[ He shifts back around to get behind Peter, carefully mopping up the rivulets of blood that have seeped out of the wound while they’ve been talking. ]
In all honesty? I expected to find you in trouble. I didn’t think you’d use the whistle just on a whim.
[ After so long, he didn’t think Peter would use the whistle at all. ]
But I always keep a bag packed like this, in case I had to run again.
[ As practical as that sounds, the fact that Charlie even has to think that far ahead is— kind of sad, if Peter were honest. It means that a year and a half isn’t enough to fully distance the guy from his old life, even with the pains the two of them took to throw his family off Charlie’s trail. Or else it means Charlie’s been living with that constant worry at the back of his mind.
He’s not sure which of those options are worse, but either way, it means the Maxwell family has been haunting Charlie wherever he went, imagined or not.
He tenses as Charlie settles in behind him – not because of the wound (though that’s its own problem), but because Charlie’s positioning puts the Mark directly in his line of sight, makes Peter feel exposed in a way he hates. He rolls his shoulders in discomfort, as if that might shake off the blemish. And despite Charlie’s earlier reassurances, Peter can’t quite bring himself to turn around and look at him to see what might be on his face.
Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap, offers a tight nod. ]
[ It doesn’t escape Charlie’s notice the way that Peter keeps flexing and twitching whenever Charlie’s behind him, and he supposes bone-deep shame and fear over the Mark on his back must be a hard thing to shake after keeping it hidden for so long.
He still hasn’t worked out whether it would be a good thing to say anything or not.
He scoops the paste out of the mortar with his fingers- it’s cool and a little grainy to the touch- and carefully slathers it on the red, angry skin around Peter’s wound, before smearing it over the wound itself, readying himself in case Peter jumps.
Charlie might have downplayed how much it was going to sting.
But he knows from experience, the sharp sting is only momentary, giving way to a tingling, almost numbing sensation. Once he’s emptied the contents of his bowl, leaving a greenish-purplish patch of paste on Peter’s back, he wipes his fingers clean and secures a fresh bandage around Peter’s middle. ]
Try not to move much, if you can help it. That needs some time to sit.
[ His entire body jerks away from Charlie’s touch, once the salve brushes into the wound, and he lets out a single, loud, ]
Fuck—
[ in response, startled and strained. It’s just as well that Charlie was ready for it, because without Charlie to keep him in place, Peter likely would’ve bolted away. Eventually, the bite of pain fades into something like pins and needles, prickly and cold, and he heaves out a long breath. ]
“Shouldn’t sting.” [ He repeats it back scornfully, making a scoffing noise, though he lifts his arms to allow Charlie to wrap the bandage around his waist again. ] You’re a giant liar.
[ Once he ties the bandage off, he plops down to sit in front of Peter, taking a few moments to clean up and gather his things to put them back in his bag. ]
[ Peter grumbles under his breath at the correction. It is fully possible he utters the phrase, “splitting hairs.” At Charlie’s question, though, he tugs his own satchel closer, cringes when he realizes most of the contents of his bag boast a smear of blood from when he had rummaged through earlier. ]
Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
[ Charlie just shrugs. Peter was the one who called him a liar, and Charlie simply felt the need to correct him.
Ah. He makes a mental note that they’ll have to find a river or a lake later to take care of Peter’s things. For now, he lets Peter tug a shirt on, because the last thing he wants is for Peter to feel exposed thanks to the Mark on his back. ]
I’ve been slumming it as an apothecary for the last year and some change. You have no idea how many books on herbs I had to read.
Not sure if “slumming it” is the phrase I’d use, if I were your position.
[ He says it light, at least, as he carefully sits back against the curved wall of the tree trunk. It’s awkward, maneuvering himself slightly to one side to keep from putting pressure on the freshly dressed wound, but he keeps himself facing forward to address Charlie directly. ]
You’ve been alright, though? No surprises? [ This, too, comes out blandly, though he studies Charlie carefully. What he’s really asking is, Any unpleasant run-ins, lately? ]
[ He shrugs a shoulder, makes a light little noise from the back of his throat. Blithely, ]
Pigs are smart.
