A/N: The long awaited argument scene. It took me longer than I thought to get it up. Its dialog heavy, and I always have trouble with those—I'll write it up, but upon rereading, it never seems to flow right, and so then it's revise, reread and so on.

This is the first of three chapters that I will (hopefully) get up today, including the epilogue.

Monroe sat slumped on the world's filthiest mattress in one of the backrooms of the club. Someone had been courteous enough to douse him with several buckets of water to wake him up, and he'd eventually made his way inside from the overgrown jungle that had once been a backyard. The room he'd claimed was little more than a closet, really. There was little space for anything other than the twin sized bed, small table and basin.

It was one of several that served as both a staging area for fighters (or in Monroe's case, a recovery room) and for a private place for the whores that worked for Tony to take their clients. The club's owner was willing to let him stay here and make sure he was largely left alone—for a small fee, of course.

From that very first fight; the very first punch he'd thrown, a euphoric rush of adrenaline had coursed through him and he'd experienced an overwhelming feeling of release. It had taken him higher than any drug or drink ever could and he'd been chasing that sensation in every fight since. That he'd never found it again was no surprise, and yet he'd kept on throwing himself in there.

Being knocked out cold and the dousing he'd received afterwards had unfortunately sobered him too much for his liking. Now that the monster inside—that creature born of an odd blend of self-hatred and fury against the world— had been appeased and silenced once more, he was left feeling old, drained and sore. And yet the same time, he felt that combination of peace and relief he'd been longing for these past months.

Monroe's ears were still ringing a little from that last hit, but considering his age and what he'd just put his body through, he was a lot better off than he had a right to be. One thing was for certain: he would not be fighting again. He knew when he was done, and that was about three fights ago. He was getting too old for this shit, and there was going to come a time that he'd have to face that fact and find some other way to deal with himself.

The only thing that kept him from paying his considerable bar tab and going home now was the fear of what would be there when he walked in that door. Would he come home to find it empty? Or would Charlie be there ready to throw down? He knew it really could go either way and he dreaded finding out which.

His disappearing for a weekend of prize fighting did not fit Charlie's cookie-cutter definition of what he should be doing and that he'd have a lot of explaining to do. He had no idea what he was going to tell her exactly, assuming of course that she was even there to demand an explanation. The idea of going back home and adopting that passive persona once more made him feel sick, but he couldn't see a way to avoid it. She'd have less tolerance for his moods now after he'd pulled this stunt.

He was bent over the basin, washing the rest of his own blood off of himself when someone knocked on the door. "Hold on a sec," he muttered as he wiped his face on a rust stained towel, wincing as he put too much pressure on his jaw. He'd have a nasty bruise there in the morning. He reached for his shirt as he opened the door to reveal the owner of the bar.

Unlike Gould, Tony was actually a decent sort. He was probably as honest as someone in this neighborhood could be. Whereas the deceased casino owner had treated everyone that walked into the settlement as property, Tony actually gave a damn about the fighters (and surprisingly, the hookers) that did business here. And unlike Gould, he wasn't a total dick either.

"Hey Jimmy," Tony began as he stepped into the room, using his most placating voice. "Wow, you look like shit!"

"Gee, thanks a lot," Monroe mumbled, backing up to allow Tony enough room to close the door behind him.

Listen, I've got a favor to ask. There's some girl out here wanting to meet you."

Monroe had been plagued with offers like this since he'd gotten here and he was downright tired of them. "Tell her I'm not interested in whatever she's selling," he snapped as he yanked his t-shirt over his head.

"She's not here to fuck you," Tony protested. "Says she's got a job she wants to offer you." The last thing the bar owner wanted to do was give the mysterious young woman her diamonds back, but if Jimmy refused to see her, he couldn't see a way out of that. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

"I've already got a job—not interested."

Always the business man, Tony came up with Plan B on the fly. "Tell you what, there's a free bottle in it for you if you humor her," he said with a grin. He'd quickly calculated and realized that even a bottle of the decent stuff would allow him to come out ahead and still save face.

Monroe sighed wearily. Meeting some girl was the last thing he wanted right now, but at least he'd get drunk out of the deal. If anything, a good buzz would go a long way towards helping him forget that he was getting to old for this shit. "Dammit. Bring the whiskey—and the girl."

Tony sent one of his own girls to bring the bottle before letting "Sally" in. He knew better than to let her in first. His part-time boxer was in bad enough of a mood already and he'd rather the man not take it out of the girl. He had no doubt in his mind that she wasn't into women as she'd said, but she was a looker to be sure. If she decided to come back, she might draw in some good business.

