AN: Hey guys! Sorry this update was so long in the making – life is crazy at the moment, but I promise the next chapter will be up soon. I hope Ch 9 was worth the wait. And if you guys have time, please check out the new poll on my profile and vote to let me know which long-lost character you'd like to see make a guest appearance in Run Away.

And stay tuned next time to find out what's happening with Charlie and Annie as they try to cross the border into the Plains Nation, and to see what Rachel and Miles have been up to all this time…

"Charlie," he breathed, the mist of tears almost immediately clouding his eyes as the sound of her name washed over him. He blinked them away at once, not wanting to lose sight of her for even a second.

She was standing right beside him, no more than five feet away, a gentle glow highlighting her features and turning her honey-gold hair to sunlight. Wearing only a thin, pale blue cotton dress, with her hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders and back, she looked…

So. Beautiful.

Bass could scarcely draw a breath, much less stand. Instead, he lurched frantically to his hands and knees, almost crawling in his desperation to reach her.

His palms scraped against the ground beneath him, and his scarred back immediately protested the abuse.

It was so strange. At times, he could still feel the lash of the whip searing his skin. And at others, he didn't even remember the red stripes of puckered skin crisscrossing his back.

There really was no in-between.

One stripe in particular – the first one he'd received – plagued him more often than the rest. It didn't matter what he was doing. Sleeping, eating, crawling on his hands and knees toward his wife – they were all the same. When the pain hit, it was always equally unbearable.

Although it could've taken no more than a few seconds until he was kneeling at her feet, he felt as though he'd been stumbling along for ages, through the world's blackest mud and filth, until he finally reached her.

And those short moments were all it took to turn the slightest pain in his back into agony.

He collapsed to the ground just a few inches away from her, his back on fire, and his thoughts black with pain. He heard her call out to him once, and then he couldn't hear anything else over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

It occurred to him in some dark corner of his mind that this must be what Hell felt like. He'd always figured he'd find out for sure someday, but he hadn't counted on it being before he finally died. But as the pain knifing through his back spiked again, he knew exactly what Hell was. A black hole of pain and suffering – lit on fire just for the Hell of it.

Even half-delirious, Bass couldn't help but chuckle darkly at that. Although, it sounded more like he was choking.

As he lay there on the ground, unable to think or speak, a noise like soft breeze blew over him, somehow managing to cool his fevered skin. It was only just there – the subtlest hint of a sound. His skin seemed to tighten and his back twitched with pain, but he held fast to it. Held on until the agony subsided.

Hours seemed to pass; empires to rise and fall. And all he could do was lay there, helpless and alone.

When the pain had finally run its course, he didn't move. Even if he'd wanted to, he just couldn't. Utterly exhausted and drenched in his own sweat, he tried to remember where he was.

Darkness billowed on the edges of his vision. There was nothing to see. Only a small sound.

The noise that had been his lifeline was still humming through the air, just beside him. Just out of his reach.

But it was still nothing like the deafening sound he'd heard earlier.

Earlier.

Bass' mind whirred into action as bits and pieces of the dream twisted through his thoughts.

I'm in a tent. My tent. Bass's eyes widened a fraction as both panic and memory flooded in. There's something else. The light, the noise… Miles disappeared. I woke up and-

Charlie.

Air hissed in between his teeth, and his fingers clawed at the dirt beneath him

Charlie was there. There. Charlie was there. Charlie was there, Charlie was there.

Charlie's here.

"Charlie?" He barely choked it out. Just a single little word, that's all he could manage. But it was- it had to be enough.

"Shhh…" The sound rushed through him in a heartbeat, travelling to every corner of his body, filling him with new life.

And then the voice was accompanied by a light touch – it was the barest brush of fingertips against his shaking back, but it was enough to tell him everything he needed know.

With a start, Bass realized that he was no longer wearing a shirt.

He tried to say something else, but all that came out was a sluggish groan. Frustrated, he tried again, this time barely managing to make a sound at all before the gentle fingers were resting on his lips, holding them still.

"It's all right, Bass." The voice was cool, and clear, and painfully familiar. Monroe tried to move again, pushing with shaking hands against the hard ground beneath him. But the fingers were there too – brushing against the backs of his hands until he gave in and turned them so that they lay palm up.

"I'm right here, baby." The fingertips continued to lightly stroke the palms of his hands. "You're safe."

