what happened to charlie dalton post-dps ?
This (long) story is based on my interpretation of what became of Charlie a few years after Neil's death and his expulsion from Welton. I took inspiration from the 1990 film "Shaking the Tree", blending the journey of the character played by Gale Hansen, John "Sully" Sullivan, with my own imagination. My OC comes from another one of my unfinished Charlie fanfictions, but anyway there's not much connection between the two fanfics. They just happen to feature the same characters. "Shaking the Tree" is available for free on YouTube by the way! (although I have to admit the video quality isn't great). And also you don't need to watch the movie to understand this fic
When Knox called Elizabeth, night had long since fallen. In fact, she was already fast asleep in her room, and the shrill sound of the telephone made her wake with a violent start.
"Hello?" she said in a weak voice after contorting herself to grab the receiver from her bed.
"Knox?" the blonde repeated, sitting up in bed.
She tossed her braid over one of her bare shoulders and pulled her blanket tighter around herself.
"It's one in the morning here..."
"Yes, yes, I know. I'm sorry. I, um... I just saw Charlie."
The news hit her like a blow to the stomach that knocked the breath out of her.
"Well, uh..." Knox sounded rather shaken too. "I'm in Chicago for a debate competition. I had just come out of it earlier, and I stopped by a bar to have a drink, what, about thirty minutes ago? I ran into him there."
"Well, yes, actually. We caught each other's eye, and I went to sit next to him. He looked pretty... dismayed to see me, I'd say."
"He's not the same, Beth," Knox answered abruptly. "He seems so tired and... God. He looks miserable. He introduced me to the bartender, who's apparently a friend of his. I tried to ask him questions, but he dodged every single one. You know what he's like. I really had the impression that he wanted, more than anything... for me to leave." His voice was slightly broken. Elizabeth drew her knees up against herself, absentmindedly rubbing her leg frantically without even realizing it. "I told him I had to leave soon. Anyway, he didn't ask me to stay or anything. I gave him my number, and he took it rather reluctantly."
"Beth, if you had seen what he was like... I've never felt so uncomfortable in my life. It was obvious from a mile away that he wanted people to leave him alone."
Elizabeth sighed, her eyebrows drawn together so tightly that her forehead was furrowed with deep lines.
"Are you sure it was him?"
"I'd recognize him among a thousand, Elizabeth. Besides, he greeted me by calling me Knoxious."
"Did he tell you where he lived? Whether he went to that bar often?"
"He said he lived 'not far away.' And I assume he comes here often since he's friends with one of the bartenders."
"What's the name of this bar?" Elizabeth asked, wedging the receiver between her shoulder and her ear as she grabbed a dog-eared novel from her bedside table.
"The Bannelli's." She picked up the pencil she used to annotate the book and used it to write the name and address of the place on the first page.
"What are you going to do, Beth?"
"Well, I'm going to Chicago. What else can I do, Knoxious?"
Obviously, Knox protested. It's Christmas. You're in the middle of your master's degree. You need to stay in France to study. Flights to America are expensive. Chicago is enormous. And what if Charlie doesn't want to see you? he even dared to add, and Beth hung up on him. Fucking lawyer in the making. He knew exactly where to strike to hurt.
She managed to get a seat on a flight the very next morning, as though the gods were on her side. So, at ten o'clock on the morning of December 21st, Elizabeth was at Orly Airport, wearing a thick swing coat, a scarf, and leather gloves. Her tall boots echoed against the terminal floor as she walked, carrying an old leather travel bag.
She was in for ten hours of flying. Paris to New York, then New York to Chicago. She had naively thought she would be able to get through a hefty novel during those endless hours in the air, but that was without reckoning with her remarkable tendency to disappear into her own thoughts for absurd lengths of time. The book stayed buried in her bag in the overhead compartment, and she spent the first flight thinking, wearing out a mind that was already racing at full speed, twisting the end of her braid between her fingers.
Four years. Elizabeth had spent four years thinking about Charlie constantly, and above all, desperately wanting to find him again. He had vanished right after Neil's funeral. There was no other word for it. Freshly expelled from Welton and grounded indefinitely by his parents, she knew there was only one thing he wanted: to get away from all of it. There was no question of going back to Welton, no matter how many astronomical sums his father was willing to pay. Charlie knew he would be sent to a military academy or some other preparatory school willing to take pity on him, and that was simply inconceivable to him. He had told her so himself.
"Do you know what you want, exactly?" Elizabeth had asked him while they stood together in a corner of the Perrys' living room, surrounded by unfamiliar relatives all dressed in black. They were holding empty glasses, and Charlie was smoking discreetly.
"No," he had answered, "but I know exactly what I don't want."
"Are you leaving? Where?"
