Chapter 3

A heavy sigh scattered the hairs that hung over his forehead. Charlie groaned, burying his face in his hands as he sat as his kitchen table later that evening. His glasses had long been discarded on the table, and he was trying to force away the ache behind his eyes.

Papers. Papers were spread out all over the surface of the table, and Charlie had been pouring over all of them for the last three hours, nearly falling into a rhythm- pick up one and scowl, then put it down. Pick up another from the opposite side, then one from the middle, and compare. Shake head. Put papers down. Repeat.

As Joe Elliot crooned "Photograph" to him over the radio, Charlie became acutely aware of another sound in his tiny abode- and looked up between his fingers to see the front door open.

"Hey, Charlie! You home?" A voice coughed. He sighed again.

"Yeah. I'm in the kitchen, Shane."

Shane stepped through the door, followed by two other men who tumbled in, rowdy and far too loud for the likings of Charlie's headache. He slumped in his chair, feeling increasingly moody.

"Hey, man, what's eatin' you?" Shane asked, pulling his t shirt over his head and nearly getting stuck in it.

"Got fired today, and I have a headache." Came the gruff reply.

Shane made a face, throwing his shirt haphazardly against the chair at the opposite side of the kitchen table, but missed, and it hit the floor. He didn't pay it any attention, which immediately got on Charlie's nerves.

"Man, that's awful. 'M sorry." Shane sighed, and looked over his shoulder. "Sleaze! Bulldog! Have a heart, will ya? Charlie got fired today!"

Charlie moaned, head hanging forward, as Shane's raspy yell rippled through his mind. His vision fuzzed, and he thought he was going to be sick. Today had not been a great day. And that shirt was still on the floor.

Shane wandered around the kitchen, opening cabinets and the refrigerator in succession and scanning the items inside. He didn't seem pleased with the selection, and so returned to prying into his friend's personal life, grabbing up a handful of bills and receipts from the table and critically eyeballing them.

"What is all this, Smooth? Thought you said you got fired today." Charlie scowled again and snatched the papers back, then pushed his chair back. Oh, God, he could see the sleeve of the shirt on his floor…

"I did, man. I gotta budget the rest of my bank account for the upkeep of this place and for, ah, food and shit, until I get another job, or else nobody eats and we're trading the apartment for a three bedroom cardboard condo." He bent down and gathered the shirt up in his arms and rounded the corner, placing it in the laundry basket in the bathroom before grabbing a broom. He hated mess. He hated dirt. He hadn't even made his bed that morning…what was the world coming to?

Shane watched this all with a jonesing eye, and started to feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He needed to take the edge off.

"Well, listen. Me an' the guys are goin' out tonight, Smooth. You're welcome to come. Y'know, it might make ya feel better."

Charlie stopped sweeping and leaned heavily on the broom handle, looking at Shane like he'd just been struck dumb.

"Did you hear anything I just said!? We can't go out! We don't have the finances for that!" He felt helpless. Sometimes, there was no getting through to these guys. When they were hellbent on something, he was hard-pressed to sway them. It usually ended up in a friendly fist-fight or a yelling match.

Shane rolled his eyes and elbowed his way past the flustered accountant, who gaped at him like a hungry goldfish. He took Charlie's previous place in the bathroom and began to rifle through everyone's things, looking for his own personal menagerie of hair-care products. Upon finding them, he flipped his honey- blond hair to one side and began to tease it into place.

"Man, you worry too much! It's my treat." He called, and watched a quelled figure appear in the bathroom doorway, propped up against the frame.

"Shane, you haven't even paid me back your share of the rent for the last four months. You think I'm gonna let you leave here tonight and blow that money on drinks and dancing?"

In answer, one of Shane's hands dove into his pants pocket, and pulled out a roll of bills, tossing them at Charlie, who caught them in confusion.

"There's your pay. With interest. Now can we go out?" He whined, spraying his hair violently with an all-night fixative.

Charlie looked down at the wad of money in his hand, then back up at Shane, and back down at his hand. A slow smile broke across his face, and traversed the flesh covered gap from ear to ear.

"Huh. Awesome!" He commented, tossing the roll up and down in his hand to feel the physical weight of it. "Like…this is really awesome!" He caught the roll in mid-air and turned, still grinning.

Charlie disappeared into his bedroom and threw himself headfirst into his closet for the second time that day. He found his tiny safe and quickly dialed it open. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to protect his money. Counting out the amount and frowning, he put what he had in the safe, shut it, and returned to the bathroom, where Shane had finished his hair and was pulling on a pair of mesh gloves.

"You shorted me, Shane."

Shane snorted.

"No, I took into account the stereo part you bummed offa me last week. It don't come cheap, Smooth."

Charlie sighed, and smiled.

"Alright. As long as it's your treat…I'll go tonight. Gimme five to get ready."

"Charlie, this is Corrinne." Sleaze announced, hiccupping, and gestured awkwardly to the girl by his side. Corrinne smiled and extended her hand towards him cordially.

"Pleased to meet you, Charlie. I saw the show last night- great job. You're amazing!"

