Dear fabulous Lemon, this is my present for you. Happy birthday, I wish you love, happiness, health and wonderful stories ! Love from Love

Connection

Chapter 1.

Bass walks into the only bar in Willoughby where they serve decent whiskey. After a long afternoon with a meeting from hell with Frank fucking Blanchard his fingers ache for a glass of whiskey. He is tired and feels like hell.

Frank knows what he is doing now Texas is trying to get back on its feet after the war. Bass knows that. But hell, he is not sure how many times he can listen to Blanchard who has to remind him he is in charge of half the continent now his Republic has gone to hell.

Frustration has build up in the muscles of his shoulders with every hour he had to sit in Frank's office while his bored mind had been busy plotting Frank's future death.

Bass moves his hand over his face. When he orders his first drink, he notices some stuff is happening around a table close to one of the windows. People are talking in hushed voices.

He sits down to Joe Mathews. Joe acknowledges him with a quick nod, a glass of whiskey already in his hands. He is one of the few people that is willing to talk to him now Bass has rented an apartment in Willoughby.

'What's that all about?' Bass gestures to the small crowd in the corner of the bar with his glass in his hand.

Joe takes another sip of his drink. 'You haven't heard?'

'Heard what?' Bass growls. He lets the whiskey swirl in his glass before he puts it back to his lips.

'Aaron Pittman was having dinner here with the Matheson girl half an hour ago. He collapsed. Just like that after his second drink. Had to take him to see the old doc across town.'

Bass feels something shift inside of him when Joe mentions her name.

'How's he doing?' It is not the first question he wants to ask. The first question swirls around her, around Charlotte, in his mind. But he can't ask. He can't give that part of himself away.

'Not sure. It did not look good.' Joe says, looking from Bass to his drink.

'Charlie with him?' Bass takes another sip of his whiskey, her name casually rolling of his lips. But saying her name is just as powerful as the whiskey in his glass.

'Yeah, she would not leave his side. She was pretty upset.'

Joe's words are like a punch to his chest. Bass has to swallow something away. Something that should not be there. 'She alone?'

'Guess so, his wife is staying with some family and Rachel and Miles are out of town for the next couple of days.'

It is all Bass needs to know. He finishes his whiskey. He lets it burn in the back of his throat in the same way Joe's words, and her name, burn inside his chest when he slams his glass back onto the bar. He pays for his drink before he walks out of the bar with a focussed blue in his eyes.

He finds her with eyes filled with worry while she is pacing through the hall of the small, and only, hospital Willoughby has.

The sounds of his boots hitting the floor of the empty hallway yanks his mind back to memories of Independence hall and long lonely nights in Philly after Miles had left their city, the Republic, him. Hours where whiskey, reports and echoes of who he used to be had kept him company, unable to get any sleep.

He feels the weight of that ambushing memory as tension around his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. He pushes the memory out when he walks to her.

He senses the exact moment she knows he is here. He can see it in the small shift in her shoulders, in the way she looks up with an almost surprised depth in her eyes.

'Heard about stay puft. How's he doing?' His tone is filled with gruffness. He curses at himself for sounding like such an asshole when she is looking so damn upset.

Charlie looks up to meet his eyes that are a mixture of rude steel and deeper blue. She knows she should be pissed at the stay puft insult. But all she knows is that this hospital hallway does not feel as desolated as it did now he is standing in it.

'They don't know...Grandpa is with him now...'

He doesn't know what messes with his head more, seeing her like this or the fact that she is willing to answer his question.

Their eyes lock, and somehow it reminds him of that afternoon in an abandoned school. Where it had been them in the middle of their lives pretty much going to hell. But she had looked at him. Really looked at him. And hell, she is doing that now. There is too much in her eyes. There are new things in her look. Too much for him to look away. He should. But he can't.

The sound of footsteps behind her yanks her away from him as she breaks their eye contact first. Her heartbeat feels more heavy and fast at the same time when Gene walks over to her and Monroe.

'He is stable, for now. I think he has pneumonia. That ugly cough has been bothering him for weeks. He has a fever and he needs fluids. I will do everything I can all right?'

Charlie's heart rebels against those last words. It is not what she wanted to hear.

