"Come on, Charlie… leave your phone and come and dance… it's spring break" her friend laughed, pushing another plastic cup of sickly sweet alcohol at her. She smiled meekly back and took it, the hard plastic sticky under her fingertips. Marcia, or was it Maria, giggled and took her hand, pulling her over to the bar.

"I just met the cutest guys… two of them… one each" she slurred. Charlie braced herself to meet the hopeful looking guys hovering by the tiki beach bar, in the typical frat boy on spring break uniform of short, thongs and t-shirts.

"This is the friend I was talking about" Let's call her Maria, shouted loudly. Charlie managed a smile, and took a sip of her drink, letting her eyes roam over the bar as clumsy introductions were made, screamed over the deafening music. She glanced at her phone one more time. Nothing. She sighed internally. It was stupid, she knew it. All he had done was mention being sent down here, on some kind of training exercise, except nowadays he delivered the training. Griped about the heat, the humidity, as all she had heard was the phrase 'three months' repeating again and again in her head. And so, after the worse month she could remember, she had taken it as a sign when one of her new friends, her attempt to create a more normal world, had invited her along with her on Spring Break to Miami.

Now, she was wearing a bikini top and shorts, her entire body felt sticky with sweat, her own and other peoples, and alcohol, and she was being hit on by the same kind of jock that hit on her all the time at home. She heard her name being repeated, and turned back to the conversation.

"Sorry, what?" she asked.

"Charlie, was it?" the guy asked and she nodded, pasting a pleasant smile on her face.

If she had to sum up her Spring Break experience, it would be crowded clubs, ear-wrenching music, disgusting drinks…. And the absence of him.

Really… all she would remember was the latter. That evening, her last in Florida, as she had watched Maria go off to another club with the guys they had met, worrying a moment over it, before seeing other females join the in the taxi, she and realised she had really gotten herself in trouble with Sebastian Monroe.

He had become too important to her.

She depended on him too much. Needed him. Craved him. He hadn't given her any sign that he could feel the same way about her. He hadn't indicated in any way, that she was anything more than his best friend's niece. She had been so busy trying to mend her heart, after her father's death, she had left it unguarded, and he had swept right it, and claimed it, without even his own knowledge.

Where she might have had a crush, she now had something altogether more frightening. Hell, she had come all the way down to Florida, hoping for a chance to see him.

She had walked back to the hotel, the thick heat a layer over her skin, her heat sticking to her neck. Stopping in a store, she bought a bottle of water, and rolled the cool bar across the back of her neck and chest as she climbed the stairs of the cheap motel she and half her college were staying in.

And then, just like that, without warning, or indication, he was there.

Sitting at the cheap patio table and chairs arranged on the balcony outside her room, looking down into the pool, and the students who were still playing around it. His plain T-shirt, so white against his skin, his blue hoodie, left open a tired look around his eyes. He had looked up, when she reached the top of the stairs, his fingers playing with his cell phone on the scratched table top. His blue gaze had met hers, igniting them both, and she couldn't help the smile that tumbled from her lips. He had stood slowly, as she approached, his eyes not straying from her face, and she knew what it felt like to occupy someone's attention, so completely. She stopped in front of him, a question poised on her lips.

"You got my message…" she stated, glancing down at his phone. He nodded.

"When do you leave?" he asked, his voice so welcome after such a long silence.

"Tomorrow morning" she said with a shrug as he raised his eyebrow at her.

"That's not long to play tour guide" he said with a laugh as he picked his jacket off the chair and swung it on. She felt her heart in her mouth at that moment, her skin prickling with nerves, yet, it was now or never, she had told herself, leaning closer to him and placing her hand on his arm, bringing his face to her, looking down, waiting.

"Maybe I don't want you to play tour guide…" she'd said, happy with how sure and confident her voice had sounded, how casual and independent. It was important. Important that he didn't know how long she had been waiting to say it. He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze searching, and his face so close, that for a moment, she imagined reaching up and tugging it to meet hers.

But, then he was stepping away from the table, walking toward the stairs, with his hands in his pockets.

"You coming?" he'd asked, starting down the stairs, his loose-limbed amble making her feel clumsy and studied as she followed him.

