All I Have Left

As cicadas chirped around her, Charlie sat against the trunk of an ancient willow, the soft sounds of the river soothing her in spite of the never-ending oppression of Texas' summer heat. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the rivulets of sweat running down her back or the way that her long, blond curls stuck to her neck. All she could think of was the look on Jason's face when she shot him. Charlie closed her eyes, a grimace of pain briefly contorting her face before she straightened her shoulders and whirled around to face whoever was creeping up on her.

"Relax, Charlotte," the disembodied voice said. "It's just me."

Charlie shook her head and leaned back against the tree. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked, scorn dripping from her voice. "I don't think you can ever be 'just me'."

Bass emerged from the darkness and stood next to her, his eyes on the river, his gun held loosely by his side. "What are you doing out here, Charlotte?" he asked, ignoring the insult. "You're a little too far from camp for safety."

"Are you my babysitter, now?" Charlie snapped, shoving to her feet and moving away from him.

"Miles was worried about you."

"If Miles was worried about me, you're the last person he'd send," she retorted, her lip curled in derision. "Try again."

Bass exhaled sharply and turned to look at her. "Fine," he admitted. "I was worried about you. What happened earlier . . ." He paused, his jaw clenched. "It's not something you could just get over. I thought you might need someone to watch your back."

Charlie gasped, an incredulous smile on her face. "Are you serious?" she exclaimed, rough laughter erupting from her chest. "I don't know what world you're living in, Monroe, but you're not exactly someone I trust. But maybe I need to spell it out for you." She walked up to him, crowding into his personal space, her eyes bright with fury. "I don't care what reparations you feel like you've made," Charlie spat. "You killed half my family, you kept my mother imprisoned for a decade, you deprived me of whatever happy life my parents could have given me and my brother in this absolutely fucked up post-apocalyptic world. I don't want you anywhere near me."

Bass stood silently under this onslaught, his eyes never leaving her face, his jaw tight. "Charlie, I know you don't want to hear this, but I understand what you're going . . ." Before he could even get the words out, Charlie's hand cracked across his face and suddenly she was shoving him away from her.

"Don't you dare tell me that you understand!" she screamed, her eyes bright with tears. "You don't know anything about me or what I feel! My father, my friends have died in my arms, my brother . . ." Charlie broke off with a sob and pressed a shaking hand to her lips. "My little brother was killed right in front of me. And I could blame all of that on you." Charlie was sobbing in earnest now, her breath grating harshly in her throat. "But tonight I killed someone that I . . . cared about. I shot him and he wasn't some nameless, faceless enemy. He was Jason." Charlie turned away from him, her shoulders hunched as if to shield herself from pain. "So please don't tell me that you understand," she repeated in a trembling voice. "You'd have to feel something to do that."

A hard hand was suddenly on her shoulder and she was whirled around to face a coldly furious Monroe. "That's right, Charlie," he snarled. "It was all my fault. The death, the hatred, the misery, your ruined life. Everything is on my shoulders. Do you think that I don't live with that every day?" He released her and stepped back, shoving a hand through his blond curls. "And on top of all that, I have to wake up every morning to the knowledge that my son's mother is dead because of me. She was the first woman I ever loved and my obsession got her killed. You were there. You saw. Emma died in my arms." Bass swallowed heavily, his voice softening and he stepped closer to the trembling woman. "I might not be the person you'd choose, but I do know what you're going through. And, as much of a bastard as I am, this isn't something that you should try to deal with on your own."

Charlie stood stone-still, eyes on his and arms folded across her stomach; a tear trickled down her cheek. She reached up to brush it away and snapped back to herself. "You don't get it," she told him, her voice rough with emotion. "I don't want your help and I don't want your sympathy. If I take comfort from you, I'll lose everything."

"Charlie, what are you talking about?" Bass exclaimed, confusion clearly written on his face. He moved towards her, his hand outstretched, and halted when she stiffened.

"I've killed, stolen, lied. I've become someone I don't recognize anymore," Charlie admitted softly. "And I've justified all of it because I was going after you. My hatred for you made everything that I've done right." She tried to laugh though it sounded more like a sob. "And now you're standing here offering me a shoulder to cry on." She shook her head, unnoticed tears leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. "I can't lose that hate," she told him, her voice trembling. "It's all I have left. If I forget why I became what I am, I'll just be a monster. Like you."

Bass's head snapped back as though she had struck him. "I see," he whispered eventually, nodding slowly. "Alright, Charlie," he told her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "God knows the world doesn't need any more monsters." Charlie flinched and half turned away from him, staring blindly at the river.

"Don't stay out here too long," Bass murmured as he walked away. Charlie stood, her back to him, until his soft footsteps faded into the darkness. Her face crumpled and she stumbled back to the tree, her hand reaching out to find support. She muffled her choking sobs against her arm and mourned – for Jason, for herself. And for what she had just sent away.