CHARLIE

Perching lazily on a boulder located on the outskirts of the Matheson camp, I briefly close my eyes, relishing in the soft breeze whispering by my face. I toss strands of my tangled hair out of my eyes and mouth, taking extreme care not to shift the left side of my body any more than I absolutely have to.

My arm's healing much slower than anyone anticipated. The pain is considerably less than a few days ago, of course, but the area around the entrance wound has become infected. My skin's turned a purplish-green color, tinges of bright red spidering out from the hole. I know my mother (and Miles especially) are worried about me, so that's why I haven't let them in on just how badly this injury is affecting me. The truth would only increase their fears, and right now their attention needs to be focused elsewhere; specifically, on surviving. These psychotic Patriots are our biggest threat at the moment. Adding my personal problems to the mix won't improve our situation; they'll only worsen it all, if anything.

It's been a whole week since I was shot. A week with this ugly, festering wound on my arm. A week without Monroe by my side. I know that Miles has been keeping him chained on the complete opposite end of the camp; not much escapes my notice, particularly since I've been on bed rest for the past four days. I haven't been able to do anything but think. I also know that my mother has been shielding me from his view, and vice versa. Normally I would be infuriated by their stubbornness and misplaced anger, but lately I've just been so damnably tired. My mind is in a constant fuzz, my thoughts scattering before they've had a chance to fully form. I'm not sure if this is an effect of the bullet wound or something else entirely, but what I do know isn't good – I have numerous body aches, my arm's sore as hell, I can barely keep my eyes open for more than five hours at a time, and my head won't stop pounding. This all leads me to believe one simple thing…

I'm spiraling.

While Miles and my mother were preoccupied with interrogating Monroe and dealing with Aaron, I managed to slip away. I've been gone long enough, so they're probably beginning to wonder where I am, but I just can't bring myself to move now that I'm finally comfortable. Even as I breath in the fresh country air and revel in the warmth of the mid-day sun, my muscles begin to relax, and I find it painful to even open my eyes. Everything seems so nice, so peaceful, out here…if only I could just rest for a little while longer…

My thoughts eddy away from me, and I slide down the giant boulder as, all at once, my limbs go slack. Yes, I think thankfully, yes, please, I need to close my eyes and shut down my brain and just curl up for the next four years or so help me I won't be able to carry on, I can't, not anymore, not if I can't sleep for as long as I need …

The next thing I know there's a pair of lean, sturdy arms hugging me tightly to a chest radiating warmth. I almost sigh before remembering I'm not supposed to be asleep in the first place. It's a struggle to open my eyes, but when I manage to pry apart my eyelashes, I see an angel hovering over me, a worried frown and creased forehead marring his perfect face.

"What is it?" I ask, my throat thick with sleep.

"Charlie," Monroe murmurs, examining my face, "you've been out here for two hours. Did you just…fall asleep?"

I nod sleepily, wishing he would just let me curl against him and fall back into dreamland.

"Out here in the open?" There's a sharp edge to his tone, an edge I find faintly annoying. "That's…that's not like you, Charlie."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble irritably. "It seems like lately everyone else is trying to tell me who I am. I'm so glad you guys all know better than I do."

Monroe's frown deepens as I gesture for him to place me back on my feet. Wiping the sweat from my neck, I blink away the day's haziness and examine the man standing in front of me. He looks a little hungry, if anything, but otherwise his piercing blue eyes seem as sharp as ever, and his body appears just as lean and poised as if he's right this very second preparing for battle.

It takes me a long moment to find the question I'm looking for, but when it finally comes to me, my heart leaps with excitement. "What are you doing out here? Did Miles finally let you go?"

His expression morphs into one of blatant relief, and he nods. "It took some persuading, but he eventually untied me."

"So you…immediately came to find me?" This makes my mouth twist unhappily; once Miles and my mother find out – if they haven't already – they'll put double the effort into keeping us separated. They tied Monroe up in the first place because they didn't want him anywhere near me; this will only incite more of their annoyingly persistent wrath.

"Of course," he says softly, reaching for me. I immediately step closer to him. He takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb in circles on my palm. "I haven't seen you in nearly a week, Charlie. I wanted to make sure you were okay." The frown returns. "Which it appears you're not."

"What?" I exclaim, a bit nervously. "I'm fine!" At his doubting look, I add calmly, "Okay, I might be a little more tired than usual, but that's it. And I'm sure my exhaustion stems from days of sleep deprivation. I'll be caught up on sleep in no time."

I don't like the searching look in his eyes. He's always the first to realize that there's a problem, especially where I'm concerned, but I can't risk him finding out about my infected wound. Once that information becomes known to him, he won't leave my side, even under threat of death, until I'm recovered.

I've taken to wearing light jackets and hoodies ever since the infection became obvious, but there's only so long I can go hiding beneath inappropriate clothing; temperatures are already reaching up in the high eighties, and wearing what I am now won't go unnoticed for much longer. And then everything will inevitably blow up.

He breathes in deeply, as if trying to keep his impatience at bay. "Listen, Charlie. I doubt you're telling the whole truth, but that's up to you. Tell me when you're ready to tell me. I won't push you. Much." He smiles, and my lips turn up in response. (Though I'm completely aware that he wouldn't be saying any of this if he really knew what was going on.) But I'll take what I can get.

"I should head back. Miles and my mother are probably on the verge of yet another freakout. I don't want to worry them more than I already have." Or maybe I just want to escape from Monroe's probing looks. I wouldn't admit if that were true, of course. Which it isn't. Nope.

"Mmm. I guess I should get as far away from you as I can. You know, considering I'm such a bad influence." He runs his hand up my arm, trailing his fingers across my collarbone. "Wouldn't want to damage you in your fragile state."

I barely suppress a smirk. "Oh, yes, you're the bad influence here. Killing people left and right, stealing, viciously interrogating people…I don't do any of that!" And then, in a mock-serious voice, "Maybe it'd be best if you stayed away for a while."

He nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. "I think that's our only option here." Tracing my lips, nose, and jaw with his fingers, his gaze roves downward, resting on my mouth. "We need to stay away from each other."

"So we're agreed," I say breathlessly. "You should leave."

He moves so that his body presses against mine, hips against hips. "Right now?"

I nod, my breath stuttering.

His lips come down on mine with only the slightest hint of pressure. He tastes like dirt and sweat and fresh air. Inhaling him into my body, I wrap my arms around his neck, locking my wrists together. His hands slide over my hips to the area of exposed skin on my back, moving my hoodie out of the way. I open my mouth, trying to breathe him into me. He makes a small noise of pleasure, and I moan in response, experiencing both contentment and the pain of moving my wounded arm. But that concern is at the very back of my mind, especially when Monroe slips his tongue into my mouth, gliding it back and forth over my lips. Our tastes and scents intermingle, infusing the air around us.

Monroe breaks away first, placing his forehead on mine. "Mmm. I've missed you."

I smile, my lips swollen from his kisses, and say, "I can tell."

He tightens his hold on me until I relent, laughing. "Okay, okay, I've missed you, too."

"That's what I thought."

I roll my eyes, extricating our limbs. "Such an egotistical snob you are."

"And yet you still put up with me," he says, seemingly mystified.

We reluctantly agree to go our separate ways, but as I wander back to the Matheson camp, a dizzy spell washes over me, and I have to lean against the trunk of a struggling tree for a good ten minutes. It must be the intensity of Monroe's emotions finally catching up to me.

At least, that's what I tell myself.