I just want to thank TomHiddlestonLover10 from the bottom of my heart for being so amazing by giving me pointers and reading over his several times just to make sure I got it all right :)


Summary: The first time Melanie Faraday saw Sebastian Monroe he accused her of leaking information to the rebel forces. The second time she sees him, he's on the run from his own men and in need of a safe haven.

Melanie raised her head to soak in the cold breeze that stirred through the tall oak trees surrounding her cabin and the large field which lay before her. There was a particular scent in the air that instantly told her a storm was coming. She looked up at the swiftly setting sun which was just a pale illumination behind the dark pollution of the rain clouds, and focused her concentration on the distant tree lines.

"It's gonna be a heavy storm," she thought, pushing her weight off the knob-side jamb and walking down to the clothesline.

The stalks of rye rustled melodiously at the impact of another gust of heavy wind. A deafening crack of thunder made the skies above finally curl into a blanket of darkness before static-like lightning bolts brightening the world. Mel's pace quickened as she threw the crisp, clean clothes into a makeshift basket. Just when she grabbed the last bed sheet, her eyes scanned the field again. This time her focus landed on a dark figure standing in the very center.

Anyone should know that standing in an open field during a huge storm was just asking for a freshly dug grave. Mel had buried enough people – too many to be given the considerable amount of sympathy – but she most certainly didn't want a dead body rotting in a fifty feet proximity from where she lived. So, in a split second, she had dropped her basket and was sprinting into the knee-high rye, waving her arms above her head and shouting to get his attention.

When Mel stood face to face with the man, his face scared and aloof, she was dumbstruck. She was about to curse out loud but whatever she opened her mouth to say was drowned out by a series of loud cracks of thunder. That was when the rain started to beat down in heavy torrents. She grabbed his wrist and almost had to drag him through the blinding rain back to the cabin.

As soon as they were both safe inside, Melanie pushed the door shut against the winds and bolted the lock. She was about to grab a dry towel for herself but looked forlornly at the freshly cleaned clothes and linens sitting, soaking wet, in the basket she had dropped outside.

That was when she finally noticed him.

Sebastian Monroe stood beside the door, shivering violently and holding a blood-covered hand to his side.

"Oh, my god," She said in realization, wiping the rain water from her upper lip, and immediately leading him to the small army cot which didn't have any bed sheets.

Monroe squinted at her when he laid his head down on the pillow. "I know you. You…you're –"

"Shut up." She snapped, rummaging through drawers trying to find her flint and tinder to start the fire. With all the will power she had, squatting over the hearth, she managed to force her fingers to stop quivering long enough to get a few sparks to come off of the flint and into the dried pieces of rye over the wood. "Take your clothes off." Melanie said over her shoulder to Monroe, who watched her every move. He hesitantly stared up at her. "This is not the time to be bashful, Monroe."

A charming smile appeared on his lips, despite the stabbing pain in his side. "I don't want to lead you on or anything."

Mel rolled her eyes. "How decent of you."

She took to unbuttoning his shirt and pulling up the blood-soaked flannel that was underneath. Coagulated blood had clotted the bullet wound and was caked over his toned abs. Mel shut her eyes to think.

"You're Faraday, right?" Monroe quietly asked. His voice was shaken from shock but his gaze was glued to her face.

Melanie didn't answer but stood and unlocked the door. From where Sebastian lay, he saw her bolt out into the curtain of rain and come back a few moments later with a basket of clothes in her hands. She was soaking wet again and her auburn hair clung to her face in sopping strands.

Standing at the table, she dug out a square washcloth from the basket and started dabbing at the dried blood on his stomach. "Stay still or I'll make sure I puncture your liver with a fork."

"You're still all personality, aren't you, Melanie?" A discomfort-laced grin spread across his face.

"I'll take your word for it." She sarcastically drawled, rubbing in the droplets of rain that dribbled off the tips of her hair and landed on his torso. "So, what brings you to this neck of the wood?" Her eyes drifted up to meet his. "Surely your men shouldn't be too far away searching for you."

"I don't have any more men." Monroe's face curled in pain just as the cloth swept over the raw flesh on his side.

Mel's hand recoiled spontaneously. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He sighed out. "I always knew my men weren't loyal to me."

"That's not what I apologized for," She icily snapped, feeling the skin around the swollen wound, searching for any sign of a bullet. "I don't know what happened to the bullet but it's not inside." Without a word, she stooped underneath the cot and reached into a canvas bag.

Bass had his head craned curiously to see what she had in her hand, and when he saw her bring up a metal flask he threw his back into the pillow with a loud sigh of relief. "There better be whiskey in that, Faraday."

Thrusting the flask into his hand, Melanie walked to the mantle above the blazing fire and pulled out a small sewing kit which was tucked behind a vase. Just as Monroe was about to take a swig, Mel snatched the flask from his fingers and poured a generous amount into his open wound. A sharp hiss escaped between the blonde man's clenched teeth and his hands groped for the metal bedframe. His knuckles were white since he was clinging to the cot with all his strength, trying to wait for the burning sensation to ease into an agitating numbness at his side.

"You're like the female version of Joe Swango," He jokingly taunted, his face still pulled into a wince.

"Grow any more balls, Monroe, and you'd almost be as good a man as Attila the Hun."

He flashed an immaculate smile despite the stinging pain that still lingered. "Thanks for the compliment."

"I must have said it wrong." Melanie unraveled a piece of thread that was roughly doubled the length of one arm. She carefully folded the string in half before threading it through a larger needle with a wider eye.