His suit was a little too big for him. He hated wearing black.
She had tried so hard to talk him out of it during those brief days of mourning between the tragedy and the funeral.
"Just finish the school year first. Anywhere, I don't care, but finish it. Don't run away all at once. You won't get anywhere."
Arguments to which he remained so completely deaf that, in the end, she had been reduced to saying,
"Please, Charlie, stay in touch. Write to me and call me."
And, God, he had seemed so sincere when he promised her he would. Then he had wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her blonde hair as though trying to remember its scent one last time. It was at the end of the funeral, while the Daltons waited in their austere car, watching him embrace this unfamiliar girl with scandalized expressions.
Elizabeth found herself left behind with the four remaining boys, all of them completely lost. Knox and Todd were sunk in a deep, almost pathological grief. Meeks would sometimes cry without saying a word. And Pitts looked more awkward and ill at ease than ever.
And they never heard from Charlie Dalton again.
Eight hours of flying, then arrival at New York airport, customs, collecting her luggage, queuing for the connecting flight. Elizabeth downed two black coffees back to back. They were absolutely disgusting.
The flight from New York to Chicago was only two hours. She tried to reason with herself, telling herself there was absolutely no point in replaying the same thoughts over and over again. But at the same time, it was almost as if she were rehearsing what she was going to say to Charlie when she saw him again. She didn't even know how she was going to act. She hadn't booked a hotel. She was hoping he would be able to put her up somehow. As the hours passed, anxiety tightened its grip around her stomach. She bit her nails and bounced her knee. She never should have drunk that much coffee. Idiot. She was a complete idiot.
The plane landed in Chicago at eight o'clock that evening. Elizabeth had no desire to stop and make plans. She strode out of the airport, hailed a cab, climbed in, and gave the driver the address of the bar. It was an hour's drive away. She struggled to speak English with the driver. She hadn't been back to America since she was seventeen and could barely understand a word of his accent. The fare cost her a small fortune. At least the cab was heated.
She undid her braid, ruffled her curls, and waited, just as she had been doing since nine o'clock that morning. Twisting the sleeves of her brown turtleneck between her fingers.
"Alright, you know what?" Elizabeth said when there were only a few minutes left. "Drop me off here."
The driver answered her with something in his incomprehensible accent as he pulled over, and Elizabeth shoved crumpled dollars into his hands before leaping out of the cab. The cold bit at her face. The wind, the damp air, the wet sidewalks, the streetlights, the crowd jostling her. Her bare thighs beneath her miniskirt were covered in goosebumps from the cold, but it felt better than staying seated any longer; her back was killing her.
Bannelli's, she repeated to herself over and over, as though that would stop her from missing the bar. In truth, she was so lost in thought that she could easily have walked right past the sign without noticing it. After a while, she found herself standing in front of the green neon sign, and her stomach was so tightly knotted with anxiety that she could barely breathe.
Carpe diem, she finally told herself, refusing to remain rooted to the sidewalk and keep spiraling in her thoughts, and she pushed the door open without even thinking.
Elizabeth only ever functioned in extremes: either she thought far too much, or she charged ahead headfirst. She chose the second option because she didn't want to waste any more time.
Head held high, she walked into the bar, whose modern interior was rather depressing, with white floors and white walls. The same neon sign flickered above the counter. She got tangled in the strap of her bag, took off her coat, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, and crossed the bar, glancing quickly around her; her only objective was to sit down at the counter and... wait.
Elizabeth made her way toward one of the tall stools, the kind that swivelled, upholstered in leather, and dropped her bag beside an empty seat next to a figure leaning over the counter. Unconsciously, she had been certain from the very beginning that it was Charlie, but for some reason, it had felt like something very distant and secondary.
"Yeah, yeah, but you see it wasn't the same stuff at all, bro, here I'm talking 'bout... uh, sorry..."
Elizabeth had sat down on the stool; when Charlie stopped his conversation with the bartender and turned on his seat toward her to see who it was, his knees bumped against hers. The blonde clearly watched his face go from distraction, to interest, to complete astonishment.
They stared at each other for long seconds without saying anything, because neither of them could find the right words. Then, finally, Elizabeth slapped him, hard enough that Charlie's head turned to the side and the bartender let out a surprised, "Uh!" looking as though he wasn't sure whether he should intervene or not.
"Four years without a word?" she managed to say, her angry voice climbing into a higher pitch as the familiar furrows of frustration creased her forehead once again.
She fixed him with a confrontational stare, her eyes darkened with kohl, while he touched his reddened cheek with the tips of his fingers, looking completely dazed.
"Beth," he said at last, as though it were nothing more than a simple observation.
"I'm waiting for an explanation, Charlie." She glanced toward the bartender, who was still standing there. "I will take a glass of whiskey, please. He'll pay," she added, pointing at Charlie with her chin.
