January…

Monroe had been waiting outside of the classroom for several minutes while thirty eager men and women found their way inside. It was the first day of his second semester teaching at Frank S. Blanchard University (Monroe still rolled his eyes every time someone said the name aloud), the first fully functional post-blackout university in North America.

He'd been blindsided just two weeks before the semester was due to start when the dean had asked him to teach this particular class. He'd been reluctant, but they'd suckered him into it. Congress was in charge of the graduation requirements because the Texan government sponsored the school, and they'd decided that the subject matter was necessary. In all reality (as much as he hated to admit it), Monroe knew they were probably right.

This would be nothing like teaching pre-blackout American history. It was one thing to lecture about something that a bunch of dead guys did a few hundred years ago. It was something else entirely to lecture about history that he helped to make. Eventually, the subject matter they discussed in this class was going to get very personal for him.

He took a deep breath and entered the classroom. Normally, he quite pointedly shut the door behind him, usually to the point of letting it slam shut to get everyone's attention. As an afterthought, he left it open. Somehow, with the sensitivity of the things they'd be discussing, it seemed safer this way.

One of the young men in the class had his feet up on his desk. Without bothering to make eye contact, Monroe swept them off as he walked by, almost knocking the kid on his ass. When his back was turned to the class, he allowed a small smirk to escape. That felt good.

He set down his bag on the desk and headed over to the blackboard. Picking up a lump of chalk, he began to write on the slate.

The History of the Blackout- 2012 through the Militia Wars

Prof. S. Monroe

Monroe turned around and waited for them to stop talking. Doing a quick headcount, he realized that he had a few more students than were actually assigned to the class. The dean's prediction had come true; interest in the class had exploded when the change in instructors was leaked. Because the school was so new, most students had probably decided to put the new requirement off until they absolutely had to—none of them would be graduating for a few years at any rate.

Deciding to weed out the stowaways later, he got started. "Before I begin, let's get a few things out of the way. Yes, I'm that Sebastian Monroe. As you can see, no, I neither have horns, nor carry a pitch fork. Yes, I'm younger than you thought I was—but I'm a lot older than I look. And finally, no, I will not bring in any weapons for a demonstration of how utterly awesome I am or tell you anything about my personal life, so don't bother asking.

As he spoke, he grabbed a yardstick off the desk, carefully concealing it behind his back. "I only have a few rules. You're all adults, so I'll treat you like it. If you're acting like a dick, I'm going to treat you like one—and I'll probably call you one too. I won't watch my mouth, but you'd better watch yours. If you cheat, you fail. If you don't do the work, you fail. If you don't show up, you fail."

Monroe took note of the few students that weren't paying attention as he spoke. Eyes landing on a target, he approached the young man's desk slowly. He was only going to do this once, and he couldn't have found a better stooge for it.

Before his students had a second to realize what he was doing, Monroe brandished the yardstick just as he would any sword, before slapping it down on the desk in front of him. Bringing it up, the yardstick had a piece of paper stuck on the end. "… and if you draw cute little doodles showing someone burning my image in effigy or being hanged from a tree or whatever, they'd at least better make me laugh—or be well drawn."

He pulled the picture off the end of the yardstick and held it up for the classroom. "See? That doesn't even look like me."

He shook his head at the boy who was now sitting wide eyed and had visibly paled. Monroe snatched the pencil out of the kid's hand and bent over the desk, making a few lines here and there. Finished, he held it up again. It was a very crude, but recognizable caricature of the student, with donkey ears added for good measure—the implication quite clear. "It does look a little like you though, doesn't it?"

The rest of the students laughed, and eventually the class' budding Picasso gave in and joined them. Monroe balled it up and tossed the paper over his head as he walked back to his early position at the front of the class. "It pays to care about your work," he added right as the wad of paper hit the kid in the forehead.

Monroe sat down on the corner of the desk and waited for them to simmer down. "The subject matter of this class is sensitive. Some of it will be hard to hear—most of it will be hard to talk about. If you can't handle that, or you can't be an adult about it, there's the door. Any questions?"

"Why do we have to take this class?" One girl asked.

Monroe locked eyes with her. "Because if you don't learn about the past you will repeat it—and because Congress says you have to."

