order,” Charlie grins, moving over to wrap her sister in a big hug. “Don’t go crazy while I’m away, people have a habit of doing that.”
“Don’t get hurt trying to do the right thing,” Rachel replies, squeezing her baby sister tightly.
“You are the absolute worst at giving advice.”
“Not that you’ve ever listened to me.”
Charlie pulls back with a sigh.
“That's because I’ve always known better.”
Rachel quirks an eyebrow, “Even when it came to Miles?”
Charlie makes a face. “So you were right one time in your life,” she admits. "That doesn't give you the right to hold it over me forever. I'm sure if Ben had been in the same position he'd have..." Charlie shakes her head, not even bothering to go on. "You know, it's hard to know that your significant other has dictator tendencies until the blood is running down the streets, Rachel."
Rachel laughs and punches her shoulder. “Stay safe.”
“I’ll be with Jeremy,” Charlie assures her, starting over to the door where Bass is gesturing for her impatiently. “Safe as houses.”
______________
One week later, Jeremy's men are all dead. It's raining. And there's not a tree in sight.
[And I don't know why I kept writing...]
Jeremy lets out a low whistle.
"This is your fault, you know."
"My fault?" Charlie scoffs. "I wasn't leading everyone to their doom."
"Rule six," Jeremy reminds and Charlie makes a face but drops the subject.
("Rule six: No trying to make me feel bad."
Charlie starts laughing, before she realises he's serious. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope," Jeremy says. "If you can have rule five, then it's only fair I get rule six."
"Rule five means you can't sniff my hair. If I can't make fun of you were not going to have anything to talk about," Charlie complains, ignoring the men walking nearest them who roll their eyes.
"We could talk about how you met General Monroe."
Charlie stares at Jeremy for a long moment. "I... don't want to tell that story," she glances around meaningfully. "Not in public, and certainly not sober. So I guess I'm just going to have to learn about you. What did you do before the Blackout?"
Jeremy grins. "Did you ever collect Pokemon?")
"I could be home right now, knee-deep in pus-"
"Jeremy!" Charlie wails putting her hands over ears, and they both stops walking. "Okay, new rule."
Jeremy's sandy brows quirk and he looks at her expectantly. "Rule twenty-six?"
"Twenty-seven," Charlie corrects, pushing back her wet hair. "Remember, rule twenty-six is no splashing."
"Oh yeah." Jeremy motions for her to go on.
"Rule Twenty-seven: I don't want to hear about your sex life. Ever."
"Fine," Jeremy grumbles. "You're missing out though."
He's quiet for a moment as they resume walking.
"So how did you meet Monroe?"
Charlie smirks. "He'd kill me if I told you." They share grin. "Okay, did you ever watch the show power rangers..."
She remembers back to Rachel and Ben’s wedding, when Bass'd gotten drunk, and she’d almost taken advantage of the situation. Bridesmaids were supposed to get off with groomsmen right?
Author's notes: Okay, so basically my mind is crazy. And it wanted me to do this, so it happened and it's not every good. Charlie and Rachel are sisters: there's a 8 year age difference, Bass is 4 years younger than Miles, this fic takes place 10 years after the Blackout. Charlie was 21 when the lights went out. She's just as intelligent as Rachel, if less stabby and more sarcastic. And now, Bass has had Charlie brought to Philly, were she's surprised and a little pissed off to find her sister's still living and being threatened. I don't know why i wrote this. *sighs* And now there's bonus Jeremy for no good reason at the end...
She doesn’t tell Bass she can get the power back on.
Not that's she's a hundred percent sure she could but-
His eyes are a touch too bright, his once full mouth, thin and twisted. She can feel Rachel at her back waiting for her to spill over. It might be what her sister deserves, or even - perish the thought - the right thing to do in the long run. But there's something to be said for family. Even family that should be dead.
Bass takes steps closer and Charlie has to focus very hard not to roll her eyes, she knows she's supposed to be scared... but really, she just wants to slap him. Or, Kiss him. Maybe, grab his broad shoulders and shake him. Anything to mess up the smug look on his face that says he’s in control.
