Work Text:
1863- charcoal
The first time he draws Charlotte is during the Civil War.
He sees her one night after successfully managing to patch Addison up.
She's exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and frizzy hair and chapped lips, but something about the soft curve of her mouth screams peace and it sticks in his head, driving him crazy until he manages to get it down on paper.
Cal points out the smudge of charcoal on his face the next day.
1890- fountain pen
Aidan uses meetings to practice technique.
Meetings are either chaotic or boring, with no in between, and any state will agree.
Sometimes, one of the older states will offer tips- Monty had once given him a whole tutorial on eyes during a presentation about the economy. (By the time Monty was supposed to present, he'd forgotten what he was supposed to say. Instead, he brought up college sports. The room dissolved into chaos and everyone else forgot that he was supposed to present at all. It was one of the greatest things Aidan had ever seen.)
Charlie grins at something Helena says, covering her mouth with her hand. It doesn't hide much, not when her eyes are so bright with laughter.
(The only drawing he actually completes that day is of Charlie with her grin covered by her hands.)
1900- (interlude)
Charlie's kind of weird, in the sense that sometimes her nose wrinkles up when someone calls her Charlotte or calls her a girl.
So, of course, he asks Cal, because Cal knows all the good gossip. "What's Charlie's deal?"
Of course, it's also tricky because Cal likes Charlie- Charlie had been her sister far longer than Aidan had been her brother.
Cal narrows her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"
Aidan shrugs. "She's....she's kind of weird." It comes out as a question and he rushes to clarify before Cal gets mad. "Like sometimes someone calls her Charlotte and she looks like she wants to scream."
Cal sighs. "If you want a good explanation you should ask Charlie yourself, but when were younger she used to get kind of upset sometimes when someone called her Charlotte. We thought it was kind of like Tyler, but Charlie'd go weeks without saying anything about it. Charlie eventually asked people to just call them Charlie because she didn't know sometimes."
"So?"
"So sometimes Charlie feels more comfortable with the male pronouns and sometimes with the female pronouns and sometimes they don't feel like either."
1943- (interlude)
His mild interest in Charlie becomes a full-fledged crush when they're both stationed to the Pacific front.
Aidan hadn't known Charlie was in the Pacific front, or even that she had enlisted in the Army Nurse Corps to begin with. It probably would have stayed that way if Aidan hadn't gotten caught in an artillery explosion.
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Aidan wakes up in a military hospital feeling like, well, he got blown up.
Ten minutes later, Charlie comes to check on whatever injuries are under his bandages.
She smiles when she notices that he's awake. "Hey. You cut it pretty close, but you didn't die. Picked some shrapnel out of you, stitched you up, and you should be good in a few days. Week, maybe."
"You're a nurse?" It comes out disbelieving, and he would kick himself if he wasn't in so much pain already.
"Yeah." Charlie pulls the bandages away and examines the stitches. "I was going to be a doctor, but that didn't work out."
"Didn't work out?"
"Med School. State of the Union meetings. State paperwork. Coursework. Traveling for the meetings. Exams. There just wasn't enough time." She begins rewrapping the bandages. "Any pain?"
"A little. You went to med school?" Any medical school was difficult to get into, especially for women.
Charlie nods as she gets up to get him pain pills. "Five and a half months."
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During the week he's in that military hospital, he learns that Charlie is one of those people that are just ridiculously kind. Charlie is one of those people who stop to turn beetles back on their legs, who help raccoons that are stuck in trashcans. The type of person who carries band-aids in their bags and keeps giving away their umbrella.
By the time he's discharged, Aidan finds himself with a crush.
1945- colored pencil
It's after the war, Aidan's first Christmas home in years, and he spends it trying to get up the nerve to talk to Charlie.
Oh, he can talk all day about economics and technology and all the stuff that has to deal with states, but he can't seem to actually talk to her. Charlie's nice, but that doesn't make her less unapproachable.
Of course, when he does talk to her, he picks the most boring topic ever.
"Your stitches were good. Didn't scar or anything." Why can't a hole just open up in the floor right now?
Charlie raises an eyebrow. "I've had a lot of practice."
Aidan doesn't think that's what Charlie meant, but he remembers the nights Addison would bleed, the injuries the older states would come home with. He remembers nights when the whole house would smell like blood and iodine. He almost shudders at the memory.
"They make doctors practice on fruit before they start on people," Charlie adds quietly, like she knows exactly where his mind went.
When she gets up, Aidan's sure he blew it.