Monroe somehow managed a good half hour to acquaint himself with Tony's bribe before the door opened once more. Less than enthused about the meet and greet, he didn't even look up. "You've got five minutes to tell me what you want. I've got somewhere I've gotta be."

"You're damn right you do," Charlie's voice rang out.

Monroe almost dropped the bottle in his hand. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He suddenly felt like a condemned man finally facing his executioner. When he opened his eyes and looked up at Charlie, she was leaning up against the door, arms crossed in front of her chest and looking ready to murder him.

If he was a smart man (or a completely sober one), he'd have kept his trap shut, let her yell at him and then allowed her to drag him home. At that moment however, he was not feeling very bright. He'd never told her about this place and his previous visits because he was determined to keep this side of himself locked up where no one—especially Charlie would be able to see. Her presence now defeated that purpose, which made him inexplicably mad at her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he finally asked.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, making it absolutely clear that his choice of words was not appreciated. "I could ask the same thing, Bass. What the hell is the matter with you? I've been worried sick."

"Go home, Charlie." Despite the alarms that were going off in his mind, Monroe chose the low road. If he could just get her to back off, he could finish his whiskey and wind up this little adventure. There was plenty of time for groveling later. "We're not doing this here. I'll be home in the morning. We can fight about it then."

"Oh, we're fighting about it now," Charlie spat at him, advancing towards where he sat. Monroe was pretty sure she was about as pissed as he'd ever seen her—and he'd seen her when she'd been literally trying to kill him.

"I'm not in the mood for this. I'm tired and I feel like shit," he warned as he set his whiskey down on the floor. So much for having gotten it out of his system. The way she stood there, hands now on her hips and her stubborn chin jutting towards him pissed him off all over again. As sore as he was, he shot to his feet, barely avoiding knocking the bottle over in the process.

"Too fucking bad. That's your problem, not mine."

More than anything, he just wanted her to go away so he could force his temper back down again before they talked. It was a last ditch effort, to be sure. He grabbed her by the elbow, surprising her. He ushered her towards the door with every intent of tossing her out of there. "I said, I'm not doing this now."

"If you want me to still be there in the morning, you sure as hell are. What the fuck is going on with you, Bass?"

And then, he lost it. "You want to know, Charlie? Do you really? You. You're what's wrong." He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't had to. The words had been enough. She suddenly stiffened. "There? Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She whipped around. They were toe to toe now. The look on her face told him that his confession did not have the desired effect. He'd been just angry enough to let the brutal honesty hurt her, but she only looked more ready to kill him than she was when she'd first entered the room.

"Excuse me?" That had been the last thing she'd expected and the worst possible thing he could say to her. "What the fuck did I do? I only put up with your bullshit and excuses not to talk and stuck around even though you were pretty much going back on your end of the bargain."

"With my bullshit? What about yours, Charlie? What about all the times that you just had to go out of your way to remind me about what a fuck up I am?" Monroe was shouting now and it felt good.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Charlie was genuinely confused. That just pissed him off more.

"Really? I moved here and started over because I just wanted to forget everything that happened. Everyone says I'm the obsessive one, but my god, you never let it go." Monroe knew he should probably shut up now, but the words just kept coming out. "And what's worse, is you're constantly using Bethany as a weapon against me. Talk about this or we're gone. Don't be that guy or you can't be around her."

"You know why that is," Charlie reminded him, her words coming out as a hiss. "You even agreed that you needed to be better—that you couldn't be the man you were in Nashville. It's not healthy for her to see that."

"I am better. Or, at least was until you suddenly decided that it wasn't good enough. I mean for fuck's sake I'm trying here, but you'd rather me turn into a passive little douche bag. I have to walk around on eggshells around you, afraid to say or do the wrong thing so you won't leave. It's driving me fucking crazier than I've ever been, and that's saying a lot."

For some reason, that was about the most insulting thing Charlie had ever heard in her life. She almost felt like she was watching herself from a distance when her hand connected with his face. The sound of it echoed around the small room. She put just enough force behind the blow for his head to snap back.

When he recovered from the slap, Monroe whipped his head back around to glare at her. He could read that flash of fear in her eyes. She thinks I'd hit her? He had no problem hitting back if that's what it took, but that was in battle. This was a domestic dispute, and he'd never raised his hand to a woman in the middle of one—and it hadn't crossed his mind to do so now. There were much better ways to get a point across.

He grabbed her by the arms, fingers digging into her and yanked her to him. When Charlie opened her mouth to tell him he was hurting her, Monroe silenced her by crashing his lips against hers. The kiss was brutal, harsh. The pressure of it split his cut lip back open and Charlie could practically taste the rage behind that kiss mixed in with the coppery flavor of the blood that now seeped from the wound.