They had walked silently through the warm, Floridian night. Sided by side, her hand brushing against his occasionally, the contact sending a rush of nerves to gather in her stomach.

Walking down to the beach, they had sat on the sand, looking out at the dark sea, waves lapping the shore. Kids on Spring Break laughed as they ran past them, drunk and stupid, and Charlie watched them, feeling completely content for the first time in the trip.

"You should be with your friends" Bass said, suddenly breaking the silence.

"Not really my scene" she remarked. He looked over at her, his hoodie, offered in a desperate attempt to help him keep his hands to himself, was pushed up at her elbows, the green string of her bikini was tangled in the sandy waves that carelessly fell across her shoulders. She was utterly captivating, and barely even knew it.

"How are you doing…?" he asked, after a pause, pregnant with context. She nodded a little, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Better" she said, and he was relieved, worrying about her, especially being too far away to do anything about it, had started to feel like a full time job.

"Don't you miss home?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

"Sometimes. But I've been further from home before… for longer" he reminded her, mimicking her movements.

"You shaved" she remarked, breaking their companionable silence, casting a sideways glance at him.

"Yep, kind of had to…" he said, running a hand self-consciously over his naked jaw. She had gotten used to seeing him with stubble, deliciously scruffed, and sometimes even bearded. This was new.

"You look younger" she said, and instantly regretted it, biting her lip to stop talking. He abruptly stopped walking, and she turned expectantly to see him standing, his head down in contemplation, hands in pockets.

"But… I'm not any younger Charlie…" he had said, his voice grave. This was it, she realised. They were going to address what had been building between them. She swallowed nervously, as she looked at him, took in his discomfort.

He looked so uncertain, and it twisted something inside her, it hurt.

She took a deep breath, and leant across to him, the hollow inside of her propelling her, pushing her forward, for to just lie there and see that expression on his face, was too much to bear.

She put her hand on his cheek, and before she could think about what a bad idea it was, touched her lips to his.

He froze under her soft, hesitant touch, she couldn't even feel his breath, as she moved her lips against his. A long moment passed, a long moment when she was there, waiting for him to meet her, to take what she was offering, not to crush her open heart. She felt his fingertips ghost over her shoulders, a gentle caress up, leaving goose bumps in their wake, and almost relaxed.

Almost.

As the next thing she felt was his fingers, gently, but firmly, settling on her shoulders and pushing her back a little, as he also backed up. Her lips lost contact with hers, and it felt like a slap. She stared at him, fighting the urge to hide her face, her embarrassment worn like bright flags on her cheeks, for him to see. She met his blue eyes straight on. The look in them was almost more than she could bear.

Pity. Sympathy. Compassion.

She swallowed them down, those unwanted sentiments, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, schooled her expression into a lopsided smile.

"Hmmm, a bit of a disappointment… seriously, Bass, I thought you were a ladies man…" she teased, the words brittle on her lips. He studied her a moment longer, before letting his pensive expression melt into a grin.

"Yeah, well…never believe the advertising" he said, sticking his hands back in his pockets, seeming to relax. He looked so goddamn relieved, her hands itched for a moment to slap him, and then, she realised, she simply couldn't stand there and see it. And, she didn't have to, she recalled with relief.

"Well, it was good to see you, Monroe" She said, starting to slide off the hoodie that he had lent her. He held up a hand to stop her.

"Keep it. You have to go?" he asked, and she didn't care to examine his careful tone as she started to stand up and back away, nodding.

"Yeah, early start tomorrow… you know." She said.

"Well, at least me walk you home" he said, starting after her. She held up a hand, mimicking his earlier movement.

"No need." She turned and started to walk away, her red cheeks threatening to set her face on fire. Her eyes were stinging she realised with horror. She hadn't thought she had anymore tears left at this point, yet there they were.

"Charlotte!" he called behind her, and she stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. The sight of him standing there, his casual pose, the way he stood, his expression, while his blue eyes swept over her.

"See you soon?" he called into the silence that had fallen between them. She held his gaze a moment longer, before smiling nonchalantly, and giving him a shrug.