"When the power went out, the whole world went crazy. People did things they never thought themselves capable of just to survive. The ones that didn't died. If it happened once, it can happen again. It almost did when a bunch of assholes in khaki crossed the gulf and tried to take over. And that is why this class is required."

"Why are you teaching this class?" a boy in the back asked.

"Because I was asked too—because I was there. And, considering no one had signed up for this class before they changed instructors, it's obvious that the dean knew how morbidly curious you all are."

Monroe began his lecture then. He didn't notice that there was one set of eyes glued on him that definitely shouldn't have been there. He kept the class casual, using his desk as a chair and pausing every now and then to answer a question that some student had blurted out.

By the end of the allotted hour, he'd finished explaining the effects that the loss of power had in those first few weeks. He'd managed to keep his own history out of it so far, but he knew that there were only so many lectures where he'd have that luxury.

He'd spent most of the time talking about food shortages and the massive loss of life that had occurred. It was dark stuff to be sure, but if they were to ever understand how the militias had formed, he knew they'd need to understand how desperate people had been. Most of the students in his class were very young when the power went out—a few of them may even have been born shortly thereafter. They wouldn't remember, even though their parents would. Either way, most of them were from Texas. Things had been a hell of a lot different back east.

"Since this class was added last minute and there are no published records on it, there's no text book. Your parents can thank me for saving you the money in the form of cakes and bottles of whiskey. There will be a few guest instructors throughout the semester, but that'll come later. In the meantime, your homework…"

Monroe waited for the groaning to subside. "Between now and Wednesday, your job is to write in a thousand words or less everything you think you know about the militias. Keep it brief and keep it professional. You're dismissed."

While his room emptied, Monroe went to pack up his things. When he turned to leave he did a double take. Standing there in his classroom was Charlie.

"Hello," she said quietly. "Nice lecture, by the way."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. "Where's Bethany?" He'd been a little hurt that she hadn't tried to contact him since she'd shown up in November. Christmas had come and gone with no word. He'd sent a small teddy bear he'd found at the general store for his daughter, but hadn't even been sure if Charlie had received it.

"It's good to see you too," she said with a roll of her eyes. "She's with Priscilla and Aaron at the inn. I can bring her by for a little bit this evening, if you'd like."

Monroe nodded, feeling like an idiot. "Yeah, I'd like that." As happy as he was over the prospect of getting to see his daughter (and her mother), he was a little disappointed that she wasn't in town alone. "So what brings Staypuffed and Mrs. Staypuffed to Austin?" he asked as he gestured for her to leave the room before him.

"Aaron was offered a job at the school. Someone let it slip to Blanchard that he was, well a genius. He wanted to check things out before he committed to it," Charlie explained as she walked down the hallway with him to his office. He didn't have another class for another hour, so he'd been headed there to eat his lunch.

The last thing he wanted was to have Aaron as a colleague. It wasn't that he had anything against the man, but it was just another reminder of the past. "How long are you planning to stay?" he asked.

"Just until tomorrow—we're taking the morning train back. We got in late last night."

Monroe tried to hide his disappointment. Still, she hadn't had to come at all, nor did she have to offer him a visit with Bethany, so he'd make the best of it. This would make three visits, when he'd only ever planned on the one.

The rest of the day it was all he could do to keep his mind on his lectures and the day seemed to crawl by. By the time she showed up later that evening, his nerves were well frayed. He'd almost given up on her coming at all by the time she knocked on his door. It was well after dinner and he'd just settled down with that week's issue of the Austin Times.

After shoving Lump out of the way, he wordlessly let her inside. Following them into the living room he waited for her to turn around. Charlie handed the baby off to her father so she could get her jacket off. "She's gotten so big," he commented as he sat down with her.

Bethany watched him warily for a few minutes and then smiled at him. She was able to sit up now with support and she immediately went after the glasses he'd stashed in his front pocket when Charlie had knocked.

Charlie watched them interact for quite some time. The smile on his face was bittersweet and despite it, he looked like he was on the brink of tears ever since she arrived. Charlie would be lying if she'd said she was unaffected. She knew he wouldn't believe it, but the entire mess was hard on her too.

Up past her bedtime, Bethany eventually fell asleep in his arms and Monroe knew that his time with her was coming to an end. "Thank you for this," he said. "I missed her."

Charlie found herself tongue tied once more. She'd come to town with the Pittmans with every intention of talking to him about Nashville and everything that had happened since, but now that she was actually in his home, she once more was losing her nerve.

