The smell of food woke her again, and she came to slowly, the world drifting in and out, his hazy back, moving around the tent, placing a plate near her head, settling down near her. His long sigh as he straightened his legs out in front, and for a long moment, dropped his head into his hands and massages his temples. Her eyes flickered over him as they regained focus.

He looked tired, weary almost, a side he seldom showed his men. His face was drawn, grim, his hands heavy as he dropped them to his side and looked up at her, the jolt of his eyes always sending shivers down her spine.

She hesitated a a moment, before giving into a small smile.

"Hey" she whispered softly.

"Hey" he replied quietly. They stared at each other a moment longer, before immediate needs took over.

"Food?" she asked hopefully, starting to shuffle upwards in the bed. She realised she was wearing one of his t-shirts, the v low, as it hung too big, stopping just past her hips.

"Help yourself" he said quietly, turning back to his own plate, picking it up off the ground. They ate in silence, and she found how starving she was. She wolfed down her portion of meat, and looked away guilty as Monroe found her gaze lingering on his plate too. He noticed and handed it over.

"Finish it. I'm not hungry" he said, reaching for the water. She took it, and hastily finished it off, pausing to cough as her sped made swallowing difficult.

"More?" he asked, tilting his head to the outside, in the direction of the camp fire. She slowly shook her head, wiping the oily meat residue from her lip and leaning back, wincing as she lay on her bandaged arm. She felt the food start to revive some part of her that had been shaking with fatigue and sighed, rolling her head on her shoulders, trying to relieve the headache.

"How are you feeling?"

"Probably better than I should be... considering" she admitted, with a wry twist to her lips. She caught his probing look and swung her face so her hair shielded most of her embarrassment.

"Charlotte... look at me" he said softly and his tone made the hair rise on her arms. She glanced back, and saw such a look that she could barely break it.

"Look at me!" he urged, surprising her with the sudden shift, sudden swing from seeming calm, to anger.

"What the hell -" she started and stopped as he stood up before her, an eerily calm storm boiling in his eyes as he walked over to her, and jerked her upright, non too gently, his hands bruising on her shoulders.

"Monroe-"

"You – you could have died." he said, yet there was no accusation in his voice, no recrimination, only fact.

"You could have died, and you know know that. You knew better than to try and escape like that... the odds already pitted against you... you could have died of exposure... starved, or... those men were just the first you would have met on the road alone." she swallowed, the extent of her stupidity hard to hear, yet she had no other choice. She nodded, letting out a sigh.

"Yeah, I know... alright! I know it was stupid... but you didn't give me a choice." she admitted, glancing at him, and was surprised to see a genuinely pained look there as he shook his head.

"I did give you a choice... You could have chosen me, chosen to have faith in that connection we shared, or at least believe I would never hurt you" his voice was rough, angry, hurt, she guessed, and his words pierced her uncomfortably, shot holes in her armour as weak as it was.

"That's no choice at all! You can't force someone to love you – can't force them to care about you..." he pulled her closer and gasped as his hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks, making her body flush with heat, recalling all those long imaginary nights in each others arms.

"Why Charlotte? Tell me why you would do that... please I need to know why... I have to know... do you value your life so little... or do you hate me so much?" he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the strength of his grip on her face, his eyes boring into hers.

"Were you reckless and impulsive... or desperate." he whispered quietly, and she felt an odd icy stone start to gather in her stomach.

"Monroe-" she started and trailed off as she was unsure what to say, how to explain, when she understood it so little herself.

"You were so desperate to get away from me... you risked your life" he summed up, closing his eyes as he did. Charlie felt that ice expand inside her. It was hard not to speak, hard to let him continue, when her heart was denying his words. She couldn't vocalise why she had been so foolhardy and desperate to escape... except that it had little to do with the republic, or being captive, and more to do with running from this man who made her feel things she wasn't allowed to feel. This man who was still too dangerously close to holding her heart in his hands. His lips were still moving, murmuring against her forehead, and her heart tore a little at his soft murmurs.

"Because there is only one reason that I can see how you could risk your life like that... to be free of me... If you never felt anything other any hatred for me, apathy at best, if the emotions in the dream world were a lie and you still me see me as the cold hearted monster you believe cost you your family... then I could see it – why you'd risk dying... I could understand it." The stillness drew out between them, with her face in his hands, and his mouth pressed against her skin, she felt tears tickle behind her eyelids, an urge to cry, to confess and to run all swirled together through her mind.

And then, he was stepping back, pushing her gently away, the strength draining from his tired arms as he turned toward the fire.

"You are free to go... whenever you want. I only wish you'd be better... before you leave" he muttered.

"No more sickness?" he suddenly asked, looking at her. She shook her head. The changes in his mood making her head spin, first tight and controlled like a clock, then volatile and explosive, then, empty, worn.

