Thanks for the feedback guys... remember, it takes a second to drop a line and a whole lot longer to write, so thanks for the motivation!

Thanks also to showthemmoreheartthanscars over on tumblr for the beautiful story cover, you guys should all check out her edits, they're awesome.

A lot of people are worried that Monroe would never hurt Charlie, and I don't think he would either, hopefully this chapter will show the dynamic between the two now, considering their 'history' real and dream, and the feelings between them. However, I would like to clarify that I am a pretty angsty writer, so if you're more of a happy, cheery type, this may not be the story for you... consider fair warning given.


The swaying motion of the wagon was starting to make her feel seasick, Charlie realised as she shifted around in the bottom. She was starting to lose count of the hours they had been traveling, and she had no idea where they were. After her first 10 attempts to escape, and she had stabbed a Militia man, Monroe had finally handcuffed her to the bed of the wagon, hands spread out, a short leash, so all she could do was stare at the sky as they rolled on. Sometimes she saw men that walked their horses too close to the sides of the wagon, but she didn't recognise anyone. They seemed exactly the same as they had when she had been trying to free Danny. Faceless and emotionless autorons, following Monroe's every whim.

She wondered if Danny had been in the same position as her, and the thought added fire to the anger burning in her toward Sebastian Monroe.

She hadn't seen Connor again since the fool had dared to try and spread a coat underneath her, so she'd be more comfortable and she had had a clean shot at his ear. To think he'd enjoyed it so much before, when she'd bit it, he didn't enjoy it so much now, she thought with her bloody smile as he had pulled away, roaring in agony.

"Charlie, play nice" Monroe had reprimanded from the side, barely glancing at his son's bloody ear as he spurred his horse on.

Men like Monroe barely noticed blood, or death or violence, they were men born to it, bred for it, and uniquely talented in bestowing it.

And so, it fell to him to deal with her. Connor wouldn't speak to her, and Monroe hadn't let the other men tend her. He didn't trust them with her, and she supposed she should be grateful, but she wasn't, as it only meant she had to see him more than ever, and she couldn't stand the sight of his face, carefully washed of expression, his eyes, hiding everything from her, his hands too soft with her, too considerate.

The wagon swayed on a particularly large hole, and her nausea rose, her mouth becoming hot and sour, she struggled to move her arms a little straighter, and bend her head away from her makeshift bed as much as possible, before she started vomiting.

It rose up her throat, hot and burning, liquid spilling out her lips. She wretched, again and again, her wrist chafing against the handcuffs and her stomach muscles trembling. The wagon rumbled to a stop, as a shout went up. She spat, uncaring of how disgusting she might look to the men passing by the wooden sides, quickly dispersing as Monroe's curly head came into view.

He looked over the side, his mouth pinched with annoyance and concern. He took her in, her state and sweating forehead, and then disappeared from view. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, relieved the movement had stopped. She might had drifted off, she wasn't sure, but when she opened her eyes again, the wagon was under a leafy canopy, and she could hear the sounds of a camp being set up and men relaxing a little.

"You're awake" Connor said, and she jumped as she saw him sitting on the edge of the wagon bed.

"You're observant" she snapped at him, further irritated by his self pitying expression. He looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but then stopped himself and looked away. She lay back down and ignored him. She focused on the sounds. Connor remained a little while, before standing with a sigh.

"I've got to move you… just, don't make it more difficult than it has to be" he muttered as he came closer, watching her free legs warily. She felt another wave of nausea rise up and she held her face impassive as he reached around her face with a piece of cloth.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, jerking her head away from him.

"Just hold still Charlie… don't give me a hard time" he muttered, managing to slip it around her eyes and tie it. She bit her tongue, the effort to stay quiet actually making her bleed. She felt him release her hands, and then he was pulling her up. Her mind spun dizzily, this was a chance to escape, her brain screamed at her, but her body disagreed as it clung limply onto Connors arm as he pulled her from the wagon. The ground felt so firm under her feet, after so long lying, walking felt strange, and she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He led her slowly, and she heard the movements of the camp pass by them, smells of cooking meat and fish making her stomach growl.

There was the sound of a flap being pulled away, and next, she felt shaded as though she were inside, and Connor led her to a pole, driven into the ground and pushing her gently down until she sat on the floor in front of it. He carefully tied her hands behind her back, using the handcuffs from the wagon, she presumed, and then pulled her blindfold off. She was in an extremely make-shift tent, mismatched canvases held together roughly by ropes, a pack on the ground near a fresh fire pit. Connor reached into the pack and dug around, coming up with a canteen. Unscrewing the top, he tilted it toward her face.

"Thirsty?" he asked, and sighed as she stared at him impassively. He set it down.

"Suit yourself. Die of thirst for all I care" he said angrily, starting for the entrance. She rolled her eyes at his behaviour, like a child not being given attention.