He's shocked when she comes back with an extra cup of hot chocolate for him.
She smiles and leaves it beside him before going off to talk to Cal.
Aidan sketches out a set of mismatched eyes in his sketchbook and sighs.
1961- ballpoint pen
"Can I sketch you?" Aidan blurts out suddenly.
Charlie blinks up at him for a few moments in confusion, eyebrows furrowing.
Stupid now she thinks you're weird- Aidan bites his cheek.
Charlie props herself up on her elbows, glancing further down the beach towards their siblings.
Thankfully none of them are close enough to see him make a fool of himself, most of them in the water.
She finally looks back at him. "...Like right now?"
Aidan winces. "Uh, just forget it-"
"Okay."
He pauses awkwardly. "Alright, I'm just going to go over there-"
Charlie bites her lip in an attempt to restrain a bemused smile. "What happened to sketching me?"
He blinks. "Oh."
He sits cross-legged beside her. She lays back onto her beach towel.
Aidan flips through his sketchbook and digs out a pen- not his favorite medium, but it'll have to do.
1961- soft pastel
Charlie's hair is curly from the short french braid it had jammed into and damp from the shower she had taken after her run this morning and he wants his sketchbook and a pencil so that he can remember the way the light hits it. She collapses bonelessly into the armchair across from him, and Aidan suppresses the hope that she's purposely seeking him out.
"You know, Callie gets that exact look when she wants to photograph something."
When he looks at her face, Charlie's smiling. "Just go get your sketchbook already."
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Charlie's staring at him.
Aidan smudges the pastel a little to create the texture of her hair before he looks back up.
Now or never, he thinks, swallowing hard. He sets his sketchbook down.
He rests his fingers on her jaw, leaning in enough to make it clear what he's about to do.
Charlie closes the distance.
Their lips meet once, twice, three times in soft, chaste, little taps that could barely be considered kisses. They pull apart, still close enough that they're sharing air and Charlie's nose brushes against his.
For a few breaths, everything is still.
The stillness is broken when Charlie grabs onto his collar and pulls him down to kiss him.
1961- (interlude)
He asks her on a date and immediately wants to bang his head against something but then Charlie smiles at him, all soft and affectionate and jesus, Aidan's so incredibly done for.
And then they actually go on the date.
"You look really nice," Aidan says, because Charlie is stunning in a way that makes him want his sketchpad, but only creepy people sketch their dates.
Charlie smiles at him, a little tentatively.
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It's not going well.
Aidan has no idea what he did, but Charlie's been quiet the entire time and Aidan's heart is sinking in his chest. Now that he's gone and made it weird by asking her out they can't even be friends.
Finally, Charlie sighs and looks at him with a small frown on her face. Aidan sits a little straighter.
"Look, if you only like me when I'm like this," She gestured at her dress. "You should tell me now so we can both save some time, because I'm not always going to feel like this."
Aidan blinks. That- he hadn't even thought about that since Cal had told them. "I know. I don't care. I want you to be my girlfriend or my boyfriend or... fuck, what's the gender-neutral term-?"
Charlie stares at him. "Really?"
"Well, yeah." Aidan says. "You're kind of a catch, you know? You're probably smarter than me and really beautiful all the time, and trust me, I'm an artist-"
The rest of the sentence is cut off when Charlie kisses him.
Aidan's eyes slip closed as he kisses her back.
"Lover," he whispers quietly when she pulls away.
Charlie's eyebrows furrow. "What?"
"The gender-neutral term is lover." Aidan kisses her again, just a soft peck. Charlie laughs, bright and loud and wonderful, and buries her head in his shoulder.
1961- charcoal
There isn't really any physical difference between male days and female days, but somehow Aidan can tell the difference. Aidan can just tell, and he doesn't know what it is. Something in his brain just clicks and he knows that Charlie's a boy today, or that they'd just changed genders sometime during their speech, and he knows.
There's nothing to really say that they've changed, except that Charlie usually only wears dresses on female days (but they wear pants whenever they want no matter which gender they are that day, so that doesn't really count). Charlie's voice is light and clear, and maybe a little high but it doesn't change to Aidan's knowledge (he wonders if Julian could say otherwise). Their posture doesn't change, their mannerisms don't change, but somehow Aidan can look at Charlie and know today is a male day.
Either way, he thinks as he does a sketch of Charlie gardening for one of his classes, Charlie's beautiful.
1962- graphite pencil
"Wow." Charlie breathes out, wonder sparkling in his mismatched eyes as he looks out over Seattle.
