You guys are so awesome, here we go with the second part. Now, it was quickly uploaded, so, sorry for mistakes!

Review and let me know what you think!

Charlie dropped to the floor in front of the vent and gasped for breath, the close air of the vent sitting stalely in her lungs. She leaned against the wall, getting her breath back, the air rasping as it went into and out of her inflamed lungs, she wheezed a little, coughed, the dust finally settling, pounding her chest for a moment, sucking in the fresher air, even as it hurt. She closed her eyes a long moment, feeling a little dizzy, the blood rushing back into her legs, after hours of cramped space, and finally, resting her head against the wall, opened her eyes, seeing Monroe standing in shock on the other side of the room, his face bloodied and battered, one eye half-closed, his arms tied tight behind his back. His jaw as actually hanging open as he watched her, looking up at the vent.

"Charlie... what the hell - are you hurt?" he asked as she stood up and started toward him, her energy surging back as her body came back to life.

"I'm fine." he looked relieved, taking a step toward her, before seeming to realise his hands were bound.

"Let's save the heartfelt reunion for later... turn around" she said shortly, stepping around him to see his wrists. She was quiet staring at them, and he couldn't shake the shock of seeing her appear suddenly.

"Handcuffs... fantastic" she muttered, squatting down to look closer, as he twisted around to see, and sucked a deep breath in as pain pierced his side.

"Stop moving. You didn't happen to bring a lock pick or something, did you?" she asked, glancing up at his white face, teeth clenched as he shook his head tersely. She stood up and shifted around to him, touched his side, and his sharp inhale caused her to lift his t-shirt, her impassive face giving nothing away as she studied his side, before lowering it and finally meeting his gaze.

"Charlie, what the hell? I thought Jason Neville... took you somewhere..."

"No, he's been helping me"

"Well... where did you come from?" he asked, glancing back at the air vent.

"I was just about to bust myself out of here... but thanks to you, I"m right back where I started, come on... we have to move faster than this" she said, her eyes evading the questions appearing in his.

"You do know there is only one way to get out of these cuffs... right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, and saw a grim smile appear on his mouth.

"Yeah... I'm aware."

"Unless you can fit through the vent with your hands tied..." she said, looking up at it, reassessing it based on his size. He grimaced.

"How about we don't go through the vent..." he tried, and she shook her head.

"Jason said it's the only way, there are too many patrols, double guard change over during shifts. The patriots have managed to cobble together a pretty effective base here... and you can't fight" she remarked, giving him a critical once over that made him stand up a little straighter, despite the stabbing pains it brought.

"I can always fight.." he disagreed, dropping it as she rolled her eyes and then started coughing again. His eyes, always intent on her, noticed the way her hands shook as she covered her mouth, the tiredness of her eyes and slick sweat on her skin.

"If I can't fight... then neither can you" he said, she narrowed her eyes at his assessment, and then conceded, reluctantly.

"So, we're back to the vent" she murmured, considering her options.

"I say we try it, I can always break your hand later... plan B" she said matter-of-factly spinning round and starting back to the vent. He watched her go, his heart beating strangely in his chest at the fact of her, being here, when she had already escaped.

"Are you coming?" she demanded in a harsh whisper as she moved the chair against the vent, which she had obviously not used last time.

"You first... I'll push you up"

"Charlie -" he started and saw the determined look in her eye and swallowed his words, coming forward, stepping carefully onto the chair, with her hands holding him steady. He slowly stepped on to the thin chair back, jammed against the wall, and found the vent about shoulder height. No big deal. Unless your hands were tied behind your back.

"Step on my shoulder" Charlie said, and he flashed an angry look down at her.

"Hell no."

"Just for second, jeez, Monroe, I'm not going to break" she muttered, positioning herself under his foot. He scowled and shifted his weight as far forward as possible, leaning his chest into the opening, and then, put his foot onto her shoulder. He felt her dip as she adjusted to his weight, and then stand up again. He pushed down, and propelled his weight forward, falling face first into the narrow air vent with a curse. He felt Charlie pushing him forward, using his feet and thought he might have never been in such an undignified position before in his life... and how much Tom Neville was going to get it, when he had full use of his hands again.

He heard her returning the chair, and then her light steps take a run up to the vent, one foot on the wall, and then she was climbing in behind him, crouching herself into the small space, and the light was diminishing as she reattached the vent, the squeaking sound returning, her screwing in the small fastening that hid them from sight.

Once it was down, he felt her moving behind him, and pushed himself to get to his knees. The ceiling immediately hit his head and he cursed. The ceiling was too low to shuffle along on his knees, it had to be a hands and knees job.

"Charlie... we have a problem" he muttered, feeling her come up behind him, her hands settling instinctively on his waist as she looked under his arm and forward.

"Yeah... I didn't think of that." she said, as she racked her brains as to how he could move along without his hands.

"You need to go first. I'll lean on you" he said.

"Seriously?"