If it had been anyone else, Bass would've scoffed; said something about the President of the Monroe Republic not needing such petty reassurances. But when she said that – when it was her voice breaking through all the memories, and noises, and irrational fears that had haunted him for so long – he actually kind of believed it.

So he stayed there like that for what felt like hours – the president, lying flat on his stomach, on the floor of his tent, letting her trace the scars until his eyes began to drift shut. At some point, he felt a slight stirring of air over his left shoulder, but he didn't even try to look back.

Charlie was there. With him. And for a time, he really couldn't find it in himself to care about anything else. He was happy just to have her near.

Even though…

Bass's shoulders jerked forward, his hands curling naturally into fists. The soft hands, fingers now wound through his dirt-and-sand curls, froze.

It was all still so confusing.

But: She wasn't supposed to be there. He knew it somehow, deep down, even if couldn't remember exactly why.

For whatever reason, Charlie couldn't be there.

"Bass?" The gentle whisper broke through to him, his ears still attuned for battle, even after the months of relative peace. When he didn't answer right away, he heard her breath catch. "What's wrong?"

He didn't wait any longer. Spinning suddenly, he caught her by the neck and pushed her down. The breath left her beautiful mouth in a painful gush as her back hit the ground, hard. Blue eyes huge, she stared up at him in shock, her hands automatically lifting to fight him off- But then she dropped them. Her hands fell back to her sides and she didn't move another inch. Just stared up at him, the damned hurt staining her eyes.

"What the Hell, Bass?" Her voice at full volume was strained and rough and it made Bass flinch. But he leaned in closer, eyes raking over her features, making sure it was really her.

Her face – sweet lips, perfect nose, and brilliant eyes – all exactly as he remembered them. His heart began to slow. And then sped again.

"Charlie?"

The confusion seemed to melt from her eyes, returning them to their normal shade of blue.

"Yeah, Bass." She raised one hand tentatively to wrap around his wrist. Giving him a slight smile, she tugged on his fingers until they loosened from her shoulder. "It's me."

They hadn't moved for hours.

Laying on his bed with Charlie's head on his shoulder, just being there with her, was something Bass had worried he'd never have the chance to have again. But there they both were.

After she'd finally convinced him that it really was her, Charlie had thrown her arms around Bass' neck and pulled him down next to her; and even if he hadn't wanted her so badly it hurt, he would've never even stood a chance. They'd fallen back into each other's arms as soon as they laid eyes on each other.

Afterwards, neither of them spoke – of course there were questions; there always were, and things that needed to be said. But not now. Not when he'd just got her back.

Because Bass knew from personal experience that even the most perfect things – especially those things – must always come to an end.

Charlie's sweet sigh fanned across his skin, leaving behind a pattern of goosebumps. After a moment, Bass frowned slightly before pulling her closer.

"Are you cold?" He could feel Charlie shiver in response, but she simply shrugged and buried her face in his neck.

Minutes passed, and then an hour. Stubborn as he was, Bass was barely managing to keep his eyes open. But something had kept him awake, poking at the back of his mind like a needle, refusing to let him fall asleep.

Something wasn't right, but he couldn't quite figure out what. Maybe he just didn't want to.

"Bass." The whisper broke his focus and brought a soft smile to his lips.

"Mhhm?" he murmured drowsily.

"What are you thinking?"

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't slept for more than an hour in past three days. Or maybe he just missed being honest with the one person he could really trust.

"That I don't understand why you left." His forehead creased in weary thought. "You- we had everything together. We made a home, Charlie." He took a deep breath, despising the way his voice threatened to break. "Why-

"You're asking me why?" As quickly as she'd come, Charlie slipped from his arms and shot to her feet. Monroe followed quickly behind, still in a daze.

"Really, Bass?" Her lip curled in disgust, and her eyes that had only moments ago been filled with familiar warmth and love now filling with old hate. And something more – for a split second, her eyes seemed to flash with white light despite the shadows. And then it was gone.

Utterly bewildered, Bass automatically reached toward her, his arms cold without her beside him. But she stepped back even farther out of his reach.

"You're incredible, you know that?" Her voice was dripping with disdain, her expression livid. "You really can't understand how any sane person would want to get the Hell away from you?"

The startling words – only surprising because it was her saying them – shocked him back into action. He grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides when she moved to hit him, trying not to hurt her when she jerked against his hold.