[ But he’ll leave it at that. When Charlie turns the question back on him, Peter makes a noncommittal sort of noise. ]
Same as it ever was with you.
[ A pause, and while that is more or less the truthful answer, part of him feels compelled to admit just how damn lonely it had been without Charlie there. But that’s too much to spring on the guy, especially given that he had already heard notes of guilt in Charlie’s voice earlier when, after a year and a half apart, he finally admitted to why he had left in the first place.
(He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever felt the need to “protect him” since his days as a child, and later, the idea will seem novel. Amusing, even. Right now, it just sounds ridiculous.) ]
... Only, you know. [ This, a little wryly, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. ] Quieter.
[ Charlie echoes Peter's smirk with one of his own, and he nearly nudges him in the side with his boot, thinking better of it at the last moment considering Peter is convalescing. ]
[ He keeps up the charade for a moment or two longer, as if he needed to give the concept some serious thought. He relents at last, though, shoulders dropping a little as he lets out a quiet breath. ]
May have. At least a little.
[ (a lot.) ]
Why didn’t you ever... [ A pause, and he starts over. ] If that whistle was a straight shot to me, why didn’t you ever just... show up?
I had no way of knowing where you were until you used it.
[ There’s a pause, and his gaze slides down to his lap. His shoulders jump a little in what could be considered a shrug, the motion closed in and small. ]
And maybe that was me being a coward and leaving everything in your hands.
[ Peter looks across the space at Charlie, trying to study him – which is a little difficult to do, with the way he’s ducked his head to avoid Peter’s gaze. At length, Peter settles on, ]
... In retrospect, that was a seriously bad idea.
[ A thread of amusement winds through his voice, soft and almost barely there. ]
Especially considering I— didn’t actually think it’d work.
[ He echoes the laugh, shaking his head a little. ]
Probably could’ve been worse, though.
[ Which is hardly consolation, but there it is.
He glances at the opening of the log and listening for any sounds – nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he can tell. The old team was probably thrown completely off the scent with Charlie’s trick, and the coil of worry winding in his gut loosens a little. He tips his head back against the rough wood. ]
[ He falls quiet for a few moments, listening as well. He imagines that Peter’s old team probably ran themselves ragged for a while chasing nothing, but they probably realized by now that they’d been tricked somehow. Charlie vaguely wonders how many of them know about Peter’s Mark. Maybe they’d be inclined to blame that for the reason he apparently vanished into thin air.
Who knows? But he does hope he and Peter left too little to mark their passing to be followed out here for now. ]
I don’t know. I should have asked, but where even are we?
Quaint little place called Milden. [ The corner of his mouth quirks up in a small smile. ] Farming community, mostly, pretty far from the trade roads. Barely worth being here, to tell you the truth. Pretty sure even the workhorses don’t wanna be here, but I was supposed to meet someone for a job.
[ And the amusement leaves him as he heaves out a breath. ]
[ Charlie has to really rack his brain to figure out just where in the hells Milden is, and once his mental map more or less orients itself, he frowns. ]
Damn. We really are out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
[ Peter offers a humorless little smile in return, standing in place of a verbal agreement. ]
Should’ve seen this coming. [ Flatly, with an edge of irritation. ] Should’ve known those bastards were bound to catch up with me.
[ he brings up a hand to scrub at his face, but he frowns at the dried blood stuck to his skin and thinks better of it, letting his hand drop back to his lap. He tries to scrape it off with his nails ]
Can’t imagine this was the kinda day you had planned.
[ Charlie heaves a sigh, plucking up the rag he’d used earlier as he hauls himself forward. He manages to find a clean edge of the cloth, and he takes Peter’s hand in his, running the cloth over the dried smears of blood. ]
I told you already, I didn’t have to answer that whistle. I’m here because I wanted to be, so stop trying to apologize.