The urge to lose herself for just a second was strong, but Charlie wasn't ready to end the argument just yet. She tried to push him away, struggling against him. Monroe's grip on her tightened, but her squirming only seemed to distract him. She kept it up and he loosened his hold on her arms as he hardened against her.

Charlie took advantage and was able to break free. They stared one another down, chests heaving. Both were convinced they had the right of things and neither was willing to back down. Charlie had every intention of putting some distance between them, but the soldier in Monroe had him anticipating her movements.

Before she realized how it happened, he'd gotten ahold of her once more. He leaned in to kiss her again, but Charlie fought against him again and managed to just barely keep him at bay for the time being. "Knock it off," she snapped as she tried to straighten her elbows.

Monroe refused to back down. "Kiss me back, Charlie," he growled right before he claimed her mouth a second time. "Or am I not good enough for you now?"

His tone shocked her into complying. For just a split second she stilled and he released one arm, sliding his hand up to her face and forcing her jaw open with his thumb. When his tongue swept into her mouth, she found herself meeting him halfway.

It was as if words had become too difficult and this was how their argument was to proceed. He was hurt and angry at the way she'd been holding leaving over him—that threat was a painful one and it was killing him. It hurt that she didn't want him, and instead was trying to mold him into some idealized version she'd come up with in her head.

On Charlie's end, she was really scared more than anything. If he didn't find a way to hold the darkness inside at bay, what would become of him? Would she wake up one day next to a mad man? Or would he just simply give up on the battle he waged against his past and the depression it caused? If there was one thing that pissed of Charlie, it was fear. She wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid for him—and so she was taking it out on him.

At some point over the next several moments, Charlie was able to admit to herself that she was every bit as angry with herself as she was with him. She should have known better that this easy going attitude he'd been faking all this time was bullshit. The fact that he'd felt forced to pretend that everything was just fine was worse than the fact that it wasn't and she couldn't blame him for that. She'd all but told him to become this pale comparison of his real self, even if she hadn't intended to.

Charlie wrenched her arms free, but instead of getting away or slapping him again, she stood on her toes and kept her mouth on his. Unrestrained, she struggled out of her jacket to reveal her old standby tank top.

It was Monroe that ended the kiss, stepping back to allow him room to look her over. She'd chosen her wardrobe for this evening with great care. The outfit was definitely tighter than when she'd worn it so long ago while they'd still traipsed around fighting the patriots and one another. The tank top now left little to the imagination. It excited him and gave him something else to be angry about at the same time. She was his and yet she'd shown up in this club wearing that?

He slid his hands down her sides and found the hem. Watching her intensely, he yanked up on the material. The sound of fabric tearing was painfully alluring. He pulled her closer, picking up where they'd left off. When she slid her own hands up the inside of his shirt, he backed off with a hiss.

Charlie looked down, pulling the garment up and saw the bruising. She'd noticed it earlier when he'd come out to fight, but either the lighting had not done it justice or it had gotten significantly worse. She flicked her gaze up at him in concern, but only received an angry glare in response. At that moment, her empathy was neither wanted nor appreciated. It only served to humiliate him further. In defiance, he removed his shirt himself, daring her to say something about his current condition.

When she said nothing, Monroe went for her neck. He alternated between bites, kisses and licks as he worked his way down to her shoulder. Charlie tilted her head back to give him more access, wincing a few times when he bit down harder than was strictly necessary. She knew he was marking her, and yet it excited her—the pain arousing her as much as the pleasure.

Monroe had worked across her collarbones and grabbed fistful of her hair, forcing her neck to arch the other way so he could begin the tortuous path back up her neck. "This is who I am. I'm always going to be just a little fucked up," he growled into her ear as he began to nip at the lobe, forcing a shudder and a moan from her. "If you can't take me as I am, then we aren't going to work—but I swear to God if try to hide her from me again, I'll come after you. There isn't a place you can go where I won't find you and this time, I'll fight you for her."

That angry threat should have pissed her off all over again. It was in that moment; however, that Charlie realized that this is what had been missing. This was her Bass talking now. Up until this point, he'd been a shadow of the man she'd fall in love with. Her Bass pushed back and would fight tooth and nail for something he wanted or someone he loved.

"Finally," she groaned as her hands slid up his body, not stopping until her fingers were tangled in his unruly curls. She pulled down, urging him on as he now found the valley between her breasts. He flicked her bra open and practically tore it from her.

Roughly kneading one breast, he practically attacked the other with his mouth as he grabbed her ass and pressed her against him. Thrusting his hips forward, he showed her just how much he wanted her.

