Average
Title: "Average"
Author: prettysirenx/PrettySiren, etc
Rating: PG-13 (for mild language and suggestive dialogue and such--nothing big)
Genre: angst, humor, romance
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Revolution. If I did, it would be the Marlie show.
Warnings: This is Miles/Charlie. Don't like it? Don't read.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. Came from a one-word prompt I left for myself a long while ago.
The guy at the bar glanced at Charlie, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to his friend, “Average.” Miles felt a surge of rage. He wrenched the man around to face him and then punched him clean in the jaw. The fat bastard fell to his knees, spit out some blood, a tooth, and then collapsed facedown into unconsciousness.
“Miles!” Charlie cried. She ran over to him; her hands landed on his chest where she could feel his heart racing in his chest. “What are you doing?”
Miles didn’t have time to answer. The fat bastard’s friend was pissed off. He carefully sat down his beer and said, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Alright, then. Kick my ass. We’ll see what happens.”
Charlie artfully ducked away as the friend took a swing. Miles ducked too, came back up, and elbowed his sternum and then his nose as he buckled. He didn’t intend to kill the guy. He kept his moves tame, but his temper was up, and he wasn’t ready to stop yet. Still, if the guy had stayed down, he would’ve walked away, but he got up and launched himself at Miles. Miles stepped aside, grabbed him as he nearly passed him, and slammed his head into the bar repetitively. It was easy-and he was drunk, probably drunker than this asshole. It evened out in fairness, he reckoned.
But several of the men in the joint stood up. One guy getting hit didn’t seem to faze them-maybe nobody liked him. But two guys unconscious was apparently upsetting. Men were cracking their knuckles, breaking out their chains-whatever weapons they had that the militia didn’t confiscate during their last raid on the place.
“This isn’t good,” Aaron observed. He downed the rest of his beer and Nora’s. Apparently the mugs were to be used as weapons; he held one in each hand, bracing himself.
Nora rolled her eyes, not at Aaron, but at Miles who was laughing-he was laughing. Why, Charlie couldn’t fathom it, but it was right there. Miles never laughed. The idea of it was absurd and seeing it was scary. And that’s when shit got real.
A dozen men launched themselves on him. Charlie took an empty wine bottle and broke it over a man’s head. He was down. Nora and Aaron were trying their best to pick off some of the others. In desperation, Nora took to stomping on their heads as they all dove in and tussled around on the floor, all hoping to get a good swing in on Miles. Charlie grabbed one guy up by his hair, flung him on his back and wailed on him. This seemed to be a good tactic, so she continued.
Aaron was eventually down for the count, making Nora’s attempts at stopping the madness doubly desperate. She took to smashing mugs on people’s heads as well, anything to slow them down. They still couldn’t see Miles and for all they knew, he was already torn limb from limb and maybe even dead. But none of that mattered when the familiar sound of a gun being cocked rung through the cacophony like an explosion itself. Everyone stopped and saw the owner pointing a sawed off shotgun at the general group still on the floor.
“Don’t think I won’t,” he said. Then he spit his tobacco directly onto the floor, like it was an actual exclamation mark, visible for the world to see.
Everyone took him seriously. Most were nursing a broken or bruised something or other. One guy told Nora this was the sixth time he got his nose broken since the blackout, like it was a pickup line. She didn’t care; Aaron lay on the floor with a bleeding scalp; the two had become really close since whatever happened between them at Drexel’s.
Charlie looked to her uncle and sighed. He lay on the floor; his arms spread open like it had been a glorious experience.
“Did I win?” he asked.
Charlie walked over to him and, with all her strength, heaved him to his feet. He staggered, but found his balance, leaning on her.
“Come on,” she said. “You need a strong dose of fresh air.”
She led him out of the tavern and into an alley where she propped him against a brick wall. He was still somewhat smiling as he looked down at her with a swollen eye and busted lip. There may have been triumph or something else-vindication, perhaps?-in his good eye.
But she wouldn’t be charmed by his rakish charisma. Once she was sure he wouldn’t fall, she let go of him and threw her hands up into the air. “What was that back there?”
“Nothing.”
“It was a whole lot of broken ribs for nothing.” She touched his own ribs and he winced. She shook her head. “We’re going to have to bind them. I can’t believe you. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night, and then you pull this crap. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You saying ‘nothing’ is only one step above your expansive monosyllabic vocabulary, yet somehow more annoying and is less of an answer. So, tell me straight, or I walk away right now.”
“Will you just drop it?”
“Fine. Consider it dropped.” She turned on her heel and walked only three paces before he sobered and called after her.
“Wait!”
She turned around and walked back to him, looking up into his brown eyes with her big blue ones.
“He called you ‘average’,” he said quietly. “That guy and his buddy were rating chicks, and he called you average. It pissed me off, so I hit him.”
“You did a little more than hit him,” she replied gently.
“I guess I was fighting for your honor, or something.”
She smiled. She was so pretty when she smiled.
“So, I’m above average?” she asked, she bit her lip and laughed, swaying into him.
He caught her by the shoulders. She stopped smiling. He wasn’t smiling either.
“You’re beautiful, Charlie.”
She looked down. “You never said anything before.”
“It’s because I shouldn’t say it. Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”
She smiled again, only this time there was some regret there, but she bit it back beautifully. She delicately placed her hands on his chest where his ribs were broken under her fingers. “Just for that, I’ll be gentle,” she told him softly.