She remembers back to Rachel and Ben’s wedding, when Bass'd gotten drunk, and she’d almost taken advantage of the situation. Bridesmaids were supposed to get off with groomsmen right? She’d only been sixteen, but something tells her it had been the thought of what Miles (not that he'd had a claim on her at that point, but there'd been significant eye contact) would do (not to mention Rachel would have freaked) if they'd been discovered, that stopped it going further. Bass'd kissed her, sure, an unsteadily hand settling at the base of her neck to press her close. He’d tasted like champagne and that ridiculously sweet strawberry icing from the wedding cake. And when they broken apart, she'd found herself sitting half in his lap, one of her hands under his shirt, flat to his rib cage.
Her heart had been beating so fast, Charlie had honestly thought she might be about to pass out, it was weird how you could imagine something only to be completely wrong about great it could be.
(Oh, to be sixteen again)
He’d looked at her for a long moment and then tugged on a loose strand of hair with a smile, and asked if she might be so kind as to help him stand up because he didn’t quite have his sea legs just yet. (Why Rachel had wanted to get married at sea, Charlie would never understand, half the guests were green around the gills, Dad included. But - what Princess Rachel wanted, Princess Rachel got.) They'd returned to the main room together, Bass staying half a step behind her. They'd paused at the door to the main room, listening to the music (disco, why couldn't it just die already), when he'd reached over and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it for a moment, before walking off to join Ben's friends who were trying to remove a drunken Miles from the dance floor.
There had been no need to ruin a perfectly good moment with talking.
Bass reaches out and strokes her cheek with a finger and something clicks inside her, like he’s just cocked a gun. She steps into him, fingers hooking into his coat, swinging him around a bit, and forcing him to follow.
“Tell me what you want,” she says softly, inches from his face. “Or take it. Playing your little mind games may work on the rest of the population…but we’re not the rest.”
A weird little smile twists his mouth, like he’s not sure how to do it anymore and his hands cover hers, before plucking them free of their grip on him. “And what do you think I want, Charlotte?”
“Everything,” Charlie says carefully, breathing the word right into his face. Focus on me. “But what I don’t understand is why you need me.”
“You don’t?”
Charlie remembers Bass at her wedding, he’d looked trapped and uncomfortable, like it was him she was frog marching down the aisle, he couldn’t stop pulling at his borrowed tie and grimacing. She’d asked if he had somewhere else he needed to be, and he’d grinned, shaking his head and offered his car as a getaway vehicle - telling her there was still had time to bolt. (She should have run - Rachel would tell her later - it would have made things simpler) But she’d rebuffed him; Porters don’t run, not from Monroes and certainly not from Mathesons.
(At least before the Blackout Porters didn't run from Mathesons. Afterward, all bets were off.)
They’d been in Canada of all places, the three of them, and she can’t remember whose idea it was to go, Bass in the months afterwards, would swear black and blue it wasn’t his. And why they’d told everyone they were going to Vegas, then gone to Canada, would probably forever remain a mystery, but she’d had the text messages - from Rachel, full of expletives, capitals and exclamation marks - as proof that they'd done exactly that.
It turns out you shouldn’t have a booze filled weekend away with your sort of boyfriend - who flinches every time you use that word - and his best friend, because you might just end up agreeing to proposals that again, no one can pinpoint the origin of. For weeks afterwards Miles refused to even admit that it had probably been caused by him saying it jokingly (thereby making all of it his fault)...despite the fact that he had no better explanation.
But that’s how it had always been with Miles; difficult, mysterious and fun. From fighting feelings and dodging looks at christmas and thanksgiving, to drunken one night stands whenever he was in town and she was back from college - to semi-secret dating (where Rachel glared and pretended not to notice how close they stood together), to weekends away with fake names at motels...ending in whatever their wedding day had been, other than a total mess. Of course Charlie had been happy, and of course she’d been completely certain of herself and her feelings during the vows, and of course she’d felt like she might just burst with how much she loved Miles in that moment because they were now officially each others person for…well, forever. But that’s how you’re supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be a whole year of that.
But they’d got eight months, and then the Blackout happened.
(And it had taken a year, but she'd eventually tracked down Rachel, Ben and the kid. Staying with them long enough to get the whole story, and promise she wouldn't use it against them. Hell, she loved Danny as much as anyone; they'd find another way to fix things.
But by the time she'd return to Philly - and local gossip had already prepared her a little - Miles wasn't the man she'd known and loved. He was the Butcher of Baltimore. Any thoughts of returning the lights fell by the wayside, as she learned that not only were all the stories true, they'd left out the sheer egotistical size which Miles and Bass' heads had grown to. Bass playing at dictator while Miles went out to cut people up day after day.
