Time travel stories seem to be popular at the moment. And they are all so very well done. This one is going to be a bit different, I think.

This first chapter is rather long. It got away from me a bit, but in the end, I felt all this backstory was necessary. We need to see the bonding of Bass and Charlie on their way back to Willoughby. I also felt it all needed to be in the first chapter.

I own nothing of Revolution, which is a shame really. Cause then we'd have a season 3. And Charloe. But alas, I own nothing, but if David Lyons were to show up here, I wouldn't turn him away.

This is dedicated to all my Charloe friends, you know who you are. I love you all...in a totally platonic Miloe sort of way ;). And a special nod to Lemon Supreme, for reading through this for me when I was struggling with it. And to wildirish, who kept me going one night when I just couldn't work on it anymore. Thanks, guys.

"At times I almost dream

I too have spent a life the sages' way,

And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance

I perished in an arrogant self-reliance

Ages ago; and in that act a prayer

For one more chance went up so earnest, so

Instinct with better light let in by death,

That life was blotted out — not so completely

But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,

Dim memories, as now, when once more seems

The goal in sight again."

― Robert Browning

"What if I tell you to go to hell?"

"What makes you think you got a choice?"

A week later those words still hung in the air between them. They had barely spoken since then; nods from her and grunts from him were their only form of communication. If she didn't hate him so much, he might have found the whole thing amusing. As it was, he still feared her slitting his throat in the dark of the night.

Sebastian Monroe had never been afraid of a beautiful woman; he'd also never failed to soften the opposite sex when applying the right amount of charm. Well, that and smoldering looks when they met his eyes. Of course, Charlotte Matheson would prove to be the exception to the rule. He'd felt odd using any sort of sexual tactics where she was concerned, and not because of age or family connections. Not even because of the bad history they shared. No, something about Charlotte screamed "warrior", as if she was an equal who demanded respect.

So, he kept things the way they were, allowing silence to fill up the space they occupied. But it was slowly driving him out of his mind. His reputation for being a feared and solitary leader just wasn't true; Bass had always been a social creature. And he wasn't the man he'd been even six months ago. As bombs descended on two eastern cities, General Sebastian Monroe struck out, and Bass Monroe, the man who'd been lost for years, stepped up to the plate, trying desperately to regain his life.

And all he really wanted right now was to talk. Have a little conversation. Pass the time to Willoughby a little faster. But Charlie was most likely never going to indulge his whim. So he sat quietly, sharpening his blades.

She'd just returned from hunting and was cleaning the meat by the fire, but every now and again, he would feel her eyes ghost over him before returning to her task. Despite the fact that he hadn't made one move against her, she was still leery of him. He supposed he couldn't blame her; saving her life once or twice didn't make up for all he had taken.

But he was trying, damn it.

There it was again. Those sharp blue eyes scanning him. Enough was enough. "What?"

Silence.

"Charlie, what?" He'd long ago dropped the Charlotte. She'd made it crystal clear that she preferred Charlie, and he was doing his best to grant her the respect she deserved.

She hesitated, as if gathering her words. "I'm just wondering what you're hoping to gain from this."

"I thought I explained all that." She looked at him, her gaze making him uncomfortable. Her eyes were as blue as his, and he briefly wondered if she found it as disconcerting when he stared at her. "I need Miles. He's gonna need my help. You're gonna need my help."

She tipped her head, regarding him closely. "I know that's what you said, but I can't help thinking that's not what you're going back for. What do you really want?"

He paused, wondering how much he should reveal. Traveling with her, even for just a week, he was beginning to understand how Miles had fallen under her spell. She captivated so easily. "Your uncle."

"You want my uncle?"

At her raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Charlie, not like that."

"Thanks for the clarification. I've wondered..." She chuckled.

Her soft laugh was rewarding. So he opened his heart a little wider. "I want my best friend. I have nothing left. There've been times in my life when I thought I had absolutely nothing. I was wrong. At the very least, I always had...a brother."

"Miles."

"But I don't even have that now." He did have a son, and when he'd ruled a Republic, he'd had a chance to find him. Now, even that possibility was gone. "I have no one in this whole world who gives a damn. And the only chance I have of anyone even starting to care...is your uncle. He's the only one who might ever be able to forgive me. He's the last chance I have."

He swallowed thickly. How had he ever turned into the monster he became? How disappointed would his parents be, his sisters, Shelly, their baby, his son... "Do you know how lonely it is to not have anyone? I don't know how I let it get so far."

He blinked, shaking his head to flick the tears away. Glancing away from the campfire, he took a deep breath before turning back to her. Fiery blue met icy blue. Jesus, he hadn't meant to tell her any of that. Now she'd just accuse him of making his eyes water at will again.

But she surprised the hell out of him. "I'm sorry."