[ He goes rigid as Charlie moves in close again, resisting for a brief second as Charlie takes hold of his hand. His mouth goes dry for a second as he studies Charlie, surprised, before he manages to school his expression back into something a little more neutral. His gaze drops to their hands again, watching as Charlie wipes away the almost brown splotches stuck to his palms. ]
Who’s apologizing?
[ Peter. Peter was apologizing. Again. Or was trying to, until Charlie interrupted him. He licks his lips, fidgeting a little without pulling his hand away. ]
So. [ A little awkwardly, but he needs the topic change before “sorry” slips from his lips again. ] Apothecary, huh?
[ Softly, as he keeps his eyes on their hands. He could point out that Peter was the one trying to apologize, but it’s clear this is an attempt at a subject change. ]
I kind of stumbled into it. I found this little village and the kids— they were all sick. I stuck around to help out and just sort of didn't leave.
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In all honesty? I expected to find you in trouble. I didn’t think you’d use the whistle just on a whim.
[ After so long, he didn’t think Peter would use the whistle at all. ]
But I always keep a bag packed like this, in case I had to run again.
Ready?
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He’s not sure which of those options are worse, but either way, it means the Maxwell family has been haunting Charlie wherever he went, imagined or not.
He tenses as Charlie settles in behind him – not because of the wound (though that’s its own problem), but because Charlie’s positioning puts the Mark directly in his line of sight, makes Peter feel exposed in a way he hates. He rolls his shoulders in discomfort, as if that might shake off the blemish. And despite Charlie’s earlier reassurances, Peter can’t quite bring himself to turn around and look at him to see what might be on his face.
Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap, offers a tight nod. ]
Ready as I’ll ever be.
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He still hasn’t worked out whether it would be a good thing to say anything or not.
He scoops the paste out of the mortar with his fingers- it’s cool and a little grainy to the touch- and carefully slathers it on the red, angry skin around Peter’s wound, before smearing it over the wound itself, readying himself in case Peter jumps.
Charlie might have downplayed how much it was going to sting.
But he knows from experience, the sharp sting is only momentary, giving way to a tingling, almost numbing sensation. Once he’s emptied the contents of his bowl, leaving a greenish-purplish patch of paste on Peter’s back, he wipes his fingers clean and secures a fresh bandage around Peter’s middle. ]
Try not to move much, if you can help it. That needs some time to sit.
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Fuck—
[ in response, startled and strained. It’s just as well that Charlie was ready for it, because without Charlie to keep him in place, Peter likely would’ve bolted away. Eventually, the bite of pain fades into something like pins and needles, prickly and cold, and he heaves out a long breath. ]
“Shouldn’t sting.” [ He repeats it back scornfully, making a scoffing noise, though he lifts his arms to allow Charlie to wrap the bandage around his waist again. ] You’re a giant liar.
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[ Once he ties the bandage off, he plops down to sit in front of Peter, taking a few moments to clean up and gather his things to put them back in his bag. ]
Do you have a spare shirt?
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Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
Where’d you learn all this stuff?
[ With a nod toward Charlie’s bag. ]
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Ah. He makes a mental note that they’ll have to find a river or a lake later to take care of Peter’s things. For now, he lets Peter tug a shirt on, because the last thing he wants is for Peter to feel exposed thanks to the Mark on his back. ]
I’ve been slumming it as an apothecary for the last year and some change. You have no idea how many books on herbs I had to read.
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[ He says it light, at least, as he carefully sits back against the curved wall of the tree trunk. It’s awkward, maneuvering himself slightly to one side to keep from putting pressure on the freshly dressed wound, but he keeps himself facing forward to address Charlie directly. ]
You’ve been alright, though? No surprises? [ This, too, comes out blandly, though he studies Charlie carefully. What he’s really asking is, Any unpleasant run-ins, lately? ]
Aside from today, obviously.
