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Charlie is ten and she wants to be a senator.
Vanessa Kimball is entirely to blame.
“I can’t believe the Chancellor got her bill passed,” Charlie says, bent over the local newspaper one day before school, her free hand shoving her toast into her mouth when she isn’t speaking. “She had to lobby for hours and she got it passed.”
“Sounds like Kimball,” Aunt Carolina says, sitting down into her own chair. She has stopped commenting on Charlie’s choice in morning reading, instead taking the child’s interest in politics as something to encourage. Toast also rests on her plate, slightly burnt, but still edible. “What’s the bill for?”
“Alien housing rights,” Charlie mumbles through a mouth of toast. “She’s lobbying for the mortgage rate to be the same as humans, not higher. Because during the war-”
And thus begins the almost weekly ramble on how amazing Vanessa Kimball is.
“I do know Kimball’s service record.” Carolina grabs their plates after Charlie is done speaking, taking them to the sink. It’s her day to wash them. “If you ever want to hear the stuff they didn’t record, I could always tell you.”
Charlie almost jumps out of her chair in excitement.
“But you can’t tell your civics class.”
And there goes the excitement.
One month after her Civics report, there’s a knock on the door.
Charlie ignores it at first, continuing to pour herself a glass of water as usual. Plenty of people come by early in the morning, Uncle Donut to check the garden out back, Uncle Simmons to ask to borrow some tools, Uncle Wash to warn of an upcoming paintball fight once Uncle Sarge gets home from the store with his paintballs. She barely taken a sip when she realizes the voice coming from downstairs isn’t one she’s heard in years. At least, not in person.
“Charlie?”
Charlie pokes her head out of the kitchen to see one Vanessa Kimball.
Her mouth falls open and she rushes forward, her feet clattering against the hardwood floor. She hopes she doesn’t scrape the the wood in her rush. When she reaches Kimball, she tries to smile as wide as possible. “Chancellor Kimball! This is a most high honor!” She holds out her hand towards the woman. “I wrote a report on you just recently for civics.”
Kimball stares at her with an emotion Charlie can’t place.
“You remember Charlie,” Aunt Carolina says. Charlie remembers her alright, their one meeting years ago when her arrival beckoned the announcement she got to see her father leaving quite the impression. It is part of the reason Charlie has her campaign posters in her room.
“Of...course I do,” Kimball says, reaching out her hand and shaking it. Her grip is as firm as Charlie expects. “And it’s former Chancellor.”
Charlie’s mouth shuts and she sighs. She read the news in the paper that morning but it hadn’t quite set in yet. “That is right. It’s most...unfortunate.”
Kimball stares at her like she’s a ghost, and when her hand pulls away from Charlie’s, it almost felt yanked away.
“You seem dressed for it, Kimball,” Aunt Carolina says. “Join me for a run?”
Kimball does not seem dressed for it in the slightest, Charlie thinks. Her suit and hair are far too nice. But she nods anyway. “That would be lovely.”
Charlie can tell when something should be left alone. She raises her hand. “I shall make some coffee? And eggs?” Carolina taught her how last week.
“That would be lovely.”
One hour later, when Vanessa Kimball and Aunt Carolina return, they have the best breakfast Charlie could ever dream of. The animosity from earlier is gone. Kimball smiles at her.
When Aunt Carolina mentions a week later that the two are dating, Charlie couldn’t be happier.
Years pass. Vanessa Kimball, becomes Aunt Kimball. She moves in.
Everything is fine. At least on the surface.
“Do you have to use that word, Charlie?”
“Black...and green? Are you sure you don’t want to wear another shirt?”
“Is learning martial arts the best idea?”
Charlie pushes it aside. She knows her father’s history. She knows what Kimball thinks of him. There’s no point in lingering on it like a baby. Letting it go is better for everyone in the long run.
Then Kimball catches Charlie practicing sword fighting in the backyard and everything goes to shit.