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I don't know what it's like to not have anything or anybody. There was always someone that...cared. And even when I need to get away from them, they're still there. I can't imagine what it's like to be completely alone." She broke his gaze and looked down. "It always seemed that everybody left me. But there was always somebody..."

So they had that much in common. The fear of being left alone. He sniffled, wiping at his eyes to clear the remnants of his little outburst. "Well, it sucks. To not be able to trust anyone."

"I guess it does."

They stared at each other, blue on blue. And something shifted. Some small part inside of him; he thought she felt it, too. Maybe she hadn't forgiven him, but maybe she had, in that moment, realized he was just a man. A lonely, broken man.

"I don't...I don't forgive you. I still blame you."

"Good," he answered. Rachel had been right that day in the tower. He could no longer make excuses for the blood on his hands. "You should. It's my fault."

"It's not entirely your fault."

Well, it was just his night for surprises, wasn't it? "What?"

"Part of it is Tom Neville's fault, too."

Bass scoffed. "Him. That back-stabbing son of a bitch."

"I thought he was a trusted soldier?" she asked, the mocking tone back in her voice. "I mean you did promote him, after he killed my father, didn't you? Danny told me you promised to deal with him, but then, all of a sudden, Neville's a major."

Just another sin he'd committed against her. "Yeah, I did. I didn't want your father to die, Charlie. That was never in the plan. And for what it's worth, I am sorry for what I did to your family. I promoted Neville...because he was becoming a liability. And because sometimes, especially when you're paranoid, the idea of keeping your enemies closer than your friends makes sense. And I had far more enemies than friends."

Their eyes locked for another minute. What was it about this woman that was getting under his skin?

"I still don't forgive you...but I wouldn't wish such loneliness on anyone." God, she had a good heart. Underneath the rough-edged exterior, she had a tender soul. A rage swelled up in him suddenly at the thought of anyone ever bruising it. How long had it taken Miles to wrap around her little finger? No wonder his brother had marched right into Philly to destroy him. He was beginning to think he would promise Charlie Matheson the world. "The rabbits are done."

"Yeah," he said, her words yanking him back to reality. Jesus, he'd wanted a little small talk. How in the hell had they wound up having a heart to heart?

After their fireside chat, tensions loosened up between them a bit. He wasn't a friend or family member; he certainly wasn't a trusted uncle, but she began to treat him differently. She deferred to him sometimes and even listened to some of his suggestions without arguing. Well, with less arguing anyway. It was almost as if they were business partners, which he supposed made sense. They both had somewhere to be and a job to do to get there.

Four days later, things changed even more.

Only ten minutes had passed since she'd left for the rinky-dink little town they'd camped by to pick up supplies when he heard the gun shot. He grabbed his own gun and swords, strapping them on as he raced through the woods. It could just be hunters shooting at their dinner; however, all the military instincts in his body screamed otherwise. And there was one thing he did know.

Charlie didn't have a gun.

Through the thicket of trees up ahead, he saw her. Two men surrounded her, one holding a gun on her. Nothing she hadn't faced before. But it was the one twisting her arm sharply behind her back that made his blood boil. He knew her enough to know she was in pain, but the look on her face was pure defiance. No, this girl never let her enemies see her weakness.

His eyes scanned the scene. Huh. There was a thug already laid out on the ground. So, she'd taken one out. He swiftly tamped down the pride that swelled through him. Damn, Miles had taught her well. But the teaching was only as good as the student. He hadn't really seen her in action yet, but maybe she was even better than he thought.

In one swift motion, he pushed through the foliage and pressed his gun to the back of the first assailant's head. "Drop it, asshole. Let her go."

The man with the gun stiffened, but he didn't relinquish his weapon. "No can do, man. We want this one."

"I'm not for sale, dickhead," she spat.

Bass had to hold back a smile. "Let her go. Or I put a bullet through your brain. Which would you prefer?"

"You can't get us both. And, uh, I'd say we're holding all the cards." Asshole #1 tipped his head a little, just in enough time for Bass to notice the knife the other son of a bitch had whipped out and pressed to her throat. "You shoot me. He slices her throat."

His eyes met Charlie's. If she was Miles, they'd get out of this in a heartbeat. But the two of them had a sophisticated method of silent communication. Just how much had Miles taught her? He blinked three times rapidly and caught the recognition in her baby blues. Well, wouldn't he be damned? Still, signals only went so far. Could she predict his next move like her uncle?

The cold hardness that slid into her eyes told him she could.

The next minute passed by in a blink. He shot the prick in front of him just as Charlie slid her head to the side away from her captor's blade. Bass's second shot fired into the man's head ten seconds after his buddy fell. Charlie ripped the knife out of his hand as he collapsed to the ground.

He let out a deep breath, crossing over to her, unable to stop the concern he was feeling. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"How the hell did you let them get the drop on you?"

