They ditched the wagon almost immediately, no point in making it easy for Gould's men to follow them, but it did mean they hardly made a small, or quiet party travelling toward the rendezvous point.

Charlie's mercenaries, a terse and sullen bunch, ambled along behind them, and Charlie walked side by side with Connor, mostly in silence. Monroe was upfront, scouting ahead, and Charlie watched for him, an automatic reflex by now. She noticed that Connor barely glanced up, and repressed a smile. For a boy who had lived with a Mexican cartel, he had a lot to learn. Maybe he had never been on the losing team before, well, that had sure changed, she thought grimly, seeing Monroe coast over the road up ahead, disappearing into the foliage at the other side.

His confidence, and stealthy movements in the darkness, he was not a man with skills, it was wholly him, it was impossible to separate Monroe from his abilities, he wore them so well. He was a capable solider, an easy spy, and a natural born killer. If she didn't hate him for it so much, she would probably be able to admit her respect for him. As it was, she trusted him to scout the road ahead, knowing if there was danger, he would handle it.

She wondered how he felt in respect to her budding abilities. Miles had certainly called her a clumsy bonehead enough times, though, not recently. Her thoughts darkened as she thought of Miles, a longing always tinged with sadness. He was the closest she had to having her father back, and, since Rachel had joined them, Charlie had been disappearing in front of them, ceasing to exist a little more, every day. It sucked to be an afterthought to the people who meant everything to you, she guessed, but… that was life, suck it up.

She realised that when she admonished herself in her head, the voice sounded a whole lot like a certain hard-ass ex-general.

Up ahead, Monroe had stopped, and was waiting for them to catch up. He stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression strangely suspicious as he looked between Connor and Charlie.

She almost flushed when she thought about him finding them earlier, his look of disbelief, and something else, something a lot like disappointment.

"Time to make camp. Get off the road" Monroe said shortly, expecting agreement. Connor cracked his neck, and spoke a little too jovially.

"I don't know, I'm not that tired yet… still on a high from not dying" he said. Monroe shook his head slightly at that, and turned his attention to Charlie. Only her agreement would mean they stopped, as the mercs were hers to command. She lifted her head, smelling the air, feeling the temperature.

"He's right… It's gonna rain, better make camp now" she agreed, brushing past Connor to start toward the trees Monroe had indicated.

The camp was under a dense canopy, and against a rock face, which did make it mostly rain and wind free. They built a small fire, and then bedded down for the night. The mercs were taking watch, and Charlie felt a little unsure of what to do with an entire night's uninterrupted sleep. She hesitated when she unrolled her blanket, sensing a certain hovering quality to Connor's delay in placing his own. He was probably wondering if she wanted to sleep close, wanted to share warmth. Well, she didn't, and it was high time to disabuse him of the notion that her words might have only been said in jest. She'd meant every word. She deliberately waited until he had lain down, his face glancing at her with studied casualty, before stepped around to the other side of the circle, nearer the stone wall, and dropping her blanket. Connor glanced over one more time, before turning away, and pulling his blanket over him. She felt kind of like she'd just kicked a puppy, but, it had to be done, she reminded herself as she set her blanket down. She left her boots, even her jacket on, in case they had to move at a moments notice. She took her long knife from her ankle sheath, and wrapped it securely in her hand, then placed that one under her head, her head hiding it, and relaxed back.

"Trouble in paradise?" Monroe's voice was a whole lot closer than she'd expected, and she glanced up, to find him sitting in a shadowed recess of the wall, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.

"Excuse me?" she muttered.

"Is the honeymoon already over? Or just a lovers spat?" he continued, and she caught a flash of anger from his shadowed blue eyes.

"Whatever" she mumbled and turned over, away from him. She could feel his gaze burning into her for a few moments after she'd turned away, but ignored it. What was his problem anyway, it wasn't like Connor had been a virgin, and she had done the honours. He was probably just pissed that something was out of his control, or maybe because of the mercs. That was probably it, she realised. For Monroe, being passed over was emasculating, to say the least, and even now, when she thought of his incredulous face, it brought a grin to her lips.

In her dreams, she was in the trailer again. It smelled like sex, all sweat and musk, and it smelt like fear, all tears and cries for help.

The filthy bedsheets, and mirrored ceiling. The restraints nailed into the headboard. She looked down at herself, and her skin prickled with horror to realise she was wearing the underwear again. The rotting bow for her unwilling buyer.