"I suppose so" she said with a laugh so forced it actually cost her. He tilted his head to the side, his look so searching, she had to look away.

She started to walk, feeling as though an invisible thread was reaching back and pulling her in the opposite direction. As though a magnet were at work, and every step she took hurt a little bit more. She made it to a corner, and turned it. She didn't look back.

She jumped catlike out of bed, and crossed the room noiselessly. Standing behind the door, she looked around for a weapon of some kind. The door slowly stared to open, and she froze. It creaked open an inch, two, and then she saw the black, shiny tip of a long gun of some kind poke through the opening. The door was pushed wider, and there were people moving into her room. Men, two of them, in uniforms. She was so confused for a moment, she thought maybe they were here for Bass, but he wasn't here. Then they started toward her bed. Without another thought, she slipped into the dark hallway behind them, and started to quietly inch along, her back against the wall, her mind reconstructing the hallway in the way she remembered it.

The question was whether to go for the door, and run for it, or go to the kitchen and get a weapon. Without realising it, she was moving toward the kitchen.

She heard the men start to look about in her room, her wardrobe flying open, and her bed overturning. She finally reached the kitchen, and, her heart in her mouth, ran to her knife drawer, pulling out a wicked looking knife, and instinctively trying to stick it in her belt, when she realised her soft, floppy pyjama bottom probably wouldn't hold it. Instead she kept it in her hand, and with her other hand, groped for the meagre tool kit she had assembled over time in her own place. Her hand closed on the hammer, and she pulled it out, and hefted it in her hand, appreciating its weight.

Next, she moved into a hidden position and waited. It was strange, she expected to feel more afraid, yet, there was adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she was ready.

They came into the kitchen, one closer than the other, they didn't speak, were strangely silent as they looked around the small space, and one of the turned away to check the bathroom. The other man passed over her hiding place, and turned away from her.

Before she could register her movements, she was up, moving behind him, and the hammer was swinging toward his skill, as the knife reached for his throat. He felt heavily, and she was just about to duck back into hiding when the other man appeared along the corridor, the shiny black nose of his gun pointing right at her.

"Drop the knife… step back" he barked, and she stared at him, weighing her options.

"Now" he warned, cocking his gun. She raised her hands, letting the weapons drop to the floor, prepared herself as he came toward her. When he was only a meter away, she almost screamed in shock as she saw a jagged red hole appear in the centre of his chest, with a slither of metal protruding through it. It slid out, and he fell to the floor.

Bass was looking at her with such relief, his face splattered with blood, his clothes dishevelled. Before he could speak, she shot forward, throwing herself into his arms.

"Oh my god – who are those guys? What's happening?" she breathed as she leaned back.

"Are you alright?" he asked roughly, his eyes running over her, checking for hurts. He caught her hands, which was streaked with blood, looking at it worriedly.

"It's not mine" she reassured him, casting a glance behind her at the first guy she'd taken down. His lips quirked in a grin, and he shook his head slightly.

"Charlie Matheson… you are a force to be reckoned with… wherever you are" he muttered, and then heard a sound from the street. He ran to the window, sticking the long machete he was carrying into his belt, and grabbing up one of the rifles off the floor. He kicked the other one toward her and looked at the street.

"We have to get out of here. Get dressed" he ordered, turning to see her pushing the gun away from her with her toe.

"What are you doing… pick it up, arm yourself" he commanded, and she frowned at him.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you here anyway? Who are these guys, and why are they trying to hurt us.. also… I'm pretty sure you just killed someone" looking in alarm at the body lying by her feet he swooped toward her and cupped her shoulders, leaning down to look into her eyes.

"Charlie… I know… none of this makes sense right now… but you have to trust me… do you trust me?" he asked, and her head immediately nodded, her blue eyes looking up into his, open and honest, eyes full of emotion and feeling.

"Of course I do… I just don't understand" she whispered, and shocked him into silence as she leaned into him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest, seeking comfort from him. He slowly brought his arms around to frame her, gently as though he was trying not to frighten a scared animal.

"We have to move… now Charlie" he reminded her, leaning away and pushing her toward the hall. Together they went to her room, and Bass checked the windows as Charlie rummaged in the clothes littering the floor.