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[ Charlie positions himself opposite Peter, back against the inside of the log, feet propped up on the wall somewhere alongside Peter’s middle.
In spite of Peter’s casual tone- overly casual, perhaps- he’s aware of what the mercenary means by “surprises” and shakes his head. ]
Not really. It’s mostly just been me and the flowers and herbs.
What about you? Have you been doing all right? You know, aside from today.
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Pigs are smart.
[ But he’ll leave it at that. When Charlie turns the question back on him, Peter makes a noncommittal sort of noise. ]
Same as it ever was with you.
[ A pause, and while that is more or less the truthful answer, part of him feels compelled to admit just how damn lonely it had been without Charlie there. But that’s too much to spring on the guy, especially given that he had already heard notes of guilt in Charlie’s voice earlier when, after a year and a half apart, he finally admitted to why he had left in the first place.
(He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever felt the need to “protect him” since his days as a child, and later, the idea will seem novel. Amusing, even. Right now, it just sounds ridiculous.) ]
... Only, you know. [ This, a little wryly, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. ] Quieter.
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Admit it. You missed my constant yammering.
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It was constant.
[ His voice is thoughtful, eyes cast up at the rounded ceiling of the hollow log as he feigns a look of consideration. ]
And you did yammer. An awful lot...
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And you missed it.
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May have. At least a little.
[ (a lot.) ]
Why didn’t you ever... [ A pause, and he starts over. ] If that whistle was a straight shot to me, why didn’t you ever just... show up?
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[ There’s a pause, and his gaze slides down to his lap. His shoulders jump a little in what could be considered a shrug, the motion closed in and small. ]
And maybe that was me being a coward and leaving everything in your hands.
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... In retrospect, that was a seriously bad idea.
[ A thread of amusement winds through his voice, soft and almost barely there. ]
Especially considering I— didn’t actually think it’d work.
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Yeah, well. We’ve already established that I left you with quite the misconception when we parted ways.
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Probably could’ve been worse, though.
[ Which is hardly consolation, but there it is.
He glances at the opening of the log and listening for any sounds – nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he can tell. The old team was probably thrown completely off the scent with Charlie’s trick, and the coil of worry winding in his gut loosens a little. He tips his head back against the rough wood. ]
So what happens now?
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Who knows? But he does hope he and Peter left too little to mark their passing to be followed out here for now. ]
I don’t know. I should have asked, but where even are we?
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[ And the amusement leaves him as he heaves out a breath. ]
Setup, obviously.
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Damn. We really are out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
[ So. Good place for a setup. ]
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Should’ve seen this coming. [ Flatly, with an edge of irritation. ] Should’ve known those bastards were bound to catch up with me.
[ he brings up a hand to scrub at his face, but he frowns at the dried blood stuck to his skin and thinks better of it, letting his hand drop back to his lap. He tries to scrape it off with his nails ]
Can’t imagine this was the kinda day you had planned.
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[ Charlie heaves a sigh, plucking up the rag he’d used earlier as he hauls himself forward. He manages to find a clean edge of the cloth, and he takes Peter’s hand in his, running the cloth over the dried smears of blood. ]
I told you already, I didn’t have to answer that whistle. I’m here because I wanted to be, so stop trying to apologize.
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Who’s apologizing?
[ Peter. Peter was apologizing. Again. Or was trying to, until Charlie interrupted him. He licks his lips, fidgeting a little without pulling his hand away. ]
So. [ A little awkwardly, but he needs the topic change before “sorry” slips from his lips again. ] Apothecary, huh?
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[ Softly, as he keeps his eyes on their hands. He could point out that Peter was the one trying to apologize, but it’s clear this is an attempt at a subject change. ]
I kind of stumbled into it. I found this little village and the kids— they were all sick. I stuck around to help out and just sort of didn't leave.
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