She wriggled, trying to pull it down at the back, and up at the front, she stretched it as far as it could go, and it leapt back up in her fingers wake.

She had never felt more vulnerable, there, with her bare hands, in those foreign clothes, her bare feet. Her shackled wrists clanked against each other, and she saw to her horror, they had shortened the chain, there would be no strangling with this chain, which barely allowed her an inch to manoeuvre. She kicked her legs, thankful at least they were free.

A sound at the door stilled her, and she looked in panic at the metal handle, seeing it start to turn. She started to thrash around, a last opportunity for give to appear for her hands, or the futile hope of something sharp.

The door swung open, and a man was filling the doorway, staring at her with a leer. He looked tired, had dust on his shoulders from the road, apart from that, he could be anyone. He came in, and climbed the stairs heavily, pausing at the top to sweep his eyes over her. She felt her body go cold under his hungry stare. He turned to the counter, and pulled his jacket off, and unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops.

"I have to say, you make a welcome sight after the day I've had" Charlie felt tears spring to her eyes.

"Don't touch me, I swear – I'll kill you" she bit out, straining against the chain.

"How are you planning on doing that? You're all alone... no one is coming to save you... better make your peace with it and be nice to me." He came over, sat down beside her on the bed, as she flinched away.

"Old Bill isn't so bad, poppet... He can be real sweet, if you play nice" the man murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek.

Her eyes shot open, and her knife was moving, a flash in the dark. It flew through the air, an arch with a mission, the dream figure's eye drawing closer. And then, just before the knife it's mark, an ice cold grip, as hard and unyielding as steel took hold of her wrist, froze her, as she started to come out of her dreams. She swallowed hard, her breath catching, tired as though she had been running. She looked around, disorientated, and then struggled to focus on the man holding her wrist in one hand, and her cheek in the other, the look of shock in his eyes, focused on the knife that currently hovered mere inches from his eye.

"Bad dream?" Monroe asked mildly, his light tone, letting the tension drop out her shoulders, and she slowly relaxed her hand and loosened her grip on the knife, as he let her wrist go. He was crouching beside her, squatting at her head, and she suddenly glanced at his other hand, the one that had been touching her cheek. She pulled her head away, and looked at him.

"What were you doing?" she asked, shifting away from him, breathing in the cool night air, and trying to clear her head. He studied her moment longer, before standing.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare... I was just trying to wake you up" he stated, and she was unable to see his face as he turned and walked away, returning to his spot by the wall, and waving an ok signal to one of the mercs on watch, looking over at them curiously. He settled back against the wall, and his face was once again a blank mask.

She bit down a question, about why he had thought to wake her by touching her cheek, instead of a boot in the side, like Conner got, but thought better of it. Why initiate an weird conversation.

"What were you dreaming of?"

"Nothing"

"Didn't look like nothing... you looked scared" he said, and his incredulous tone made her turn her head and look at him, laying it on her arm as she stretched back out on the hard ground.

"Oh, really... and you know what I look like scared?" she asked.

"No, not really... I don't know if I've ever seen you really scared. Pissed – yes, murderous, worried, sure... but not scared. Not even when you had a gun pointed in your face, and your mother had to make a choice to help me or not..." he mused.

"You actually remember that?" she asked, surprised.

"It was pretty memorable" was all he said in return, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head back against the rock, closing his eyes. She watched him a moment longer, before closing her eyes too.

"So, what were you dreaming about?" he asked again and she sighed. She should have known it wasn't going to be that easy.

"I don't know. The patriots I guess" she lied, and heard his soft snort.

"Liar" he goaded and she opened her eyes to find him watching her.

"What were you dreaming about, Charlotte?" he asked, once more, softly, his eyes imploring her for a moment.

"Why do you care?" she asked, and received a shrug.

"Yeah, well I'd rather not relive my nightmares because you're bored" she said turning onto her back and staring up at the sky, her hands tucking her blanket tighter around herself.

"It was Gould, right? And the pleasure town he made in New Vegas... the place Duncan sold you out to..." he stated, his voice calm, and certain. She stared at the sky, unwilling to acknowledge him.

"Now, we both know you can take care of yourself, most of the time, anyway, and you did get out of there... the only question is, when did you get out..." his quiet tone, and speculation was destroying her, and her teeth ground down on her lip to stop herself from saying something she'd regret.