The irate look she shot him told him it was the wrong question to ask. Maybe it wasn't tactful, but he really didn't like the niggling of fear he'd felt when he'd seen her held at gunpoint. "I didn't let them do anything. They were sitting around here, and they weren't exactly making noise. They were waiting for someone to come along."

"And it just happened to be you." Most likely they were thieves lying in wait for an unsuspecting traveler to pass by. But Charlie was a tracker and a hunter; she knew how to be silent when necessary. Still, if she'd walked right into a secret trap, that really wasn't her fault. However, it didn't stop his anger. And when he was angry, he had a way of saying the stupidest things. "They could have killed you. You have to be more careful."

"I was being careful."

"Not enough. Traveling for a woman is not that safe anymore. You have to be completely tuned in to your surroundings at all times. Do you want to wind up like you were back at that bar?" Yeah, stupider and stupider.

Her cheeks reddened. "I was watching what I was doing. In spite of what you think, I do know some things. It was a trap."

"That you fell right into." His temper had always been bad. When it was combined with concern for someone he cared about, it became downright violent. The formation of an entire dictatorial empire being the obvious giveaway. So wait, was he really saying that he cared about Charlie?

"Look, Monroe. I'm putting up with you traveling with me because you were right. We need you. But don't think I'm going to let you talk to me like I'm some lackey in your little tin can militia." She stepped up to him, lifting her head to stare into his eyes. Why did they always wind up this close when they were arguing? The tension in these moments pulsed through him every time. "I wasn't being an idiot. In fact...I was keeping my stupid to a minimum."

He was taken aback as Miles's words spilled from her mouth. "They would have murdered you where you stood, Charlie. After they took something far worse from you."

"Why do you even care?" she asked, holding her ground in his personal space. "You let Strausser hold a gun on me. And don't even try to tell me you wouldn't have let him use it."

All the color drained from Bass's face. As much as he wanted with all of his heart to tell her she was wrong, he just couldn't. He would have let Strausser shoot her in the head if it would have forced Rachel to build the amplifier. That was the man he'd been; the man who had gotten so lost over the years, leaving nothing but the animal left inside. But he was trying so damn hard to change. "You're right. I would have let him."

Her eyes widened as if she'd always suspected but hoped it wasn't the truth. "Bastard."

"Oh, I was, Charlie. I really was." He closed the final bit of distance between them until they were nearly touching. "I would have done anything to get that power back on. To get those fucking helicopters in the air. To destroy anyone that stood in my way."

"You would have murdered thousands."

"Yeah, I would have." He let out a huge sigh and stepped back from her. The intensity of being so close to her buzzed through his body, dissipating the moment he got a little breathing room. All the fight and fury of General Monroe seeped out of him, and he was just Bass again. He suddenly felt all of his 44 years. "I would have then. I wouldn't now."

"Bullshit."

"I wouldn't, Charlie. I don't want the Republic back. As you so gently pointed out, I sucked at my job." He shouldn't expect her to understand, but God help him, he wanted her to. "At the beginning, we wanted it to be a safe place, a sanctuary for those alone and helpless after the Blackout. We wanted it to be...something good. But maybe your uncle and I had seen too much as soldiers, had too much darkness in us to really make things better."

"You're saying you wouldn't jump at the chance to get yourself back up on the throne?" Her sharp blue eyes held so much disbelief.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm saying I never should have been on that throne in the first place. But out of your uncle or me, I was the more 'people person', shall we say. So it fell to me. He was in charge of the soldiers. And after he left, I was in charge of it all. An entire fucking empire of my own. And all I really wanted, that whole time, was my brother back."

She still didn't look convinced. "And I'm supposed to believe that now you wouldn't let your pit-bull put a gun to my head?"

"Do you seriously think after all the times I've saved you recently, that I would let someone deliberately hold you hostage?" Jesus, he wasn't even really saving her for Miles or Rachel anymore; he was saving her because she was Charlie, because she deserved his loyalty. She was Miles's family, so that made her an extension of his. "I just shot two men. I slaughtered an entire bar. And you think I'd let someone hurt you?"

For one moment, her eyes softened, as if he'd just pledged undying love to her. It intrigued him. Was it possible she appreciated the fact that he had her back? Then the mask slipped back on. "Well, Miles might kick your ass if you show up in Willoughby with my corpse."

"That's not why I did it." Bile rose in his throat at the thought of her dying. "You're Miles's. That makes you mine as well. I would never...let Strausser hurt you now, Charlie. Not without putting a bullet in his brain."

They stared at each other, two shades of blue swirling into one. He found he meant every word. Here they were, surrounded by the men they'd just killed, having another heartfelt chat. Why was he always revealing the secrets in his soul to her? And why did it feel like she was already wedging herself into his blackened heart.

She nodded, seeming to accept his words as the truth. "We should go. I never got those supplies."

