Sebastian Monroe had done a lot of stupid things in his lifetime. More than enough, plenty in fact. It was something he seldom wasted time ruminating on, and yet, lately, there was one stupid thing in particular he couldn't stop thinking about.

When she had shown up in New Vegas, tracking him, attempting to kill him, getting in trouble and needing to be saved by him, he should have deposited her in Willoughby and been done with it. Walked away. Maybe he could have avoided the situation he was in now.

He tore a chunk of hard bread with his teeth, and chewed some of the stew someone had made. It was a poor excuse for a meal, but it was more than they'd had for days.

He hadn't explained to anyone why he had decided to go out hunting this time, brought back twice as many rabbits as usual. Hadn't explained why he had cleaned them so carefully, and ensured the meat was distributed fairly. He didn't have to. No one need know but him. He hoped to god no one else knew, or else he'd be in trouble.

If anyone else knew how much attention he paid to Charlotte Matheson's eating habits, or lack of, it wouldn't do much for his reputation.

His eyes strayed over to her, sitting across the fire from him, alone, eating absentmindedly, without much of an appetite. At first, he'd thought she was just letting the men eat more, some kind of self-sacrifice, but now, with plentiful food around, she still picked. He ground his teeth in frustration, wishing that he could stride over there and force her to eat a proper meal, take care of herself, stop wallowing in this selfish self pity. Most of all, he wished she would stop ignoring him.

Yep, he'd done a lot of stupid things, but falling in love with Charlotte Matheson would undoubtedly prove to be the most catastrophic.

What he had decided to do, the wheels he had already put in motion, would not endear him to her. He knew that, and yet, he couldn't stop it now. He had promised Conner, he had to have some kind of legacy to leave his son, him, whose name had been a four letter word for so many years. He had to do it. He had no choice, and soon, neither would she, he thought grimly, looking down as she glanced at him, setting her plate on the ground.

Charlie's feet ached as she trudged on. Another day. Another attempt to meet up with Miles and her mom. Something must have happened, to prevent them from making it before. She tried not to dwell on that. It wasn't healthy and she had enough unhealthy stuff going on in her head right now, without adding that to it.

When she closed her eyes at night, even without catching the blue gaze that always seemed to be on her lately, the dreams, or should she call them, memories… started. Last nights had left her tired, irritable and extremely uncomfortable all day.

.

.

.

.

.

"Jason, can you reach it for me?" she asked, her tone a little more strained than usual as she stepped back from the high shelves that lined the bar, and squinted through the low lights at the top shelf whiskies.

Her new co-worker nodded, a grin on his lips, as he effortlessly reached up and snagged the bottle, and handed it down to her. She took it, rolling her eyes at his victorious smile.

"Whatever, like being tall is such an accomplishment" she teased as she started measuring out the drink.

"Hey, you'll get there Matheson, don't give up hope" he said, passing by her to serve at the bar.

She carefully measured the drink, and added an extra dollop. This was for her uncle, coerced into coming to her new workplace, on the first night of her very first shift. Her mom didn't approve, so there wasn't much chance she'd be showing up, but work was good for Charlie. It took her mind of other things, and gave her something to get out of bed for in the morning.

"I'll take the same as he's having" a low, throaty voice was ordering from Jason, and Charlie felt the hair prickle up her bare arms. Despite the time lapse, almost 2 months, she'd know that voice anywhere.

"Bass! Over here" she heard Miles call, and cursed herself. Of course Miles would ask his best friend to come, why wouldn't he? Her only excuse is that she hadn't known he would be here, in the city, that he was back yet. She grabbed another glass and filled it too, sliding it along to Jason, eyes still lowered on the bottle, feigning absorption with her task.

"Gimme the other one too, I'll see he gets it" Bass was saying to Jason as she turned back to the shelves behind the bar, and contemplated how she was going to get the bottle up there.

"Need a hand?" Jason said, appearing behind her, and she squashed down a scream as his hands closed on her waist, and he was lifting her, seemingly with little difficulty, until the high shelf was easily in her reach. She carefully slid the bottle onto the glass shelf and tried to tug her shirt down, which had rode way with her stomach. He set her down, and she resisted the urge to lash out at him. He was just kidding around, she supposed, and tried not to be pissed. Truth was, she wouldn't be half as annoyed if she didn't have the world's most hot and cold, confusing enigma of a man still watching her from across the bar. She turned and knowing she couldn't avoid it any longer, crossed her arms across her chest, a movement not lost on him, and finally met his expectant gaze.