Alone, she looked toward the gaps in the canvas hanging over her head. She could see the men making camp, gathering wood, setting up watch. Her stomach still felt upset, but at least stationary it seemed to be getting better. She jangled her hands in the cuffs, seeing if there was someway to free them, but the pole was driven too far into the ground, and the top unreachable, even if she stood. Slumping back, she wished she had taken that sip of water now, as her head swarm and her bile tasted foul on her tongue. She closed her eyes, and let her head slowly fall forward. She was so tired, and now, out of the sun, she could hardly keep her eyes open.


The gentle murmurs of conversation pulled her gently from her dreams, and she blinked slowly, her head shaking from side to side as her consciousness slowly returned. She gulped, her mouth was dry, desert dry and tasted like death, and hands were pins and needles, the awkward angle cutting off the blood, and her legs had not woken yet. She was alone, yet she could hear him, talking to someone, just outside the tent. She strained to hear, desperate for any kind of lead, when suddenly the material was flicked away, and Monroe came into the enclosed space. As his eyes rested on her, it seemed like all the air was sucked out of that tiny place.

"You're awake" Monroe remarked dryly, like father like son, she thought sourly. She half wished she had stayed asleep as she head him approach.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, squatting down beside her, a look of concern on face that she couldn't quite stomach. She turned her face away. He lingered, a moment, waiting to see if she'd talk.

"Ok, fine. You're upset with me, I get it… but, the silent treatment, really?" he asked, his tone a little exasperated as he stood up again.

"Connor said you gave him a hard time about drinking. You need to keep hydrated Charlotte, it's hot out, and you're not well." He grabbed the canteen and came over to her, putting the edge to her lips, and staring at her intently.

"Drink" he urged, and despite her thirst, she was loathed to do anything that would make him so obviously happy.

"If you don't drink… I'll have to find a way to make you" he cajoled softly, and at that moment, his soft words threw Charlie back into a dream memory, so intense she felt sure it had happened.

.

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"Come on, have a drink, we are celebrating"

"One of us has to keep it together" Bass had said, glancing over at Miles with a sigh. Charlie, already the worse for wear, and throwing caution to the wind, had shocked him by placing her hands on his shoulders, and suddenly throwing her leg over his lap, straddling him.

"If you don't drink… I'll have to find a way to make you"

As he watched her with fascination, she raised the bottle of schnapps to her lips and took a long sip, and then leaned forward, pressing her mouth against his.

The hot, sticky liquid flowed between them, slipping over their lips and tongues as his came out to meet hers, to taste her, dipped in peach flavoured sugar. Finally pulling away when nothing else remained but the sweet aftertaste.

"Missed a spot" he murmured, as he brought his thumb across the corner of her lip, and smiled wickedly, before licking the stray drop off his finger.

"Did I?"

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.

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"Don't" She warned, her voice low, her eyes burning into his.

"Don't what?" he asked, raising the bottle slowly as she gulped the sweet liquid down, feeling it coat her raw throat, freshen her rank taste. She gulped until there was nothing left, and then turned her head away from him.

"More?" he asked, and she shook her head, closing her eyes, wishing she could fall asleep again.

"Don't talk about that like it was real… it wasn't"

"Certainly felt real" he remarked, settling down on the ground opposite her.

"Not to me" she said, and looked away from his probing glance.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone too mild, and his look to observant for her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Am I suppose to think you care?" she asked.

"We are past that Charlie, and you know it. But, from a strategic point of view… you are slowing us down… makes it hard to justify to the men" he continued.

"Well, in that case… I'm feeling pretty bad. Better just leave me here" she said, eliciting a bark of a laugh from him.

"So… any ideas about what's wrong?" he suddenly asked, leaning forward and inspecting her. She stared back, silent.

"Have you been feeling sick everyday?" he tried again, and clenched a fist in frustration as she continued to regard him in silence, a challenging look in her eyes.

"Charlie… you need to speak to me… don't push me – you wouldn't like me when I push" he murmured, leaning forward, and brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His finger glazed her cheek, sending a warm wave over her, and she had to resist turning her face into his palm.

"Push away, Monroe, you're not going to do anything to me, you wouldn't… and that pisses you off, because you can't control me… I'm not afraid of you…. Bass" she said, and directed the last right at him. He almost flinched at the word, before recovering himself, and smirking a little.

"I thought that wasn't real?"

He continued to look into her defiant eyes, undaunted by the murderous look in them, seeming more intrigued than anything else.

"What if you're pregnant?" he asked suddenly, and she felt the nausea rise again at his words.

"I'm not" she said harshly, feeling her cheeks heat under his gaze.

"You could be… can't rule it out…" he said, suddenly leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes we can. I'm not." She said.

"You're sure?"

