A/N: I know, I know. I keep saying that you won't have to wait long for more, and then I go another week or two with nothing. I'm sorry! Work, life etc and then every time I sit down to edit, I get distracted by something else or I notice something doesn't flow right and have to rework it and so on. I'm still not sure if I'm happy with this chapter—not a lot of dialog, just internal musings of both characters that will set up the next chapter... It came down to publishing today or banging my head in frustration for another week, so I chose the former to save the wall from dents.

Thanks to anyone that bothered to read the last chapter. I know I lost a lot of readers with the big gap there and hopefully some of you will come back by the time this is through. Double thanks to anyone that commented (especially when, yes I still owe you all many comments)

This is the first of two chapters for today. I decided to try make up for the gaps with extra reads. I hope you all enjoy!

May…

Charlie sat on the end of the bed, folding the last load of laundry. From the kitchen, she could smell the roast she'd picked up from the butcher's that morning, cooking away in preparation for that evening's dinner. The cake Randi had helped her with was already frosted and hopefully not melting from the heat, sitting out on the counter. Bethany was napping and if luck was on Charlie's side, she'd stay down long enough for her to get cleaned up.

It was more than just an ordinary Friday. It was the last day of the semester and Monroe's birthday. He'd insisted on her not making a big deal out of either event, but Charlie was not deterred. They were going to celebrate and Monroe was going to like it- even if she had to beat happiness into him with a stick.

For one, it wasn't just the end of the semester. It was the last day of the first school year for the only fully functional university in North America. It was a big deal, and Monroe was a part of that. She was proud of him, and wanted to make sure he knew it. The fact that it was his birthday just added to her need to make the day special.

He'd seemed especially stressed out this week, and so she was determined to start the summer of right. She'd asked him about his recent display of anxiety and he'd told her that he was just tired. The end of year push meant a lot of papers to grade, exams to prepare and so on. He was kind of on a deadline and if experience had taught Charlie anything, he didn't handle that kind of pressure well.

The basket now empty, Charlie stood up and stretched to relieve the cramp in her back from bending over the clothes. Bethany was still out, so she went to get cleaned up. She'd even gone as far as splurging on a new little sundress and some strappy little pre-blackout sandals. Personally, she hated getting dressed up, but knew that Monroe would appreciate the effort.

She bathed quickly and went to get dressed. As she fixed her hair, the last few months replayed in her mind. Their time together thus far had required a lot of adjusting and bending on both their parts, and there were still things they needed to work through. He'd still refused to talk more about the way he'd lost it in Nashville, for one.

He'd been blowing it off despite her best efforts to get him to open up. She knew she needed to be patient with him. After all, it couldn't be easy an easy topic to discuss. She'd made her feelings on the matter clear—working through all that mess was one of the conditions for her and Bethany being there, and had then let the matter drop for the time being.

Otherwise, things between them seemed to be going exceedingly well. The way she and Bethany had someone wedged themselves into this new life in Austin almost seemed too good to be true. Monroe had instantly bent and made room for them in his world. For being someone that always seemed so stuck in his ways, he'd taken what most would consider an invasion fairly well.

With an exception for the past week or so, he always used his Tuesday's off to do whatever grading and lecture preparations he needed to get done. That way his evenings and weekends belonged to them. No matter how long his day was, he still helped her around the house, never expecting her to take care of everything just because she stayed home with Bethany—and he seemed happy to do it to.

Charlie had grown up in a world where women fought alongside men in the militia and in war clans, but for most people, the blackout had reverted society back to a place where a woman stayed home and men looked for whatever work they could. This was not something she'd ever envisioned for herself, and Monroe seemed to just understand that without having to be told.

He'd gone out of his way to make sure she never felt like being a homemaker was all she was good for. He constantly encouraged her to broaden her horizons, offering to take over from the moment he got home so that she could get out of the house. So far she hadn't exactly taken him up on the offer—other than meeting Shawn for a drink when he was in town, she wouldn't know what to do with herself, but the sentiment behind the offer was sweet.

Other than that one lingering thing between them, it was all just… perfect. He turned to her every night, told her he loved her every morning and always seemed happy to see them when he walked in the door after work. He made a point to play with Bethany and keep her out of Charlie's hair from the time she woke up from her nap until dinner time (except Fridays, which typically saw him coming in the door right as dinner was being set on the table), and insisted on helping with bedtime so Charlie could relax.