"I think we'll wait until the next town." He slid his gun back into the waistband of his pants. They'd crossed a big line with each other, but it appeared they were going to play it cool. Which was probably the smart thing to do. He had her back and she knew it; what else needed to be said?

He'd already turned away, ready to head back to their camp, when she shouted his name. He whirled around, whipping his blades out and crossing them above his head, stopping the knife from plunging into him. The man he'd thought was dead all along was very much alive and ready to stab him to death. He yanked his arms down, the force of movement pushing the assailant back. Bass was good enough to take this bastard out with one more stroke. But much to his surprise, the man halted and swayed, coughing up a smattering of blood before collapsing face first into the ground.

Standing behind him was Charlie.

"I thought you killed him."

"I did," she said.

"Before."

"Well, I didn't."

He scoffed. "Oh, that's right. You don't like killing, unless you have to."

"No, that's not it." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I just didn't have time for anything else but knocking him out. I was a little busy being a hostage."

Jesus, he hadn't even checked to make sure the son of a bitch was dead. What the hell was wrong with him? She was making him soft. All this bantering with her was going to get him killed unless he got his head back in the game. "We should go."

He watched her rip the knife from the corpse before he headed back towards camp. He hadn't gotten very far when she called out to him. "Monroe."

"What?" He looked at her.

"A thank you would be nice." The smug smile on her face pissed him off.

He glared at her before spinning away and stalking off, her laughter echoing. What a pain in the ass! This girl, this young woman, drove him insane. But in all honesty, he was impressed. He hadn't had a chance to see her skills at work until that very moment. While it was obvious she'd been trained by her uncle, it was also obvious that she'd been a great learner. And she wasn't afraid to go for the kill, not when it was necessary. It was nice to have a fighter like that by his side again.

No, damn it, he had to nip those thoughts right in the bud. He'd already said too much in those stupid conversations they'd been having. They weren't friends. He could not afford to allow her to distract him from returning to Miles and Willoughby. He had a plan and he was sticking to it. Get Charlie Matheson back to her mother and uncle in one piece. Anything else he felt stirring in his gut was to be shoved to the farthest corners of his mind.

Two days later, she stomped away from him after they had another huge fight. His need to keep everything business-like between them crimped the slight truce they'd formed after their initial deep talk. They were back to slurs and taunts until the big blowout that had her walking away from him, swearing that this time he would never be able to follow.

He shouldn't have given a crap. He knew now that Miles was in Willoughby; he should have just headed there, the hell with Charlie. But damn it, he couldn't just leave her behind. He had to make sure she was okay. Images of the last time she'd been off on her own, in that bar, came flooding back. He could never allow that to happen to her.

So he'd followed her. At least he did for several hours until losing the trail completely. He was a fair tracker, but Charlie was right. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be. Now what the hell was he going to do?

Cursing the upcoming evening, he stashed the horses and wagon and made his way to the nearest small town, hoping for a meal and a drink, a place where he could relax and plan his next move. He hated that she was out there all on her own, no matter how tough she was. He hated that he hated she was out there; she was digging too deeply into him and she was doing it quickly. And the worst part was this was no longer about Miles. Damn it, he had to find her.

Entering the town of Belle Blossom, what the hell kind of name was Belle Blossom, he scanned the streets, searching for the local bar. A town as small as this rarely had more than one public place for food or drink. One thing he did notice about the main drag was how very...pretty it was. Large wooden pots lined the sides of the street, filled with various types of flowers. He couldn't even name the varieties, but the colors ranged from rich, deep reds to vibrant, cool blues. It was downright beautiful.

The first thought he had was how much his mother would have loved it, followed by how very clean the rest of the town looked. It was almost as if the Blackout hadn't affected the town of Belle Blossom, and he could finally see the reason for the name. Beautiful flower. How very quaint.

There weren't many people walking about, only a few women who eyed him with interest. Well, stranger in town and all, but he found it comforting that the women felt safe enough to be out after dark without men around. The town must have been very well-protected.

He located the very charming hotel at the end of the main street. Tall torches lit up the outside of the building, and he could have sworn the paint on it looked pink. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Lacey curtains billowed in the breeze from every window, the soft glow of oil lamp lighting inside offering a warm invitation. The front entrance was closed, but off to the left, a door was propped open, the sound of talking coming from inside. Maybe this was the bar. As he stepped through, he was struck.

It was like taking a step back in time.

The interior looked exactly like a saloon from the Wild West, but with a female touch. The wallpaper had a floral print, like something he remembered from his grandmother's house, and the curtains the same lace as the hotel, but other than that, it was pure gunslinger's watering hole, complete with a bar, gaming tables, and a small stage. Bass was certain it had been set up like that prior to the Blackout, probably to bring in tourists. But it had obviously been well cared for in the subsequent years. There was no new wallpaper after the Blackout, so someone had painstakingly seen to its upkeep.