"I missed you too," he added when she didn't say anything. "Last time you were here, you acted like you had something you wanted to say, but then you didn't say anything—not really. What's going on, Charlie?"

Charlie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It's now or never. Grow a couple already! She opened them again to see the concerned look on his face. "Did you mean what you wrote—in the letter you left for Bethany?"

"Every word." He did lose it now. "I love you both so much and I hate not getting to see you. I know I fucked thing up between us, but you have to believe me, Charlie. I never wanted to hurt you—I hate that I did, and I hate what being there brought out in me."

His answer gave her a lot to think about. "I know it's last minute, but would it be okay if we stayed here tonight? It's getting late and it's a long walk back to the inn." She'd never had any intention of going back and had even gone as far to tell Aaron and Priscilla that she wouldn't be returning until morning.

"Uh, yeah." Monroe blinked back his tears and got up and handed Bethany to her.

Instead of preparing to go ask his neighbors to use their crib again, he headed straight for the hall closet. "Jackie found this in her basement," he said as he pulled what looked like a boxed up tent out. "They used to call them pack-and-plays. She let me have it in case you came back," he explained as he unfolded it. After spending a few minutes trying to remember how to set it up (and cursing when he pinched a finger while going about it), Monroe finally got it.

Charlie watched with interest. She'd seen them a few times as a child, but hadn't really paid attention. By the time a portable crib was something she'd care about, they were no longer common place. In the early years after the blackout, they tended to get traded frequently and moved around a lot. Like tents, such constant use meant there were few in decent enough condition to be considered safe.

He set it up in the bedroom for her and left her to tend to the baby. He was fortunate enough to not have classes on Tuesdays this semester. It was only the first day, so he didn't have anything to grade, but he still needed to work on his lectures for Wednesday. More than anything, he also needed to put some distance between them after their brief but emotional talk.

Charlie had long since retired for the night by the time Monroe emerged from his office. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he'd taken the chicken way out by holing up in his office for the rest of the evening. On one hand, her asking to stay gave him reason to hope. On the other hand, the way she'd changed the subject after he'd answered her question made him wonder if there had been something wrong with his answer. He'd been honest, but maybe it had been too honest.

He now sat on the couch, in his t-shirt and boxers with a drink in his hands. He was tired, but his mind was still too busy for him to sleep, so instead he watched the flames dance in the hearth and tried very hard to get the woman in the next room out of his mind. His feet up on the coffee table and a blanket draped over him, he took another sip from his glass, savoring the burn of it.

It was then that the woman in question appeared from the hallway. Without a word, Charlie came in and sat down next to him on the couch. Monroe sat up and turned to face her. "You okay?" he asked when she didn't say anything after several minutes. She just kept looking at him with a look of intense curiosity on her face.

Instead of answering, Charlie abruptly leaned over and pressed her mouth to his. Monroe almost let the glass slip from his hand, so surprised was he by her actions. With her warm lips still firmly pressed against his, he reached over to set his drink on the end table and then wrapped his arm around her, kissing her back.

Charlie slid closer, opening her mouth for his probing tongue. With a groan, Monroe pulled her into his lap. His mind briefly flashed to the first time they'd ever kissed. How ironic that it should be in similar circumstances that she should do it again.

It was the memory of that night that had him gently pushing Charlie off his lap and jumping off the couch as if it was on fire. He ignored the bewildered look on her face as he fled towards the kitchen, not bothering to explain. In that moment, he found that he needed another drink—a very stiff one.

She eventually followed him, finding Monroe standing at the counter. His hands were shaking as he poured a very liberal shot into the glass, hesitating before adding to it for good measure.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, feeling quite embarrassed and a little hurt that he'd suddenly lost interest.

Monroe took a drink before responding, praying the liquid courage would get him through this encounter. "I can't do this Charlie."

"I—I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I thought—I didn't know you'd moved on."

He downed the drink and immediately poured another. Her hurt wasn't making it any easier. "I don't think I'll ever move on," he quietly confessed. "It took me weeks to find my balance after seeing you the last time, and I finally just got it through my head that you weren't going to come back."

Charlie sank down at the kitchen table, her knees feeling weak. It had taken a lot of courage to and self-encouragement to make a move and now that he'd stopped her, she was feeling so stupid for it. "I told you we'd work something out."