"So – who are they?" she asked, bringing his face turning toward her, just as she stripped her t-shirt off. Spinning away, he became overly interested in checking the firearm.

"I – I can't explain it right now, we just have to get out of here, as fast as possible" he muttered. She walked past him, tugging her jeans on, buttoning them, and searching for shoes. Finally she was ready, and they were moving, her waiting behind him, as he checked out the hall before starting down it.

She was just behind him, and he kept glancing over his shoulder to check on her. They made it to the stairwell, as Monroe signalled her to be quiet, listening intently before they started down it. Reaching the bottom, he slowly opened the door an inch, before moving out, ushering her behind him. They moved down the dark street, keeping to the wall, and she could practically feel the stress coming off him.

She ran along behind him, her legs feeling stronger with every step. When had she felt this alert before? She couldn't remember, but the adrenaline was racing through her veins, and she was trembling with it. He suddenly stopped, and she crashed into the back of him, her hands instinctively settling on his hips, as she peeked around his shoulder to see.

"We need to get to the Pitman building" he muttered, straining to look around the street.

"Why?" she asked, and suddenly felt his hands crush hers in a hard grip, before he was running, pulling her along behind him. They ran, in unison, always in sync, and she felt the strangest sense of deja-vu. Up ahead they saw they entrance to the subway, and Monroe went toward it. They clattered down the stairs, and he jumped the railing, she followed suit.

In the dead of night, it was quiet, only a few trains running, and they started along the platform, looking for an opportune place to hid. An alcove appeared, and Charlie, spying it, grabbed Bass's hand and pulled him into it, pushing herself into his arms, her face only inches from his, if she craned her neck, making them invisible on the empty platform.

"Ok, you need to tell me what's going on" she said, catching her breath, securing her fingers in his belt loops, and leaning back in his embrace. He felt stiff under her hands, and she looked up at him, sensing his nervousness, and worry. He was staring down at her with the strangest expression, indecipherable almost. A combination of curiosity and desire.

"What?" she whispered, as his silence dragged on. He seemed to collect himself, and blinked a few times.

"Nothing. I'm not sure who they are… patriots, I guess…" he started, and then winced, trailing off into silence as she frowned at him.

"Patriots? What do you mean?" she asked. He let out a long breath.

"What do you remember Charlie… about, your life… this… city…. Me?" he asked, pinning her down with an arresting look.

"What are you talking about… you're not making any sense" she said, and felt frustration start to creep into her tone.

"What are you hiding from me?" she demanded, feeling his reticence almost like a shield he was holding in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably, his body pressing against hers, his eyes seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. She raised her hands, and gently took his cheeks between her palms.

It was a sacred movement between them, one that she used in the nights where nightmares chased him from his dreams. Where those he had lost, and there had been many, returned to haunt him, and the places he had been, and the things he had done wouldn't let him rest. They were becoming fewer, something he attributed to her, yet, they were there, and he would carry them always.

"Bass…. Sebastian" she called him softly, cradling his stubble lined jaw between her hands, drawing him to her, pulling his eyes to her, focusing him, finding him. His gaze finally met hers, and it looked right into her. That curiosity remained, and something else, fear… and worry, there was definitely worry.

"What's wrong…" she urged. His silence spoke to her, told her that he was still too far to reach. Standing up to her full height, she brought her lips to his, pressed them against the corner of his full mouth, pressing light kisses into his skin.

"Tell me" she urged further, finally feeling his hands come to her waist, warm and familiar, drawing her closer. He moved his face away, and she felt him press a kiss to her forehead.

"Charlie… stop… we can't do this right now."

"We aren't doing anything…" she murmured back, reaching for his mouth with hers. He avoided her kiss, and instead, dropped one on the top of her head. Charlie couldn't stop a laugh.

"Stop kissing me like you're my grandfather. Kiss me like you're the man I love" she teased, leaning back to look at him, the smile slowly dropping from her lips as she saw his face. It was pained, it was surprised, and disbelieving.

"You love me" he stated, his voice low and throaty, and she wondered what had gotten in to him.