Off to his left, a few tables had been pushed together and a group of women sat playing cards. They were probably around his age, maybe a little older, but again there were no men present. He shook his head a little at the slight discomfort that thought brought. Why should that bother him? Most likely they were a card club of sorts, meeting at the local bar, while their husbands spent the night at home. Still, the hungry looks a few of them shot him didn't really help to calm his nerves.

He sat at the bar; not only was he the only man in the place, he was the only customer there, other than the card club. The female bartender turned to him, cocking her head to one side as her eyes traveled over him before returning his gaze.

"What can I get you?" she asked with a wink.

The brunette was about ten years older than him, and quite pretty. He surmised in her youth, she must have been a knockout, but now age and the kind of life the Blackout had led to seemed to be catching up. Her green eyes were still striking though, and under other circumstances, he probably would have flirted right back at her. Age in either direction had never really bothered Bass; a beautiful woman was a beautiful woman. But right now, the entire situation was setting his teeth on edge, and he had no idea why. But he'd long ago learned to trust his instincts. And the paranoia of the last several years of his life sometimes came in handy.

"Just something to eat, and whatever liquor you have available." She nodded and poured him a whiskey before heading into what he assumed was the kitchen.

He spun around on his bar stool just a bit, giving him a chance to watch the women playing cards. The fact that all of them had stopped playing and were looking at him and whispering to each other spiked his adrenaline even more. What the hell was happening here? He had a very vivid flashback of finding Charlie drugged and in the presence of men about to rape and murder her. But that was ridiculous. There was no way he was in danger here. They were just local women. Living in an adorably cute town. Where he had yet to see one man.

He spun back around when he heard the bartender return. Except now, she wasn't alone. A tall, busty redhead sauntered in behind her. Bass guessed she was in her mid-fifties, though the woman was actually quite attractive in a very vampish sort of way. Not that he didn't have experience with woman like that; he'd certainly had a few man-eaters eating out of his hand after finishing with them. But right now, with everything else going on around him, she amped the tension even more.

But he handled it like he did every unexpected situation. With a monotone, uninterested air. "So, uh, when exactly did I step into the Twilight Zone?"

She smiled, a big, wide, shit-eating grin if he ever saw one. "You're funny. And adorably cute."

"Thanks."

"I'm Mae. Mae Berry."

"You're name is Mae Berry?" He cleared his throat. "How very Andy Griffith of you."

"I like a sense of humor in a man," she said, her voice low and seductive. He'd used that tone himself many a time. It generally meant he was going to devour the woman he was attempting to entice. "We find it very sexy."

"We? As in..."

"Well, you've wandered into our town, Mr..."

"King. James King."

"Well, Mr. King, welcome to Belle Blossom. We're a very close-knit community. I look out for the women here. They are my...family shall we say. And family shares everything." She sidled up next to him at the bar. "Including the latest single man to come to our fair town."

"Uh, well, that's an interesting proposition. But, um, I'm going to have to decline."

Her smile widened, but her eyes hardened. Jesus, she was a female version of Strausser. Because when he really looked at her, he thought she was maybe a little insane. "Oh, but you can't decline. We don't get a lot of male companionship here, so we have to make do with what we can find."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed all the women at the tables had stood and moved closer to the bar, and to him. So what was this? A creepy coven of desperate women led by a fruit loop? He had to play this cool, like the smooth-talking ex-dictator that he was.

"So you, uh, run this cute little town?"

"I do."

"And there's no men here?" he asked.

"Not at the current moment. The last one who came through here was over six months ago. He was very feisty. And he didn't stay long." Yeah, imagine that. She hopped up onto the stool next to him, the slit in her skirt hitching higher up her leg. She wasn't as tall as he'd originally thought; the high-heeled boots added to her height. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had given him the creeps. Yes, he could; it was Rachel. The moment she shoved a screwdriver through a man's chest. Mae leaned in closer to him, resting a hand on his leg. "Well, he just didn't know how to treat a lady. But you, James, you certainly look like you do."

It was official; he was trapped in a Stephen King novel. He'd seen some weird things during his years in the Republic. Found towns and communities pulling shit that had turned his stomach. It was like after the Blackout, all the crazies took over and made the world the fucked up way they wanted it. It was one of the reasons the Monroe Republic had been created, to try and restore some semblance of order. Until he'd fallen as far off the wagon as the rest of the loons.

But never in his life had he seen a community of women just waiting around for a man to have sex with them. He'd always just assumed the fairer sex could get laid whenever they wanted to. But maybe here in Butt-fuck, Texas, it wasn't that easy to find partners. Oh, Jesus, had he just thought the word butt-fuck? He glanced around at the card club; some of those women looked like they might enjoy that. Unease was settling in his stomach.