For some reason, despite all of this perfection in her life, Charlie couldn't help but wonder if there was something she was just missing. She blamed Miles for it, really. She'd been just fine until he'd opened the proverbial can of worms along with his big mouth and had questioned this new and improved version of his lifelong friend.

Until then, she hadn't questioned her good fortune. Now, she wasn't so sure. She hated to over analyze things, but it was almost like their lives were too perfect. For one, she and Monroe never fought. Even when he'd had better days in Nashville, they'd had differences of opinion and had almost enjoyed getting one another riled up while they debated one topic or other.

Now? Monroe didn't seem to have much of an opinion on anything—or if he did, he kept it to himself. It wasn't as if they'd had any life altering decisions come up, but she'd have thought he'd disagree with her on something if only to amuse himself. She went back and forth between deciding something was wrong and deciding that she was looking into it too much. A truly happy Monroe was such an unknown that maybe they just didn't know what it looked like.

Except… It wasn't just that. Sometimes she could almost swear he wasn't sleeping well. It wasn't like he tossed or turned or kept her up. No, it was almost like he was too still—perfectly still, as if he was pretending to sleep but really wasn't. He'd done a lot of that back in the days where they were always on the run outside of Willoughby. And yet, other than the past week where he'd been burning the midnight oil, he hadn't complained about being tired (not that he ever complained about anything).

And then there was the sex. It was frequent (okay, daily) and it was good sex—but was it great sex? She didn't really have a reason to complain, but she couldn't help but feel like there was a piece of himself that he was holding back from her—and he always pulled out. Even when he'd meant to stop in Nashville, he'd always had trouble remembering to actually do it. Now, he never seemed to have that problem.

She'd even asked him about it, but he insisted that he wanted time to adjust to Bethany before giving her a sibling. He gave her no reason to take that anyway but at face value—and yet she still wondered. Was there more to it? Or maybe she was just driving herself crazy because for once in her life everything seemed settled.

The more she thought about the changes in him, the less Charlie understood what was bothering her. Just when she was almost able to put words to it, she would just convince herself that she was imagining things and dismiss these misgivings once more.

Finished with her primping, her well-trained ears picked up on the sounds of Bethany playing in her crib. Charlie took one last look in the mirror, twisting this way and that. All in all, she decided that she didn't clean up half bad. Resolved to not let her irrational worries get the best of her today, she went to go get Bethany ready for daddy.

Meanwhile…

Monroe was having a bad day. First of all, he hated birthdays. They were just another reminder that he was getting old. Older… You're not old, Bass—you're just getting older. Yeah right... As much as he refused to admit that fact aloud, his internal dialog refused to leave him alone about it.

Added that to the fact that the whole week had been shit, and it made for one iffy Friday. He'd spent the week bouncing back and forth between the offices of the head of his department, the dean of student affairs and the chancellor. Officially, he'd been disciplined for insubordination. Unofficially, he was being thrown under the bus because a Congresswoman's innocent little darling had decided that Monroe's past meant an instant "A", due to his mother's connections. Unfortunately for his career, Monroe disagreed.

In truth, the student in question (one Winston Powers—yes, even his name screamed entitled brat) had only shown up to a handful of lectures and hadn't turned in an single assignment all semester—including the heavily weighted term paper due the week prior. The previous Friday, Monroe had pulled him aside and had flat out told him he was going to fail the class. He'd offered to let him turn the paper in on Monday for reduced credit. With that and acing the final, there was a chance (albeit a small one) that Winston would just barely eke out a "C".

At the time, Monroe had meant the warning as a way of throwing a life preserver to a drowning student. He hadn't been aware that a shit storm was about to follow. The first meeting consisted of himself, all three superiors and Congresswoman Leslie Powers. The psychotic woman had blatantly accused Monroe of failing her son because of a vendetta against her career.

She'd been a rather vocal opponent when the issue of his appointment to the university had first been suggested by Frank Blanchard, and as far as she was concerned that was why he was "ruining her poor Winston's college career". In truth, Monroe had never even heard of the woman before Monday morning and even if he had, he wouldn't have given two shits if she'd tried to stop him from getting the job. He got it; a lot of people hated him. It didn't surprise him, and he really tried to not let it bother him.

By the end of the week, after several more meetings and a visit from Old Walnuts himself, Monroe had been left with no choice but to play ball. He'd had to pass the little prick, no matter how much he'd wanted to tell them all to go fuck themselves. Blanchard had been very clear however—pass the kid or she'd take it to the committee that oversaw the university.