He is going to be fine. It is nothing. She longs to hear those words. Not this. But she had seen the way Aaron had looked before he collapsed when he had gotten up from his chair to order them another drink. His eyes behind his glasses had been unfocused and he had looked pale. She had rushed over to his side and yelled for help when she had stayed with Aaron until they had moved him to the hospital room he is sleeping in right now.

Maggie taught her enough to know that without the medicine the world had before the blackout, things are not looking good and that the options to treat Aaron at this point are limited. She feels panic rise inside her belly. She should have played more attention. She should not have believed Aaron when he told her it had been just a cold. She feels pissed at herself. And more panic swirling in her stomach.

But this is Aaron. He is family. So she takes a deep breath and stays strong. For him.

Bass looks at her. She is trying to push back all the emotions he can see in her eyes. With a strong stubborn sigh, she straightens her shoulders. But he knows her. He feels the shift inside of her. She looks small. The blue in her eyes now so god damn pale.

Behind her strength and hidden behind the fighter in her he can see a wave of defeat that almost brings him through his knees.

'There is nothing you can do now Charlie..' Gene tries. 'All we can do is wait...'

'I am staying.' Charlie says, her eyes hollow but her voice firm. She knows where this is going. But she is not going anywhere.

'Charlie...'

'I said. I am staying.'

Gene sighs. He ignores Monroe who is standing behind Charlie. He has no idea what he is doing here. But he is tired. He has four patients and a devastated granddaughter standing in a hospital hallway in front of him.

'At least sit down and try to get some rest all right?' Gene tries. When he is sure she will at least do that, he turns and walks back to check on Aaron again.

Charlie sits down on one of the chairs on her left. Bass is not even sure she wants him here but hell, after everything they have been through? If she's staying. He is.

The sound of his boots echo in the dark of an empty hallway. He sits down next to her. Close enough for his leather jacket to touch the sleeve of hers. She can't look up. But she can't deny what it does to her that he is here, with her, tonight.

It has been like that from the start somehow. She has found something in him she refuses to look at. It is complicated. Hard. Impossible. And yet it is there. It irritates her, it angers her.

But worrying about Aaron gives her no space in her heart to be pissed at Monroe. She has no energy to push that something, him, away although she is not even sure she wants to push him away. So she sits in a silent hospital hallway. Thinking of Aaron. Waiting for news. And somehow he sits there, with her.

She doesn't want to talk. Bass is not sure he can. He feels fucking pathetic for his mind that is trying to think of something he could say to her. So he keeps his mouth shut as midnight is now far behind them.

He thinks about giving her his leather jacket. But then Gene moves from one room to another one at the end of the hallway. Both men exchange a look. There is bitter kind of hate in Gene's eyes. Bass wants to give her the damn jacket. But he can't.

But he won't leave her. He knows it is fucked up and a whole lot of other things his mind refuses to think about, but that is somehow what they do. Charlotte. Him. They never leave the other behind, no matter what hell they are going through.

Bass has no fucking clue what time it is. All he knows is that his body is hurting like hell from sitting on a stupid plastic chair for hours. He shifts his weight slowly. He hears the change in her breathing next to him.

And then, when he finally has enough courage to look at her, he watches how her eyes are closed and her long eyelashes rest on her cheeks. She is slowly finding him in her sleep.

'Dammit,' his low curse fills the space around them when her hair brushes the sleeve of his leather jacket. Her temple is close to his arm now. And he knows he is probably going to pay for this later, but it is too fucking much. Her. Here. So damn close.

He slowly moves his arm over the back of her chair, giving her room to move her head against his chest. His arm moves over her shoulder and then around it. His fingers are moving slowly through her hair.

She mumbles something in her sleep as her hands find his shirt. Her temple is close to his scruff. Her fingers are holding on to the fabric of his shirt and the warmth of her skin is radiating through his damn shirt, finding his chest.

It is four in the morning. Willoughby is still fast asleep when a familiar voice appears somewhere at the edge of exhausted sleep. When she slowly wakes up, she feels the warmth of leather against her temple and a heavy and assuring arm around her back.

