Chapter 3

Charlie feels the way her knee bounces under the table and she instantly stills it, hating the nervous tic she's never really been able to shake. She keeps her voice calm and if it wasn't for the years of practice in impassiveness, she's sure he would be able to tell how nervous she really was.

He has a quick smile and a sharp tongue and she likes it, she likes it a lot. She stamps the feeling down as soon as it rises.

She's schools her expression to remain impassive as she eyes him over her menu. She had to learn from a young age to look impassive, her eyes blank even if her head was spinning. The people in her life as a child had thrived on her weakness, manipulating it, exposing it. She had learned quickly that if she was to survive with her sanity she had to not care, or at least pretend not to care. Some habits die hard.

She studies Bass over her menu subtly and notes the faraway look in his eyes as though he's thinking about something far more serious than what to order. Thirty seven looks good on him. She takes in the strong jaw rough with stubble, faint lines in the corner of his mouth and eyes and the blue of his eyes that seem to become alight when he talks. He didn't mention her choice of venue and she's half amused and half grateful. She loves this diner, it's the only place from her childhood that holds a happy memory and even at twenty three, she clings to it. Happy memories are hard to come by for her.

She knows what she wants, she's a creature of habit and her perusal of the menu is strictly to buy time to collect her thoughts. As her eyes skim over the already memorized options she waits for him to make the next move. She hates waiting, impatience always racing her common sense to the finish line, but she knows she won't be the one to make any kind of move, she's too guarded for that.

He seems to come back to earth as his eyes land on her and the distant look drops from them, replaced by warmth and she holds that look in her chest to feel it later when she's alone.

"What are you getting?"

His voice is laced with teasing and she can't help that answering smile that breaks out across her face.

"Blueberry pancakes."

He looks at her with mild amusement and she lifts her chin in an obvious challenge to what he's going to say about her beloved pancakes.

"Just pancakes?" His voice is teasing and warm.

"And bacon." Her sheepish shrug is followed with a half quirk grin and he grins at her chagrin, loving the fact that she's going to eat whatever the hell she wants.

They order, the waitress shooting Bass a warm smile as she takes their menus from them.

"So were you born here in Chicago?" Bass asks her.

"Born and raised." She smiles and it's like sunshine.

"You're family's here too?"

She shifts in the booth and looks uncomfortable as she mutters, "Something like that."

He cocks his head to the side, "That sounds like a story."

Charlie doesn't meet his gaze as her fingers follow the rim of her coffee cup. "My uncle raised me."

He feels abashed but he also can't help the strong curiosity that follows.

"Did your parents pass away?"

She stills her shifting as though his question froze her in place and then she looks at him, her blue eyes chilling his.

"No, they didn't pass away."

He tucks that piece of information away for later. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

Her gaze locks with his and she searches his eyes for a moment before she tries to nonchalantly shrug. "Its fine, it happened a long time ago anyway."

She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts and aims for casual, "What kind of family do you have?"

His smile is glowing when she asks him, "Well I have two sisters, Angela and Cynthia, Cynthia is…. Fire. She knows what she wants and go fearlessly after it, usually calling me to bail her out of trouble on a regular basis when her plans need an adult sidekick. She's the heart of the family, all of my happiest memories involve Cynthia."

Bass pauses to take a sip of his coffee, liking the way Charlie seems to take in his every word as though it was magic.

"And Angela, she's the older sister. The protector of the family. She's the strong one, always looking out for everyone, she always feels the need to right the wrongs of others. It's no wonder she went on to be a trauma psychologist. She can handle the toughest cases without breaking and she does it well, sometimes too well."

"So then if Cynthia's the heart and Angela's the protector, what are you?" Charlie asks him, her voice soft.

"The guardian. Always there to keep them out of too much trouble."

Her eyes are nostalgic and sad and it breaks his heart a little. He wishes he hadn't said anything.

She catches his look of pity and immediately becomes impassive.

"Do you have any siblings?" Bass knows it's a risky question but he needs to know why she's looking like someone kicked her in the stomach.

"No."

Her answer is calm and precise. Practiced. Not even a tremor in her voice.

"What about your parents?"

Bass is startled that she even asked but he answers regardless.

My mom is wonderful, warm and strong. She's always insisting that I need to eat more than is humanly possible."

He laughs warmly, "She always insists once a month that we all get together for a family supper, it's always a struggle to get everyone together but somehow she does it. I'm usually am the one picking Angela up from the airport from wherever case she was on and sometimes Cynthia tags along too and it's just like old times. Cynthia cranks my old blues cd's and Angela will do this little dance that she's been doing since she was like ten and it's like we aren't all grown up anymore."

"What does Cynthia do?"

"She's an art curator. She gets to travel the world finding million dollar paintings for some rich guy that doesn't know the difference between a Vaughn Goh and a Monet."

He sighs but it's an indulgent one. "But she loves it. She told me once that it's the thrill of buying something priceless that keeps her sticking around."

Charlie sighs and has a dreamy look in her eyes. "I'm jealous, that sounds like a dream job."

"You like art?"

Her grin is instantaneous. "Who doesn't like art? If I had the time I would just wander the galleries here for hours."

"But you don't have the time?"

Her face grows cloudy with conflict, "Not as much time as I wish I had. My job keeps me occupied most days."

"What do you do?"

"I work with the police."

Her answer is short and she holds his eyes when she says it.

"Doing what?"

She doesn't answer at first and it worries Bass.

"I just work in a specific division."

"Narcotics? Homicide?"

She swallows hard and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Hostage Negotiations."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Jeremy punches him in the arm and Bass glowers at him.

"What the hell was that for man?!"

"You met Charlie Greyson! The Charlie Greyson?!"

"For the millionth time, yes."

Jeremy shakes his head, "Damn man, I've heard legends about that girl. Youngest on the team and known to fearlessly walk into high tension situations."

"Yeah I know." Bass sounds solemn and drained.

"Does she know who you are?"

Bass shakes his head as Jeremy takes of sip of his beer that was sitting on the counter in his kitchen.

"No I changed the topic after that."

"Well you better tell her soon before she finds you at one her situations."

Bass sighs and buries his head in his hands. "I've been here four days, haven't even started work yet and I meet the girl who has the most dangerous job on the team. Fucking great."

Jeremy places his hand on Bass's shoulder, "Just wait until you have to watch her walk into a situation where the guy has a bomb strapped to his chest. If it's hard to think about it now, you better walk away before you have to pray each time she gets paged. "