"I don't like it anymore than you do, believe me" he growled as she sighed behind him.

"Well, lie down again then" she said after a pause, and he complied careful not to make too much noise.

Fully flat, face down, he felt her gradually start to wriggle over him. Christ, this torture was giving Neville a run for his money, he thought as he felt her lithe body inch along his, her breast scrapping up his back, her on his hips, and then her legs sliding up each side of his head, as she slide over him and in front, finally rising up on her hands and knees. He was pretty sure his face would be an excruciating colour, and he was suddenly glad for the darkness, that his his body's completely inappropriate response, considering the situation. He bent his knees and wrenched his upper body up, his stomach muscles contracting painfully along his injured side. She was waited in front of him, and he hesitated as he came closer.

"Let's just get on with it" she instructed, her face aflame as she felt his chest come to lean on her lower back and hips, his face practically buried in her hair. She started forward, and felt him put his weight on her and move with her. It was embarrassing, but it as working, and together, as quietly as possible they were making progress. They had to stop occasionally, when she moved too fast, and he abruptly fell face forward onto her boots, or when he shot forward too fast, and she found his hips suddenly against hers, his back covering hers, and heard him cursing as his head hit the ceiling.

They shuffled along in silence, accompanied only by the sounds of their jeans against metal, and heavy breathing, hers rasping in and out roughly. At one point she felt her t-shirt riding up, and she could feel his stubbled jaw rubbing the bare skin exposed there, his breath hot against her back, sending shivers down her spine. She forbid her mind from lingering on her recent memories of being in their very position with him, to much more pleasurable conclusion, and hoped he was doing the same.

In the semidarkness, she consulted her map, and continued, turning sometimes, but mostly going forward, until they started to see a little more, the darkness giving way, and she saw another vent in front of them. The one near one of the weak points in the perimeter.

"This is it..." she breathed, shuffling up to it, and looking through the thin gaps, as he waited behind her.

"What do you see?" he asked impatiently as she studied the outside in silence.

"The outside perimeter... and it's going to get light soon. We need to go now" she said, glancing back at him, his face striped by shadows. He nodded.

"Ok. You get down first, go for the perimeter. I'll be right behind you"

"Sure, and how do you think you're getting down without help? Face-plant from 8 feet?"

"I'll take care of it myself, you just get out now -" he started and bit off his words as Charlie huffed in annoyance before turning to the vent and starting on the screws. She worked quietly, as he wondered how indeed he'd get down. If only he were facing the other way, but there was no way to turn in here. He saw the vent shift, and suddenly it was loose in her hands.

"Ready?" she asked, adrenaline spilling into her blood as she looked around, as well as she could from the sides of the vent.

"As I'll ever be" she heard Monroe mutter behind her and nodded. Next, she was moving, the vent set aside, she was slipping nimbly down the wall. He heard a soft exclamation come from her and tensed, instantly thinking how he could get his hands free, when he looked up and saw her crouching at the entrance. He shuffled forward and felt her hands go under his armpits, and haul him out of the vent onto the rocky floor outside, only a foot away from the vent, non to gently. He rolled onto his back and stood up as quickly as possible. He saw Charlie springing to her feet, and keeping into toward the building.

"You didn't think to mention there was no drop?" he hissed at her. She shrugged.

"It was dark" was the only response he got. He looked around, tense, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Let's get the hell out of here" he motioned to her with his head to move to the fence, as he brought up the rear, covered her back and watched out for anyone. As Charlie started forward, he bit back a yell as he saw a patriot come around the corner behind her. Her eyes shot to his, as the patriot closed in on her, all happening in mere moments.

She must have read the warning in his eyes though, because she was already spinning around, throwing her weight forward, and bring the man who had caught hold of her shoulder falling to the ground. Without a second thought, she brought her boot slamming hard into his head, as he attempted to get up, and he sank back down, blood splashing in the air over him. Monroe watched with fascination as she then pinned his arms with one leg and place the other knee on his neck. The man lay prone as she slowly chocked the life out of him, while turning to his many pockets and rifling through them, pocketing items, including a knife and hand gun. When he was unconscious, she stood up, wiping her hands, and grabbed up his rifle, slinging it over her body, and finally looked up at him.

"What?" she asked, confused by the look on his face, even as she cocked the rifle and started ahead, scouting the way, her finger poised on the trigger. He shook his head wordless, following her. The climbed the short incline toward the fence, coming closer to the fiery torches that lined the barbed wire. He stumbled as the soft Texas sand crumbled under his unbalanced feet, but found her there at his side, supporting him, his tied arms making him practically useless. A shadow appeared at his side, silent, the soldier creeping in, his gun starting to rise, and he wasted no time, he shot forward and head butted him, causing the man to step backwards. As Monroe stepped back he felt Charlie reach around and then the man was gargling blood, as her knife was withdrawing and going back into her belt, and they were moving again. They came to the barbed wire, without seeing anyone else, and Charlie turned back, surveying around them, the rifle at the ready.