He swallowed at the prospect.
Author: prettysirenx/PrettySiren, etc
Rating: PG-13 (for mild language and suggestive dialogue and such--nothing big)
Genre: angst, humor, romance
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Revolution. If I did, it would be the Marlie show.
Warnings: This is Miles/Charlie. Don't like it? Don't read.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. Came from a one-word prompt I left for myself a long while ago.
The guy at the bar glanced at Charlie, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to his friend, “Average.” Miles felt a surge of rage. He wrenched the man around to face him and then punched him clean in the jaw. The fat bastard fell to his knees, spit out some blood, a tooth, and then collapsed facedown into unconsciousness.
“Miles!” Charlie cried. She ran over to him; her hands landed on his chest where she could feel his heart racing in his chest. “What are you doing?”
Miles didn’t have time to answer. The fat bastard’s friend was pissed off. He carefully sat down his beer and said, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Alright, then. Kick my ass. We’ll see what happens.”
Charlie artfully ducked away as the friend took a swing. Miles ducked too, came back up, and elbowed his sternum and then his nose as he buckled. He didn’t intend to kill the guy. He kept his moves tame, but his temper was up, and he wasn’t ready to stop yet. Still, if the guy had stayed down, he would’ve walked away, but he got up and launched himself at Miles. Miles stepped aside, grabbed him as he nearly passed him, and slammed his head into the bar repetitively. It was easy-and he was drunk, probably drunker than this asshole. It evened out in fairness, he reckoned.
But several of the men in the joint stood up. One guy getting hit didn’t seem to faze them-maybe nobody liked him. But two guys unconscious was apparently upsetting. Men were cracking their knuckles, breaking out their chains-whatever weapons they had that the militia didn’t confiscate during their last raid on the place.
“This isn’t good,” Aaron observed. He downed the rest of his beer and Nora’s. Apparently the mugs were to be used as weapons; he held one in each hand, bracing himself.
Nora rolled her eyes, not at Aaron, but at Miles who was laughing-he was laughing. Why, Charlie couldn’t fathom it, but it was right there. Miles never laughed. The idea of it was absurd and seeing it was scary. And that’s when shit got real.
A dozen men launched themselves on him. Charlie took an empty wine bottle and broke it over a man’s head. He was down. Nora and Aaron were trying their best to pick off some of the others. In desperation, Nora took to stomping on their heads as they all dove in and tussled around on the floor, all hoping to get a good swing in on Miles. Charlie grabbed one guy up by his hair, flung him on his back and wailed on him. This seemed to be a good tactic, so she continued.
Aaron was eventually down for the count, making Nora’s attempts at stopping the madness doubly desperate. She took to smashing mugs on people’s heads as well, anything to slow them down. They still couldn’t see Miles and for all they knew, he was already torn limb from limb and maybe even dead. But none of that mattered when the familiar sound of a gun being cocked rung through the cacophony like an explosion itself. Everyone stopped and saw the owner pointing a sawed off shotgun at the general group still on the floor.
“Don’t think I won’t,” he said. Then he spit his tobacco directly onto the floor, like it was an actual exclamation mark, visible for the world to see.
Everyone took him seriously. Most were nursing a broken or bruised something or other. One guy told Nora this was the sixth time he got his nose broken since the blackout, like it was a pickup line. She didn’t care; Aaron lay on the floor with a bleeding scalp; the two had become really close since whatever happened between them at Drexel’s.
Charlie looked to her uncle and sighed. He lay on the floor; his arms spread open like it had been a glorious experience.
“Did I win?” he asked.
Charlie walked over to him and, with all her strength, heaved him to his feet. He staggered, but found his balance, leaning on her.
“Come on,” she said. “You need a strong dose of fresh air.”
She led him out of the tavern and into an alley where she propped him against a brick wall. He was still somewhat smiling as he looked down at her with a swollen eye and busted lip. There may have been triumph or something else-vindication, perhaps?-in his good eye.
But she wouldn’t be charmed by his rakish charisma. Once she was sure he wouldn’t fall, she let go of him and threw her hands up into the air. “What was that back there?”
“Nothing.”
“It was a whole lot of broken ribs for nothing.” She touched his own ribs and he winced. She shook her head. “We’re going to have to bind them. I can’t believe you. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night, and then you pull this crap. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You saying ‘nothing’ is only one step above your expansive monosyllabic vocabulary, yet somehow more annoying and is less of an answer. So, tell me straight, or I walk away right now.”
“Will you just drop it?”
“Fine. Consider it dropped.” She turned on her heel and walked only three paces before he sobered and called after her.
“Wait!”
She turned around and walked back to him, looking up into his brown eyes with her big blue ones.
“He called you ‘average’,” he said quietly. “That guy and his buddy were rating chicks, and he called you average. It pissed me off, so I hit him.”
“You did a little more than hit him,” she replied gently.
“I guess I was fighting for your honor, or something.”
She smiled. She was so pretty when she smiled.
“So, I’m above average?” she asked, she bit her lip and laughed, swaying into him.
He caught her by the shoulders. She stopped smiling. He wasn’t smiling either.
“You’re beautiful, Charlie.”
She looked down. “You never said anything before.”
“It’s because I shouldn’t say it. Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”
She smiled again, only this time there was some regret there, but she bit it back beautifully. She delicately placed her hands on his chest where his ribs were broken under her fingers. “Just for that, I’ll be gentle,” she told him softly.
He swallowed at the prospect.