Sadly, she’d actually stuck around for a few years, thinking it had to get better. Thinking he’d eventually be the man he was before. But he'd just gotten worse, more pigheaded, and she’d run. Drugging his whisky and stealing away in the middle of the night. Probably a mistake again, because when Miles had run a few months later, things had got a lot worse for everyone. But she hadn't had the heart to kill either of them, which is probably what it would have taken.)
“Is it for my charming personality?” Charlie teases. “You want tips on how to win friends and influence people?”
“Charlotte,” Bass says smoothly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Charlie drops the pretence with a sigh.
“I don’t know where he is,” she says, not sure if she’s talking about Ben or Miles, or both. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you for all the world. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don't know if you noticed but the world ended,” he snaps, fingers tightening over hers. “And everyone abandoned me.”
"Miles tried to kill you," she retorts. "Did that hurt your 'ittle feelings?"
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and Charlie feels a stab of guilt she doesn't want to deal with.
“Jesus Christ, Bass,” Charlie sighs. “Pity party, table for one?”
“I’d be very careful about what you say to me,” he warns coldly, and Charlie doesn’t doubt for a second he’s got half a dozen terrible things in mind as punishment. It should stop her, but she’s not in the mood to be stopped.
“Can I fuck it better?” she asks sweetly. "Just once up against the wall. I know you've been aching to cross that one off your bucket list ever since I got legal."
Bass' jaw twitches, but it's only when the floorboards creak behind him that Charlie remembers her sister’s still in the room. Awk-ward.
“So..." Charlie yanks her hands from his grip. Needing to get some distance between them, she strides over to take a seat on his desk. This isn't suggestive at all. “What can I do for you, oh great overlord?”
She reaches over for the whisky decanter and a tumbler, and pours herself a stiff drink. She's raising it to her mouth when he speaks.
“I want you to bring Miles here.”
She sniffs and sets the tumbler down.
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Ah,” Charlie says, hopping off his desk. “Well, what’s to stop me agreeing and then running as far from this hellhole as humanly possible?”
Bass looks pointedly at Rachel.
“Riiiight,” Charlie sighs, grudgingly. “Hostage.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And what’s to stop me killing you here and now? Your manly might?”
“You’d never make it out of here alive.”
Unable to help it, Charlie laughs.
“And what on earth makes you think living is my idea of great time? Have you seen the world lately? Your little corner is troubled, sure, but the world at large, now that’s scary…I do not recommend California. Avoid Disneyworld at all costs.”
“You left the Republic?” Rachel asks, speaking up for the first time since her sister entered the room.
“I was looking for someone,” Charlie says. “An old friend.” Information.
Rachel frowns at that and Charlie tilts her head, “Family friend.” Stop being so nosy.
“Who?” Bass cuts in, and Charlie turns to him with a grin.
“None of your business. So, if I find Miles and bring him here - allowing you to do god knows what to him - are Rachel and I free to go?”
“I can’t promise that.”
"You know, it's almost like you're not giving me a choice."
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
“We both know Miles is a better way to get to Ben than Rachel is. Not to mention, Miles could probably find Ben a lot quicker than Tom can.”
At Bass' frown, Charlie raises her eyebrows; “I travelled two days with Jeremy. Did you honestly think he wouldn’t talk?”
"But then I'd need something that Miles wants, something he'd sacrifice his brother for," this time Bass gives Charlie gets a genuine smile, "are you be offering yourself as bait?"
Charlie's mouth opens and closes, and she rolls her eyes. "In your dreams."
Bass walks over to take a seat at his desk, giving Charlie the distinct impression she’s dismissed. “Captain Neville will meet you outside. You'll leave immediately for Chicago. Say goodbye to your sister.”
“No.”
Bass eyes Charlie and she eyes him right back.
"It's settled, Charlotte."
“No. One, Neville hates me. I was married to the second most powerful man in this entire fucked up empire. I may not have liked it - but it happened. And I was rumoured to be fucking the most powerful man,” she gestures between them, “but I swear if Tom could have come up with a clever way to hide my corpse, he would have killed me without a second thought.”
Bass taps the desktop with a finger. “And two...”
