Charles Smith x Reader

Twenty-Three

Hastily, you jumped out of bed and slipped into your slippers and rushed after Charles. It was baffling just how fast he was despite the injuries and the fact that he had taken like two steps and was already at the door.

With his eyebrows knitted together and a deep shadow crossing his face he looked around, his back pressed to the door so that whatever was outside wouldn't be able to notice him.

"Charles..!", your voice was hoarse as you tried to call out for him while also not screaming.

Even though his behaviour was a little too suspicious for your taste you could understand why he wanted to remain undetected and prepared for the worst case scenario.

His head snapped into your direction, deep brown eyes meeting your (E/C) ones that were so full of confusion and tension at the same time.

The way he acted made your instincts react. You could feel how your nerves flinched and your shoulders tensed to match his posture.

"My shotgun.", he breathed into your direction, his lips more forming the word than his tongue. "Where is it?"

For a brief moment you stared at him.

He stared back, both so calm to receive an answer from you but also on edge about this feeling that ate away on his mind.

He could sense danger. And since he was the one out of the two of you who came from a life of crime and danger you decided it was best to put your trust in him.

A funny thing to think about since for the past few days he had been forced to trust you with his life. Quite literally.

Again, his eyebrows rose to repeat his question silently.

You rushed to the small wooden table that stood in the room, bend down and fetched his sawed-off shotgun that you had tied to two small hooks.

"Here.", you tossed him the weapon.

Surprisingly smooth he caught it out of the air and checked if there was still some ammo in the chamber.

"You tied it to the table?", he asked with a frown and a slight shake of his head.

"You're a stranger in my home.", you shrugged, already fishing for another weapon for yourself in your secret drawer. "You think I'll let you know where the guns are?"

"Fair.", he placed a hand on the door. "Ready?"

"Yeah.", you put some bullets into the drum of your revolver. "But let's keep it civil. Unless someone refused to have a conversation."

With a warning glance at him you raised your eyebrows, hid your own weapon in the waistband of your pyjama's and opened the door yourself to step outside first.

Cold, wet wind hit you in the face as the door swung open and night greeted your eyes. Immediately, goosebumps grew all over your body and a shiver crawled down your spine.

Perhaps it was just because Charles had lived the life of an outlaw but for some reason his instincts had been right.

Someone was there. And that someone was armed and not alone.

Squinting your eyes, you tried to see who it was without leaving the save reach of the door. You didn't feel like it would have been a good idea to go further than the last step.

"Hello?", you called out into the night.

Charles positioned himself to your left, a little further forward. It was strange that he chose this place to wait since it put him in a more dangerous spot, taking the first bullet if someone were to aim for you.

But maybe you were just overthinking.

"Good evening.", wind and rain tore at the long, black coat of a man who came from darkness as if it had given birth to him.

You noticed a small plate of silver shimmer on his collar as he was within reach.

"Sheriff?", you asked, one eyebrow raised.

The man lifted his gaze just high enough for a pair of poisonous green eyes to peak out from under the brim of his cowboy hat.

"Sheriff Clark.", he offered you a hand which you didn't take. "I'm new in town. Rumour has it that you live up here all by yourself, so I wanted to make sure to introduce myself."

"In what case?", you lifted your chin.

He huffed, gaze wandering to the side to examine Charles quickly before he turned to face you again.

"People talk, you know."

"I do. So talk. Ain't got no sleep to waste, sir."

He chuckled. As his thin lips curled, rows of slightly yellowish teeth appeared. He smelled of cigarettes and ash.

A red beard covered the lower half of his face. He must have been somewhat Irish or a Scotsman since his tongue was heavy. He pronounced his r's quite prominently.

"Not someone for sweet words, I see.", sheriff Clark raised his head and for the very first time the entirety of his reddened though tan-less face could be seen.

He looked like everyone's average Joe, not very intimidating nor kind. Just a man like any other. Though there was this expression in his eyes, this smug smirk that already tugged at his thin, lipless mouth.

He disliked what he saw, you, all by yourself in the woods without any pressure or duties to please the community that blossomed just at the edge of the hill.

And a man like Charles. Black and indigenous. Two sides of the same coin he would have liked to spit on.

"You're new.", you said without paying attention to the fact that Charles' grip tightened around his shotgun. "I've never seen you before."

"Ah, right, I was send by the government. To fulfil my godly duties.", Clark smiled once more.

It gave you the creeps. As if you directly faced danger that breathed down your neck.

Your heart pounded inside your chest. But you refused to let him see.

"Godly duties...", you replied with a hint of sarcasm and a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth. "Like so?"

"Like freeing this land of the savages that call themselves natives. It's time to educate. They will be all send off to schools. Any good, lawful citizen would assist me in my cause for our countries well-being.", he leaned forward, so close that you could smell his coffee breath. "And I heard you're well established within their tribe."

Charles' eyes twitched.

You remained as cold as ice.

"I don't know what you mean.", you said. "And now leave my home. We don't have anything to talk about."