#rhodes

As unassuming and desolate as Rhodes seemed to an onlooker's eye, the small town certainly packed a punch. The Van der Linde Gang had been southbound for all but a few days, but the time spent in Clemens Point had been nothing short of draining. Spirits were low, and aching bodies and tired minds tended to foster even more hostility than the vagabond group was used to.

In an effort to raise morale, the whole lot had been tasked, yes, tasked, a day off. No laundry, no murder for 24 hours. Quickly, two groups had formed; the ones staying in camp for a much-needed rest, and the ones planning to drain the entire town of its' famous moonshine. Stupidly, you had been convinced to partake in the second endeavor.

It wasn't like you weren't usually down for a good night-out — in fact, you could probably drink the whole of Rhodes' prissy, lace-gloved, racist population under the table. No, you had just favored a moment of peace and quiet for once, sprawled out on your bedroll with a book and some hooch. That was, until you were practically dragged onto your feet by the drunken entourage that were Javier, Sean, and Karen.

Oh, and Charles.

Charles Smith, vulgo the only reason you were leaned against a bar counter instead of comfortably snug in the confinements of your tent right now. He had immediately made it clear to the aforementioned maniacs that the only reason he tagged along was as an escort in case they decided to shoot up the entire town. Again. The archer had shot you a look that practically screamed help me with this, and that about sealed the deal for you. You damned yourself for not being able to say no to those big brown eyes, pulling you into their depths like a vortex. But alas, here you were. In fact, you had been, for the past three hours.

The air hung thick and heavy in the saloon, weighing on you like trying to tread underwater. A sharp scent of alcohol, mingled with stale sweat clung to your nose and made you feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. Your knuckles went white as you gripped the counter for support, but the feeling of suffocation persisted.

"I gotta get outta here for a second. Catch a breath." You informed Charles, who was stood next to you, before swiftly making your way to the exit, not noticing that he followed you.

You leaned against the paneled walls outside and let out a deep sigh. The summer breeze dried the beads of sweat on your forehead quickly, and you felt immediate relief at the way the music dimmed when the doors shut behind you. The weathered wood of the saloon's exterior grounded you, and you slowly but surely came back to your senses. An overwhelming exhaustion settled within you. You closed your eyes.

"You alright?"

If it were anyone else's voice, you would have internally groaned in annoyance at the disturbance of peace, but not with him. You opened one eye to find Charles already mustering you with concern. He looked especially handsome in the gloomy light of the porch, giving his dark skin an almost golden glow. A sheen of sweat covered his chest, where the two top buttons of his shirt revealed his collarbone. Your mouth dried at the sight.

"Yeah. 'M fine, like I said," You reassured him. "Just needed a little breather."

There was a bench stood next to the entryway which you had only just noticed, but immediately appreciated. The metal dug into your skin as you sat down, head tipped back.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, you sensed that same exhaustion you had been feeling in his voice.

You patted on the spot beside you and he followed your gesture. The rusty old thing creaked at his weight settling, causing you both to chuckle. You were suddenly hyper-aware at his closeness, heat radiating off him like glowing embers of a burnt out fire. The pair of you remained like this for a while, relishing in the silence and each other's touch. Your eyelids seemed to be made of lead all of a sudden, with the way you weren't able to keep them open. With Charles beside you, you didn't mind. You felt safe.

"Oi, lady!" an unknown voice tore through your pleasantly quiet bubble.

Both of you straightened in your seats immediately, wary of strangers as always. You saw Charles' hand inching closer towards his gun belt, and placed a calming hand on his thigh. There was no need for this just yet.

The source of the voice was a man that had stumbled out of the saloon, very clearly inebriated. His legs seemed to move on their own accord, his half-lidded eyes peered at you with drunken curiosity. A shiver ran down your spine at the way they lingered on your chest. You frowned at him.

"Can I help you?" Your tone was clear and stern. For once, you were glad to be sober.

"You g'na go home w'me tonight, darlin'?" The man slurred, and disgust rose within you like bile.

He moved closer to the you, now standing in front of the bench. Charles was still unmoved, as though awaiting your next move. With every step the drunken man took, you took one step further away from your companion until your back had reached the wooden banister. There was neither back nor forth for you as your suitor came to a halt just before you. You could smell the alcohol on his breath. The best decision was not to answer, you reckoned.

"C'mon, I wanna see what else that dress of yours hides," he grinned at you with lust-blown pupils. "From what I c'n see it's quite promisin'." There it was again, his gaze on your cleavage, shameless.

"How 'bout you go home to your wife, and we pretend this never happened?" Your eyes narrowed as you answered, gesturing to the golden band on his ring finger. That poor woman.