"So? You love me too" she laughed, trying to draw him from this strange place he seemed to be in. He looked at her a moment longer, an intense moment and slowly nodded.

"Yeah. I do." He admitted, and the way he said it, was almost as though he were surprised to hear the words.

"Are you going to tell me who those guys are –" she started to say, and was cut off, when his mouth came down on hers, Hard. His hands, which had been idling at her hips, now rose to her waist, so strong they were already almost lifting her from the floor. He kissed her hard, and fast, with intensity she hadn't felt in a while. He kissed her with a kind of desperate determination that demanded she respond. His hands ran up her sides, tangled in her hair, caressed her cheeks, and flattened across her stomach. They were everywhere, as his lips burned into hers and his tongue sent fire dancing across her nerves. He clutched her against his, bent her with him, pushed her against the wall and ground his body against hers. He was lighting fires in places that they had no time to pursue, and yet, there was no way to stop, no way to drag herself from the drug that was Sebastian Monroe – her uncle's best friend, then her best friend, and her lover, and then her everything.

When he finally broke the kiss, she felt as though she was breaking through the surface of water, so long and deep had she been submerged in him, and she clung to his shoulder and gasped for breath. He too, was breathing hard, and he pulled her into a hug, tight against his chest, his lips in her hair as he spoke raggedly.

"You're never going to forgive me for that… but it was worth it" he muttered. She placed her head against his chest, pressed her ear to his heart and she could feel it beating wildly.

"Bass… what's going on?" she asked softly, her voice muffled.

"What is going on… is a major mind trip, and right now… I've not quite sure if you're really here, or if I am… or if we will remember any of this come morning." He said, finally looking down at her.

"But I want to… god help me Charlie… I want to remember this, remember you, like this. I want our memories…" he was saying, when a noise from the platform startled them.

"Is it them?" Charlie asked, stepping out to see, just as a figure in kaki appeared further down.

"Get down!" Bass shouted, and his voice was the last thing she heard, as the gunshot echoed along the cavernous tunnel, rebounding again and again.

She didn't feel it. Not really. His voice was the thing she felt, the thing she remembered as she sank to her knees, the life already seeping from her body, as the blood trickled down her forehead. If she had lived longer, she might have regretted not feeling his arms catch her, or the way he held her so close, so gently. She might have missed hearing him whisper her name, over and over, and feeling a tear fall on her face, even as he stood to defend himself, his black anger laying waste to his opponents, before he returned to her side, and sat with her body long into the night.

The world came back slowly, in pieces, fragments of predawn light filtering across her face, dancing over her eyelids, making shadow puppets of her dissolving dreams. She lay still a moment longer, a long moment, one in which, you can't quite tell the dream from reality. She registered the hard ground under her back, the creak of her hard leather jacket in the elbows, the feel of the wooden handle of her knife, still tucked into her palm.

Slowly she opened her eyes, which felt as thought they were weighted down by rocks, and seasoned with salt. Her mouth felt dry, and her entire body ached. Slowly, she pushed herself up on her elbows, and surveyed their camp. The fire was out, and huddled bodies surrounded it. She saw the humped blanket that was Conner, still sound asleep. One of the mercenaries was filling his canteen from the water bucket, his stoic expression already in place. She stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks.

She felt funny, as though she was forgetting something. Something important. Something she couldn't quite place her finger on. She had the vague impression of running in her dreams, which was hardly surprising, running, and fighting. Yet, there was something more. Aaron's face popped into her mind, and she blinked at it. Aaron, she hadn't thought about him in a couple of days, with all the madness of New Vegas going on. She wondered briefly where he was, and if he was alright. In her dream, he had been wearing a suit. She almost giggled at the thought, considering the most dressy she had ever seen Aaron, was in a plaid button down over jeans and sneakers.

She pushed herself up a little more, sitting up, and raised her arms over her head, stretching from side to side. She had the sudden image of her mother, unbidden in her mind. She wore a little black dress, something entirely unRachel, and she was bustling about with shiny packages that smelled of food. What a trippy dream, she thought as she shook her blanket off, and stood up slowly. The grass was wet with dew, and she saw the others start to stir as she stepped over them, heading for water.