It's a perk of being a personification: pull enough strings, you can get anywhere.
Even, say, a recently finished observation tower that wasn't open to the public yet. They'd brought bottles of coke and sandwiches, and Charlie twisted the cap off his drink.
He clinked it against Aidan's, the sound of the glass bottles clicking together strangely pleasant.
Aidan looks out over the city, digging around in the bag for his sketchbook. He'd almost left it behind- even he knew sketching on dates was bad etiquette, but Charlie had rolled his eyes and packed it for him, saying that he liked him, bad date etiquette and all.
"You know, this is probably one of the best dates ever," Charlie says suddenly.
Aidan turns to look at him, and he can already feel his ears and face turning red.
The blush isn't helped when Charlie leans over and kisses his cheek.
It's almost been a year since they had started dating and Charlie could still make him flustered.
(Apparently, Charlie thought his blush was cute.)
What was supposed to be a sketch of just Seattle turns into one of Charlie looking out the observation windows instead, and Aidan can't bring himself to mind. Especially not when Charlie lays his head on Aidan's shoulder.
1963- oil paint
This painting is due Monday, and he doesn't even have a subject.
Charlie shrugs, like failing his midterm isn't a big deal. "Paint me, then."
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Everyone seems to forget that Charlie is downright shameless most of the time. Sure, they went through that whole poodle-skirt phase, but so had half of the other states. Aidan figures it has to do with the gardening and the pacifism, and maybe even the fact that Cal's shameless-ness is on a whole other level from Charlie's and kind of overshadows it.
And Aidan? Well, Aidan gets reminded of it every so often, like now.
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Aidan swallows harshly as Charlie settles down onto the couch.
He's painted Charlie once or twice before.
He's painted nudes before.
He has never painted Charlie nude.
"Charlie."
Her gaze is steady, and part of him thinks of the symbolism and the references to Manet's Olympia that could be made.
The other part is just incoherent screaming because jesus christ Charlotte Ophelia Jones the goddamn state of Oregon is on his couch posing nude for a painting what the hell even is life anymore-
Say something. Anything. Say something- "Charlie. I don't think I could paint you like this and turn it in... it's sort of controversial?"
Not that. Aidan screams some more internally. That was not what he was supposed to say.
Now he sounded uninterested. (He was very interested.)
Charlie quirks one eyebrow, bemused, and rolls onto her stomach, dragging the green throw blanket from the couch and draping it over her waist.
"Uh, that-that's good."
(He gets an A, of course, because Charlie's gorgeous even when she's giving him heart attacks.)
1963- (interlude)
It was good, maybe not the best either of them had ever had, but it was good, and there was the promise that this was not a one-time thing, that they had as long as they wanted for moments like these.
Charlie's breathtaking, more beautiful than any Aphrodite statue, more than the original Birth of Venus.
Sure, there's a scar through their right eyebrow from a wayward baseball or hockey puck or something from when they were kids. There are a few burn scars on their thigh that match up with the ones on his back from that wildfire all those years back. Aidan thinks he likes them better this way than if they were flawless, mystery-sport scars and burns and all.
Aidan peppers sleepy kisses over Charlie's shoulders and throat, and mumbles something out. "One day, I want to paint you like this."
Charlie laughs, brushing their nose against his. "Alright."
1967- pencil
The words you are a government employee and the threat of a tribunal are directed at Charlie and she doesn't even blink.
Charlie has spent too many wars as the voice of calm and reason, disobeying orders to stitch people back together to ever falter at petty threats. She's been called a lot of things over the years, and she'd always took it with an unimpressed expression and a distinct kind of dignity. (Aidan still wanted to hit people who thought they had any right to judge Charlie and her life, but Charlie wouldn't like that so he left it alone.)
(Callie is the one who blinks her eyes open lazily to flip off the aggressor with a smile straight from Hollywood. She's always been fiercely defensive of all of them.)
Charlie smiles wryly, and offers President Johnson a daisy, one left from the bundle she'd been using to stick in the barrels of guns the earlier at the protest.
Alfred doesn't say anything, but Aidan catches him smiling a little.
He sketches out a very pop art-y (he blames Brooke and Alfred for that) doodle of Charlie offering up a daisy.
1968- (interlude)
Aidan doesn't even notice he's switched the pronouns he's using for Charlie until she points it out. He'd been using male ones earlier and now he's using female ones.
He pauses, trying to remember if he ever told Charlie that he could figure out when they switched. He's pretty sure he hasn't.
"You switched before your presentation, right?"