Aunt Kimball is furious.
She doesn’t hide it well. In fact, she hides it terribly, her entire frame quivering from the moment she caught Charlie swinging at straw dummies. Three hours later, when Aunt Carolina gets home, she’s still on a knife’s edge.
Charlie is not supposed to know this, because as soon as they got home, Aunt Kimball told her to go to her room and work on homework. And she didn’t give her back her practice sword.
It’s enough to tell Charlie she should leave Aunt Kimball alone, but it’s not enough to tell her what’s wrong. And if there’s something the fourteen year old truly despises these days, it’s dread which she has no name for.
She hears when Aunt Carolina gets home; she always lets the door swing shut just too loud. At first, she tried to keep from listening in on the conversation, knowing full well that adult stuff should remain adult stuff. If Aunt Kimball doesn’t want her to know what upset her, she should respect her until she’s willing to tell her.
The resolve to stay out of it lasts until the yelling starts.
It’s not the normal kind of yelling either, the kind of yelling when they’re having stupid fights, fights Charlie knows will pass within a day or two. It’s the kind of yelling you use to wound, sharper than any sword Aunt Carolina has allowed her to handle. Before Charlie can really think it through, she’s creeping out of her room to sit near the top of the staircase.
“Swordfighting! Are you out of your damn mind, Carolina!” Aunt Kimball. Charlie can almost see how her face must look right now twisted in anger and worry.
“She was having nightmares! She said the swordfighting helped!” That’s true. Part of the reason she learned martial arts as a kid was to combat nightmares. When she started having more in the last few months, fencing seemed like a worthy addition to keeping them at bay.
“It helped!? Learning how to stab things helped!?” Charlie’s mandibles click inward. She mistook something in Kimball’s tone earlier. That isn’t worry she’s picking up on. But what, she can’t quite place.
“It’s been a school sport for years! The practice blade I gave her can’t hurt anything but a dummy!”
“That’s not the point!”
Charlie’s head tilts in confusion. How can that not be the point? She can’t think of another think she usually gets yelled at for except for not doing chores or cleaning her room. What else could it be?
“What do you mean that’s not the point?” Aunt Carolina sounds just as confused. There is no pause before Kimball speaks again, and this time, Charlie figures out what else is in her tone.
Disgust.
“She knows how to fight. She knows tactics. She knows how to solve complex puzzles; I know, I’ve seen her math homework. And now she knows how to swordfight.”
“So?” Charlie feels something twist in her stomach. Something old, something dark, something far too painful. Something she has tried to ignore, because there was no way, Aunt Kimball was different, Aunt Kimball liked her, Aunt Kimball ruled a Country, she wrote her first Civics report on Aunt Kimball, Aunt Kimball helped her with her math homework and helped her through nightmares and-
"She’s becoming just like her father!” The scream seems to shake the house. “Can’t you see that, Carolina!”
When Charlie hears the word father, she hears the word Kimball mentally puts in it’s place.
Monster, monster, monster.
Charlie doesn’t think. She gets up. Walks towards her dore in the stealthy way Carolina taught her when they first started to train. Grabs the duffle bag of supplies she has kept since she was eight out of habit from living from Locus. Crawls out her window. Jumps to the ground.
Monster is the last word that echoes in her head before she runs.
She doesn’t know where she’s going, at first.
She heads for the Prison at the start, because that’s where her brain goes when she thinks comfort, and doesn’t that say something about her life, that her source of stability is a man in chains. It is only once she gets halfway there that she realizes visiting hours are over and even if they weren’t, that they aren’t going to let her stay. Her Aunts and Uncles are out of the question; they will tell Aunt Carolina where she is, and the second to last person she wants to see right now is Aunt Carolina. And sneaking anywhere else around town is bound to attract attention with her build.
It’s the worst feeling in her life, realizing once again, that she is entirely on her own.
She’s not sure why she heads for the Crash site.