Stay cool, Sebastian. You can handle this. "Well, Mae, I, um, I'm very flattered. But there's just one little problem?"

"And what is that?" She frowned.

"You said earlier that you share the single men who come through town." She nodded. "What about when couples pass through? What then?"

"We're a female run society, James. We do have some honor. We don't steal other women's men."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Mae. I'm very married."

She chuckled. "Really? I see no wedding ring."

"Who can afford one in this day and age." It was the truth; many couples didn't wear rings, or even get officially married in the post-Blackout world. As much as he'd considered her his wife, he hadn't given a ring to Shelly.

"We saw you come into town alone, James."

"We had a fight. She stalked off, and I've been searching for her ever since." None of that was a lie; he had been searching for Charlie since she'd disappeared. But she would annihilate him if she ever heard him referring to her as his wife.

"I think you're lying, James." Mae stood, tracing a long nail down his cheek. "I think you're trying to play games with us."

Several other women had entered the saloon, effectively blocking the exit. He'd gotten out of many sticky positions, but he didn't have any idea how to get himself out of this one. They weren't really threatening him, so it's not like he could just kill them. Fuck. What the hell had he gotten himself into? This was all Charlie's fault; he was so busy worrying about her, he'd traipsed right into an insane asylum. "I'm not lying. I'm married."

Mae stepped right in front of him, grabbing his shirt and gazing up at him. "Well then, where is she?"

"I'm right here, actually." Every head in the joint swiveled to the woman standing at the door, arms crossed over her chest. Charlie. Christ, he'd never been so happy to see someone before in his life. "Would you mind stepping away from him? He's sorta mine."

Well, that much was true. If anyone had the right to him, it was Charlotte Matheson. Of course for her, that meant the right to assassinate him.

Mae looked back at him, disappointment evident on her features. She sighed and stepped away, waiting for Charlie as she made her way through the crowd of women. "Mrs. King, I presume."

"Well, we're not really into titles, are we, honey?" Charlie turned to him, a cocked eyebrow daring him to disagree.

"Of course not, baby." He was concerned she wouldn't follow through on the charade and keep her distance from him. When she slid an arm around his waist and snuggled into his side, he was pleasantly surprised. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tugging her to him and kissing the top of her head. "I was worried about you. I'm sorry we fought."

Ice blue eyes met his, and he swore he saw humor in them. Jesus, she thought this shit was funny. "I just needed some time. Sorry if I scared you. But you know I can take care of myself."

"Doesn't mean I don't worry."

"Looks like you were the one I should be worried about." She looked to Mae and extended her hand. "Charlotte Porter King. So what has my dear husband done to have such a large audience?"

"Well, we were just discussing his...accommodations before you arrived." The older woman's eyes lingered on Bass.

"Well, I found her, Mae, so I guess we'll be on our way for the night." He kept his arm around Charlie as he angled them toward the door. "Thanks for...everything."

He should have known it would never be that easy. The women who had quickly separated to allow Charlie in now blocked their exit yet again. His hand tightened on his fake wife's shoulder, drawing her even closer against his side.

"Charlotte..." Mae started. Charlie looked at her. "We could use a good man like James here. Do you think we could...buy him off of you?"

Buy him! They wanted to freaking purchase him like he was on the shelf at Wal-Mart? Charlie snorted, then quickly coughed, and he glared at her; she was barely concealing her laughter. It took every effort inside him not to shove her away. Son of bitch, this wasn't funny.

Charlie crossed her arms again and stared at Mae. "What sort of payment are we talking about here?"

"Charlotte!" he shouted. She wouldn't; she just damn well wouldn't.

Mae seemed hopeful, but Charlie nipped it in the bud. "I'm only joking, James. I guess I was a little angrier than I thought. I'm sorry, but...he's mine, all mine. I just couldn't live without him."

She grabbed his face and squished his cheeks together, blowing an air kiss at his puckered lips. Fuck, but she squeezed really hard. "Love you, baby."

"Love you too, honey." Her words called him honey, but her eyes called him dickhead. They were having a huge ass discussion when they got out of this.

He began to lead her back towards the entrance, the sea of women magically parting to let them through. Before they got too far, Mae reached for Charlie's arm, yanking her around. Charlie let out a yelp as she spun back to the woman.

"Wait, please! Maybe we could just buy some time with him!" Mae pleaded.

He'd had enough. Charlie's cry of pain had ended any charitable feelings he might have harbored for these women. "Let go of my wife. Now!"

Mae must have heard the threat in his tone, for she released Charlie and stepped away from them. He wrapped a hand around Charlie's upper arm and guided her out the door.

By the time they made it back to the where he'd stashed the wagon, he was fit to be tied. Charlie had been chuckling the entire way, and he really couldn't hold it in anymore. He was angry, annoyed, and more than a little embarrassed by how the evening had played out. Crashing through the undergrowth, he nearly exploded when he discovered the wagon was gone.