Charlie frowns. "Yeah, but I didn't say anything."
Aidan shrugs. "I can kind of tell, sometimes."
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That night, Charlie turns and tucks her head against his chest. Aidan hums happily and wraps his arms around her.
"This is really cliche," Charlie murmurs against his chest, "But you see me."
1970- mixed media
Aidan's project for his class is a series of three collages, and he immediately knew what he was going to do.
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He does one of Cal with chopped up polaroids, brushing glue onto the canvas and pouring sand over it for her hair. Alfred is pieces of a copy of the Declaration he got Sera to get from some gift shop and old flag silk.
Charlie's is made out of old maps and medical dictionary pages and gardening magazines, and he grins when he sees it and kisses him.
1973- marker
"You're male right now," Aidan mumbles quietly. It isn't a question. Charlie looks stunning in a blue dress that reminds him of the ocean, but she's not really smiling, and she hasn't been all night.
No one really enjoys the government parties, but it's fun to be around the other states. Charlie usually likes that part but she's been withdrawn since they got there.
Charlie's jaw tightens, which is answer enough.
Aidan laces their fingers together. "Come on."
Charlie follows without hesitation.
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They sit out on the balcony alone and Charlie relaxes by the smallest amount. It's better than nothing, at least.
Aidan can't do anything about the dress, not really, but he gives Charlie his jacket. Charlie puts his hands in the pockets, frowning, and then laughs quietly when he pulls out a couple of markers.
Charlie hands them to Aidan silently. When Aidan takes them, he pushes up the sleeves of the jacket to expose his forearm.
Aidan understands immediately. He's doodled things on Charlie during meetings before, to calm down or just to have something to do. He'd never thought it was calming for Charlie, too.
He draws an octopus on Charlie's wrist, right over his pulse-point, and Charlie snorts. Aidan just grins and draws a starfish around the mole on the back of his hand, right where his thumb meets his hand.
They stay there for the rest of the night and by the time Cal comes to find them to tell them the gala's over, Charlie's arms are covered with an aquarium's worth of sea creatures.
1977- tattoo marker
Charlie describes the tattoo she wants, and Aidan sketches it out on paper for her to see before he draws it on her wrist. It's fairly simple- a line of meadowlarks and a line of swallowtails in flight, Charlie's motto between them. He'd asked her if she was sure about the motto, if they should change the pronoun, but Charlie had shrugged and said she didn't mind, that it was her motto and she was going to let it be.
Charlie smiles at him when he holds her wrist so he can start drawing the design onto her wrist.
Later, he takes her other hand as she gets the tattoo, and Charlie offers him a tense smile.
They loop around Charlie's wrist like bracelets, and Aidan traces the words over and over, until it becomes something that can snap him out the bad moods the worst days bring.
1980- (interlude)
Aidan remembers 1980 as the year of the glasses. He'd gotten his after the first world war, but 1980 is the year Charlie shows up to their once-a-month-no-exceptions date with a pair of glasses perched on his nose and an awkward expression, clearly annoyed with them.
"They're cute." Aidan blurts out and then blushes a startling shade of red.
Charlie smiles back, his own face slightly red, and pushes his glasses back up.
1982- acrylic paint
There is more paint on Charlie than there is on the canvas, and it's entirely her own fault.
He'd been trying to paint the ocean, but Charlie had kissed him and he'd kissed her back, hands cupping her face, and now there were guilty blue fingerprints on her jaw.
Her nose wrinkles up as she pulls away, obviously feeling the paint on her face.
Aidan huffs out a laugh at her disgruntled expression.
Charlie pouts at him, swiping her fingers through the navy on the palette and bopping him on the nose with one paint covered finger.
For a moment, the only sound is the crashing of the waves.
And then Aidan tackles Charlie back into the sand, hand dragging through the paint as they go.
Charlie sputters at the feeling of the cold paint on her face, dissolving into laughter.
1997- (epilogue)
Aidan ignores Charlie when she decides to flop onto his bed, except to check what color bracelet is on her wrist today. It's purple, so he's got the pronouns right.
She playfully kicks one of his legs. "Hey. Hey. Aidan."
He gives up and looks at her.
Charlie puts on a serious face. "Draw me like one of your french girls."
Aidan kicks her off the bed.
"Ow." There's a thump as she hits the floor, but she's laughing so she's probably fine.
"You're terrible. That was an awful joke."
Charlie sits up, elbows resting on the bed. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."
Aidan rolls his eyes. "I guess."
Charlie grins at him. "I love you too."