1.

Certain he was heading straight for a premature stroke or something, Charlie lay back in the hotel bed and fought to calm his shattered nerves and racing heartbeat. Breathe in … Breathe out … Sounded simple enough in the cold light of day though, becoming more aware of exactly what was going on, he raised a hand so he could see it and closed his eyes again in near defeat.

The shakes.

Could he really be at the stage he had always claimed would never befall him? He was so different from all the rest, wasn't he? He was in a rock band, for Christ's sake – a rising star, making a name for himself and the band, enjoying himself.

Rock god … Had a ring to it. Addict … Not so much.

That was what he was though, whether he chose to admit it or not. However much he tried to deny it, deep down, he already knew it was true. What had once been something to add to the buzz of it all, a little edge, was now a dependency. An addiction. And if he had reached the point, as it appeared he had, where he couldn't get a night's sleep without a fix … Well, he had a bigger problem than he cared to think about.

Telling himself this was it, this was as bad as he could let it get, he flung his arm over his eyes – though what it was exactly that he wanted to block out was still up for debate. There were certainly plenty of options – including, but not limited to, the state of his hotel room, littered as it was with discarded clothes, empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays; the headache that had to be at least a nine on the Richter scale of hangovers; and the knowledge that all he had to do to make this all go away was reach into his jacket pocket and grab the little baggie hidden there …

He rubbed his eyes wearily and forced himself to get up, pulling a pair of battered jeans on over his boxers as he surveyed the room – must have been a hell of night after the gig. Shame he couldn't remember much … He made his way into the bathroom, fighting the urge to head straight for his stash and instead splashing cold water on his face. No longer surprised by what he saw, he stared at himself in the mirrored door of the cabinet above the sink and took in the bleary eyes staring right back – no wonder he was wearing his sunglasses a lot more these days. People might put it down to the old "not-wanting-to-be-recognised" routine or part of competing in the rock star style stakes but really, they just hid a multitude of sins.

Putting his head down to try the cold water again, hoping it would revive him a little more, he straightened up again in a hurry at a noise from behind him, almost cracking his head off the cabinet.

"Tad jumpy there, Charlie – didn't forget I was here, did you?" came a wry female voice, causing him to turn around. "If you're not careful, you'll have me thinking you only see me as another groupie."

Normally he'd have made some flirty wisecrack at that – Charlie Pace was not the kind of guy to give up flirting just because he'd gotten what he wanted. He'd flirt with anyone, anytime, and the rest of the band had finally, after much debate on the subject, come to the conclusion that he genuinely didn't know he was doing it half the time. Now, however, he simply took a deep breath, turned, and forced a smile.

"Tasha …"

"You expecting someone else?" she said as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Course not! I just didn't expect you to be creeping up behind me in the bathroom!" he said, a little defensively.

"What can I say? You were bent over the sink – I couldn't help admiring the view." she returned and even he had to grin in response to that, his eyebrows raised questioningly over eyes that regained some of their old twinkle as he leaned back against said sink, a look of challenge on his face.

"Yeah? In that case, how about you come over here and get a closer look …" he suggested, momentarily distracted enough to let his usual stage confidence shine through and forget about finding his next fix – no mean feat on her part, though she was making it look easy right then. Who wouldn't be distracted when faced with five and a half feet of gorgeous, clad only in a worn DriveSHAFT t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh? Good job he didn't have those sunglasses on now or they'd be steaming up … Not to mention obstructing his view.

After cocking her head on one side thoughtfully, as if considering his proposal, she straightened up and moved away from the door, strolling casually towards him with her usual easy grace. A soft smile tugged at her lips as he reached out until his hands rested on her hips, and she ran a teasing finger down his bare chest until she reached the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, she leaned in, as if to press kisses along his jawline, but she then turned her head slightly to whisper in his ear.

"How about …" she began, her tone low and seductive, "No."

Having allowed his eyes to close in anticipation, they flew open again at that and he gaped at her, caught unawares by her unexpected knockback. Yet, after a split second of doubt, he smiled knowingly as if he'd caught on to what she was doing.

"Tease." he grinned, moving to kiss her but, finding she just pushed him away, his confusion and disappointment quickly returned. "Tash?"

"I said no."

"You what?"

"Hearing problems, Charlie? Not good news for a musician …"

"I heard you all right, I just can't figure out what the hell you're playing at."

"Oh, I'm not the one playing here – or if I am, it's only 'cos I must have learned from the master!" she snapped and, for the first time, the hurt and anger were clear in her voice.

"Listen, love," he said in concern, "If I've done something to upset you … Well, I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to spell it out to me 'cos I'm definitely in the dark here."

"Hmm, interesting turn of phrase there. Done … What could you have done to upset me? Something you could be doing to upset me? I dunno – why don't you tell me? What are you doing, Charlie?" she asked coldly and he sighed as it all fell into place. "What is it this time? Crack? Heroin? Come on, Charlie – you reckon I'm the one playing games, so why don't you tell me yours and maybe we'll both play!"

"Tash … love …"

"Don't you 'love' me, Charlie Pace, you lying git!" she exclaimed, her composure finally giving way, having threatened to and yet held out for so long. "You promised me!"

"I trusted you!"

For a split second, his vision seemed to haze and her voice seemed to be coming to him from a great distance, her London accent distorted and sounding … almost Australian. Her hair was gently whipped around her face as if by a gentle breeze and the pale blonde over black streaks dye-job faded into a tangle of honey-blonde waves and back again before he had time to blink.

"Charlie?" she said unsurely, the look on his face enough to throw her and hold her anger at bay – at least for the moment. "You look like you've seen a ghost …"

"I … I'm fine." he stammered, pressing a shaky hand to his head.

"You don't look it." she said, but she couldn't quite bring herself to keep up any further attempt at a steely resolve and just cupped his cheek gently, his stubble rough under her fingers. "Look at you … Look at you, Charlie – at what you're doing to yourself."

"I'm fine." he repeated stubbornly, though he looked anything but. "I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not. I can't do this anymore. I can't sit around and watch you crash and burn …" she said, her gaze dropping to her feet just in time to miss him flinch at her words for reasons even he didn't understand.

"I know what you're saying, Tasha, but you're getting all wound up over nothing." he said, hoping he could convince her better than he could convince himself. "Though it's not as if I'm not trying – I know how you feel and I am trying …"

"Two words, Charlie," she said simply, as she turned on her heel. "Try harder."

to be continued...