"We are not talking about this…" she said abruptly, feeling her face start to catch on fire, far worse than anything else they'd talked about recently. He studied her a moment more, and then stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked instantly, and then bite her lip, habit was a bitch.

"To talk to the men, strategize… we are hitting a camp tonight, there's one a little ways off, crawling with Patriots… another one of those re-education whatevers."

"You are going to untie me before you go, right?" she asked, leaning forward and wiggling her hands.

"And leave you either to wander off, probably never to be seen again, or you get yourself killed in the action. No, I don't think so"

"You can't just leave me tied up here? What if you get killed?" she asked, trying to keep the frantic note out her voice.

"Sweetheart, your concern is touching…" he said, stopping by her head, and gently soothing the top of her head, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Who'll cut me free if you don't come back, those guys think I'm a real prisoner" she said, glancing out the tent.

"Right… well, stabbing one of them might not have been the best idea… but don't worry…" he said, heading toward the entrance.

"I have every intention of making it back" he shot her a last grim smile, slinging a gun across his torso.

"Monroe!" she called out, a last attempt to make him see sense, but he was already gone.


Charlie had managed to get the pole to wiggle approximately 2 inches to the left when she heard the distant gunshots ring around the valley. She flinched, her eyes going to the black night outside the tent. More gunshots, the sounds of shouts, all far away. She turned back to her task, and shot down the traitorous thought of how he was faring in the fight. She didn't care, she reminded herself as she went back to swinging back and forth.

The sounds of battle continued for a while, and then a deadly silence fell. Charlie redoubled her efforts. They might be back soon, or the patriots would, she thought wryly.

Slowly the sounds of men filtering back to the camp drifted to her, celebrating, shouting. She supposed they had been successful after all, and wasn't sure why she felt quite so relieved. She waited for Monroe to appear, and started to fidget when he didn't. She heard the men talking, too far to make out specifics, but she heard his name a couple of times. Where the hell was he? She thought angrily, as she shifted around on the ground, trying to see out. Shouts went up then, and she struggled to her feet, feeling fear settle like a stone in her stomach. She heard them coming closer, and suddenly the tent was being opened, and men were coming through. They were holding Monroe between them. Charlie cried out at the sight of him, completely unbidden, taking in the blood, staining his side, his hanging head, lolling to the side, and the shaken look on Connor's face.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, straining against her handcuffs as they laid him out near the fire.

'Connor! Tell me" she shouted, and saw with relief as the jolt of hitting the ground brought those blue eyes she knew so well snapping open.

"Hey, be careful, no need to finish me off" Monroe bit out sarcastically. He blinked a few times, shook his head to clear it, and then obviously felt the pain set in, as he clenched his teeth, and growled low in his throat.

"Charlie… you have to help… there's no one with medical training here… not even a field medic…" Connor said.

"Fine, uncuff me" Charlie ordered, offering her hands, her mind already thinking of how she could stench the wound. Monroe was drifting in and out of consciousness. Connor hestitated, the key appearing in his hand.

"You have to not try and escape" Connor was saying. The men were looking a little confused between the prisoner and her captors, and the strange dynamic.

"Now, Connor, unless you want him to bled out, and you don't. I've seen two people who mattered to me die that way, and I won't watch a third" she said, her tone brooking no space for disagreement. Connor seemed to reach a decision and came forward, unlocking her wrists, leaving the open cuff dangling from one wrist. She carefully drew them forward, rotating her shoulders to get the blood flowing, and looked around the tent.

"Now, everybody else out… there's no space in here, and I can't see. Bank the fire" she said, brusquely going to her pack, which had been left beside Monroe's and looking for a needle and thread.

"Someone get me some alcohol" she called as the Militia men disappeared out the door. Connor hesitated by her side.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"Stay out my way" she muttered, before dismissing him. She crawled over to the figure sprawled by the fire. He was lying still, very still, and she felt her heart clench for a long moment at the paleness of his face. She touched a hand to his chest, and he suddenly opened his eyes, sucking in a breath, before hazily focusing on her.

"Charlotte… my Charlotte… looks like you got your wish…" he murmured as she pulled his shirt away from the wound.

It was a slash, a long one, deep in the middle. The blood loss was the real concern, she thought as she saw the floor under him darkening with blood.

"If I'm gonna die… there's nowhere I'd rather do it" he was saying, raising a blood smeared hand to touch her cheek. She swatted it away.

"Lie still. No one is dying." She said, reaching out for the bottle of scotch someone offered her and pouring it over the wound. He hissed in pain, and arched up, his eyes becoming more focused.

"Fuck! You enjoyed that" he accused sinking back and eyeing her warily as she pulled a length of surgical thread, and a rough looking needle through a puddle of scotch. She gave him a grim smile, and looked at Connor over her shoulder.

"You can clear out, unless you wanna watch your daddy cry" she said, and turned around to see Monroe looking at her with almost amusement.