"We are not talking about this. It's none of your business anyway" she said and turned away from him.

He was quiet, so quiet, for so long, that she thought for a moment, he had fallen asleep.

"It's not my business... but it is my fault" he said, and his words were honest. He wasn't beating himself up with guilt, or even punishing himself with it, simply adding it to the never ending pile of things he blamed himself for. Dutifully adding almost getting her raped to his list of things he should burn in hell for.

"I'm not your responsibility, Monroe." she said, twisting around to shoot him a meaningful glance, which he took on the chin, tilting his head, and finally meeting her eyes.

"Sure you aren't" he said, his voice far from agreeing. She held that gaze a long moment, before turning back around.

"Get some sleep" she instructed, closing her eyes.

"You first" he said, his voice holding a strange sort of promise in that moment. And, even stranger, she did sleep, and she didn't dream. She wasn't sure why, but hoped it didn't have anything to do with the sad blue eyes that she felt on her, holding their vigil, long into that cold night.

Another day, another endless drudge by foot, carrying heavy weapons and heavier spirits. Well, almost all of them. Monroe and Conner were decidedly less low, Charlie observed, as she saw them whispering around the camp fire that night, then caught them speaking between themselves, when she had gone for water at the next camp. Conner had jogged over, his face instantly breaking into an easy smile. Monroe watched silently on. One thing Conner did not get from his father, was the easy smiles.

"Need a hand?" Charlie glanced up at him and shrugged, handing over one of the buckets. They started walking.

"You know... we could always take a detour, a little... afternoon delight" Conner said, and Charlie laughed.

"And why exactly would we do that?" she asked.

"Because... I'm cute, and you're bored?" his tone rose hopefully. She smiled at him, and they walked on, all the while under his father penetrative gaze.

It was no doubt that very interaction that led to the later conversation that she would forever be mortified to remember. Conner out front scouting, the mercs bringing up the end, and Charlie walking slightly ahead of Monroe, each lost in their own thoughts. She felt draw abreast of her, and felt the heavy expectation of him about to speak.

"So, tell me something. Earth, Wind and Fire back there, they're with you 24/7, right?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I'm just wondering when you find the time to sneak off and bang my son?" his voice was strangely flat, going from casual to probing in no time at all, so fast it left Charlie spinning.

"Jeez..." she muttered as she glanced at him incredulously.

"I get it, I get it. When there's a will, there's a way, right?" he continued, apparently not done yet,

"Blackout whip your cack out" he muttered, and she recoiled at the words, the vulgarity of them. "Yeah, whatever that means." she said, determined not to show him how upsetting his commentary was.

"You know, it interesting...of all the guys you chose to screw, you choose a Monroe." he delivered the last blow, hurled the last accusation with a combination of curiosity and insinuation, and she could feel him staring at her, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

"I'm gonna be sick" she muttered, avoiding his eyes at all costs. What the hell he meant, and why the hell he thought enough about it to initiate a conversation about it was too confusing to consider.

She sped up a little, and without a backwards glance, jogged to catch up with Conner, who turned one of those full beam, innocently happy smiles on her, as she reached out to touch his arm. They walked on together, Monroe, and his judgemental words fading from her mind as the afternoon wore on.

Dinner was as quiet as usual, with little more than the clinking of weapons being cleaned, and caught meal sizzling over the small fire they had going. Charlie ate quietly, focusing on her meal, and listening to the occasional sounds of the forest around them, always shifting, always alive.

She saw Monroe huddled with Conner over to a side, whispering, as usual. She wondered what they were always talking about lately, and hoped to god it wasn't her.

Later, when she was lying down, about to fall asleep, she realised Monroe was nowhere to be found. She glanced around the small clearing, seeing the mercs, and Conner, already snoring in his blanket.

She lay for a while, dozing, before starting to drop off to sleep. She felt strangely heavy tonight, as sleep beckoned her, exhausted really.

At a certain point, she opened her eyes, and saw Monroe had returned, and was now lying on his back, a blanket draped carelessly over him, his hands behind his head, looking up at the stars. She saw him start to turn his head toward her, and snapped her eyes shut, before he could see that she had been watching him. She felt his gaze on her face a moment, and then it was gone. Feeling that deep exhaustion pull at her again, she finally succumbed.

Her last glimpse of her life, as she had known it, slowly disappearing.