The stranger's face contorted in anger now and he huffed, clearly agitated at your reply. You could see the gears turning in his head. "Who the hell d'you think y'are, you whore?" He reeled for a second, eyebrows knit in concentration as though he was gearing up for battle. You barely had time to shoot Charles a concerned look before the drunkard regained balance and charged at you, striking you straight across the face. Your head was dragged to the side harshly, and you felt a painful twinge in your tense muscles. A small, pained cry fell from your lips.

After the stars had disappeared from your blurry vision, you stared at him, dumbstruck, mouth agape. There was an angry burning in your left cheek and you could feel sticky droplets of blood trail down where his hand had broken your skin. You slowly raised your hand to the bruise which had already begun to swell up. Fear shot through you as you realized the man had set his eyes on you again, and you braced your forearms in front of your face, ready for an impact that never came. Through your protective stance you only caught a glimpse of two hands on your assaulter's shoulders, violently pulling him from you.

Charles had never been on his feet so quick, his shoulders had tensed as soon as he caught sight of the man's wandering eyes on you. He cursed himself for reacting too late, for letting him corner you this way, but there was no use in lingering in the past when the present was lying beneath him, beaten and bloody. He felt a blind rage possessing him as he dragged the man down the stairs and onto the dusty road, when he landed punch after punch in the now barely-conscious facade. Charles could have killed him if he wanted to. Did he want to?

You had watched the entire scene unfold, a feeling that was neither horror nor admiration flooding you. It was something deeper, something more raw. Charles was holding the stranger up by his collar now, kneeling on top of him and still breathing heavily. No sound left your lips, you couldn't have said something even if you wanted to. The way your knight in shining armor was caging in the monster with his large frame, illuminated only by a single streetlight made him look almost ethereal. Shame crept into your conscience — there was no reason you should be feeling this way, and yet you did. Long black hair cascaded down a broad back, followed by a slim waist adorned with weapons that should instill fear, but only spurred your thoughts on further. He landed another punch square in the man's face, a nasty squelch brought you back to reality.

You hurried over to your savior, half-heartedly attempting to pull him off the guy you had a hard time feeling sympathy for. Charles obeyed you nonetheless, no matter how meek your protest was. He looked at you again with dark eyes, the burning anger within immediately softening at the sight of you. He raised his hand to gently assess the injury, thumb brushing over your cheekbone and softly trailing downwards until he cupped your chin.

"I'm fine, I promise." You managed to stutter, in awe of the way he seemed to sense your every thought like you were a book only he could read. You let him.

"I should've stepped in sooner-"Charles began, but you stopped him.

"No, this wasn't your fault." You reassured him, soft but clear. Your fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ears. "There was no way we could've known what he was gonna do next." The man in question let out a weak groan, which you took as a sign.

"You think he saw you?" He understood your question and shook his head. The drunken fool would have no idea what came over him the next morning.

"Good. Then let's get outta here." Taking his hand in yours, you quickly turned to leave, heading towards the familiar forest that surrounded the town. The bruise was still pulsing painfully, and you cursed yourself for your slow reaction time; that wasn't what crowded your mind as you rushed towards Clemens Point together, however. The image of Charles' fists, his strong arms, and heavy breathing had you feel similarly lightheaded as back in the saloon, only for different reasons. The hand that was holding his grew hot with sweat, and you could feel a rosy blush forming on your cheeks. You were grateful for the early morning hours, still dark enough to hide your flustered face.

There was a thick fog cast across camp, its long fingers sprawling from Flat Iron Lake all the way into the crevices of your tents. Charles had never let go of his grip on you, and now pulled you closer as you turned to say your goodbyes. You noticed him muster you again, eyes hesitating for a moment as they reached your cheek.

"Do I look that bad?" You joked, and watched him quickly recollect himself.

"No!" He answered, too quickly to seem unaffected. "No, I just- I don't know what came over me back there." Charles' sheepish admission made you feel the same way you did as he sat next to you on that bench. So close, so warm.

"Well," You attempted to placate him and took a step closer. Your chest was touching his now, and you noticed him holding his breath. "I, for one, quite enjoyed the view." You squeezed his hand and loosely gestured towards your bruise.

"Worth it."

Charles felt heat creep into his face at your words, and the fact that you winked at him after did little to calm him down. He scratched his neck nervously, as though he had just noticed how close you were.

You took his other hand now, too, and brought them up between you. Both of you looked at his bloodied knuckles.

"How 'bout I take care of you and you take care of me?" You mused, voice almost a whisper. Charles thought he might as well have died then and there. "I'm talking about the bruises, of course." The tone in your voice suggested that you were talking about pretty much everything but that, but Charles answered nonetheless.