"What the...are you joking me?"

Charlie laughed again. "Relax, Monroe. I moved it."

His eyes narrowed at her. He'd had about enough of her taunts; his patience was running extremely thin. "How the hell did you know where it was?"

"Because I've been following you for half a day," she explained in that aggravating calm way she had. With her hands on her hips, she looked like a bossy teenager.

"I followed you." He didn't want to say that he'd lost her, give her another reason to laugh at his expense tonight.

"Because I let you. But then you...got stuck. I circled around and tailed you. Saw where you left the wagon, moved it to a better spot, a good place to camp. Come on." She tilted her head in a motion to follow, then took off without waiting for him.

He went after her; there was no way he could let this go. "So you just decided to move my stuff?"

Charlie sighed. "Monroe, can't you just for once stop trying to be in charge all the time. Yes, I moved it. To a much better location." They came out into a small clearing that was far enough off the road to allow for a small fire. He had to admit it was a prime spot to set up for the night. She pointed to the wagon across from them. "Just be glad I did. And just be glad I followed you. Or you might still be trapped in the village of Belle Blossom. What do think all those ladies would be doing to you right now?"

With that she burst out into laughter again. "It's not funny, Charlie."

"Y-yes, it is. You should have seen your face." Giggles erupted, and she plopped down on a fallen tree.

"It was not funny."

"Yeah, it was. The big bad general Monroe freaking out over a group of sex-starved women."

He huffed. "They were crazy."

"Well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" She snorted and started chuckling again.

In spite of himself, he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It was a damn good comeback. Still, he was angry... "They would have kept me there. It's not funny."

She nodded, laughing so hard there were tears forming in her eyes. "It was hysterical."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

The entire event played back in his head, and he began to see how it could be sort of comical. A tiny bubble of amusement swelled up, and he snorted. "Well, I've...I've always had a way with women."

At that she let out a cackle, and they both fell into a fit of laughter. Tears were still streaming as she choked out a few words. "They were gonna eat you alive. Especially that big one. I thought she was going to fight me for you."

"The one at the card table?" he asked. She nodded a 'yes', wiping tears away with the back of her hand. "I'm not even sure that was a woman, Charlie."

His response set off an entire new set of giggles. "Aren't you glad I was there?"

He laughed with her for a few more minutes before her words sobered him a little. He gazed at her. "Why were you there?"

"Huh?"

"Why were you there? We fought, and you took off. Why let me follow you? Why follow me?"

Her expression went from one of mirth to one of seriousness in about two seconds. She glanced away from him, breaking eye contact before speaking. "Because I realized that you were right. If the Patriots are after my mother, we're going to need your help."

Her eyes met his again, and he stared at her. "Yeah, that's what you say, but I can't help thinking that's not all there is."

She sighed. "Using my own words against me, Monroe? Pretty dirty."

"I just want to know, Charlie."

She seemed to fight a battle within herself, a resigned look on her face as she accepted the fact that she might have to give in. "Because we still have some rough...areas to go through. It might be better to have..."

"A partner?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice quiet and nonchalant, her eyes everywhere but on him.

Not that she would ever come out and admit it to him, but he knew the events in the bar had shaken her. And that upset her. Charlie was the type of woman who liked to be in control. She definitely didn't want to be coddled and cooed over. She was a warrior. "There are times when even the toughest men need help. Most don't want to concede that fact, but it's true. There are times when even the toughest woman could use a man as back-up."

"Great." She rolled her eyes.

So strong, his little fighter. Wait a minute...his? "Well, as proven tonight, there are times when even a hard-ass could use a woman as back-up. Come on, Charlie, if you hadn't been there, I'd probably be a sex slave for Elvira right about now."

She smirked. "Who's Elvira?"

He let out a loud guffaw. "She was...a mistress of the dark. Before, you know, everything got dark."

"Did you date her?"

He laughed again. "No, she was famous. In movies and stuff. But she used to wear dresses kinda like our friend back in the Blossom did."

Charlie nodded, standing and pulling a few cans of food from the back of the wagon. In all the hullabaloo, he'd forgotten that he hadn't eaten anything since the morning. "Aaron used to talk about movies."

"Aaron Pittman?" Bass asked.

Absentmindedly, she handed him a can of fruit, then sat back on the log. And just like that, their tenuous truce was back on. They would eat and then he'd start a fire to keep them warm. The days were getting shorter, and he could feel the change in the air, signaling the coming autumn. "Yeah, he was kind of our teacher back in Sylvania Estates. But he taught about everything. He said that pop culture was as important to remember as math and science."

He probably would have liked a guy like Pittman if Neville hadn't screwed up his capture. Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He would have liked the guy because he was a genius; he might have been able to restore the power. Or create some other super weapon. "Yeah, well, there are some movies it would be a shame to forget."