It’s a National Park now, and a Landmark, the trees and vines growing through what used to be the bases of Red and Blue team. The bases are historic museums now, off limits to the public, but the rest of the ship is open territory for tourists and hikers to explore.
Charlie finds an opening to one of the hulls and starts walking.
The bunker is near the top of the wreck, a little too far in for most tourists, but not so far in that people would linger on it. Charlie assumes they must have kept weapons in there, and when she pulls at the door, it is only her Elite strength that helps it give way. The bunker is small on the inside, maybe half the size of her room at home, and when she walks in, she tries to ignore the chill.
It is a good thing she has blankets in her duffle.
She sits down on the metal floor in the back of the room, closing the door behind her. The duffle goes with her, and making a bed of sorts is easy enough with all she’s got. Falling asleep is hard, Kimball’s words still echoing in her ears, but it happens soon enough.
Her plan is to stay there for a few hours. Go home in the morning before Aunt Carolina knows she’s gone and starts to worry. They still care about her, regardless of what Kimball said.
Do they? Is Aunt Carolina really gonna ask her pretty girlfriend to get over years of trauma just to make you happy? Grow up, kid. Keep to being your Daddy’s baggage, not anyone elses. Her brain echoes and it sounds so much like Felix that she wants to vomit.
It takes until nightfall of the next day that she realizes she doesn’t have the courage to even step out of the metal room.
Three days into living on her own, someone finds her.
She can’t say she’s surprised. She knew the would find her eventually, she’s not an idiot, and the fact that she got this far should honestly be an achievement in teenage runaways. The knock on the bunker door isn’t a quiet thing but it isn’t a harsh noise either, just the right amount of sound to give off a sense of urgency. She curls her legs closer to her chest when she hears it echo through the room.
“Charlie? Are you in there?” Uncle Wash. Charlie expected it’d be him or Aunt Carolina. She’s honestly glad it’s Uncle Wash.
“Yes.” There’s no point in lying. “Is Aunt Carolina with you?”
“No. She’s talking to your father. He’s worried sick.” Charlie’s stomach twists at that. She can only picture her Father’s worry, after what happened to her when she was little. She should have tried to send him a letter at least. She curls her toes against the metal floor, leaving scratches with her claws.
“Is Aunt Kimball with you?” It seems stupid to ask but she does it anyway. There is a long pause before Uncle Wash responds.
“No. She isn’t.” She can hear him place his hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
The door opens and the light that floods the room hurts her eyes. Uncle Wash is standing there, gun over his shoulder, armor fully on, which catches her by surprise. When he spots her, entirely unharmed, he takes another second to scan the room before shedding the helmet. The gun goes next, and he rests it in the far corner of the room before reaching for his com.
“Found her,” Wash says. “She’s fine. I’ll call you right back.” He walks over to her, peeling off his gauntlets as he walks. Those get thrown to the side too.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
Wash is silent for a moment. “We thought something might have happened. It was best to be prepared.”
The guilt that floods Charlie is sharper than she thought possible. Of course they did. They had plenty of reason too. Felix, her destiny, someone with beef; the options are endless. She signs. “Sorry for being a….” She searches for a word. “Brat.”
“From what I’ve been told, you had good reason.” He sits down next to her. It must be a comical sight, Charlie thinks, such a small human trying to comfort a huge alien.
It doesn’t feel funny.
“What happened?”
She tells him, every last bit of it, the conversation she overheard, the suspicion lingering throughout the years, the chill that runs through the house whenever her father is mentioned. Wash listens to it all, interjecting when needed, and by the time she’s done, he hasn’t said a word in edgewise other than to ask her to clarify.
“Kimball,” Wash says when she’s done, running his hand down his face. He sounds almost disappointed. “She promised.”
Charlie feels a surge of protection for the general, her mandibles clicking together. “She didn’t intend to-”
“Of course she didn’t mean to.” Wash cuts her off this time, placing his hand on his shoulder. When she looks him in the eye, he seems tired. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”
Charlie has nothing to say to that.