She forces herself to function when she slowly moves away from the wide arm behind her back. Still aware of Monroe so close to her.

Gene is sitting on a chair across from her. She nods, telling him she needs to hear what he will tell her.

'He is still asleep. His fever is high but he is doing a little bit better. The fluids seem to be working. It is up to Aaron now to fight this.'

A relieved sigh moving through her. Followed by the ever strong and present fear that loss will be there soon after relieve.

'Charlie, you need to go home. Get some sleep. It's still winter and I don't want you to get sick as well. I will send someone when something changes.'

Charlie knows he is right. She needs her sleep. She does not want to go, but the rational part of her mind tells her she needs to get some rest to be there for Aaron in the morning again.

'You will send someone.' She tells Gene. She doesn't ask.

When Gene tells her he will, she gets up from her chair.

Gene looks at Monroe who gets up from his chair as well. Charlie is too tired to see the loathing in Gene's eyes when he looks straight at Monroe.

Gene hated finding out that it had been Charlie who asked Rachel to spare his life when all Gene had wanted to do was execute him and bury him with the past.

He hates to see him here and close to her tonight. He hates it even more that she has somehow decided to let him.

'I'll take her home.' Bass steps closer to Charlie. There is a protective roughness in his voice.

He stares at Gene, both men remembering that day right outside Willoughby where Bass had almost ripped Gene apart when he had enough of his, and Rachel's, whining about doing the right thing when they had decided to take his prisoners home.

Gene nods, although there is a threat in his eyes that wakes up enraged irritation in Bass. He has saved the old man more than once and he is getting fucking tired of the whole let's hate Monroe when my daughter is fucking Miles the butcher of Baltimore Matheson routine from Gene.

Bass stares at Gene with steel in his eyes and tension in his jaw line. But then Bass feels Charlie next to him and he feels some of that rage move out of his chest. He reminds himself that she is what matters now. The rest of the world, including Gene, can go to hell right now.

She does not even protest when he gently moves his hand to her lower back when they walk through the doors of the hospital. Darkness still lingers over town. The streets are quiet. He can see a shiver moving through her when she crosses her arms before her chest.

She is so much like Miles. Looking like hell. He knows how far she can push herself. But she is tired. And hell, she is shivering again.

She needs to sleep. He needs to get her someplace warm. She is exhausted, he can sense it in every almost disorientated step she takes as she walks next to him. His apartment is right around the corner. One look at her and he makes a decision.

'Come on...'

His voice filled with hoarseness because of hours of sleep he did not get is reaching her through exhaustion and worry. His hand is back again, guiding her through town when she walks with Bass through the empty nightly streets of Willoughby.

Charlie knows he is not taking her to her place. She knows she is walking into his apartment. But after being awake for almost twenty four hours she does not care.

Bass looks to his small old and worn couch and he knows she is not going to sleep on that damn thing. He wishes she would turn around and walk to him , close enough to feel her breathing when she tells him he is delusional for suggesting she will take his bed when he offers it to her. He wishes he could yank her chain after that, telling her he is always a gentleman.

But she is quiet, and hell, her being quiet messes with his head, and heart again. Bass nods to his bed. 'You can sleep here, get some rest.'

Too tired to talk, Charlie nods yes before she curls up on top of his blankets. Bass slowly takes of her boots. She does not even protest when he moves a blanket over her slender shoulders. She doesn't care she is still wearing her leather jacket.

She is asleep before he can even readjust it around her body so she can finally get some warmth back into her system. His hand cups her shoulder, his fingers wrapped around her, before he tells himself to step away from her in his bed.

He watches her for a moment before he turns to walk to his couch to grab a couple of hours of sleep himself. But when he reaches the doorway he has to turn one more time. He has to watch her again, Asleep and somehow offering whatever he has offered her tonight.

He leans into the doorway, watching her sleep. All he can think of is that she is there, in his damn apartment with another silent curse that fills his mind. And his fingers crave for a glass of whiskey again, knowing sleep is far away.

Author's Note: Dear Lemon, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of your birthday present! There will be three more chapters. I will publish the next chapter soon. Happy birthday again! I hope your day is filled with love, birthday cake, and sunshine! Love from Love