Just a wee little something with out beloved Charlie Davis. Finally writing from his perspective. Go me, I suppose. Anyway, this story does contain a brief and non detailed suicide. No other warnings, feel free to take the last line however you want. Don't expect any fics from me for a while, I'm working on two chapter fics. ( I like to write them all at once then post them chapter at a time. Go figure). Minor s3 spoilers, as well as minor spoilers for the ep 'Smoke and Mirrors'Any comments questions or concerns feel free to contact me. Especially if you want to talk about Charlie Cousin's beautiful arms and hands.

Three am is the most beautiful time of the day, Charlie thought, as he took a small sip from his tea cup, and gazed out of the kitchen window and into the night sky. Depending on the time of year, it could be pitch black outside, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, or it could have the slight beginnings of dawn visible over the trees. And it was something that was only his.

Before he walked out on them, Charlie had once heard his father say that the early hours of the morning were secrets only to be shared with those you love. When he asked his father, he'd told Charlie to watch the sky himself and he'd know. As a child, he often stood outside, sneaking out of of the cramped single bedroom flat he shared with mother to go out and look out at the sky, trying to uncover what his father had seen in it. As if uncovering it's secrets would bring the man back. He's in his late twenties now, he's hardly ten years old, but he still sometimes catches himself wondering what those stars have seen in this kitchen.

What secrets they held onto about Jean Beazly, or what the stars knew about Lucien Blake. What they withheld from him. What they knew about him. He's always found the stars calming. As if the all consuming darkness could be parted by such a small twinkle. As if his own darkness could be so easily parted. As if he's not sitting in the kitchen of Dr Blake's house at three am drinking tea with far to much milk.

Wishful thinking.

There's an art to it. Blake doesn't sleep much. Less them him. It's a careful balance of trying to get as much sleep he can in the night of the previous day, before the night terrors that have plagued him since his childhood inevitably wake him. He lies in wait for Blake to go to bed, and he goes. He boils water, he makes tea. He sits. It's a ritual.

He also considers that what he likes best about three am, is that no one else in the whole world is awake to judge him. He knows that logically, he's not even the only person in Ballarat, much less the whole world, who's awake, but that doesn't bother him. If he wants to sit awake now and wonder about the world, mourn his father, cry or miss his mother then no one in the whole world will judge him. That what he has to like best about three am.

Charlie stirs his tea gently, careful to stop his spoon clicking against the cup, least the soft clinking wake up Mattie or Jean...And perhaps even worse Lucien. He doesn't think he'll get thrown out for drinking tea at three am, given how late he's heard Blake drinking in his office, but he'd rather not bother his new lodgers with his habits.

Afterall, Blake had worse nightmares then he did. His nightmares were silent, as far as he knew. Blake's nightmares were anything but.

He's lived here for a month now, and twice he's heard Blake screaming in his sleep. He only really knows what everyone else knows about Blake's time in the army, but he's one hundred percent sure that's what he dreams of. He takes another sip of his tea.

After a while, he hears the shuffling of footsteps in the hall just beyond the kitchen, and Blake shuffles in, hardly giving Charlie a second look. "Is the kettle still warm?" he asked softly. Charlie nodded.
"Should be, Doc." He smiled, and took a small sip of tea. He watches Blake make his tea with far too many sugar cubes. Blake sat across from him, and seemed slightly more awake after a sip of tea. Blake had a dressing gown on, but Charlie didn't. He just wore his normal white shirt and light pants. They sit in the quiet for some minutes, just enjoying their tea.

"So Charlie, what is it about the kitchen that wakes you up three nights a week?" Blake asks. Charlie glances sideways at Blake for a moment.
"How long have you known?" He asked softly.
"A while, I suppose." Charlie nodded, and offered Blake a reply to his question.
"Can't sleep. Bad dreams, and all that." Blake nodded, and took a sip of his tea.
"Hm. Same." He smiled, and Charlie couldn't help but offer him a smile in return. "Well I assume a smart lad like you can figure out what my bad dreams are about." Charlie shrugged.

"Well it's not unheard of." He admitted. Blake nodded and had a sip of tea. Charlie wanted to say he was sorry or thankful or something because this silence felt strange compared to how it felt ten minutes ago. But he didn't think that Blake would be that grateful.

"What about you? I'm sure you've seen some horrible things." Charlie nodded. He had indeed.

"I suppose." he agreed.

"Not going to talk, huh?" Charlie offered a weak shrug in reply.
"I'm not sure you'd appreciate hearing about my bad dreams."

"I am your doctor." Blake pointed out.
"Temporary doctor." Blake himself had to smile at that, not that is was that obvious in the darkness, with the only light they had being the almost full moon out side the window.
"Well..Yes. But you know Charlie talking about it won't hurt you." Charlie scoffed and took a sip of his tea.

"I love three am." He revealed, softly. "It's the most beautiful time of the day." He smiled. Blake gave him a slightly weary smile.
'I've always been more partial to dusk.'" He offered. Charlie nodded and sat back in his chair.

"Sunset is beautiful." He agreed. Blake took a sip of his tea and looked at Charlie again.