"Bass" she said, pleasantly enough, trying not to betray her reaction to him. But did he have to be so damn attractive, she asked herself as she took in his tanned face, back to being scruffed and stubbled, his leather jacket, a little beat up and little battle worn, just like him. He was leaning forward on the bar, his nimble hands handing over the edge, so close. As always, his blue eyes were clear, and when she met them, she felt the same shock of electricity she usually did. Something about this man still spoke to her body in some way she couldn't understand.

"Charlotte… it's been a while" he said, giving her a lopsided smile. She leaned back against the wall, her arms still crossed.

"Yeah, I guess it has"

"So, did you lose your phone…." He asked lightly, but there was a tightness about his eyes as he asked, a tension. She shrugged, shaking her head.

"Just busy" she murmured.

"So I see" he said, casting a look around the bar, and if she was not mistaken, a lingering glance at Jason.

"Bass… kind of dying of thirst over here" Miles grumbled loudly, and Monroe picked up the glasses.

"Well, maybe we can catch up later… unless you're too busy" he said, with a teasing smile that she remembered all too well. She nodded lightly.

"Sure, why not." She said, as she had turned to deal with another customer at the bar.

But that night had been busy, and Miles had drunk so much, so fast, that they never had that catch up, and to be honest, Charlie wasn't sure if she was more relieved or disappointed by that.

She missed him. She couldn't deny it. When her father had died, Sebastian Monroe had become the brightest part of her day, and his absence was like a hole had been ripped through the paper of her life. She couldn't help herself from texting him. She had been the one to initiate the radio silence that had fallen between them, the one to break their communication channel, and after a week of unanswered texts, he had gotten the message. The least she could do now, in the interests of remaining friends, was to re-establish it.

"Shame about the catch-up, just have to wait until next year I suppose"

As soon as she had sent it, she'd regretted it. Every word, the allusion to the dreaded yearly family dinners her mother had instituted, and the implication that she wouldn't mind not speaking until then.

Later, in bed, as she was reaching for her lamp to shut it off, trying desperately not to think about her silent mobile, it had chirped. Already knowing who it was, yet, being afraid of being wrong, she had carefully scrolled to the message, biting her lip.

"Next year? Damn it Charlotte, you know my memory isn't what it used to be, look forward to the condensed version" was all it said.

She stared at the screen, gripping it tighter than necessary. Well, at least he'd replied, she thought, setting the offending object down, and switching off the light. That was something, she told herself, but the feeling of loss and rejection was powerful. Maybe she'd managed to convince herself in some small way that when he came back, maybe things would be different, maybe he'd had missed her, or something. But no, he was only Miles' friend, and a long-term acquaintance of her family. She turned her face into her cool pillow and willed herself to sleep, and stop thinking about him, the man who never thought of her.

A couple of days later, a quiet Sunday night, when she was working alongside her boss, Nora, a tough and capable manager, and fast becoming a friend, she had not been able to hide her smile, as she heard that low lazy tone.

"So, about that catch up… you owe me Matheson. After all… I'm not getting any younger" He'd said, sitting at the end of the bar, near her seat.

She only stared at him, a grin on her lips.

"That is certainly true, and you're pretty up there as it is…" she'd teased, throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder, hands on her hips.

He'd drunk a couple of beers, and kept her company, a 6 hour shift, no mean feat, but there had barely been a silent moment. He told her about the training camp in Florida, horror stories of the bugs and insects bites, he told her how he'd missed his city, and Miles, of course.

They didn't talk about her trip down South. It was like it had never happened, in one way, and in another way, it was a constant presence. Charlie had tipped her hand, and they both knew it. Now, what was done with that information, how it was handled, was all that was left.

.

.

.

.

.

Of course, seeing his face over breakfast, and every meal really, had not been much for her appetite. And then there was Conner. If there was ever a worst time to remember you had slept with someone, if was after waking from an alternate universe where you were in love with their father. It was wrong, and confusing and made her choke. She couldn't think about it, couldn't speak to them, either of them.

The men were getting restless, as they wondered from meeting place to meeting place, hoping for some sign of Miles and Rachel.

Monroe and Connor continued to be secretive and furtive, and she continued trying to stay away from both of them. It was lonely, to be honest, and wondered at that feeling. She had been alone plenty, and had always been fine before. Now, because of that night… she wasn't. Overnight, she had come to depend on someone else, need them like she had never needed anything before, and it was the one person she should never feel that way about.

Then, all of a sudden, one day, everything changed. They had picked up a wagon, at Monroe's insistence and were rambling along, in the fading light from a stormy sunset.

