Here's the next chapter, everyone! Enjoy! [Also, I've put my favorite line(s) in the chapter in bold - let me know what your favorite lines or favorite scenes are!]

RACHEL

She watches her daughter reenter the camp with an extra spring in her step, and it doesn't take her long to see that the man she resents most in the world is responsible. Especially not when said man appears five minutes later from a direction suspiciously near Charlie's. Neither of them even so much as glances at the other, but Rachel can tell when two people are so in love they don't realize that everything they do practically screams it. Still, she's betting on the fact that they are each equally unaware of the intensity of the other's affections.

Which, Rachel considers, is an interesting sight to see.

When they cross paths, their bodies move without the slightest thought. When they work together – while Charlie eases down on a stump to attend to a cooking rabbit and Monroe unsheathes a knife or two to sharpen them – their bodies reflect the other's movements. They are mirror images, moving in unacknowledged tandem. Charlie reaches one way, Monroe adjusts his position without glancing up from what he's doing. Monroe walks around the campfire to grab a pack of matches, Charlie unconsciously moves a metal bucket out of his way without breaking stride. It's an astonishing – no, fascinating – thing to watch.

Rachel would find it much more fascinating if her daughter wasn't involved and if the man she was peering at from under thick lashes wasn't a sadistic mass murderer with a questionable agenda.

She sighs, and Charlie's head snaps up, concern etched on her face. "Something wrong, Mom?"

"No, Charlie, I'm just tired of the monotony."

"You and me both," Monroe mutters, bringing the blade of a particularly large knife across his sharpening stone.

Rachel has to grit her teeth from snapping back at him, though she notices that a smile flashes across Charlie's face, there and then gone too quickly for her to point out.

"Where's Miles?" Charlie asks after a few silent minutes have passed.

"Out scouting the area."

"You let him go alone?" Monroe sounds mildly accusatory, and Rachel throws him a glare behind Charlie's back.

"Yes, he can handle himself quite well, Bass," she replies sourly. "You know that."

Charlie frowns, but remains silent, rotating the crisping rabbit meat on the spit.

"You know what I mean, Rachel," he says, watching her through narrowed eyes. "No one, even Miles, is safe out there, not alone. Especially not without me around." He says this last bit with a flash of teeth.

The casual smirk he wears is what makes her lose it. A scorching anger blazes through Rachel, igniting her usually passive temper. "Oh, but I bet if it were you out there alone, things would be fine. After all, you know how to handle yourself better than anyone, right, Bass? You don't need anyone to help you –"

"Is there a problem?" Monroe interrupts, dropping the knife and tossing the sharpening stone to the side. He raises an eyebrow, his expression sardonic.

" – because you kill people who get too close to you. Every time, with no fail. It's like you want it to happen."

Charlie's mouth drops open. "Mom!"

Rachel inhales abruptly, shaking her head to rid herself of those wild thoughts. "I'm sorry, I –"

Monroe appears unperturbed; he leans lazily against an erect tent pole. "Oh, and you're such a role model, Rachel."

"I don't know what you mean," she says, breathing heavily. Then she shakes her head again. "Besides, Bass, I'm–"

"No, you don't get to make excuses," he continues in that same deadly, unaffected voice. "You preach and preach, and yet you left your own family behind." He shakes his head scornfully. "You didn't stay to protect them, so really, you're the one who doesn't need anyone else. You can clearly handle yourself, especially when you abandon –"

"Stop. Talking." Rachel seethes, her hands clenching into fists. "How dare you. How dare you talk about –"

Charlie stands abruptly. "Stop it," she says angrily. "Both of you."

It becomes apparent to both of them, almost simultaneously, that Charlie's breathing has become frighteningly ragged, and when she raises a hand – Rachel doesn't know if she intends to place an invisible barrier between them or if she wants to actually touch one of them – she suddenly winces as a violent tremor ripples through her body. She sways in place, her eyes glazing over.

"Charlie!" Rachel shouts, rocketing to her feet and leaping over the campfire to reach her pale daughter before she collapses. She looks inexplicably sickly, and Rachel's heart gets stuck somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

She grasps Charlie's arm and gently lowers her to the ground. Sitting uneasily on the stump, her daughter briefly closes her eyes, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm. Rachel gives her a minute, struggling to swallow. What's wrong with her? How can she possibly be ill with all the attention the three of us have been putting on her?

Charlie opens her eyes, focusing her pale blue ones on her mother's. Rachel smiles tentatively, brushing the side of her cheek with hesitant fingers. Charlie slowly reaches out a hand, and Rachel's racing heart resumes its usual rhythm. Everything's okay, she thinks as she lifts her own hand in response. She's fine, it's just the heat of the day getting to her, and –

But Charlie's hand bypasses her own and lands gently in the palm of the person next to her.

Monroe. She blinks, startled by his sudden presence, though she figures he must've been here as long as she has, possibly longer. He was closer to Charlie than she when the dizzy spell overtook her, after all. It's taken until now for Rachel to realize that he's been watching over her daughter with just as much intensity.

Monroe grips her hand tightly in his, lightly tracing the prominent veins in her arms. A wobbly smile touches her lips, and Monroe sighs quietly. Rachel stiffens, feeling unwanted and in the way. Standing up and taking a few steps back, she presses her lips into a hard line, studying the two of them together.

