Chapter 2!!! Ok so yea the poems I use are from Emily Dickinson just because her poems capture what Charlie's going through as well as Keating trying to help Charlie.

Charlie ate his breakfast silently; he glanced over at the clock and saw that it was 10:15 in the morning. He sighed, he would have to leave soon Charlie didn't want to intrude more than he already had. He knew Mr. Keating would insist he stay, it would be better if he wrote a note thanking his captain for letting him stay for a few hours, then he would sneak out and find a hotel to stay in.

"I think you should go to the doctor," Keating said bringing Charlie out of his thoughts.

"Why?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie you have bruises all over you, we have to make sure nothing's broken and there isn't any internal bleeding," John said.

"I'm fine," the young man said as he nibbled on his biscuit, he didn't have much of an appetite plus the fact that it hurt to swallow.

"Charlie," Keating said pleadingly.

Charlie sighed "Alright captain." He had never had anyone other than his small group of friends from Welton show any concern for him. But then again this was his captain and a good captain was always concerned with his crew.

Charlie leant his head against the cool window of the passenger side door as Keating drove the two of them back to the warm town house. He could feel John's eyes glance over to him every now and again.

John's heart was heavy; Charlie had been silent ever since they had started the drive to the hospital. Now with his head resting against the window watching the grey clouds, leafless trees, and miserable looking buildings as they passed, the young man looked so tired and lost. Even if Mr. Dalton hadn't killed his son, the beating and Neil's suicide had certainly killed his spirit.

Keating parked the car and the two made their way inside, Charlie didn't say a word as he walked up the stairs and made his way into the guest room. He made the bed, wrote a quick thank you note to Mr. Keating before he grabbed his suitcase and made his way back down the stairs. Charlie peered into the kitchen and saw John busy making lunch, as quietly as he could he snuck into the living room, opening the door just enough for he and his suitcase to slip out without making any noise.

Charlie wondered if it had gotten colder since the time he and Mr. Keating had returned to the town house or maybe he had just gotten used to being warm. He paid no mind to the fierce wind that whipped around him and made his way down the stone steps, taking a left remembering that they had passed a hotel on their way to the hospital.

He silently wished that he had taken the mild pain killers the doctor had given him before he left Mr. Keating's but Charlie knew that the pills would kill his common sense as well as his pain. But the pain in his right leg was too much to bear and he had to hobble over to a low wall to rest.

Charlie watched as people walked by, they didn't even notice him as they passed. He watched as a young boy walked with his parents, the mother and father holding onto the boys hands as he walked. They looked happy and carefree and Charlie tried to think back to a time where his mother and father had loved him. He couldn't think of one as hard as he tried and he hung his head sadly. He held back his emotions; he couldn't let anyone see how weak he was. That was one lesson his father had taught him well, show no emotion other than confidence or people will take advantage of you.

He looked up startled as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Charlie's eyes widened as he saw Mr. Keating standing next to him a small smile on his face.

"It's not good to sit outside when it's this cold out, you might catch pneumonia," Keating said.

"Mr. Keating why are you here?" Charlie asked.

"I thought you might want lunch after your stroll," John said knowing full well what Charlie had planned to do.

Charlie knew there was no use arguing, besides if Mr. Keating didn't want Charlie invading his home he wouldn't be here trying to get Charlie to come back with him.

Charlie was starved and John watched happily as his young charge ate everything he had placed in front of him.

"I'm sorry about leaving like that," Charlie said through a mouthful of sandwich.

John smiled "Again, you don't have to apologize Charlie."

Charlie nodded as he continued to eat heartily despite the ache in his throat.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you come to London?" John asked hoping Charlie wouldn't take the question the wrong way.

Charlie shrugged "I don't know, I guess because it was the farthest place away from my father where I knew someone. Neil-Neil told me that you had lived in London before Welton so I found your address and hopped on a plane."

John nodded his head and Charlie stopped eating, looking up at him with terrified eyes "Y-you aren't going to send me back are you?"

"No, God no Charlie I wouldn't even dream of sending you back there," John said horrified as well at the thought of Charlie going back to his father.

"He'll probably kill the next time he sees me," Charlie whispered, his appetite lost as he sat back in the chair.

They were silent for a moment until John said "I think it's about time for you to take your medicine."

Charlie obediently took his pills and wandered into the living room while John cleaned up the kitchen. He wandered over to the large bookcase and stared at the authors in front of him. Whitman, Tennyson, Poe, Longfellow; they were all there as Charlie knew they would. His eyes caught a name he hadn't read much of though, Emily Dickinson.

He pulled the small book off the shelf reverently and went over to the couch to read. He flipped through the book and saw that the poems had no titles only Roman numerals above each one to separate them accordingly. One poem caught his eye and he settled back on the couch to read.

Pain has an element of blank;

It cannot recollect

When it began, or if there were

A day when it was not

It has no future but itself,

Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceive

New periods of pain.

John came into the living room to check on Charlie and saw that the young man was asleep, a book dangling from his finger tips. He quietly made his way over to Charlie and saw the book was of Emily Dickinson. John took the book from Charlie's limp hand and looked at the page he had been reading before he had fallen asleep.

A frown crossed his features as he figured out which poem Charlie had read. Setting the book down on the coffee table he leant down and scooped Charlie gently into his arms, surprised at how light the young boy was.

Charlie mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled his face into John's chest. Keating smiled and cradled the young man in his arms as he made his way up the stairs to what he hoped would soon become Charlie's permanent room.

Setting Charlie gently down onto the bed John chuckled softly as Charlie curled up into a ball and snuggled down into the covers.

John remembered the Emily Dickinson poetry book Charlie had been reading and sat on the edge of the bed.

"If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain."

John whispered to Charlie as the young man slept. Running a hand through Charlie's soft brown hair John stood up and exited the room.

Charlie opened one sleepy eye and smiled weakly "Captain," he mumbled before closing his eyes and slipping off into his dreams.

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