"So – I'm not to be a grandpa after all" he said with a grim smile that made her heart hurt.

"Don't" she whispered, ashamed for some reason. "I can't talk about that with you - especially not that" she whispered, her ind reaching to their shared dream past. He searched her face.

"Relax Charlie. You didn't do anything wrong... the dream... that was all it was. All it will ever be. Best to move on, forget it. Leave this place, and me... and I promise I will never seek you out, or bother you or your family again..." he looked away as she tilted her head, trying to see into him, understand him.

She stood awkwardly in his wake, suddenly cold, folding her arms around her chest, squeezing tightly, trying to drive out the cold that seemed to have taken residence there. . She was free. She could go. He was letting her go, and letting their memories go too. She could hardly admit it, but it hurt a little. It hurt a lot.

"I – I don't need to rest any more... I'm fine" she said, bracing herself for the disagreement that never came, her voice seemed to come from afar. He looked at her, and nodded stiffly, before standing and making his way to a pile of clothes in the corner. He handed them to her.

"I'll get out your way" he muttered, and turned and strode through the tent without another word. Charlie's heart was heavy as she dressed, strapped on her weapons and picked up her pack. She had missed the heft of her crossbow, she thought as she finished tying her boots, and stood. Well, nothing left to do but go, she supposed, for some reason, dallying, straightening the make shift bed, piling the plates. She heard him come back in, and fixed a smile to her numb lips.

"Well. I'm all set... so I guess... this is goodbye" she said it lightly, but the catch in her throat, the one that felt as though she had swallowed a handful of glass remained. He smiled at her, his eyes were distant, even now, saying goodbye.

"Take care of yourself... and Miles too, don't let Rachel kill him" he said, and she laughed, the sound strange in her frozen throat. She nodded.

"Sure thing... can't guarantee he won't try to kill you though..."

"Fair enough" Monroe said, with a air of finality. They looked at each other, a long moment longer, and then, just when she felt those traitorous emotions coiling beneath, she turned to go, took a few steps toward him, making to go past him, out the tent. As she drew abreast, she couldn't help looking at him, his carefully blank gaze, his stiff posture.

She felt like she should say something, tell him that he was not completely wrong, that she felt something too, but she couldn't even begin to know what it was, but she hesitated and the words died on her lips. Maybe if they'd both led different lives, if the blackout had never happened, or there had been no Monroe Republic, or if her parents hadn't been involved in ending the whole god-damn world, hell, if he were 10 years younger and she 10 years older, if she was wishing for things... but fate rarely deals you a perfect hand, and there was no way to change that.

"See you around... Monroe" she muttered, not daring to let him see her eyes, sure they were shining with confused tears.

"I doubt it, kid" he replied softly, and she felt those words wrap around her heart like a fist and squeeze. She felt the rush and tumble of words pushing against her closed lips, wanting to spill out, and yet she firmed her mouth into a firmer line, and left the tent.

She felt the cold air like a slap to her red cheeks, and her eyes stinging uncomfortably. She saw Connor a little way off and smiled to him, he saluted back, sitting back down amongst his men. No one tried to stop her, and soon she was out of the orange fire light and heading into the darkness. She glanced back, and could make out a strong black outline standing by the flap of the tent, still, facing her direction. She turned back to the road, and willed her tears away.

Monroe watched her go, her even gait, her long legs carrying her over the camp until the darkness swallowed her. He felt as though his hands were trembling with the effort of being still, and his legs ached from fighting the urge to go after her.

He couldn't go after her, he had to let her go... it was the only way. He had realised it well enough when he had seen what she had done to herself to be apart from him, to escape him. He cared about her... more than he cared about himself it seemed. To be alone... was it so bad, if she was happy? He wasn't sure he even knew anymore. All he had realised was that he couldn't go on hurting her. It had to stop. And if that cost him... risked him never seeing her face again, well... it would be her choice. He turned back to the tent, grabbing a bottle up from the festivities outside. If there was any night to get drunk and forget about his miserable excuse for a life, it was tonight.

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Charlie snapped awake, her skin freezing, the sweat of her fever making her shake as a cold wind blew. She pulled her coat tighter around her, shifting on the hard ground, her hand gripping her knife as she listened to the sounds of the forest. She was off the road a ways, and hadn't dared light a fire, feeling to wrung out and exhausted. Truthfully, she might have jumped the gun leaving Monroe, and warmth and safety, she thought as her teeth chattered. She was sicker than she had anticipated, which wasn't dangerously sick, unless she continued to get too cold outside, and not find protection. The last thing she wanted was for him to come across her corpse a few days later.