She had barely taken a mouthful of the cool liquid, before, she choked.

Danny.

Alive, and breathing, smiling at her, actually. Sitting upright in a blue bedroom, in a blue bed, with glasses perched on his nose. She coughed the water up, her mind starting to spin as images assaulted her. Danny showing her a new game, a virtual one, and her actually understanding it. A house , her house, with a million lights ablaze. Lights and clocks, televisions and music, even electronic cookers. She dropped the cup back into the water bucket, and turned from camp, waving off the mercenary closest to her as he watched her, making to come with her. She just wanted to be alone. She wandered through the trees, unseeing. What kind of messed up dream had her overtired mind come up with last night? She asked herself wildly, stepping over fallen tree trunks, and headed toward the lake she had filled their water canteens at the night before. The early morning light was already starting to shimmer across it's surface as she reached it. The morning was very still, punctuated by soft bird calls, and the gentle rustling of wind through the trees.

She walked down the short, dark sandy shore, and sat abruptly on an old log lying by the waters edge. She had a deep sense of foreboding, a heavy feeling of dread starting to gather in the pit of her stomach. She dropped her head into her hands, and took deep breaths, hoping it would pass.

Images from the dream kept coming, in waves, and she could barely stand it. It was as if she had lived a lifetimes worth in a few short hours, and her mind was barely able to process it. The nervousness was growing, and the feeling of dread building, as she shied away from what her very own mind had presented her with, when the first memory of him hit her.

Monroe, standing in a black suit, flowers in hand. Monroe in Florida, under the sweet jasmine night, taking her hand in his, helping her over fallen driftwood on the quiet beach.

Monroe standing still, in a dark and close hallway, letting her beat him with her fists.

"Give it to me Charlie, everything you got…. I can take it"

Monroe in her bed, his stubble scratching her shoulder, and his mouth humming as he placed feather light kisses along her collarbone, his mouth curving in a smile against her neck as her hands slid through his curls and tugged him closer. Her face flushed red as the memories washed over her. Her body clenched in memory of touching him, being under him, and over him and everywhere in between.

Worse than the memories of physical intimacy in the dream, were the feelings. Monroe being the man she could turn to after her father's death. Monroe being the man who reminded her that there were reasons to live. Monroe, broken and lost in his own way, seeing the part of her that needed to be loved, protected and cherishing it. She was mortified. What the hell? She scolded herself. What kind of wet dream, emotional and physical had her subconscious been conjuring.

A snap, a twig underfoot, the rustle of long grass, and just like that, she knew he was here.

With an inevitable lure, she felt her head start to turn, drifting to the left.

His eyes met hers, and the expression in them hit her with the quiet devastation of a silent hurricane. Ripped her apart, left her in pieces. A moment of rushing disorientation, and then, the world, shifted, spun off its axis for an agonising moment, realigning and resuming its terrible motion. Everything was exactly the same, and yet, everything was completely different.

He knew… he knew everything. How the hell it was possible, she had no idea, but the way he was looking at her now, left no room for doubt. His crumpled and dirty clothes, jarred against the expression on his face, one lifted straight from her dreams. Dreams where they rode in noiseless cars, and wore a new shirt everyday, ate at diners, and kissed in the back rows of late night movies.

She remembered their last kiss, she remembered it's desperate quality, the intensity, the hunger in it, the look in his eyes, possessive, demanding, as though he was committing everything to memory.

"You're never going to forgive me for that… but it was worth it"

"Charlotte –" he said, his voice more rough, more raw than she had expected. She beat him to it, jumping to her feet. He tensed, seeing her paused to run. He stepped tentatively forward, and part of her wanted to match his movement, fall into his arms.

For, if the world was falling down, who else would she turn to?

As the thought crossed her mind, she felt a sob escape her, as that renegade tear finally slid down her cheek. Shaking her head, wrapping her arms around herself, she started to back away from his advance.

"Charlie" he said, his tone pained, his eyes telling her all the things she couldn't stand to hear just now.

Without another thought, she turned, and she ran.

She ran for her life. Her lungs were burning, her legs screaming at her as she finally started to slow. The sound of her breathing was harsh, too harsh, she couldn't hear anything else.