"Get the Hell off of me, Bass!" she spat out at him. But Monroe held fast.

"Charlie, what-" She threw herself to the side, trying to break his hold. Bass yanked her back, holding her firmly against him so she couldn't hurt herself.

"What the Hell, Charlotte?" Eyes narrowed, he stared down at her belligerent expression, wondering what sort of nightmare he'd woken into.

No, Bass reminded himself firmly, not a nightmare. Charlie's here.

But something sure as Hell had happened. And he needed to know what.

"Charlie." She looked away from him. Her shook her once, hard. "Charlie." She turned her head to glare up at him. "What's going on?" He shook his head in confusion. "What's wrong?

"Wrong?" Her lips parted in shock, before curling into a incredulous sneer. "You want to know what's wrong?"

She shook her head, eyes flashing.

"Well let me fill you in here, Bass." She spat out his name like it was poison on her tongue. "People die around you. Have you noticed? Huh?" Her brows flew up in question. "Did you even care enough to notice? Because if you were even one tenth less self-absorbed then maybe you'd start to realize how no one seems to live long when they're near you-" Her voice had become a small, choked little thing, and by the end he was barely able to make it out. But the expression of revulsion in her eyes was clear enough.

Bass's stomach suddenly felt like it was made of lead. Something in her eyes – something he'd seen so many times in the mirror – made him want to crawl back into whatever sorry abyss he'd come from. But this was Charlie; so he had to try.

"Charlie, I-"

"No. You know what, just don't. Because-" She took a deep breath through her nose, her jaw working and her eyes on the floor. Finally, she met his gaze again.

Almost knowing what she was going to say before she even said it, Bass let her go and stumbled back a step, his legs hitting the edge of his bed and causing him to fall back.

But the view from there was no different. He still saw the only person he couldn't bear to lose standing in front of him, ready to tell him-

"You're poison, Bass." Her eyebrows drew together, but her expression was carefully vacant. And suddenly she looked so… so much like Rachel. "We don't have a future together." But then she shook her head, frowning.

"I don't have a future with you, Bass." Her laugh sounded hollow. Glancing away for a moment, Charlie drew in a shaky breath. And then another, but it sounded more like a sob.

"Ba-" She gasped, her body doubling over in an instant, and huddled on the floor in the next. With the grace of a tiger, Bass surged to his feet.

"Charlie!" No response, but he was already rushing toward her. "Dammit, what's wrong? What the Hell is this?"

As soon as he touched her she jerked back. Her eyes glinted with the same strange light as before, but this time Bass didn't even notice. Even with Bass hovering over her, Charlie struggled to stand, flinching back any time he made a move to help her

"No. No. Stay away from me!" Her earsplitting scream barely even registered in his mind. Nothing really did except the way Charlie was cradling her stomach with both small hands.

All the air left Monroe in a rush. He knew what it meant. Any man in love would.

For the second time that night, Monroe sank to his knees.

"Charlie?" She flinched, realizing he was much closer than she would've liked. Clearing his throat to relieve the sudden pressure, Bass reached carefully out toward her, palms open, fingers softly curled.

"Charlie. You-" He took a shaky breath. "-know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

He saw her shiver slightly, before her eyes flicked back up to meet his. She didn't say anything, but when he rested his fingertips gently on her barely rounded stomach she didn't pull away.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Relief flooded through him, as a tiny smile pulled at his lips.

"Charlie, are you…?" She was – it was obvious to him now, but the father in him needed to hear her say it.

After a long moment, she looked up at him, her eyes cast in shadows and sorrow, and nodded.

His breath rattled around in his chest, unsure of where to go, and he must've blinked twenty times in those few seconds as he tried to wrap his mind around it.

Only a small, warm hand pressing against his cheek could pull him out of it. His gaze met hers instantly, even if it took him a moment to see her through the haze of tears clouding his vision. And when he saw her, her smile was sad.

"I came to say goodbye, Bass. For good."

He blinked.

"No…" Heart barely beating, he stared at her in shock. "No, you can't-"

"Bass, I have to." She looked away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her own eyes. She nodded, almost to herself. "I have to." Turning again, she looked him straight in the eye. "That's why I left. I have to keep him safe."

Bass could only stare at her in shock and whisper, "Him?"

Shaking her head self consciously, Charlie sighed.