That night was long, and haunted by thoughts she couldn't begin to examine. She felt worn out, and incredibly alone. When the sun finally rose, so did she, standing, her legs shaky, her breath was rattling in her chest. She had to find better shelter tonight, she promised herself as she started walking parallel to the road, concealed by the trees. Better yet, maybe she could find Miles and her mom. The thought filled her with relief even as it did dread. How would Miles react when he heard his best friends plan? What would he do? She mused as she walked, slower than she would like, but it was enough to keep moving forward.

She stumbled on, tripping over roots and logs carelessly as the sun rose higher, and she started to feel woozy again.

In the silence of the afternoon, she suddenly heard a shout, and then another in the distance. She instantly dropped to a crouch and went deeper into the leafy trees for cover, inching forward. She saw a farmhouse in the distance, and realised that there was quite a large build up around it. It looked vaguely familiar, she realised, wondering how the hell she had missed the similarities before. She put it down to her fever in that she had missed how near Willoughby they were. She quietly moved through the trees, and saw there was indeed a large camp settled around the farmhouse, patriot tents and wagons rolling in and out. It was strongly fortified, much more than the other camps Monroe's gang had been picking off. She tried to see more, keeping low. A figure came out of the front door ahead, standing on the porch, and she screwed her eyes up trying to see who it was, but the fever was making her head pound, and the bright sunshine was cutting a path right through her skull, she knelt forward her pack falling to the side as she balanced carefully. A snap, and the sound of a gun being cocked froze her into place.

"Hands where we can see them" came the voice, and she slowly turned around, raising her hands to see the all too familiar khaki uniforms behind her, machine guns trained on her, from a couple of feet away, a slight overkill, she thoughts deliriously as she felt the fever take over, and closed her eyes, eventually abandoning herself to the illness, the dark oblivion.

She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets and shuffled into the pharmacy. It was warm out, and she was sweaty and hot, but she felt like being covered up, and the hood kept the sun off her face. She drifted along the lanes of products, finally drifting to a stop. She scanned the boxes, so many, she realised, frowning, picking up one with blue and pink writing. She glanced at the back, and decided it would do before turning. An old lady standing near her glanced at the box in her hand, and Charlie scrunched her shoulders against her probing look. Busybody. She made it to the counter and paid as quickly as possible. She stuffed the bag in her pocket and was out the door and headed home as fast as possible.

14 minutes later she was standing in her bathroom, staring in the mirror, chewing her lip. That was two minutes... or was it less? She wondered, before folding her arms across her chest and perching on the end of the bath. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and dragged it out her pocket.

Her eyes scanned the message, and she hesitated before closing it and setting it down. He was bound to wonder what was going on, why she was ignoring him. She picked it back up, and quickly typed out a short reply – Sorry, can't. Working.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet and approached the mirror, staring again at her reflection. Two minutes... must have been. She took a last deep breath and looked down, her eyes going straight for the stripe and it's life altering result.

Her buzzer rang shortly after 10, and she was jolted out of her daydreams, lying fully clothed on top of her bed, staring at the dark ceiling. She glanced at the door, and let her head fall back and went back to her staring. The buzzer rang again. She ignored it.

Next, her phone let out a long ring, and she sighed. Turning onto her side, she picked it up, the caller display sending her heart into her mouth. It stopped ringing, and she continued to stare at the silent object. It started again, and before thinking she answered.

"Open up... I'm downstairs" was all he said, before handing up. She stared at the phone, and jolted upright as the buzzer rang again. He wasn't leaving until she spoke to him, she supposed as she shrugged her thick hoodie back on and went to the door, buzzing him in, and then opening the door of her flat a crack. She went to the kitchen and started to tidy up as she waited for him to reach her. She heard him enter, take his shoes off, something she liked and then approach the kitchen.

"Charlotte" he said, and she turned to see him, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, his face carefully set. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked lightly.

"You weren't at work"

"Yeah, my shift got changed" she lied, turning away and starting to wipe the counter.

"Charlie... what's going on?" he asked softly and she resisted the impulse to throw herself into his arms.

"Nothing" she muttered, and turned her face away as he came toward her, and touched her arm.

"Charlie... talk to me" he murmured, and touched her cheek, tried to pull her face toward his, tried to see her, something she definitely didn't want to happen, as he would look at her, with those eyes, with that expression that knew her better than any one, and she would crumble.

She forced herself to, and plastered a bright smile on her lips.

"What? Nothing's up, relax" she said, and broke his grip, leaving the kitchen and going to her bedroom, tensing as she heard him following. As she reached the room, she waited and realised he had not actually followed her... but... She felt as though her lungs were being crushed as she waited. Finally he appeared, his face distant, the box in his hand, hardly hidden on her bathroom shelf.

"Ok... I'm beginning to get it -" he said quietly, and she forced a brusque laugh.

"I'm not -so you can relax, alright?" she said, still feeling a sense of relief as she had when she had figured out the negative symbol.