Charlie Matheson had never really believed in coincidences, or in fate either, and yet, as she sat in the back of the wagon, it's tumbling roll shifting her back and forth over the potholed road of Texas, she couldn't help but wonder at the timing of Conner's insistence on stopping for a break, and the large number of horses tied up at the way station. She heard Monroe give a perfunctory grumble at the time, yet the cart slowly stopped in a puff of dirt alongside a wagon of a family, where the mother was wrapping the children up in blankets in the back, and spared them a nervous smile.

"Stretch your legs Charlotte" Monroe shot over his shoulder, jumping down from his high perch. Charlie rolled her eyes at the back of his head. She tried not to be lured into conversation with him, anymore than necessary.

"Why are we wasting time here… we have to make it to the next rendezvous point by nightfall, and it looks like there's a storm coming" she said, squinting up at the gathering storm clouds, already feeling the chill seeping into the dusty desert air.

"Relax Charlie, we'll make it. Just, take a walk or something, while we're stopped… might as well" he muttered, walking to the front to inspect the horses. She watched him a moment, the way he handled the animals, whispered something lowly in ones ear, until he turned to glance back at her, sending her off across the courtyard, turning in the direction of the way station, a run down looking diner with a ramshackle toilet block lying to the side. She started in the direction of the bathrooms.

At the entrance, the smell hit her, making her feel like gagging. She hated these old remnants of a forgotten world, stinking and filthy, yet people still preferred to use that than the great outdoors. She remembered the pristine and searingly clean smelling bathrooms of her dream, but it didn't seem real. People clung to their traditions, to the belief in routine and Charlie would have stepped off to the side of the road, if it weren't for how many people were milling about.

Her feet crunched over broken tiles and roof slates, some broken mirror in there too, as she searched for a slightly less awful stall.

She had just about finished unbuckling her sword belt, always a pain when using the toilet, though, not for men, she thought irritated, when she heard male voices drifting through from the open topped partition above her. It took her a moment to realise one of them was Conner's.

"So, you're the General's son. An honour to meet you."

"Thanks I guess. You guys got here fast… kept your uniforms I see" Conner said, and Charlie felt as though a cold draft had blown across her skin, making her flesh creep as she pressed against the wall, tried to hear more.

"Of course, we always believed the Monroe Republic would rise again. It gave too many people purpose, united too many and protected too many to fall apart forever. In the wake of… what happened to Philly and Atlanta, well, we knew it was only a matter of time until he called on us, was ready to unite us all again, and it couldn't happen soon enough, with these damn patriots crawling out the woodwork." The stranger's voice continued and Charlie swallowed thickly. What the hell were they talking about, she thought frantically, as she refastened her sword belt and crept closer to the wall. There were shuffling noises, the sound of broken tiles scraping against the crumbled floor. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her mouth dry as she forced a sawdust swallow.

After a while, their voices, making small talk now, started away, and silence surged in. Charlie forced her wheeling mind to settle, and sorted the facts from her wild imaginings.

The horses were here because of previous militia, all gathered here, seemingly at Monroe's request. She felt herself squeeze backward into the smallest muddied corner of the bathroom, her hands were suddenly clammy. Monroe was trying to rebuild the Republic, there was no other explanation, and he had enlisted his son, and they already had supporters, if the number of men out there was any indication.

There weren't going to the rendezvous point, they weren't interested in freeing people from the Patriots, only with replacing them as head of the power.

The first treacherous thought to pass her mind, in that wild instant after the news had sunk in, was betrayal. Bass, her Bass… had been lying to her. She felt as though he had cheated on her, for a mere moment, a hot flash of anger and jealously shot through her, before her rational thoughts returned.

There were more important things at stake here than her pride, or her freaky dream emotions, she reminded herself as she opened the door, and stepped out, walking through the broken bathroom, past fragmented mirrors, her own likeness broken into a thousand pieces around her as she headed out into the night. Monroe couldn't be allowed to bring back the Republic, Miles would kill him, or her mother would, and the whole thing would just make him that guy again The one with the crazy, tormented eyes. That stranger who had worn his face for a while. She couldn't stand to see him become it, and she didn't care to question why exactly the thought abhorred her so much.

She needed help, against Monroe and now, Connor too, not to mention the men already gathered. Only Miles could reason with him, she thought as she started toward the wagon. She had to find Miles and her mom, before it was too late, before he was too far gone.

If she was going to get away, it would have to be now, before they realised how much she knew, she told herself, forcing her walk to be careless, an amble to stretch the legs, nothing more, willed her hands to be loose and relaxed, not ready to clutch at her weapons at a moments notice. She saw their wagon ahead, saw that men had started to congregate around it. If she was going to get away, there was really only one person to worry about, she thought, as he eyes searched for him, not seeing him in the group, and with relief, started to veer slightly off, to the left and the woods. What to do about Duncan's men, she wasn't sure. Yeah, they were supposed to be loyal to her, but who knows who they would chose… or worse, to get in Monroe's way, might mean to end up dead, and she didn't want their blood on her hands. She had enough already.