"I mean the baby." Her expression clouded. "I have to get the baby away from here. Somewhere safe."

Seeing his window, Bass' quick mind could hardly keep up with words flowing out of his mouth. At this point, he'd say just about anything if it would convince her to stay.

"Charlie, why didn't you tell me? I can keep you both safe! Come back to Chicago with me. Please! We can start over, build a new house. I'll triple the guards! No one is going to hurt you, Charlie, I swear." The stream of words came to a halt. Bass looked frantically for even the smallest sign that she believed him.

"We can be a family again, Charlie." He tilted his head, trying to read her expression. "I won't ever let anything happen to you or our child." He gripped her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "I promise."

After a few seconds, she squeezed back. For the first time that night, a sliver of hope pierced his heart.

"Bass…" Charlie faltered, her voice shaky at best. "I- believe you." She took a deep breath, but it all came back out in a rush. "But, there are things, things you can't control." She tried to take another deep breath, but this time she choked on the air. Pulling her hands away, she pressed a fist to her chest and she struggled to continue. "Georgia. Texas. The Plains. Any one of them could attack us in a second! You can't know when or where or how our enemies will attack, so how could you keep us safe?"

Suddenly she looked back up at him, tears running down her cheeks.

"I wish I didn't have to go, Bass." From the raw pain in her eyes, Monroe could tell that she meant it, but it was little consolation.

"Charlie, listen to me; I'll keep you safe! Please, please trust me. There won't even be a Georgia for much longer-"

He cut himself off, but it was too late. Charlie's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed on him suspiciously.

"What?" When he didn't answer right away, Charlie shifted away from him, her wary eyes studying him in mute horror.

Cursing himself for a fool, Bass scrambled for the words to make her believe him. He watched as Charlie's expression went from appalled to livid.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean, Bass?" Her jaw clenched over and over again, her eyes promising violence if she didn't like his answer.

Ignoring the familiar stab of guilt, Bass squared his shoulders, and met her gaze.

"It was a-" He took a deep, bracing breath. "-necessary tactical decision for the security of the Republic." He knew she wouldn't let it go at that, but he still couldn't bring himself to come right out and say it. The expression of dawning horror on her face wouldn't let him.

"Oh- God." Cringing, Charlie's hands flew up to clutch at her head, like it might explode if she didn't hold it together. Her eyes, wide and terrified, stared up at him in shock. "You-" Her mouth snapped shut, her throat working. "You were going to go to war with Georgia?" When he didn't answer, she jerked away from him and struggled to her feet with him following close on her heels, ready to catch her if she fell. "Damn you. Damn you to Hell, Bass!"

She stumbled to one side and he immediately moved to catch her, but her fist slammed into his face before he got the chance.

"Don't touch me!" She staggered again, but caught herself against his wooden campaign desk. Too stunned to even rub his aching jaw, Bass just stared at her, his heart tearing into two hopeless pieces.

"We were supposed to be a team… You promised!" Her jaw clenched into iron, and she glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "You son of a bitch." She turned away, her shoulders slowly wilting. When she spoke again, her voice was as fragile as a winter leaf. "Dammit, I mean why the Hell did we even bring back the Republic, Bass?" She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparking violently. "So you could wreck the world again?"

Anger and shame warred for control inside Monroe's chest, but he didn't say a word.

What would he say?

Minutes passed. Maybe hours – Bass couldn't tell. Not with Charlie's eyes on him, not with the disappointment in her gaze.

She was waiting for him to say something. No. She was giving him the chance to explain it all away and make her believe in him again. But even as he looked into her familiar blue eyes, Bass couldn't see how anything had changed.

Georgia had to go. Georgia and all the other threats to his family.

Monroe's hand curled into a loose fist, his heart hardening with resolution.

Even if it meant taking on the whole continent until there was nothing left standing outside of his own borders, he wouldn't even blink – not if it meant that Charlie- that Charlie and the baby would be safe.

So he said nothing. He simply stared at her, forcing himself not to notice as an icy sheen of hate crept into her eyes.

"I was right to leave you," she said softly, disgust and disbelief coloring her voice. "More than I even knew."

Despite all his better judgment, Bass couldn't help the immense desire to prove her wrong.

"Charlie-"

BANG

A single gunshot tore through the tent, ripping holes in both sides. But not before ripping a hole through Charlie.