As much as she detests Monroe's presence, she's aware of the way he watches her so very carefully, as if she's the only thing that matters. He watches her like his life depends on it, like if something happens, he'll shatter, and so will the rest of his world. There's a gentle way he looks at her, encompassing her safely with his eyes. The soft way he touches her, barely brushing skin-against-skin, before he pulls away. His face wears a careful expression, as if he's trying to keep his emotions in check. As if she elicits something within him that he himself can't quite cope with.

Rachel swallows and turns away, her pulse throbbing in her temples. Seeing the two of them like that…it hurts her. Not just because she can't stand the man, but because she had that once, with Charlie's father. But now he's dead, and Miles is here. Yet their relationship seems taboo. No one wants to acknowledge it; Charlie doesn't even seem to be aware that something's going on between her mother and uncle. Their relationship is constantly under so much stress, whereas the one unfolding right in front of her seems so easy, so simple and so…so beautiful.

As Monroe helps her daughter to her feet, Rachel turns away and ducks inside her tent, willing Miles to hurry back soon.

CHARLIE

That night, as I lay curled up on my side, watching the candle flame flicker slowly back and forth, back and forth, I consider telling the truth. The infection has obviously started to affect me, and it's only a matter of time until it does some real damage – whatever that may be. My mother's definitely concerned, though something about her seems a little off. She backed away from me once she realized Monroe was there to handle my stupid near-faint. I can't blame her, of course, not when I know there's so much tension between them because of Danny, and just about everything else that's gone bad in our lives. Besides, after the things that were said earlier…well, we all need some time to cool off.

Miles returned a little over an hour ago, and he waved to me, then nodded to Monroe before swiftly ducking into my mother's tent. I didn't see him come out again, and I can't help but wonder: what did he see on his scouting trip? And why won't he share it with the rest of us? I admit, Monroe might still not be trustworthy enough, at least not in his eyes, but what about me? I'd think by now he could extend a little trust my way.

The muscles throughout my whole body clench as a cold shiver passes through me. My hands are clammy, and so is the back of my neck. Everything flickers between "too bright" and "too dull." There doesn't seem to be an in-between.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I pull my knees closer to my chest and breathe in the fumes of the candle flame, trying to warm my insides. I have on my usual jeans and tank-top, hidden under two layers of light jackets. There's my sleeping bag under me and a slightly thicker blanket draped over me, but that still doesn't seem to be enough to keep my teeth from chattering. The infection's worse than I thought. I've either underestimated the severity of its symptoms or overestimated my ability to handle it.

Hugging myself tighter, I focus on spreading warmth from my hands to my toes.

A few minutes later, I hear rustling from outside the tent. It sounds like a whole bunch of dead leaves are being stirred up, which can only mean one thing; someone's wandering around out there. It might be my mother, though it's more likely Miles checking out the camp, but that's as far as my brain takes me because I'm too tired and cold to care. I nestle further into my blanket, eyes closed.

"Charlie," comes a soft, smooth voice. I make a little humming noise in the back of my throat, hoping that will pass as acknowledgement.

Apparently it does because neither of us says anything for a while. Minutes? Hours? I can't be sure. When the fact that someone's entered my tent without me knowing exactly how flashes to the forefront of my mind, I belatedly tense. My eyes snap open, and I swivel around, pushing aside the legs that are tucked comfortably behind mine.

"Who –?" I start, and through my daze I see Monroe's blue eyes gleaming back at me in the light cast by the dwindling candle flame. "Oh."

He gives me an amused smirk. "Hello to you, too."

I lay down on my back, my head turned up so that I can see his reaction when I say, "How did you get in here? Or more importantly, when did you get in here?"

He sighs. "Ah. So all that nonsense you were speaking to me when I entered was just that – nonsense." Running a hand through his hair, he adds, "I drew down the zipper and slipped in. Quite simple, really. As to when I did that…it must've been an hour ago, at most."

I groan, smacking my forehead. "I guess I fell asleep. I didn't mean to. I heard someone outside and assumed it was Miles checking to make sure things were okay."

"No, that was me," he says, eyes roving over my face. "I couldn't sleep, and I – well, I just couldn't sleep."

"No, that's not what you were going to say," I reply indignantly. "What is it?"

His lips twitch. "Well, if you really have to know, Charlie, I was going to say that I wanted to check up on you, make sure nothing terrible happened while I was gone."

I roll my eyes. "I'm fine, Monroe. Don't you do anything other than worry and be…you know, paranoid?"

He throws me a smoldering glare. "You know better than that."

I try to maintain my stern look, but a smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to his side. I rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing him in. He turns his head so that his breath whispers across my neck and then… he sighs.

"I'm worried about you, Charlie. I know, I know, when am I not?" he adds quickly, sensing my annoyance.

"I'm fine."

"Listen, I'm completely aware that –"

"I'm fine."

There's a moment of silence, save for the crickets chirping outside, and then he says, "Well, this is fruitless, isn't it?" and kisses my neck.

"Please," I say softly. "I don't want to talk right now."

"Your word is my command," he says, half-mocking. His arms tighten around me, and I bury into his warmth, reveling in the feel of his hard muscles, smooth skin, and the bristles spiking out from his chin. "We'll continue this another day."

"Mmhmm," I agree, and he laughs into my hair.

"Goodnight," he whispers, his voice husky with sleep.

"'Night," I mumble back, already falling deep into a safe, comfortable haze.

Monroe says something else, too low for me to hear. I smile anyway, knowing that was probably intentional, before finally relaxing into sleep, our chests rising and falling in a perfect, even rhythm.

Prepare yourselves - the next chapter is extraordinarily long [for me, who always prefers writing short chapters]!