She kept her slow pace, tried to play off her strategizing looks as innocent star gazing as she wandered. She made it to the edge of the tree line, and with one last glance back, feeling no eyes on her, ducked into the dark leafy cover.

Inside the forest was quiet, and the darkness fell like a welcoming shroud around her shoulders, as all pretence of ease slipped away, and she morphed into movements she was more comfortable with, a crouch, a low run, her hands on her sword belt and gun. She started away from the tree line, seeking the deeper, even darker depths of the tall pines, already thinking ahead, how to get to Miles and her mother, how to warn them.

"Charlie?" the voice came from behind her, and she froze, fighting the urge to run as she turned around. Monroe stood behind her about 20 meters away, the tree line behind him, and the way he watched her, his eyes narrowed, his stance deceptively casual, she knew he had realised.

"What's up?" she offered, thinking she might as well see it through, this ruse that no one believed. He smiled, yet it didn't reach his eyes.

"Are you speaking to me now?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, watching her.

"Where are you going?" he asked finally, as she bit her tongue from saying something she'd probably regret.

"Nowhere" she lied, and their gazes held, as they both waiting to see which one would break first. He stepped forward, and instinctively, she stepped backward, and they froze in that pose for a moment. She saw the moment Monroe dropped the mask, the moment he stopped pretending along with her.

"I need you Charlie… I need your help." He said, honestly, and those beseeching eyes called her. She shook her head.

"I can't help you do this… it's wrong. Let's just fight the patriots, and then-"

"And then what? Someone will take over, you know they will. Are you saying that you'd rather it be someone you don't even know… have no influence over… than me?" his voice sounded hoarse.

"I don't have influence over you either…"

"The hell you don't. Help me, Charlotte, guide me, be my conscience" he said. She backed away, her shaking back and forth, back and forth, rejecting his words.

"Stop it! I can't be anything to you… we are nothing, there is nothing between is, only a bad dream, that for some reason, we both share."

He stopped his advance, and actually looked hurt by that. His face then underwent a subtle transformation. The hurt, the rejected look, slowly a slight hardening of his jaw, his eyes got a little colder. One moment, he was pained, and open, the next, a blank wall. He stepped forward again, this time a lot more purposefully than before.

"Are really able to lie to yourself like that, and believe it?" he asked

"I'm not lying. It's how I feel" he shook his head a little at that, but continued unperturbed, watching her take a cautious step back.

"Don't be afraid of me Charlie, you know I'd never hurt you" he said, and she almost believed him, so sincere were those blue eyes. Her lips twisted in a wry smile.

"You are already hurting me" she offered, with a raised eyebrow, testing another backward step. He looked at her a moment more, before stepping forward, maintaining the distance between them.

"So… stop making me" he murmured. Charlie's fingers were itching to reach for her gun, yet she knew how closely he was watching her. She took another step back, and decided it was now of never, her hands finally gripping the hilt of the hand gun from her waistband and bringing it up to point at his face at the same moment he mirrored the action with his own gun. They stood at that stalemate for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

"You could just let me go…" she whispered.

"We both know I can't do that… you're the best bet for getting Miles and your mother on my side… and stopping Aaron from cooking me in my skin… and – you know I just can't." He started to walk toward her, his gun never wavering as he approached, and she was forced to step backwards, not able to look down, she felt her feet slipping over the tangled roots and fallen branches. He suddenly picked up his pace, and swearing she wrenched her gaze from his to glance down, feeling her feet start to slip underneath her.

She landed with a whoosh, her finger pulling the tiger of her gun. She tensed waiting for the sound of the shot, yet it never came. She looked in shock down at the gun in her hand, instantly realising what he had done. She was back on her feet a moment later, Monroe closing the ground between them. She turned and started to run.

The forest, the welcome darkness of before was now an obstacle as she ran as fast as she could, jumping over fallen trees and impassable areas. She could hear him behind her, the leaves rustling and twigs snapping, ever closer and closer. He would catch up to her, she knew it, he was faster, yet, there was nothing else to be done. She couldn't not fight him, couldn't not reach for freedom, when it was once again threatened.

Finally she felt his hands touch her waist, and she felt the oddest sensation, a hiccup of tears on her lips, a thump from a heart that felt strangely betrayed, spilling out as a wretched cry from her lips.