And then she was lying on the floor in front of him, her eyes wide and her chest shuddering from the impact. An eternity passed in moments as Bass stared down at her in shock, all his dreams and plans and hopes running red onto the dirt beneath his feet.

When gravity finally seemed to recover its hold on him, he crashed to the ground beside her, his only thought to be near her before...

"Oh God, Charlie! Somebody get in here!" His fingers burrowed beneath her head until it was cradled gently in his palm. Framing her face with his other hand, he noted with dismay that her eyes, even though looking in his direction, were startlingly vacant.

"Charlie, can you hear me?"

No response.

He gave her a small shake.

"Dammit, Charlotte, say something!"

But instead of responding, Charlie's eyes fluttered wearily and then closed.

"Charlie?" Her eyes didn't reopen. "Charlie!"

Struggling to control his rising panic, he turned his attention to the bullet wound. The dark red hole in the right side of her chest was neat and small. Only something equally small and controlled could've made it. A sniper's bullet, maybe.

Positioning his head over her heart, he heard the faint pulse of blood keeping her alive, but the way her breath gurgled when it came and went was evidence of a punctured lung.

Forcing years of training to override the emotions clawing desperately at his chest, Bass set her head down gently, and then leapt to his feet. There wasn't much in the tent – how could there be when they'd been moving so fast to try and find Charlie.

And in the end, it turned out that she'd found them…

That thought nearly stopped Bass in his tracks as he reached for the bed sheet laying rumpled on the floor nearby.

How did she…?

But before he could even finish the question, Charlie's sharp, rasping gasp brought him reeling back to the situation at hand. Cursing under his breath, Bass threw the sheet over his arm and raced to grab the kerosene lamp still burning softly on his desk, along with an old ball point pen laying beside it.

Once again kneeling beside her, he looked into her face, praying she'd managed to wake up on her own.

By some miracle, her eyes were wide and aware, but so full of pain Bass found it difficult to take a breath. The kerosene lamp slipped from his hand and shattered, but he didn't spare it so much as a glance. In a moment, her gaze found his. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her forehead creased in silent panic. When she tried again, he quickly leaned in until her lips were brushing his ear.

"Bass?" It was barely even a voice, just a soft breath of wind that barely made a sound. But he heard it all the same.

He pulled back so he could see her face again. He wanted to make sure she was still with him.

When her eyes fluttered again, Bass wrenched into action. Seeing the shattered lamp, he yanked the bed sheet from his arm and ripped it in two, then looked back at his wife.

Mind suddenly blank, Bass tried frantically to remember how to treat a punctured lung. Apply pressure? Try to inflate the lung manually? But, try as he might, Bass couldn't remember a single procedure that might save her life.

Maybe one of his men would know…

"Dammit, someone come help her!" Bass' voice echoed in the still night air. But no answering voice or call to arms echoed back. The tent was as silent as a tomb.

Giving up hope for help, Bass grabbed the sheet, praying it was what he needed. He slipped an arm underneath Charlie's slim shoulders, gently trying to raise her up to a sitting position, but a weak groan from her forced him to stop. Brushing a kiss across her cool forehead, Bass pressed the snowy fabric to her chest, being careful not to put too much pressure on the damaged lung.

"Charlie?" Nothing. Bass tightened his hold on her. "You're fine." He swept a piece of white-gold hair back from her eyes, which fluttered open at his touch. Smiling down at her, Bass noted vacantly that her tan face had lost nearly all its color. And when he pulled the wad of fabric back slightly from her chest, he saw quickly that the flow of blood from the wound had decreased significantly – a stark contrast to the alarming amount of blood already staining the bed sheet black in the dim light.

As muddled as Bass' thoughts were, he knew enough to realize that it was far from a good sign.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Bass met her gaze again, hers having never left his face. Her lips looked thin and pale as they turned up into a hesitant smile; a smile that reached even her eyes. Breath catching, Bass tried to speak but found he couldn't.

His beautiful Charlie was dying, but still she smiled up at him.

One shaky breath later, Charlie's smile dimmed and the light faded from behind her blue eyes-

And she was gone.

When Bass finally woke up, he was cold and alone, his hands still gripping a strip of pristine white cotton.

Like Alex and Miles, Charlie too had disappeared; and as Monroe struggled to his feet in a daze, the many bright points of light that had been hovering over him for hours now instantly blinked into darkness…