Powers was a rising star in congress and her cousin was also on the committee as a non-congressional advisor. They'd eventually get what they wanted and he'd be out of a job. That warning would normally have elicited a resounding "Fuck you, I quit!" from him, but he had a family now. He needed the job to support them and up until Monday morning, it was a job he really loved.

Monroe slammed the door to his office shut and flopped down behind the desk. The room was stifling so he swiveled the chair around and in his typical childish fashion, rolled himself over to the window. He jerked the window sash and then rolled back over to the desk. He equally childishly slumped forward and rested his forehead on the desk, mumbling every profane word he could think of under his breath.

He'd left his last class for the day and had been all but dragged back into his immediate superior's office once more. The message had been clear. The barely passing "C" and waiving Winston Power's final exam were not considered cooperation. It was only luck and the grace of God that Powers had decided to drop the issue—this time.

In the future, if he refused follow instructions in future "special cases," he'd find himself unemployed. Indeed, the only reason he hadn't been let go in the first place was because a few other members of congress had children who'd taken his classes the previous semester. When questioned, the young men and women had backed their former professor and that had been brought up in the meeting discussing his future at Frank S. Blanchard University. Those kids and the man the school was named after had basically saved his ass.

Whereas Monroe could appreciate what those kids had done for him (and was moved by it really), what he could barely tolerate was having to thank Frank Blanchard for anything. He owed him for getting him the job already and it only made it worse to know he now owed him for being able to keep it.

The afternoon was quickly passing and he knew should be packing up his desk for the summer and heading home. Home… That one place where no matter how bad your day was, the people there still loved you and would make it all better—except for the fact that he dreaded facing them today.

He knew that despite his begging her not to (and the fact that she swore to leave it) that Charlie was planning something special tonight. He was in no mood to celebrate as it was. He'd been putting up a brave front all week and so far, she'd believed his excuse of just being tired. Today? He could give a performance worthy of an Oscar and he still wouldn't be able to pull it off.

Monroe had done everything in his power to keep the events from the week as far away from home as he could. The last thing he needed on top of all the stress at work was Charlie hanging over his shoulder, watching for signs of crazy—and he knew that's exactly what she'd do. He knew her too well to be convinced otherwise.

It was bad enough that she was constantly dropping hints about talking about his last bout of crazy. She'd only take this as a sign that all was not well with him and would insist they talk about all of it. There was no way in hell he was of any frame of mind to do that and yet he was afraid if he denied her one more time that she'd eventually get fed up with him and out the door she'd go.

She'd already reminded him the last time that she was fully capable of doing just that. He'd already been walking around on eggshells since she'd been back as it was. It wasn't that Monroe was unhappy—far from hit. He was ecstatic that they were there and still could scarcely believe it. After all these years and everything he'd done he finally had the one thing he wanted.

He was just terrified of losing it. Any resemblance to the monster he'd become in those weeks and months following Connor's escape could very well send her running for Willoughby or even worse—somewhere he'd never find them. He'd been trying to leave that man behind—long before she'd even shown up in November. He'd already begrudgingly taken Blanchard's job offer and had cleaned himself up a bit out of self-preservation. The moment he'd found out about Bethany however, he'd focused all of his energy into being a man a child could be proud to call father (even though he'd had no hopes at the time of that ever happening).

The problem was that part of Monroe would always be there. He'd always be forced to fight against the darkness. Keeping it hidden at work was doable, but keeping it suppressed indefinitely? That wasn't an exact science—or if it was, he hadn't quite figured out the key to it… yet.

He was hot tempered by nature and it took a lot of effort to keep it under control. His need to lash out constantly threatened to win out over logic (and if he was honest, sanity). Hell, during that last visit from Miles for Bethany's birthday he'd had to resist the urge to knock the man on his ass at least a half dozen times before he lost count. And that guy at the market? He'd almost made himself sick with the rage he's repressed after that asshole had made a comment about his parentage.

The more he contained it, the more it bothered him. It was like having a splinter just under the surface that he couldn't work free and it was driving him to distraction. The worse it got, the more he was afraid of letting it out and so on. It had become a vicious cycle and the past week was only adding to it. The frustration led to aggression, which built up and lead to anxiety, which was making him nuts.

As much as he loved his family and wanted to come home and let them sooth the wounds from work, he also resented them just a little for the way he felt strangled by their presence. He knew it was a shitty way to feel, but until he found some outlet for all the rest of it, he couldn't make it go away.