Charlie was still trying to find the word "hello" in his frozen mind, let alone a way to receive the compliment. He felt breathless. She was a vision in white. A dream. An angel. At least, to him.

And his blood boiled when Sleaze threw a drunken arm around her waist and held her closer.

"Ah…thank you." He finally said, anger giving him the power to think clearly.

"Y'know…Chhaaar…Chaaarlie here…he'sha rock stahr." Sleaze wobbled, and leaned against the bar, drink in hand. Corrinne looked over at Sleaze, then slyly smiled at Charlie, who's heart beat to the point of wanting to burst.

"Oh, really? Well, mister rock star, would you like to dance?" She held out her hands again, and Charlie blushed, readily taking them in his own and feeling himself get swept away onto the dance floor.

Sleaze looked after them, and hiccupped again, before sliding down and falling on his rump.

"Hey, I..I'ma rock st-har, too!"

Bulldog sidled up to Sleaze and pulled him back to his feet, and then jerked a thumb at Charlie, who was already dipping his dance partner skillfully.

"Yeah, but you ain't him, Sleaze. There's a reason we call him 'Smooth,' remember?"

Indeed, Charlie had gotten a bit of a reputation. It had followed him from Ohio, and had stuck easily. He had a way with himself. He was charismatic. He could sweet-talk his way into or out of every possible situation, it seemed. He was commanding and confident, and the ladies swooned over him. Charlie had it all.

And currently, he had Corrinne Wilson spinning around, neon club clothing reflecting in the multi-colored light. She laughed, and watched as her partner broke into a few moves of his own. The song ended, and a slow dance came on. She caught Charlie's gaze, who looked sheepish, and sighed softly, tugging him off the dance floor.

"C'mon, rock star- walk me home?" She toyed with the edge of his sleeve, and he blushed hotly again.

"Sure. I, ah, just gotta tell the guys I'm leaving."

Bulldog saw Charlie approach him from the corner of his eye, and turned with a smile.

"Land another one, Smooth?" He chuckled deeply. Charlie shrugged.

"I don't know, man. I…well, listen. I'm gonna walk her home, and then I'm headed home, myself. Catch ya later!" He turned and hurried off, back towards Corrinne. Bulldog laughed.

"We won't wait up, Smooth! Have fun!"

Oh yes. There was a song in his heart again as Charlie headed back towards his own place of residence that night, at nearly midnight. Corrinne and him had talked the entire way, and that thank-you kiss on the cheek? Wow. He felt electric. Even without sex, he felt utterly spent in a wonderful way. He couldn't wait to see her again, to quell the nervous butterflies in his stomach.

He rounded the corner. Only four more blocks. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants and whistled as he passed under the lonely streetlights. And then the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He groaned. It just wasn't his day to be on the streets, was it?

"Hey. Hey man." Came the nasal voice from behind. Charlie didn't stop walking.

"Hey, motherfucker, I'm talkin' to you!" Now he stopped. Calmly, he threw a piercing hazel glance over his shoulder.

"Hey. Gimme all yer money, man. I'll stick ya-swear to God, I'll do it! Just gimme the money, man, and no one gets hurt. And that watch."

Charlie's lips twitched. He almost snickered.

"'S'not funny, man! Give it!" The brute screamed, stalking closer to his prey. Charlie just stood still, back still turned, and breathed out evenly.

"The fuck? You deaf or stupid or somethin'?"

"Are you finished yet?" Charlie murmured, feeling that same filling sensation come over him.

"What? Alright man, that's it. I asked nicely, but you didn't listen. So now I'm takin' what I want!"

Imperceptibly, Charlie tensed. It happened so fast he didn't consciously register his actions. It would have looked like a brunette blur in a blue suit to anyone else. The man darted forward, a lefty, the knife extended to stuff in between the young accountant's ribs. Charlie dodged to the right, letting his attacker's arm get pinned between his own and his side. With control of the arm and wrist, he was in complete control of the other man's movements.

"What the-"

Charlie folded his left arm and wrenched his attacker's arm over it in the wrong direction, shattering it and getting rewarded with a howl of pain. He threw his elbow back into the man's stomach, then flipped him over his shoulder skillfully, so that he landed on the ground in a heap. Finally, he lashed out and kicked the man in the jaw, hearing a resounding crack that would have made a normal person sick to his stomach.

But Charlie Offdensen wasn't normal. Not at all.

The man struggled to stand, in pain and bleeding, but Charlie was having none of that. He cold-cocked his attacker, and the man stumbled backwards into the brick wall and hit his head, knocking himself unconscious. Charlie seethed for a moment, before relaxing and letting the deep breath in his lungs pass over his lips. He straightened up, brushed himself off, and stuffed his hands back in his pockets.

"Have a nice night." He called over his shoulder, continuing his walk. And then, by chance, he ran a hand up his side- and groaned.

"Great. Another one down." He groaned, and poked two probing fingers through the hole in his favorite blue jacket. Shrugging, Charlie continued on his way, the maniac glint in his eye fading with every marching step.