The bartender exchanged a look with the brunet, looking deeply unsettled and uncertain. Charlie gave a weary nod, and the bartender walked away.
"What do you have to say?" she asked, as he remained silent.
"What do you have to say? What are you doing here? Knox told you, I suppose," he added without waiting for her answer, turning away to take a drink of his beer.
"He did indeed. Charlie," she added after a moment of silence.
"I don't know... just... why?"
He looked at her for a few seconds, then, as though he realized it was hopeless, he shook his head with a tired expression and turned back toward the bar. Elizabeth felt as though her chest were being compressed, so many things were colliding inside her without her being able to put any of them into words.
"You look terrible," she finally let slip, and he frowned.
"Always such a pleasure talking to you."
God, she wanted to slap him again.
"No, really. What on earth is that look?"
"Not all of us step straight out of Vogue, sorry about that," Charlie muttered, still turned sideways, and finished his beer in one gulp.
Still not knowing what to say, Elizabeth simply looked at him, studying him closely. If it made him uncomfortable, so much the better. His hair was long and slicked back, and in one way it was very attractive, but in another very strange, and a little too long. He was wearing some sort of oversized tweed coat with jeans and an open shirt over a T-shirt. Nothing like Nuwanda anymore, with his Ivy League haircut that had suited him incredibly well but also made him look unbearably smug, in his uniform and chino trousers. In fact, he really did look miserable, just as Knox had said.
The bartender came back with a glass of whiskey. She thanked him and took a sip.
"What's your name?" he asked with genuinely curious interest, leaning on the bar.
He was very handsome, the tall, muscular type with short hair, but with a slightly naïve look about him. She smiled at him.
"Where are you from?" he asked, and she frowned, not having understood his accent.
"Oh!" She gave a small embarrassed laugh. "France."
"Ooh. I see. Bonsoir Paris, uh?"
"Bonsoir Paris indeed..."
"How did you come here?" Charlie asked suddenly, his eyes lowered to the cigarette he was lighting.
"You need to repeat that sentence without the cigarette in your mouth and mumbling."
Charlie sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette before tilting his head back and looking at her through half-closed eyes.
"How did you come here?" he repeated, articulating with exaggerated care.
"By plane. This morning, from Paris."
If he was surprised, he showed absolutely none of it, merely looking away again as he took another drag from his cigarette.
"Why do you want to know where my hotel is?"
"So you can go back to it. I'll call you a cab."
Elizabeth looked at him with an expression of pure disgust. Inside, she felt like crying.
"If that was supposed to be polite and gentlemanly, I find it mostly incredibly high-handed. I don't have a hotel," she added immediately afterward, taking a sip of her drink. "I thought you might be able to let me stay at your place."
Charlie let out a breathless laugh, surprised.
"My place? You're the one who's being high-handed"
Elizabeth turned her head toward him in a flash, pinning him with her large brown eyes outlined in kohl, a murderous look that froze him completely in place by everything it conveyed.
"You want us to talk in detail now about what I find high-handed? I spent ten hours on a plane," she added firmly as he opened his mouth to answer. "I'm not about to pay for some lousy hotel room in a city I don't even know. I'll be sleeping at your place."
"Whether you like it or not."
"I can call the police for trespassing."
"Oh yeah? Go ahead. I think the police will have quite a lot to say about you," she shot back immediately.
She still had her quick wit, but it was no longer the sharp, teasing banter they used to trade back then. Charlie could feel all the anger with which she was speaking to him, and she really, really looked as though she were about to slap him again, or burst into tears. Or both.
And yet, at the same time, she still spoke with the same theatricality, the same ethos, as they used to jokingly call it, stressing exactly the words that mattered most and delivering her sentences like blows.
And, God, she knew exactly how to do it.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, her mouth slightly open, giving a small tilt of her head.
"Take the Shark, Sul," the bartender suddenly said. He was still standing there. "The drinks are on the house. I'm finishing my shift soon anyway. I'll ask Barry to give me a ride."
Charlie looked at the bartender, then at his glass, then at the floor.
"Thanks, Duke," he said flatly, without looking at anyone.
He slipped the cigarette between his lips and climbed down from the stool before walking away. Elizabeth finished her whiskey in one swallow before springing after him, grabbing her coat and her bag.
"Heyyy, Sully," called a woman leaning against the wall in a sultry voice. "Leaving already?"
"Sorry, doll. Maybe another time." And he winked at her.
"Do the women here even know you're underage?" Elizabeth asked haughtily as she followed him out into the street.
"I turned twenty-one a few months ago."
They stopped in front of a dark red convertible Barracuda.
