Hey sweet readers and writers, welcome to another chapter! Thank you so much for still reading my story. ;-)

After this story I am working on another Charloe story, that will follow the season but will leave out some parts, like the connor-charloe hook up in Vegas. A lot of Charloe fans wanted another twist in the story and you know what's the beauty in fanfic? We can do that! A different view on things, following the episodes, but then with new scenes and some alterations, combined with the old one!

So, if you have any requests, thoughts or ideas on that story, please feel free to share!For now, my gratitude for reading and best to you all!

Disclaimer: I do not own Revolution, this is just...yes... you guessed right, a daydream of what could have happened. ;-)

Remembering

'Willoughby,' She stared at the fire when she spoke the word out loud. 'Miles and my mother are in Willoughby.'

Earlier that day

To her surprise, and even more to her own irritation, Charlie noticed she would let her guard down every now and then. The whole idea of not talking to him went downhill after a couple of weeks. Charlie realised she answered him when he asked her a question. The answer only contained a couple of words, but she still answered. She had to remind herself again, that this was Sebastian Monroe she was walking and talking with. The moments she realised that, she shut down again. Went back to giving him cold looks, ignoring him.

Neither of them spoke about his wounded shoulder again. Charlie understood that in this world, you had to move on fast, standing still too long with the possibility of getting hurt or sick ,was just not an option. He had calmed down, she had calmed down after their battle of words. Time to move on.

And then, on a warm afternoon, the one thing happened that would change the way she saw Monroe for good. It was one of these moments that there was no coming back from. She did not even notice herself that she stopped walking. The memory that started to unfold itself before her, was so sudden and powerful that she could not move anymore. She did not know what exactly triggered this memory but there was something about the warmth of the sun on her skin that brought her back to a garden on another warm afternoon.

She remembered a garden, the smell of summer, laughter, people chatting. She vaguely saw the faces of the people she had loved with all her heart. Her father, her little brother. Miles talking to her father while they were drinking something. She was running around in the garden, the feeling of the grass soft against her feet.

'Catch me if you can,' she could hear herself yelling at somebody behind her, running as fast as she could. Her blond hair dancing around her head.

'Catch me, Bass.'

The memory became crystal clear, and for only a couple of seconds she saw his face, smiling at her. Monroe's face. She now rememberd how light she felt, how happy and careless. Charlie's mound felt dry, it was hard to swallow all of a sudden.

The realisation that he was part of her history, of her past and her old world before everything changed so much, was overwhelming. He was supposed to play the part of the monster she came to hate so much. He was not supposed to appear into her memories, become a part of the few happy memories from a time long gone. He was not supposed to become human.

Bass had stopped walking and looked at her, giving her a tired and slightly irritated look.

'Any reason why we are stopping Charlotte?' he asked with the familiar Monroe tone.

'You where there,' she said softly, mostly to herself then to him.

She looked at the ground. The memory from home disappearing again. She closed her eyes. Don't go, don't go just yet. Charlie tried as hard as she could to hang on, but it faded away. As much as she hated to share this with him, she could not stop herself. Monroe looked at her with a puzzled look, but the irritation was out of his eyes.

'I remember Miles,' she took a long pause, 'but I also remember you. You were there too. Before, before...' she could not finish her sentence.

She noticed Monroe moved his gun around in his hand a little bit. Almost unsure, something she did not see that often in him.

'Yeah, I was there,' he answered with his deep voice. He did not need to ask what she meant. He knew.

She nodded, it was the only thing she could do. There were so many questions racing through her mind. He had been a part of her old world, and her memory of that man, the almost unbearable lightness of the memory, changed everything. The moment she remembered Miles, it had been a turning point. It anchored him into her life. And now, in a different way this was happening with Monroe too. It made things easier and impossibly more difficult at the same time. There was a point in her life that Monroe was Bass to her. Bass.

There were so many things she felt at the same time, she could not talk about it anymore. She started moving again, Monroe following her again. Touching this memory was too much. The gap between now and then too big. A gap filled with impossible memories, pain and damage. They both knew it. Felt it in their own way.

For the rest of the afternoon Charlie tried to focus on the road, on her surroundings. When it was almost nightfall they stopped for the night. She took some soap, and a fresh tank top and walked to the river she spotted a little bit earlier. She washed out her tank top, then started washing her hair and tried to let the water wash of this day. But she could not help but think about one question: how did they all end up here? How did life got from the lightness from that memory to the impossible reality she lived in now? She slipped into her clothes again and sat against a tree nearby the river. Once more she let the memory in, her little brother, her father. Family. Him. She fought back the tears.

Charlie thought about the moment in the forest near the town, the attack from the clansmen. The moment she realised that if something was to happen to her, her family got no warning. The faces of her mother, grandfather, Miles and Aaron came to her. Her family. And even without thinking it completely through, she knew she had made a decision. The leverage of not telling Monroe where they were going , this way of pissing him off, pushing him out, could hurt her family. It was a risk, but for the sake of her family, she needed to take it. She had to tell him they were headed for Willoughby.

If he was going to betray her by going back to the Monroe that stood next to Strausser when he was holding her at gunpoint the moment she shared the one piece of information he needed from her, she had a reason to hate him even more deeply. Then things were simple again, then he would go back to the cold son psycho she needed him to be. But she did not know why, but there was a small part of her, that wished he wouldn't. That he would not betray her. That he would prove her wrong.

Charlie got up from the tree, and slowly walked back to Monroe. He sat by the fire, bended forward, arms resting on his knees. He looked like he was deep in his own thoughts, but Charlie knew better. This man was always aware of his surroundings. He was taking slow gulps from his flask. Her heart started to beat faster, the same feeling when she was in Vegas, ready to put an arrow in his neck.

She put the soap back in her bag and put the tank top she washed out by the river close to the fire so it could dry. She spotted one of his guns laying next to him. She took a spot by the fire, putting enough distance between them. But not so much she would give the signal of being afraid of what could happen. She never had, and would never give him that pleasure. She felt her weapon in the waistband of her jeans. She felt her body tense up.

'Willoughby,' She stared at the fire when she spoke the word out loud. 'Miles and my mother are in Willoughby.'

She could feel every muscle tense up even more. She did not want to look at him, but she searched for his eyes. They would tell the story, tell her if she had made a mistake. Told her if the psycho Monroe would come back. There was a hint of surprise in his eyes. The moment seemed to last forever. Things seemed to slow down. He took another sip from his flask. Then his eyes went back to the fire.

'Then Willoughby it is,' Monroe said.

His energy did not chance. There was no smugness in his face, no cold words for her. After some time Charlie could see his hand reach out for her, holding the flask in it. She looked at him, and there must have been some surprise in her eyes as well because she could see some amusement in his eyes. She took the flask from him, hesitated a little bit, and then took a sip. The drink burned in the back of her throat. She gave the flask back to Monroe and was finally able to let go of some of the tension in her body and in her mind. A surprised sense of relieve was what took it's place.