"Look, it's doesn't matter... ok? Not your problem" she said, and watched as a muscle ticked in his jaw, as he looked down at the floor, at the wall, out the window, anywhere but at her.

"Charlie - " he trailed off, words seeming to fail him. She watched him, and her heart started to hurt. He was reacting exactly like she had thought he would, and it hurt to watch. A man like Sebastian Monroe doesn't want to get tied down to a girl he's slept with a handful of time, hell, she couldn't even remember when he'd had the same girlfriend for more than 6 months... the man was a complete commitment phobe, and she had a feeling that their fling was just about to get all too real for him. And somehow, the thought of being pushed away from him, now, when she was already in so deep, was just too much to bear.

"You don't have to say anything Bass. This was stupid, we got lucky... and it's a wake up 't worry about me... I'm fine, and... I just think it's better this way" she said, and flinched as his blue eyes met hers, his expression indecipherable. His eyes held hers, and, as she felt tears threaten, she thought at least he had the grace to look sad and not relieved.

"If that's what you want, Charlotte... I won't convince you otherwise" he said slowly, and went to take a step forward, hesitated, and ended up stepping back instead.

"It is" she said and was surprised her voice didn't waver. He nodded slowly, his body language already screaming it's desire to get the hell out of there, and she couldn't watch him so uncomfortable a second longer.

"So.. I was just gonna go to sleep" she muttered, and he nodded immediately, stepping into the hall.

"Of course... take care of yourself, Charlie... I'll – I'll see you around" he said, and she nodded, unable to meet that gaze one more time, for fear she would start to cry and not let him go with grace, the effort of which was seriously costing her.

She sank down on the edge of the bed as she heard his footsteps, slow, going out into the hall, and then the door opening. She heard him pause again, and wondered briefly what was going through his head, and then, the door closed, and the first long hot tear streaked down her cheek.

When Charlie came to, she had a blissful moment where she couldn't remember leaving Monroe's camp. So, when she found her hands were tied a hell of a lot tighter than normal, and she was sitting on a hard metal chair, she was already opening her mouth to complain to her captor when the realisation of where she was hit her like a bucket of ice water.

The patriots, she was in their camp, in an interrogation room, by the looks of it. The light from around the door, piercing through the darkness stabbed her in the eye, and she shivered, the world spinning. Yep, looks like she hadn't been ready to travel after all, and her cold night in the forest was catching up with her. The room was bare, a dirt floor, a basin in the corner and just her chair, which she was not getting out of any time soon by the feel of it. As she looked around, she heard voices approaching the door, and stiffened, setting her face into it's most fearless and passive. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear. The door opened, and she turned her head away, barely even able to make out the figured until the bright light had diminished again.

"Miss Matheson, nice to see you again." said a familiar voice, Truman, Charlie remembered and looked up at him as he stood in front of her. She didn't answer, just stared mulishly at him.

"Not feeling talkative are we? Fine... I'll talk... you listen" the man continued, and Charlie ground her teeth silently.

"I have to say, I am so glad to see you... why I couldn't be happier" he was saying, actually smiling at her, looking excited, like he had a secret.

"You see, I've been trying to get my hands on Sebastian Monroe for longer than you'd believe and nothing has worked. He's a tricky son of a bitch, but now here you are, in exactly the right place at the right time... the very thing we have been looking for"

"And why is that?" she said, before she could stop herself.

"Leverage" Truman said with a self-satisfied smile, and swallowed hard. They would use her of bait, of course.

"It won't work... Monroe doesn't care about me, he won't risk his men to come for me... or himself..." she said confidently, hoping she could rattle Truman's plans, after all, what did he know about Monroe.

A new voice cut in, coming from the doorway, and Charlie's blood ran cold at it.

"See, now I think you are selling yourself short Miss Matheson, I think Monroe will care plenty if you get carved up because of him" Tom Neville's voice had never been more smug, and she stared at his hated face, as he sauntered in, his wiry body radiating excitement.

"I mean, not only are you on the same team now -"

"We aren't... we fought... he was holding me hostage-" Charlie contested hotly.

"Sure, and you look real banged up" sneered Neville as he crouched down to her eye level.

"Anyhow, politics aside, you have a lovers spat?"

"We aren't-"

"Save it. I know how you folks roll, freaks the lot of you. Your uncle and your mom, Miles and Monroe, you and Monroe... keeping it all in the family eh? The Mathesons and Monroes... it's like a legacy with you people"

"You-re so wrong" she muttered, turning her face instinctively away as Tom drew a long knife out of his belt and held it near her face.

"Well... I've never been much of a gambler, but I'd be willing to make a bet on this... let's see who's right, hm?" he said, as he grabbed a long lock of hair and sliced it cleanly off.