"She's right. It'll just distract her… I'll be fine. Go and rest" Monroe called to him, before letting his eyes close.

Connor nodded, and worry in his eyes, turned and strode out the tent, leaving them alone.

"Now, this is really gonna hurt" she whispered as she moved closer, drawing to the side, so that she could see his side easily in the firelight.

"Why does that sound like a promise?" he chuckled darkly, before drawing in a sharp breath as she started.

It took longer than she had thought it would, and was more upsetting than she could ever have imagined. It was one thing to cut into a strangers flesh, or that of someone trying to kill you, but a whole other one to hurt someone you…. Someone you knew so well, Charlie told herself, her mind shying away from the word that had been about to pop into her head.

Monroe had passed out, and she had almost finished. She took a long swig of scotch after tying off the thread, and sank back on her heels. She felt sick, it was awful. What if there was internal bleeding? She asked herself and then pushed the thought away.

There couldn't be, because if there was, he would die, and that just wasn't possible. For some reason, she just couldn't picture her world without Sebastian Monroe in it. For a short moment, while he was sleeping, she smoothed back his hair, and indulged in her dream memories of him, where she knew this body well, had touched every inch of it, kissed it, bit it, scratched at it. This face, that had seen her happy and sad, seen her destroyed and tried to salvage her.

"Charlie" Monroe whispered, and she froze in fright, thinking he'd woken to find him caressing his face. She quickly realised he was still out of it, but maybe she wasn't the only one indulging in memories of the different times, better, easier times… happier times.

It was time to go, she told herself as she looked at him. She was untied, and she'd never have a better chance. And yet, despite the last few days, it was hard to go, knowing, she might never see him again. What if he got killed trying to get the Republic back, or if Miles decided to come and finish the job, or worse… if he disappeared back into the mad man she had first met.

"Charlie?"

"I'm here" she murmured back, and, giving into impulse, for the last time, her goodbye, laying her head on his chest for a moment. She had missed him, missed the man from her dreams, the one she had loved with her entire heart, without reservation. She felt his hand ghost over her head, a movement straight from her memories and smiled.

"Am I dreaming again?" he asked, his sleepy voice and innocent question making her heart clench. She leaned up, looking down into his face.

"Yep… this is the dream of our life together… and we'll always have it. I'll meet you there" she whispered, and, giving into the desire she'd had since she'd woken up that morning and found out the best memories she'd ever had weren't real, leaned down and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. She felt his hand come to the other side of her face, as it had a hundred times, and guided her mouth down to his.

The kiss was soft, a gentle parting of lips, a quiet murmur of affection, noses rubbing, sweet words pressing into the corner of smiles. He was a whirlwind of a man, as complex and intriguing as space, all darkness and blinding light. He was cruel, and surprisingly kind, he loved his son, and Miles, hell, even her mom. He had made so many mistakes, and tried to atone for them. He had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it had driven him mad. And he had loved her, she was sure of it, he had really loved her, and in the world without the blackout, he had been the person she would die for, the one she lived for. She rested her forehead against his, and then pressed a kiss onto it, her goodbyes already there, in her eyes. As she leaned up, she looked down at him, bringing a hand to smooth over his cheek.

"Take care of yourself. Don't do anything stupid and get killed, I still… like you too much." she whispered, as she prepared to stand. It was time to go. Connor would be back soon.

"Charlotte –" he murmured one more time, and she couldn't resist turning back one last time. He was trying to say something, something quiet that she couldn't quite hear, and she leaned into him, careful of his side, wanting to hear his last words to her.

"I still like you too much too" he whispered, and before she knew it, his lips were back on hers, hot and strong, stronger than she could have thought possible, searing into hers, pulling, tugging, demanding that she permit him. She wavered, hesitated, then instinct too over, they might all be dead tomorrow, and she knew she would regret not kissing Sebastian Monroe when she'd had the chance.

She melted against him, the waves of heat that only he stirred washing over her, her skin breaking out into sensitive pinpoints all over. As his lips broke off, she gasped for breath, her heart already pounding as she leaned away and looked down at him, her mind sluggish under the onslaught of sensations.

Even as she registered that he must be conscious, she felt it.

The cold snap of the handcuff around her wrist latching onto a new target. She saw in his eyes, even before she looked down what he had done. Fury and frustration surged through her veins as she looked down to see her wrist, still encased in the metal bracelet, now firmly shackled to his.

"Son of a bitch" she swore, shoving at his side, making him groan even as he used his shackled hand to pull her to his other side.

"Don't be a bad loser" he admonished as he pulled her into his side, and curved his body around hers, as she lay rigid with anger.

"I just saved your life…"

"And I'm grateful… now, let's get some shut eye. Long day tomorrow"

"I hate you"

"Sure you do" he murmured into her hair, his heavy arm lying over her, crushing her, allowing her no room for manoeuvre.