And then there was that niggling little doubt deep inside that wondered what Charlie's motivations for moving in even were. She said she loved him enough to give him a chance to be better, but did she really? They had a kid together and maybe she felt like shit for hiding their daughter and so this was a way to soothe her own guilt.

He'd already been better, hadn't he? Sure, he'd been lonely and depressed—but he'd always been lonely and depressed. That was a part of who he was every bit as much as his temper. Too much had happened over the past two decades for him to let that go entirely. He'd always be just a little insecure and just a little angry at the world.

Once the Patriot Wars had ended, he'd given up trying to hide that fact from anyone, let alone Charlie. It wasn't like he'd announced or anything, but anyone with half a brain should have been able to figure out that he was a fucking mess and always would be. And yet, she somehow expected that to just disappear in one giant blaze of happy. He wasn't built that way and he'd thought she'd known that. She'd accepted it once, long before they'd ever slept together. It had been one of the reasons he'd let her so close once in the first place.

He'd meant it when he'd told her long ago that she'd become the best friend he'd ever had. He'd shown her what was really lurking under the surface, and she'd still been his friend. Not even Miles had been capable of that. Miles had taken a look, seen the emptiness and fear there and had turned his back on him—twice. Not his Charlie though. She'd stepped up regardless and had been there for him, only running when he'd forced her away.

At least, he'd thought she had. Now, she expected that person to disappear and change into one she could tolerate. Maybe that darkness had been too much? Maybe she hadn't understood after all? Either way, he found himself doubting everything and that filled him with more hurt and rage than he was capable of even acknowledging.

Lost in thought, he packed up his personal items and got ready to leave for the day. Stopping at the door, he went back and dropped the box on the desk with a resounding bang. He'd left the window open—he'd better close it before he locked up. It would be Monday before the cleaning staff would be back and if it rained before then, the office would get wet and they'd probably find a reason to fire him for it.

Monroe was halfway across campus before he remembered that he'd left the box behind. He stopped for a second and almost went back for it. I can get it Monday morning, he thought to himself and kept walking. He acknowledged the waves of a few students and colleagues as he walked, not noticing the occasional odd look he received. He hadn't even realized that he'd had an alternative destination in mind until he found himself on a completely different side of town from home…

Later that evening…

Charlie sat at the kitchen table. Bethany had already been fed, bathed and put down for the night. What was left of dinner still sat out on the table. The bottle of wine she'd opened sat untouched and the candles she'd lit were almost burned down to stubs.

Disappointed, hurt and a little worried, Charlie started to scrape what was left of the roast into Lump's bowl. Hearing the meat hit the ceramic, the dog lumbered lazily into the room, plopping his shaggy bottom down in anticipation as the potatoes and gravy followed. As a rare sign of appreciation, the animal wagged his tail, clearly impressed with the spread she now offered him.

By the time that the kitchen was cleaned up and Lump had received the gift of cake, the grandfather clock in the living room chimed ten times. Monroe had bought it for her just two weeks ago after she'd admired it in a shop window. The gesture had been so sweet—he'd immediately dismissed it as frivolous and an unnecessary (and costly) expense, but he'd bought it to make her happy anyway. He'd surprised her with it, in fact.

As she'd cleaned the kitchen, she'd gone back and forth between worried and outraged at his continued absence. Where the hell could he be?Those words had been playing over and over again in her mind like a broken record for hours now. He'd known she'd planned something and yet here she was, all dressed up for no one other than the damn dog to see her and all her plans in vain.

When she went to take out the garbage since Monroe wasn't there to do it, she noticed their neighbor's lights were still on. With a look of grim determination on her face, she crossed the distance between their houses. She paused to compose herself and knocked on the door.

"Charlie? What's wrong?" Jackie asked, a look of concern forming on her face when she saw her friend's red rimmed eyes.

Charlie lost it then and burst into tears. "Bass didn't come home tonight," she all but wailed. "Did he mention anything to Chuck about having plans after work?"

Jackie looked back at her husband, who had joined her at the door. "Did he tell you anything?"

Chuck shared a look with his wife. Jackie narrowed her eyes at him, immediately suspicious. "What did the two of you do?" She knew that look.

"Me? I didn't do anything." Her husband's face was immediately filled with the fear that was reserved especially for Jackie when he knew he was about to get in trouble for something.

Charlie looked from one spouse to the next. "If you know something, you have to tell me," she insisted, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

Chuck came all the way outside and sat down on one of the lawn chairs that graced their porch. "I don't know anything, exactly—at least, he never mention going out tonight, but I think I know where he might be."