"Are you sure you won't tell me?" he asked,

"Not if I want to stay in this house.' He replied, stirring his tea again.

"Charlie I would never throw you out over something as trival as a nightmare. Maybe if you hit Jean or Mattie. Or sided with Munro. But not over a nightmare. That'd be very hypocritical of me."

Charlie shook his head slightly. "I've had nightmares ever since I was a kid." He offered weakly. "I guess I just got used to them. " He said,
"Well, you shouldn't have had to." Blake said, with a smile. Charlie took a long sip of tea, and set the cup down again. "And I just find that being alone...Helps." He said, tilting his head to study Blake briefly. "I don't go out of my way to annoy anyone, just...When I'm the only one awake." The Doctor offered little in reply at first, but rather, waited for Charlie to continue. "I could be the only person awake in the whole world." He said, softly. Charlie tipped his tea cup back to swallow the last of his tea, and stood, putting the cup in the sink.

"And you're sure you don't want to talk about it?" Blake asked, kindly. Charlie scoffed a little and nodded.
"I'm positive I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sure it will help, Charlie." Blake offered. "I'm always here if you change your mind."

"Goodnight, Doc." Charlie said, as he washed his cup and put it away. "See you bright and early for work." He commented, before returning to his bedroom.

"Doc!" Charlie called, chasing Blake up the stairs towards their run away suspect. The roof of the Ballarat Police Station is normally kept behind a locked door, so things like this didn't happen. (He'd unlocked it for Blake earlier, so they could drop a pork roast off the roof to see what would happen. He remembers Beatrice. He wishes he hadn't ) "Doc get back here!" He called, as he rushed up the stairs and burst out onto the roof. Blake was already standing on the ledge, looking out over the balcony. Charlie ran up next to him, and looked over the balcony. Beatrice lay on the ground three stories down, arms and legs distorted into strange angles, a puddle of red forming under her head. He lets out a breath. A gust of wind blows his hair. Blake topples off the ledge next to him.

Charlie reaches out to grab him as well as he can. And he manages, but in the process, he breaks one of Blake's fingers trying to grab him. He feels a little bad but he'd rather Blake have a broken finger then be dead. Now he's dangling off of the balcony, and Charlie is struggling to hold him. Charlie tries to get his hand around Blake's wrist, to hold him up. His arms are already starting to hurt. "Help!" He calls out, not expecting any reply. He's right. He tries to use his upper body strength to pull Blake up, but he almost loses his footing and goes over the railing himself. "I can pull you up." He lies, "Just hold on." He pleads with the Doc. "Try and put your foot on the wall. Like...Like your climbing!" He says, voice high, tension evident in his shaking arms. Blake doesn't say or do anything. He just hangs there; one hundred percent dead weight. "Help!" He calls again, screams. He can see people down below covering Beatrice with a blanket.

"Please look up!" He screams, virtually sobbing by now because Blake is going to die and it's going to be his fault. His hat falls off his head and down.

And down.

And down. Down to the ground. It lands near an Ambo, who ignores it. He hears foot steps behind him, and a familiar throat clearing.
"Boss! Please, help me haul him up!" He doesn't occur to him that Lawson's not his boss anymore. Munro is. But at this point it doesn't matter. Lawson leans on the railing next to him but offers no help. "Lawson!" He pleads, his hands are slipping. His arms are shaking. He cannot physically hold on. "Please, help me!"He sobs, as Lawson removes a cigarette from his pocket and slips it between his lips. He's never known Lawson to smoke. Maybe he's mocking him. Maybe he's mocking Blake. He doesn't know. "Boss. Please!" He sobbed, before he heard a sickening pop close to his ear, as well as a radiating pain all down his arm, and his hand released from Blake's grip. His shoulder had dislocated.

He screamed out into the landscape, and gripped Blake as tightly as he could with his other arm. Blake only now begins to plead with Charlie to save him.

Charlie does his best to hold on, but he can't. He's not strong enough. "Lawson!" He calls, trying to appeal to the man next to him for help. This cannot be happening. This can't happen. He's just come to Ballarat. He's just moved into the Blake Household. He's finally managed to make a friend. It can't come down to this. He tries to use his remaining arm to haul Blake up to the safety of the railing, but he can't. His arm gives up, and Blake tumbles down, and down, and down.

He gasps himself awake. He quickly sits up and reaches for his shoulder. It's not dislocated. Beatrice would never throw herself off a roof, and Lawson would never let Blake fall to his death. It's just a dream. A miserable dream. He rolls over and stares at the wall for what feels like hours, although logically it's probably closer to ten minutes.

He wasn't able to fall back asleep, so he decided to get up and go make tea. It'd been a week since Blake joined him, and he hadn't gone out since because he didn't want Blake to pester him about talking about it. He didn't need to. He'd never had a father figure before and he certainly didn't need one now. His resolve quickly left him when he heard the click click click of Blake's typewriter in his office.

He didn't bother looking for his dressing gown before he went out, he'd never bothered with one and no one ever told him off for not wearing one, so he didn't bother. It wasn't a problem for him. He walked down the hall to Blake's office, and knocked lightly on the door, twice.
"Come in!" Blake called, and Charlie stuck his head around the door.