"It's been over two months, Charlie," he reminded her. "I know I don't have the right to ask for something more, but I can't take you just appearing at random like this. It hurts too much."

"I didn't mean to make things harder on you. We'll go," she said, sniffing back her tears and rising slowly from the chair.

She didn't make it two steps before she felt his hands land gently on her shoulders. "I don't want you to leave, but I can't be with you like this and then pretend later that it didn't happen."

"I know," she whispered.

Monroe let out a shuddering breath. "If there's no hope, don't lead me on, Charlie. I don't want to spend the rest of my life patching myself up every time you show up, if you're only planning on leaving again."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," she insisted. As Charlie spoke, she unconsciously leaned into him. The contact disintegrated whatever resolve Monroe had. Knowing he was an idiot, he pulled her hair aside and nuzzled the side of her neck, placing a soft kiss there, just where it met her shoulder. She tilted her head, giving him more room, her quick gasp encouraging him.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity and before he knew it, Monroe had given incompletely. With a groan of frustration, he captured her mouth as he tightened arms around her, crushing Charlie to him.

Their tongues met and any hope of stopping what was happening disappeared. Charlie's hands trailed down his sides until she felt the bottom of his t shirt with her fingertips. She pulled up, forcing them apart long enough to yank it over his head.

He kissed and nipped his way across her jaw and down her neck as he pulled up her tank top to reveal her breasts. They were fuller now and he tested the weight of one with his hand, while the other cupped her bottom, pushing her towards his throbbing length as he got harder.

Charlie practically purred in satisfaction as he teased her with his fingers as he backed her into the kitchen table. Releasing her, Monroe grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up on it, the height now lining them up perfectly. Impatient, Charlie removed her tank top herself and then held her arms open for him to come to her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her again. Charlie immediately reached inside his boxers, finding what she was looking for and taking him in hand. He let out a groan as she began to stroke him, her palm caressing his tip each time he thrust himself back into her hand.

Knowing that things would be over for him if she kept it up, Monroe grabbed her by the wrist and plucked her hand away. "Hold on a second," he murmured into her mouth. "Slow down."

When Charlie went for him again, he took a step back. "We're not going to bang one out on my kitchen table—tonight," he added, not wanting to send that idea permanently out of her head by any means.

He took in the sight of her, breasts moving as she drew in an unsteady breath, her eyes glassy with want and her lips swollen. Monroe picked her up and carried Charlie into the living room, laying her gently on the couch.

He grabbed the coffee table and gave it a good, hard shove to get it out of the way. The sound of it sent Lump flying from his usual spot by the door and lumbering into the other room. They both paused to make sure that it hadn't woken Bethany up.

When the house remained quiet, Monroe grabbed the blanket and pillow off the couch and tossed them on the rug in front of the fireplace. Taking the hint, Charlie got up and joined him there, kneeling with him in front of the fire.

Monroe slid his hand behind her neck, drawing her closer so he could probe her mouth once more. With her arms wrapped around his neck, he grabbed the pillow with his free hand and shoved it behind her. He bent forward and Charlie went with him, lying back on the rug and allowing him to settle over her.

Before taking things further, he pulled back to see her. The light from the fire made her hair look like spun gold and the shadows that danced around the room gave everything a surreal and dreamlike appearance. It softened her features, and he swore he could see the emotion shining in her eyes as she looked up at hm.

He slid down, his mouth leaving a hot trail down to her breasts. He lapped at them greedily, reveling in the changes that motherhood had wrought on her body—her breasts were fuller, hips wider and curves were softer. Whereas before she had the lithe body of a strong and athletic young woman, she was now like a woman in full bloom and it drove his lust in a way that he'd never experienced before. Considering how much he'd wanted her back then, he knew he was utterly screwed when it came to resisting anything she wanted.

Charlie's quick gasps and moans became more desperate. "Please," she begged as his finvers found the waistband of the sweatpants she wore as pajamas. Not being one to disappoint, he swiftly yanked them down, along with her panties before rushing to strip off his boxers.

Charlie eagerly spread her thighs wider so he could settle between them. Mouths meeting again, he slid home, moaning as her wet heat enveloped him. Charlie wrapped her legs and arms around him to keep him as close as she could.