“Look,” Wash says after a moment of silence. “How about you stay with Tucker and I for a couple of days. Until you’ve figured out what you want to do. Give yourself some space that actually has heating.”
Charlie’s claws dig deeper into the metal floor. “Are you sure?”
Wash’s responding smile is the brightest thing she’s seen in days. “Already worked it out with Uncle Tucker.”
That’s when the com comes to life. Both of them almost fall back in surprise as Carolina’s voice yelps out from the little device, more stressed than Charlie has heard it in years.
“Wash, I know you said a second, but it’s been an hour, and Locus here-”
A crash.
“Where is my daughter-”
Charlie dives at the com before she can hear any more.
“Your daughter is right here. Hello Father. Everything is alright. Please don’t injure any guards.”
There is a long pause. Static. A groan in the background that has to be one of said guards.
“Charlie.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Tell Agent Washington to bring you to the prison at once.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Also, you’re grounded.”
“Alright, Father.”
Another long pause.
“Don’t worry me like this ever again.”
And with that the com clicks off.
Charlie looks at it for a long moment and groans, closing her eyes. The world feels less heavy now, still dark, but not nearly as pressing. She opens one eye to look at Uncle Wash.
“Which do you think is longer; the added length of his sentence or how long I’m grounded?”
Wash takes the com from her. Tucks it into his back pocket. Gets off the floor. Reaches out to help her up as well.
“Once he knows all the details? I’m putting my money on his sentence.”
The second she sees her father, she feels terrible.
She hasn’t seen him so wrecked in years.
Her apology is a hurried thing, scrambled words and reassurances that yes, she is alright, no nothing happened, and I’m so sorry I’ll never do it again, I was just upset.
When he asks her what happened, she tells him the truth for the most part, except she changes the location and the culprit. Her home turns to school, Aunt Kimball turns into a girl she likes a grade older. She doesn’t think her father buys it, not really, but he doesn’t prod her more on the matter, which is a miracle in itself, so she takes it.
“Charlie,” he says when she’s walking towards the door to meet back up with Uncle Wash. Aunt Carolina left before she got there, something that fills Charlie with a both relief and dread. Charlie peers back at him and tilts her head. He looks exhausted but oddly proud. “You are nothing like me. And that is a good thing.”
Wash leads her out the door before she can respond.
Aunt Carolina visits Uncle Wash’s and Uncle Tucker’s three hours after she sees her father.
Uncle Wash and Uncle Tucker are there first, sitting in the kitchen as they have perhaps the tensest dinner of Charlie’s young life. She barely eats anything, too full of nerves to feel really hungry, and when Uncle Tucker and Uncle Wash leave her alone, she almost drops her fork. The silence with only her and Aunt Carolina in the kitchen is almost painful.
“Where is Aunt Kimball?” Charlie speaks first because she is fourteen, and in her mind, she’s getting too old to be scared (it will take her three years to realize she will never be too old to be scared).
“She went back to the Capital,” Aunt Carolina says. Charlie didn’t expect that.
“Did she have work to do?”
“No.” Carolina takes a drink of her glass of water. “I kicked her out.”
Charlie absolutely did not expect that.
“What!” She’s glad she isn’t holding anything because she’s sure she would have dropped it. “What do you mean you kicked her out?”
Carolina takes a deep breath and when she says “I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Charlie isn’t sure if what she hears is real or not.
The apology is long. Longer than it should be in Charlie’s opinion, because this isn’t Aunt Carolina’s fault, it can’t be her fault. At the end of it, Charlie feels like her world has been flipped on it’s head.
“You…” she takes a deep breath. “You don’t hate me, do you? Because of him?”
Aunt Carolina smiles but her eyes are steel.
“Never.”
Charlie is fourteen.
She does not want to be a senator anymore.
(At the Capital, one former Chancellor hates herself for being the cause).