The breaths drew in and out, ragged and pained, as she inhaled the deep burn, filled her lungs with it, anything to blow out the memories that suddenly existed in her head. Her eyes stung. When had she last cried, she couldn't even remember… When Nora had died? She felt tears like a bubbles rush up her throat and she clamped her mouth shut to stop them from spilling out.

She heard a faint rustling in the grass, and it was the only warning she had before a hard arm slipped around her waist, and her feet were no longer on the ground. She fell to the ground, bracing her body for a blow that never came, and instantly twisted around to see Monroe lying over her, his arms braced against the fall, his weight kept carefully of her.

"Are you alright?" he asked immediately, and she found herself nodding before she could help it. Freezing, she scoffed, and pushed at his shoulders.

"Let me up, Monroe." She snapped, schooling her face into the most aggressive expression she could manage. He barely budged, only looked down at her with an expression of confusion and wonder, a little frustration mixed in.

"Charlotte… we need to talk" he said softly, as she looked everywhere but at his face, only a little distance from hers. She squirmed, trying to wriggle upwards, out of his reach. He clamped a hand down on her hip, causing her to finally look at him, murder in her eyes.

"Get your hands off me " she muttered, swallowing hard as his brilliant blue eyes bore into hers. They lay like that a moment, her breathing hard, him, watching her. His hand finally relaxed on her hip, and she rolled her hips to knock it off, only succeeding in rubbing her hips against his. Frustrated, she relaxed back, dropping her head onto the grass, and letting out a strangled curse of frustration.

"What the hell do you want to talk about? And at least let me up" she muttered, trying to turn to the side.

"You know what I want to talk about, and no – not until I'm sure you're not going to take off on me again" he said, a little too pleasantly, yet she resisted the urge to turn and see his expression.

"Well? Talk –" she finally ground out, after an extended silence, in which she was all too aware of his body against hers.

"What do you remember about last night." He asked, and she felt red start to creep into her cheeks.

"Nothing" she said, mulishly, still avoiding his look. He slowly pulled her face, his fingers firmly on her chin around, forcing her to meet his honest gaze.

"Tell me" he murmured, and she felt that connection, that one from her dreams, forged by loss and companionship, and time, and whole lot of time, thrum to life.

"Nothing. I had nightmares" she whispered, tensing even as she lied, aware of how false her voice sounded. He smiled a little sadly, and brushed a stray lock of gold hair from her face.

"Come on Charlie… let's not… let's not put off dealing with this" he said.

"Dealing with what? I had a dream… you were in it… end of"

"It's not just a dream, if I had it too… and I don't feel like they were dreams, they feel more like memories to me"

"Well, that's your problem" she said, and tried to push him backward once more. He never moved, and stopped herself from screaming in frustration.

"Don't look at me like that" she suddenly said, seeing his eyes trail over her face with sickening familiarity

"Like what?"

"Like – you know me… you don't"

"Don't I?" he demanded back, letting his frustration start to show. She was an eel in his arms, writhing, wriggling to get free, acting like she couldn't stand having his hands on her one moment more. It was more unpleasant than he had expected.

She finally stilled and settled for glaring up at him. He shifted, keeping his weight off her, gazing down at her a long moment.

"What is it?" she finally cried, she sounded like she wanted to cry.

"I just watched you die, Charlotte… the least you could do is give me a minute to process that" he ground out, and was relieved when the strength went out her arms, and she relaxed down, letting her head hit the floor, and her breath out all in one. They stayed like that, her, fighting the comfort being near him gave her, him, trying to remember how he was supposed to act around her. After a long while, he rolled to the side, and let his back fall to the ground, throwing an arm over his head as he sprawled on the grass, looking up at the sky. Charlie sat up beside him, and shaking grass out her long hair, stood up, avoiding his eyes.

"We still need to talk… you know that, right?" he asked, making her pause as she started to move away. She hesitated by his feet a moment longer, and then turning toward him, he started to sit up in anticipation, when he felt her boot connect with his side. The pain lanced through him, cut into him, doubling him over, as Charlie started to stride away.

"That's for the kiss… you jackass" she called back over her shoulder.