Monroe pulled back and sank back in again slowly, lost in the feel of her. He'd initially intended to set a slow pace, but it had been too long and she was clenched around him perfectly. "You feel so good," he panted as they continued to move together, both gasping for air as they built up higher.

They rolled then and Charlie rested astride him. Instead of lifting up, she began to slide up and down Monroe's body, chest to chest with her knees drawn up by his hips. They were slick with sweat, hearts racing as they tried to hold out.

Charlie bit her lip to keep herself from calling out too loudly as she worked her way up. She buried her face in his neck as she sped up, grinding down on him each time he reentered her. Monroe's hands cupped her bottom as he helped her move. When she couldn't take it any longer, she began to quiver around him.

She bore down on him and froze as her orgasm took her over. Close now and sure he wasn't going to last much longer, Monroe grabbed her by the hips and began to lift her up and slam her back down again, lifting his hips and thrusting upwards each time she came back down again. Just before he went too far over, he pulled her off of him. He barely made it, soaking the dark curls between her legs with the evidence of his own climax.

As Charlie tried to catch her breath, panting while she lay on his chest, she tried not to think about the way he'd pulled out and how it was an unspoken confession that he didn't trust her to stay with him.

They stayed that way for quite some time, her straddling his hips, chests pressed together and hearts racing. Eventually, Charlie propped herself up and looked at him. His body had returned to normal and he was still lying beneath her, eyes closed and his expression so peaceful.

"Bass?"

"Hmm?"

Charlie grinned at the way he barely grunted his response. "You awake?"

In reality, he was barely conscious and was happy enough to lay there for the rest of the night. "Mmmhmm."

When he still barely acknowledged her, she rolled her eyes and slapped him in the shoulder. "You sure?"

"Nun-uh."

Charlie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Bass?" she began again, this time a bit louder.

"Hmm?" This time, he reacted by opening his eyes just enough to tell her that he had roused.

Oh for heaven's sake! "Let's go to bed."

Charlie didn't have to ask him twice. Monroe lifted her off of him and slowly got to his feet. Grabbing her hand, he pulled Charlie up and led her into the bedroom. Bethany was still fast asleep in the portable crib. After checking on her, Charlie climbed into bed and waited for Monroe to join her.

As soon as he slid under the covers next to her, Monroe hovered over Charlie, stroking her leg. She bent her knee up to give him room to settle between her legs. Slowly and silently they worked each other back up, hands and mouths exploring and relearning one another.

This time, when Charlie accepted him inside her, they went slowly. He wanted to take his time and savor ever moment of it. When they eventually peaked, he went right with her, still buried deep and unable to stop himself this time around.

As he slowly drifted off with Charlie firmly tucked against his side, it occurred to Monroe that if this was something that he could actually hold on to, he'd have the perfect life. Here he was, he had his house, a good job that he actually loved, and the woman he loved asleep in his arms. He still had his health (for the most part) and their child slept peacefully nearby. This was a life that he could be content with—if he could find a way to keep it…

Sometime before dawn, Bethany woke them both up to be fed. He tried his best to stay awake with them, wanting to watch Charlie feed the daughter they'd made together, but he was too content and drifted back off before she'd finished. When he next opened his eyes, it was much later than he usually woke up and they were already gone.

Over the course of the next week, Monroe fought the urge to go after Charlie. A small part of him was angry that she'd shown up, dangled Bethany in front of him like a carrot and then jumped right into bed with him, only to disappear again. He knew they were taking the train home to Willoughby in the morning, but he felt she should have a least woken him up to say goodbye (and maybe to explain what that night had meant, if it changed things). She could have left him a note, something.

Oh, he'd wanted to jump on the next train west and demand an answer, but he also knew that if he chased Charlie down, he'd likely only scare her off and push her away again. For that matter, he had a job that required him actually being there. Even if he never saw Charlie again, he still felt responsible for Bethany's financial support. He couldn't do that if he lost his job because he was too busy chasing down her mother.

Chuck and Jackie convinced him to give her some time to figure out what she wanted before trying to force her to talk about it. That she'd come back at all only proved that there was something there and pushing her may very well tear it to shreds before it had a chance to grow.

And so, bowing to the wisdom of the happy couple next door, Monroe stayed in Austin, went to work every day and tried not to obsess about the family that was living just sixty miles to the west, always so close, but just out of reach.