Monroe watched her work with steady eyes. Every move she made was precise and with some meaning. She never sat idly. He remembered from the time when he first noticed her sitting in the courtyard in plain sight of his office window. She was sitting on a bench, poised and still, appearing more like a picturesque masterpiece rather than a live being, with her beautiful forest green eyes shifting to and fro. She was studying her surroundings, memorizing and judging each and every person who walked past her. Her hands were folded calmly in her lap, the pointer finger of her left hand, he noted at the moment which seemed so long ago, steadily tapping her knee cap. Little did he know, that one small, still woman was about to cause chaos all through his Republic.

"Why'd you do it?" He asked before he knew he had come back from his daydream.

Her fingers stopped moving at his torso. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Try me." Monroe challenged slightly, loosening his grip on the bed frame.

Mel scoffed dismissively, meeting his stare. "Would you believe me if I said I did it for love?"

"No,"

An ironic smile past her lips. "Yeah, I wouldn't either. But that's the reason." She bit the inside of her lower lip and focused her attention back to running the needle point through his skin.

"Well, what happened to him?" Bass inquired, anger welling up inside of him.

Melanie started slowly, filtering out as much as she could from the real story. "He...wanted to take my hand but he took my whole life instead. He got what he wanted from my heart and then left. He left me standing with the bag while he hightailed it back with his tail between his legs."

"That's where our meat sticks hang, sweetheart. Men do what we can to protect our own."

"That's not a good enough justification for leaving me to die!" She growled through clenched teeth, harshly securing the string so it snuggly held the wound for healing.

He nodded. "People do crazy things when they're in love."

"You know your Disney movies, Monroe." Mel chuckled quietly, tying off the stitches and soaking up the excess blood on his torso with another damp cloth.

"How about you give a drink of that?" He motioned with his hand toward the flask that she had set on the floor.

Melanie straightened herself into a balanced stance, arms akimbo, head cocked, ready for battle. "How about you shut up and give me your shirts?"

The large grin on his mouth couldn't help but reach his sparkling eyes as he slowly pulled his shirts over his head. Mel tried pulling her focus off his bare chest and the way the muscles in his arms fit in the sleeves of the flannel shirt just so. Pulling herself together, she gathered the needle which had a thin coat of blood over it and dropped it into a small saucer, pouring a few drops of alcohol over it from the flask. When she turned, Monroe had his shirts in his hands and held them out to her.

"Get some rest, Monroe." Mel took the shirts and put the half-filled flask in his hand instead. "You're safe here."

With one swift movement, she threw his button down shirt with the Monroe Republic insignia into the tongues of the fire.

"What the hell was that for?" Monroe cried, shooting up but recoiling in pain. "That's the only shirt I have."

"Which would you rather have: your shirt or your life? Because I know for a fact that if they find you wearing that shirt you're a dead man." Mel walked to the table and laid the gray-brown flannel on the table before she started distributing the damp laundry in the basket around the cabin to dry before it started to smell musty. "Besides, I have some of Liam's clothes that may fit you."

"Is that his name?" Sebastian scoffed. "He sounds like a real mama's boy."

"At least he isn't a psychopathic, paranoid asshole."

He mocked a frown and put a hand over his heart. "That hurt."

"Good," She simply remarked, turning her ears to discern the clinking of raindrops against the glass windows.

As the night wore on, the rain just got more violent. The cabin creaked and the trees around it moaned through the roar of the storm. Melanie sat at the table, leaning over Monroe's newly washed flannel shirt which she spent hours scrubbing at a washboard. Monroe had fallen fast asleep as soon as he had finished the last of her whiskey which she was saving for special occasions, such as the power coming back on. Her fingers worked on mending the bullet hole with a thinner needle and her neck ached from leaning in closely to see each stitch.

"Hey," Monroe whispered from the cot, his head resting on the pillow so he could watch her. "I need to take a leak."

"You know," She said with a slightly smug undertone, "the whole point of being a grown up is to be able to take care of yourself."

"Well, considering the fact that I just got shot in the stomach I think I'm exempted from that rule for now."

Mel put two fingers against her temple, staring down at her half-finished work. "There's an outhouse behind the cabin. If you can't reach that, just go in the bushes outside the front door."

"Wanna help me up, princess?"

The chair she sat on loudly groaned against the force she used to push back, clearly exasperated. Securing one arm around his waist, and another on his shoulder, Mel inched his body into a sitting position, careful not to stretch the fresh stitches.

"Take it easy, Monroe," She lulled beside his ear, supporting him until he was standing on his own two feet. He lifted his arms from around her shoulder and limped for the door. Taking one look at the downpour of rain, he took a step out into the foyer and aimed for the azaleas. Mel sat back down at the table such that her back was facing the open door. A cool wind rushed into the small room, making the laundry whip and flap, causing small droplets of water to spray from the corners of the clothes.

"Why'd you come after me anyway?" Bass wondered out loud as he shuffled back toward the bed, gently pushing the door shut with a flick of his wrist. He turned his head to see Melanie quietly take up his flannel shirt again, running the needle back and forth and tugging the thread back before repeating the process.

Back and forth...tug...back and forth...

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you." She replied immediately, keeping her eyes concentrated on her fingers.

Monroe carefully settled back down on the bed, cocking his head and focusing on her profile which flowed from the light of the fireplace. "Why didn't you answer?"

Her fingers stopped repeating the methodical flow of the needle, raising her head with a chuckle. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Just answer." He said seriously.

Melanie matched his facial expressions, shedding her playful smirk and replacing it with pursed lips. "If I knew it was you I wouldn't have bothered."

A thick cloak of tension settled over the two. The only sound that reached both of their ears was the homely cackling of the fire and the raindrops that pitter-pattered against the roof and tinkered on the window pane.