Next his weight was boring into her, and her legs were folding, and the forests mossy floor rushing to meet her face as she fell. Once down, the urge to cry did not pass, in fact it only magnified as he wrestled her over, holding her pined to the floor with his body, his hands on her wrists. She bit and clawed and kicked with all her might, anything to escape this man, and escape the building feeling of something indescribable in her chest.

"Charlie, stop it… Charlie!" he shouted, his face close to hers, as she twisted and bucked beneath him. Her face felt swollen with rage, and blood, her lips a snarl, and her cheeks salted with useless tears.

He shifted his body as she attempted to get her legs around his neck, moving so he sat against her thrashing legs.

"Charlie… please… you are going to hurt yourself" he shouted into her face, and she finally met his gaze, his eyes intense on hers, the cords in his neck standing up with strain. As their eyes met, she felt that fight dissipate, dissolve into the sea of her disappointment. She slumped to the ground, her muscles suddenly slack and heavy, her chest heaving with exertion, and fighting the urge to cry.

"Don't you mean that you'll hurt me… that's what you do, right? Hurt people… it's all you know how to do" she cried at him, her words cutting.

He sank back on his heels, letting out his breath with a long sigh, and looking down at her, his head tilted to the side. His hands relaxed a touch, and without warning, her hand was moving, slipping from his grasp and scratching along with face, in half slap, half savaging. He instantly grabbed her hand again, this time, pulling it over her head, pining her back so completely, his face, was lowered to only inches from her own. She saw the long lines her jagged nails had dug, already filling with blood, with satisfaction.

"Jesus, Charlie" he swore as blood started to drip down his cheek.

"I hate you" she spat at him, her blue eyes burning with the same intensity they had all the many nights she had lain awake and imagined killing him. He swallowed, and looked away, burnt by the honesty in that gaze.

"That's funny... I seem to remember you telling me you loved me, when you were taking me to your bed" he said cruelly, and she felt humiliation rage through her.

"You're such a bastard.

"I don't doubt it. But, that's not really my problem right now… whether my son's girlfriend likes me" he attempted a lopsided smile at her, and the wrongness, of those words, in this situation almost rung a laugh from her defeated chest.

"You tell your son… if he comes near me, if he even speaks to me again… I'll castrate him" she said with a smile that was a promise.

"You can tell him yourself. Let's go" Monroe said, as he tried to pull her into a standing position.

"Get up, Charlie" he warned, his voice low. She sank down again, completely uncooperative. A dead weight in his arms. She would not make it easier for him, she would never make it easier for him. With a sigh, he stood and pulled her up, uncoiling a rope from his pocket, and she look at him, her lip curled in distain.

"I – can't have you getting away" he muttered as he tied her wrists. He pulled it tightly, tried not to leave it loose, for fear of hurting her, as he knew she would not hesitate to use that weakness, to exploit his desire not to hurt her. Charlie was a survivor, and she had already endured far more than she had a right to at her age. She was a scrapper, and it was one of the things he admired most about her. Her hands suitably trussed up, he tugged her forward, and grunted in frustration as he realised she wasn't going to walk. She stood there, looking at his, her face a mask of stubbornness, and something else too. Something that made him a whole lot more uncomfortable to see. Disappointment. As though she had expected more from him than this, had hoped for more, had perhaps imagined for a moment that he could be a better man. Well, it was a notion he had better disabuse her off sooner rather than later. He couldn't be anyone else, than the twisted, power hungry son of a bitch he knew himself to be. And god forbid someone like Charlie, someone as brave and honest, as devoted to her loved ones, should ever be confused about that.

He dropped forward before her, and swung her over his shoulders, feeling the light weight of her body settle on him, rigid with anger and frustration. He made sure to hold her hands far from his weapons, anticipating her movements. He hair trailed down, brushing his neck at intervals as he walked through the dark forest. It's touch silken, and soft, making him wish he could close his eyes and bury his face in the crook of her neck, tell her it had all been a mistake and he was the man she hoped he was. The light brushes transporting him to another place, another life, where he had dismantled a barrier between them, pulled her back to life, and she had claimed his heart all in one go. He could still feel her strong fists pounding into his chest, as her tears fell, from dangerous eyes. Even torn apart, she was magnificent, he remembered as he had helped her into the shower, and she had tilted her face into the warm water cascading down, closed her eyes, and started to make some kind of peace, and he started to have some extremely inappropriate thoughts about his best friend's niece.

He wanted to be that man again, wanted to see himself through her eyes, yet, this was not that world, and none of them had the luxuries they'd once had, he could only be the man this world had made him. And, after all, he had made a promise, the only thing he'd had to give, and achieving it would once again make enemies of those he wished to call family, so the sooner she realised it, the better.