The feel of his erection pressing against her through their clothes had Charlie moaning. Arching her back, she yanked on his hair again, her nails scratching his scalp and earning a grunt of approval from him.

Charlie grew impatient and reached for his belt, fumbling a little as she unbuckled it. Without missing a beat, she undid his zipper and slid her hand in, seeking the hardness that his clothing still concealed from her.

Monroe let out a low groan when her hand found its target. He thrust forward, pressing himself further into her hand. Charlie kept her grip firm, sliding her hand up and down his length several times before venturing further into his pants and cupping him. All the while he panted and flexed his hips, encouraging her.

He felt like he was about to lose his mind and every bit of his self-control when she suddenly dropped to her knees and yanked his jeans down further so that she had access to all of him. He gasped loudly and then let his eyes flutter closed when she took him into her mouth. With one hand working in tandem with the hot cavern of her mouth, she grabbed his ass for support. She worked him perfectly, her tongue swirling around his tip each time she came back up again.

With a hand on the back of her head, he guided her as she continued to torture him. He thrust forward to fuck her mouth each time she came back down on him, forcing her to take him just a bit deeper and not caring if it was too deep. When he ventured to glance down at Charlie, she was looking up at him.

Their eyes locked as she continued and he could see the desire burning in her gaze. It was too much and he realized that if she didn't stop he was going to come—and the instinct to finish elsewhere was too strong at the moment. He wrenched himself free, pulling his pants up enough so he could move. He yanked Charlie to her feet and found her mouth again.

She let out a small yelp of surprise when he picked her up and practically threw her onto the bed. When he tore her boots and pants off of her, he flipped her over revealing her tantalizing backside to him. He started at her ankle, running one hand up her leg, slowly. He paused at her bottom for a moment and then reached out with both hands to adjust her position.

Monroe now kicked himself free of his shoes and pants and came up behind her on the bed. She was faced down on mattress, her legs spread and waiting. Aware that her panties were still in the way, he solved that problem by simply tearing the lace, destroying them in the process.

He reached under her and ran a finger up her slit, groaning with desire as she drenched his finger. He crawled atop her and used his knee to force her legs further apart, taking her from behind and filling her with one quick and violent thrust of his hips.

The shouts and cheers coming from just beyond the door indicated that another fight had begun in the ring, but they were oblivious to anything other than the sounds of their own harsh and ragged breathing as Monroe continued to slam into her as hard as the angle would allow. His fingers dug into her hips painfully, but Charlie relished it and the bruises that were sure to mar her later.

Knowing his rhythm well, she was well aware that he now only had one goal in mind. He was hitting all the right places inside, but she craved more friction. Charlie tried to push up on her hands and knees, but the weight of him over her would not allow this, so all she could do was snake a hand under her to stroke herself while the onslaught continued.

Monroe would have none of it. One hand still gripping her hip just a bit too tightly, he reached under her and captured her hand with his own. Her fingers were trapped against her flesh and each time he slammed back into her, he pulled back, grinding her hand against the bundle of nerves.

Charlie let out a long moan; the sharp pleasure from the stimulation was almost too much. Urged on by the sounds she was making, Monroe resumed his abuse of her shoulders and neck, biting and then soothing the marks he'd left with his tongue. Charlie cried out again, overwhelmed as she began to quake, her body wound tight and ready for release.

He was close—too close. He'd been a lost cause since the moment he'd entered her as it was. Everything tightened and it was inevitable when Charlie's sheath finally began to contract around him. He fucked her through it, ramming inside and bottoming out several more times before he let go. He jerked as he came, the force of it lifting her just a little off the bed before he collapsed on top of her.

The room had grown hot but he was too spent to do more than roll on his side, taking her with him. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest up against her back as they lay their together, bodies still joined and their limbs heavy.

Sometime later, Monroe opened his eyes to see the marks he'd left along the back of her shoulders. With a grimace, he just stared at them. There were several that had been smeared with red, but whether he'd drawn blood or it was from his split lip was anyone's guess.

He pulled his now softening member out of her and pushed himself up on one elbow, leaning forward to place gentle kisses on the bites and hickeys he'd left. As he worked to sooth the damage he'd caused, he stroked her gently up and down her arm with his free hand.

Charlie practically purred in contentment at the contact. Now free to move as she willed, she twisted around and looked up at him. She gently traced her hand down the side of his face, noting that several bruises from his earlier fights had already started to form.

The tenderness of her touch had his heart pounding all over again. The fiery red haze of his earlier anger had completely dissipated, leaving only the sadness that had caused it behind. There was still a lot that they needed to talk about and there was no putting it off this time.