“Two,” Charlie collapses into one of the chairs opposite his ridiculously massive desk. Adequacy issues much, Bass? “I would have killed him... if I could have come up with a clever enough way to make sure Julia never suspected me. And three, Neville's authority issues make mine look insignificant. If he were a postman I would say he’s two letters from going postal. But no... he’s what? Your fifth in command and you give that maniac a gun…although I guess in that respect he fits right in with all the other maniacs under your employee-”
“Charlotte.”
“Send me with Jeremy. I trust Jeremy…to an extent.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Bass says, and picks up her abandoned drink.
“Your whiskey’s been poisoned,” Charlie murmurs, propping her feet up on his desk. “Just FYI.”
Bass lowers the tumbler, setting it on the desk with a glower. “Get your feet off my desk.”
“You’ll notice,” Charlie says, not removing her feet. “That it smells a little overtly sweet. Or, maybe you won’t,” she smiles, “coz habitual drinkers tend to lose some of their smell over time.”
“Why not let me drink it?”
Charlie sweeps her feet off the desk and stands up. “We used to be friends once." She glances back at her sister. “And your minions would have thought it was us.”
“Would have been worth it,” Rachel says softly.
“Perhaps,” Charlie admits, and turns back to Bass. “But now he owes me. And I want Jeremy as my travelling companion, not Tom.”
Rolling his eyes, Bass stands up and heads for the door. “Fine. But if you're not back in a month with Miles, your sister will suffer for it.”
“What are you planning, Charlie?” Rachel asks, moving closer to her sister while Monroe’s occupied making arrangements with the men stationed outside his office.
“I’m going to find Miles, kick some sense into him, drag him back to the Hellmouth, get him to kick some sense into Bass, get you out of here and back to Ben and the munchkin, and if there’s time: save the world and get laid - in that order,” Charlie grins, moving over to wrap her sister in a big hug. “Don’t go crazy while I’m away, people have a habit of doing that.”
“Don’t get hurt trying to do the right thing,” Rachel replies, squeezing her baby sister tightly.
“You are the absolute worst at giving advice.”
“Not that you’ve ever listened to me.”
Charlie pulls back with a sigh.
“That's because I’ve always known better.”
Rachel quirks an eyebrow, “Even when it came to Miles?”
Charlie makes a face. “So you were right one time in your life,” she admits. "That doesn't give you the right to hold it over me forever. I'm sure if Ben had been in the same position he'd have..." Charlie shakes her head, not even bothering to go on. "You know, it's hard to know that your significant other has dictator tendencies until the blood is running down the streets, Rachel."
Rachel laughs and punches her shoulder. “Stay safe.”
“I’ll be with Jeremy,” Charlie assures her, starting over to the door where Bass is gesturing for her impatiently. “Safe as houses.”
______________
One week later, Jeremy's men are all dead. It's raining. And there's not a tree in sight.
[And I don't know why I kept writing...]
Jeremy lets out a low whistle.
"This is your fault, you know."
"My fault?" Charlie scoffs. "I wasn't leading everyone to their doom."
"Rule six," Jeremy reminds and Charlie makes a face but drops the subject.
("Rule six: No trying to make me feel bad."
Charlie starts laughing, before she realises he's serious. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope," Jeremy says. "If you can have rule five, then it's only fair I get rule six."
"Rule five means you can't sniff my hair. If I can't make fun of you were not going to have anything to talk about," Charlie complains, ignoring the men walking nearest them who roll their eyes.
"We could talk about how you met General Monroe."
Charlie stares at Jeremy for a long moment. "I... don't want to tell that story," she glances around meaningfully. "Not in public, and certainly not sober. So I guess I'm just going to have to learn about you. What did you do before the Blackout?"
Jeremy grins. "Did you ever collect Pokemon?")
"I could be home right now, knee-deep in pus-"
"Jeremy!" Charlie wails putting her hands over ears, and they both stops walking. "Okay, new rule."
Jeremy's sandy brows quirk and he looks at her expectantly. "Rule twenty-six?"
"Twenty-seven," Charlie corrects, pushing back her wet hair. "Remember, rule twenty-six is no splashing."
"Oh yeah." Jeremy motions for her to go on.
"Rule Twenty-seven: I don't want to hear about your sex life. Ever."
"Fine," Jeremy grumbles. "You're missing out though."
He's quiet for a moment as they resume walking.
"So how did you meet Monroe?"
Charlie smirks. "He'd kill me if I told you." They share grin. "Okay, did you ever watch the show power rangers..."