"Did you like movies?" she asked.

"Everyone liked movies. Just...not the same type of movie." He eyed her trying to open the pop-top on her can of pears. She wasn't able to pull it off and then he caught the reason why. "Charlie, what's wrong with your wrist?"

Startled eyes locked on his before she covered her reaction. "What are you talking about?"

"You're favoring your left wrist." He cut her off before she could protest. "Charlie, I was a soldier. I know an injury when I see one. What happened?"

"It's fine. It's just a little..."

"Sore."

She nodded, setting the can down and swiveling her wrist, hissing when she hit a painful spot. "It was just from..."

From Mae, who had grabbed her arm and spun her around. But the woman hadn't used enough force to cause that much damage. Unless the wrist was already hurt. His mind flashed back to two men holding Charlie hostage in the woods. Her left arm pulled behind her back. "Son of a bitch. You've been nursing this for two days."

"Monroe, I'm fine."

"Like hell you are." He got up and moved over to her side, straddling the log she was sitting on and reaching for her hand. She pulled it away like always, as if his fingers were toxic. "Charlie, let me see it."

She hesitated a bit longer. Even though they'd formed a cease-fire of sorts, she was still wary of touching him. When he kept his gaze stern and steady on her, she finally relented, placing her hand into his outstretched palm.

He maneuvered it around a bit, gently testing the range of movement. Her sharp intake of breath signaled that he'd found the injury. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she ground out, teeth clenched.

"It seems like just a sprain, Charlie. Hang on." He went to the wagon, digging through the supplies in the back. Finding a raggedy towel, he ripped it in half, taking one strip back and resuming his spot beside her. "I'm going to wrap it, okay? The support should keep it from getting so jostled. Maybe help you use it with less pain."

She nodded again, and he carefully started the task of binding her wrist. As tender as he was, he could tell the contact hurt her, but she was being one hell of a trooper. What could he do to take her mind off of it? "So, Aaron, explained movies to you. Which one sounded like you'd like to see it?"

She glanced at him. "I don't know. The action ones I guess. I liked the idea of adventures. Of going off to distant worlds and lands."

"Any one in particular?"

"Well he talked about a few after we read the books. He said the Lord of the Rings movies were good. And the Harry Potter ones."

Yeah, even after all these years, Harry Potter was still hard for him to think about. "So you liked those books?"

"I loved them. All of them, for both series."

"And still no favorite?"

"Well..." He smirked at her. Whatever her choice for movie was, it embarrassed her.

"What was it?"

"It was this..." He raised an eyebrow, waiting. "It was a story about a machine that was, like a robot, and it came back from the future and hunted this woman."

Considering her embarrassment, he'd expected some type of chick flick. But this? She was embarrassed by this choice? "The Terminator? Your favorite was The Terminator?"

"Yeah."

"That was an awesome movie, Charlie."

She smiled, and for the first time he could remember, it was a genuine smile directed at him. "The girl in it, Sarah, she was a bad-ass."

"Yes, she was," he said. Leave it to this little warrior to like the movie because of the heroine.

"But then she had help. That guy, Reese...he came through time to help her. Because he loved her, more than anything..."

That was unexpected. Hard-nosed Charlie, the spitfire who stared down a gun, defying him at every turn, had a romantic soul. "Well, some women are worth traveling through time for."

Their eyes locked and held, blue ice on blue flame. The second she realized he wasn't teasing her, her gaze softened. He knew he should look away, break the little moment unfolding between them, but he just couldn't. She was so damn lovely. He'd finished bandaging her wrist and yet he still held her hand in his. Stop, idiot. What the hell is wrong with you?

And still he didn't turn away.

An owl sounded far off in the woods and the spell swirling around and holding them both captive evaporated. He released her hand, and she pulled it against her body, cradling it to her chest. Clearing his throat, he stood. "That should help. Keep your wrist stable."

She nodded. "Okay."

He had to lighten the mood, blow off whatever the hell had swept them both up. Joke around with her, ass. Keep it relaxed and easy. Easy like Sunday morning. He pointed to her hand and grinned. "That's a genuine field dressing, so...I'm a little rusty, but it should hold."

"Thanks."

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Did you just thank me? Wow. And the world didn't end."

"Dumbass." She laughed again, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Whatever that little incident was, it wasn't going to get in the way. They were going to be fine; it was nothing.

It wasn't as easy to tell himself that two weeks later. After he'd kissed her for the first time.

The poem that serves as both the title and the beginning of this chapter is called Paracelsus by Robert Browning. It was featured in an episode of the X-Files that I rather liked called "The Field Where I Died", and I thought it worked very well here.

Also the idea of Bass tending to a wound of Charlie's came from a drawing that I had seen on Tumblr. I never did find the artist, but it was a beautiful piece of work, so I thank this unknown Charloe fan for the inspiration.