"Ah! Charlie. What can I do for you?" He asked, with a smile. Charlie folded his arms over his chest.
"I can't sleep, do you fancy some tea?" Blake offered him a smile, and shuffles his papers.
"Always, Charlie."

After heading back to the kitchen, Charlie carefully made two cups of tea, one for him, and one for Blake, before sitting down and waiting for the other man to show himself. Blake followed him out after shutting off the lights in his office, and putting some things away. He sat across the table from Charlie and took a sip of the tea he'd made.
"I think I put in too much milk." Charlie commented from the other side of the table.
"It's fine." Blake assured him. "Now. What's on your mind?" Charlie swallowed and let out a sigh.
"I assume your offer to talk about my nightmare still stands?" Blake nodded.
"Of course. Would you like too?" Charlie paused, and then nodded.

"Yes." Blake angled his cup towards him in a pointing motion, before taking a sip. "On the condition that you don't judge me or throw me out." Blake nodded.
"Of course not." Charlie nodded.
"Alright, then." He said, and took a sip of tea. "There's someone lose in the station. I don't know who until later. You chased after them, and I followed you. Like I always do. They went up the stairs to the roof, and you followed. And I followed you. It's meant to be locked, but it's not. Because before, we were throwing pork, I think, off the roof to see what happened to it. For a case. By the time I get there, you're standing on the railing, and I'm looking over the edge and it's Beatrice. And she's all...Twisted. Really messed up, no way she would have lived." He murmured,
"And you...Were standing up on the railing, and then you fell. I…I grabbed your hand. I broke a finger, but I couldn't pull you up. I kept asking...Asking you to grab my hands...Or use me like a rope to climb up, but you...Just ignored me." He sighed. "And then...Lawson, Lawson came up onto the roof, and he didn't help me either." He took a sip of his tea. "He started having a smoke." He commented, "Then, my left...My left shoulder dislocated, and I dropped you."

Blake looked slightly shocked that Charlie really had told him everything, but he quickly recovered himself and took a sip of tea.
"You thought I was going to throw you out over that?'

"You wouldn't be the first person to think it was strange I was dreaming about them."
"Well, I don't think so. You live with me. You work with me on a daily basis. We're friends. It's just the way the brain works."

"I guess I can't control dreams." He sighed softly.

"That is very true." Blake agreed. "You can't." Charlie sighed again and took another sip of tea.

"When you stood next to Lisa Wooton, up there on that bridge, you wobbled. I thought you were going to fall." He admitted, "But I was scared that if I went any closer, then she'd jump off."

"I'll let you in on a secret, Charlie. So was I." Charlie shut his eyes for a moment, and then opened then again.

"I didn't doubt it." He commented.
"And about Beatrice?" He asked.
"It was just one date!" Charlie defended right away. "How was I too know that she was part of a drug smuggling operation."

"Okay, okay, calm down." Blake sighed, "Why do you dream about her?"

"I liked her." He replied, and then let out a long sigh. "I suppose I still like her a little bit."

"Have you talked to her recently?" Charlie shook his head.
"No...I made it pretty clear I didn't want to talk." Blake nodded and took a sip of his tea.
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that. Now. Why would you dream of me?" He asked. He did know why he dreamed of Blake but he was hardly about to say it out loud, when he could barely say it to himself in his head.

"I have no idea." He sighed, and took a long sip of tea.
"You like me? "

"Well if I didn't, I'd hardly be staying in your house, would I?" He offered.
"You're rather testy in the early morning." Blake commented. Charlie took a long sip of tea and sighed.
"Sorry. I guess...I guess I'm not really used to talking about it with people."

Ï can tell." Blake said, slightly sarcastically, and took a sip of his tea again. "But do you feel better to have it off your chest?" Charlie sat back for a moment, and considered it.

Well. No. Not really. Not when he felt like he had so much stuff on his chest that he was being crushed beneath it.

"Marginally." He admitted.

"Anything else you want to get off your chest?" Charlie paused. He had so many things he wanted to get off his chest, but he shook his head.
"Not tonight, Doc." Blake nodded,
"Now, this may be a tad...Well offensive to you, but I've often found that sharing a bed with someone can do wonders for nightmares."

"Are you saying I should get laid?" He asked, frowning slightly.

"No, no. I'm saying that if you like, you can come lie with me in bed.' Charlie collected his, and then the doctor's tea cups and set them in the sink.

"Do you really think it would help?" He asked curiously.

"I've found it too."
"How many people have you tried that with?"

"In all fairness, Charlie, I haven't." The doctor admitted, "But a friend of mine says that it might. And well, what have we got to lose?" Charlie studied him for a moment, before shrugging.
"Okay, but what if Jean questions is it in the morning? What if someone thinks your….You know..."

"Charlie. I don't think anyone in this house will care." Charlie nodded, and then pursed his lips.
"Alright. Fine." He agreed.

It isn't until much later, when Charlie is asleep, that Blake realizes that Charlie had said 'You' and not us.