Charlie started the engine, settling into the driver's seat ; Elizabeth tossed her travel bag into the back, put on her coat, and sat down beside him. He took off with a screech of tires and drove like a maniac. There was a full ashtray and a few empty bottles rolling around at their feet.
He slammed on the horn and swerved without warning. Elizabeth wondered how he had managed not to get himself killed behind the wheel yet.
He couldn't quite process what he was doing, Charlie thought as he spun the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. Agreeing to let Elizabeth stay with him was completely stupid. Why hadn't he just told her to get lost, bluntly and decisively, the way he knew so well how to do? It was completely stupid to be sitting there making conversation with her at all. Damn it, what had he gotten himself into? He had absolutely no desire to see her again.
She had changed a little. She was still slightly taller than him and looked more like an adult. She no longer wore lipstick, but her eyes were lined in black, like the smoky eyes of a femme fatale ; she looked like Brigitte Bardot. It suited her, in a way. She was still wearing the same kinds of clothes, a skirt with a turtleneck and tights. But her turtleneck was loose, her pencil skirt very short on her thighs, and instead of Mary Janes she wore boots that came up to her knees, with opaque tights covering her endless legs. It was very strange, the way she had both changed and remained the same. Charlie tried to steal glances at her, but she was already looking at him, and they both looked away at the same time when their eyes met.
What exactly did Elizabeth want? Answers, she had said. It was very vague, but it was enough to tie his stomach in knots. In any case, his plan was simple. He just had to disgust her at all costs so that she would leave and never come back into his life again. And he was remarkably good at disappointing people.
He had seen the hurt on Knox's face the other day, and had mistaken the suffocating feeling in his chest for satisfaction. He had celebrated it by coming home dead drunk.
"Do you live alone?" Elizabeth asked.
"Got a girlfriend? A wife?"
"Oh really? A boyfriend then?"
"How long have you been living with him?"
"Does he know how old you are?"
Charlie shot her an irritated glance.
"Stop asking so many things."
"Why do people call you Sully here?"
"It's my name around here. Besides, you'd be very kind not to call me Charlie or whatever in public. Or at all, for that matter."
Charlie suddenly swerved and gripped the steering wheel with all his strength to keep his hands from trembling.
"Don't call me that again."
He didn't answer, staring at the road, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, with a dark expression Elizabeth had never seen on him before. A wave of anxiety swept through her whole body again, and she gripped her knees to focus on something else.
Charlie parked the Shark haphazardly in front of a large brick apartment building, one of those with the zigzagging fire escape on the outside. He got out, slamming the car door behind him, a far cry from the Charlie Dalton who would once have made a whole production out of opening Elizabeth's door and carrying her bag. So she simply followed him onto the sidewalk as he unlocked the building's front door, then into the run-down elevator. Without a word, they reached the fifth floor. The brunet opened one of the apartment doors and stepped inside, switching on the lights.
Elizabeth had expected some kind of shabby housing project, but the apartment was actually really nice. The fairly spacious living room had a large bay window which, although dirty, overlooked the city. There was a couch, a coffee table, and a punching bag hanging in one corner. The room was separated from the kitchen area by a counter. There were a few bottles on it, empty coffee mugs in the sink, and dirty plates. It was bright, with halogen lights placed in seemingly random spots.
"Right, my room's in here," Charlie called, opening the corresponding door before heading off toward the hallway. "You'll sleep there. The bathroom's at the end of the hall, but don't use too much water. You'll find some towels somewhere. If you're hungry and there's nothing in the fridge, order a pizza."
As he spoke, he made his way back toward the entryway and opened the front door.
Elizabeth looked genuinely worried.
"My night's not over yet."
She was about to answer something, anything, when he opened the door and closed it behind him.
Elizabeth rushed after him without thinking, pulling the door open again before it had even finished closing. In two long strides she caught up with Charlie's weary figure in the hallway, grabbed him by the shoulder to turn him around, and wrapped her arms around him, embracing his neck before he even had the chance to protest, her face buried against the shoulder of his tweed coat.
"I missed you," she said in a whisper.
She let out a small ironic laugh.
"Uh, if you say so. Anyway, I do."
She pressed her eyes against the tweed to keep the tears from falling while he stood there with his arms hanging at his sides. She didn't loosen her hold by an inch.
"You know, you can behave like a complete asshole as much as you want, I won't give in. But at the same time, Charlie, I have patience, but you know it still hurts me. Even though I have no intention of leaving anytime soon. I just think it would be easier if you behaved normally. Whatever normally means to you, I just don't think it's... the way you are right now."
She took a deep breath, sighed, then let go of him ; she kissed him on the temple, blinked her black lashes, her mascara having run a little, and went back into his apartment.
pt.2 coming soon on ao3...
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
izzy806
vaporwave