"Go, I'll cover"

"NO – you go first" Monroe said, pushing her with his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Seriously, now is not the time for chauvinistic crap... I've got the gun, you go first."

"No" was all he said, and she looked in askance at his face, seeing the set of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth and realised he wasn't going to budge on it.

"You're insane" she muttered as she dropped to her chest, holding the gun against it, rolled under the wire. He saw it catch her hair, scratch at her jacket, and then she was through, back up and pointing the gun behind him.

"Hurry up" she urged as he knelt and started to roll under, hissing as the wire raked across his stomach.

"Hey -" he heard a man's voice, close, and tensed, glancing up wildly, just to see Charlie's knife embed itself in her chest, spinning him around. She was already stepping over him and taking back the knife, plus anything else she found to be surplus, as he staggered to his feet.

"Well, let's get out of here" she said with a grin, as she turned to the empt surrounding landscape, slide a slim arm under him, and started forward, urging him into a run. It was no easy thing, to run with your arm around another person, and to have to lean on them, but on they went, foot for foot, perfect sync. She wondered at it a moment, as they skirted over the red and gold streaked ground, morning having reached them. But, then she supposed it made sense. If there was a body she knew better than her own, it was Monroe's. She could remember every hard muscle, every scar, every smattering of hair, and, reddened as she realised, he could probably remember everything about hers.

By unspoken agreement they made for an old safe house, one that had never been compromised, one where they had waited to approach Miles and Rachel, after they had travelled down from the Plains together. It took a while to work their way there, keeping hidden, staying out the way of patriots, though finally they made it, finding it to be just as isolated and quiet as it had been last time.

Staggering in the door, Charlie kicked it shut as she stepped back from Monroe and straightened up. Her whole body was exhausted, her head ached and she felt pretty sure she still had a fever, while Monroe looked white and wrung out, breathing shallowly to avoid hurting his side. Inside, they stood for a few moments in the sudden quiet, listening for any sounds of pursuit, as they watched from different windows, finally, seeing nothing suspicious.

Charlie went to the kitchen and rummaged around in there, looking for something she was sure she had seen last time they were here, while Monroe collapsed facedown on the ageing settee, a cloud of dust puffing out, making him cough. Charlie finally found what she had been searching for and went through to the sitting room, hiding a smile at his prostrate position.

"Here, sit up" she said, brandishing a saw. He sat up, and she led him through to the kitchen, positioning the chain of the handcuffs against the counter, and started to saw.

"How'd you get caught?" he asked her, glancing over his shoulder, trying to see.

"I was careless I guess..." she said as she concentrated on the sawing motion.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked suddenly and she paused, her blue eyes flickering to his for a moment.

"No. Not really. You?" he shook his head, and tried to quell his rage at her soft tone, all the things she wasn't saying, the brave face she always put on.

"Tom Neville's number's up though, his son too, that little shit" he muttered under his breath.

"No – not Jason. He helped me, without him I never would have gotten out" she said.

"And why exactly would he do that? How do you know he wasn't doing it on his father's orders"

"Because... I know him" she said simply, and Monroe couldn't help the spear of pure jealously that shot through him at that.

It was tedious, and her muscles were aching by the time the link finally broke and she threw the saw down. Monroe exhaled slowly, bringing his hands around the front, frowning as his shoulders went into cramp.

He clenched his teeth, and rocked his neck back and forward, when he felt her hands descend on his shoulder, stilling him.

"Sit" she ordered, kicking at the wooden kitchen chair. He cautiously complied, his curiosity burning as he felt her move behind him, and suddenly as her strong fingers into his bunched muscle. He let out a long sigh as she started to work the cramp out his shoulders, and her touch send his blood singing around his body. He didn't dare look at her for fear of breaking this truce they seemed to be having, and let him eyes drift closed as the camp dissipated, and only pleasure remained at her massage. He must have made a noise at some point, some involuntary whisper of pleasure, because her hands stopped, and she slapped the top of his head.

"I guess it's better" she said and stepped back, leaving the kitchen and going to the sitting room.

He sat a moment longer, before standing and following.

Florida was hot and sticky, and long into the humid nights, he sat by the shore, or wandered the nearby town, she was in his mind. It was wrong, he knew it well enough, and yet, there was no escaping her. Have you every loved someone, so much that even the thought of them, was a refuge for your mind, was a place to go, in your memory and imagination... and sometimes, when the waves washed right, and the moon was full – it was enough.

He thought of Charlotte Matheson, a lot more than he had right to, yet he couldn't help it. He saw her sometimes, in the street, crossing the road, running through the surf. She had become a constant companion.

He thought of their interactions, from her father's funeral, and her hand , inching up his leg, her eyes reckless and hurting. She had been so real to him them, jumping off the page and into colour and motion. She was no longer Miles' niece, mentioned in passing. She was no longer the girl in pigtails sitting around the Sunday table for lunch, hanging on her Uncle's every word. She had become a woman, and a worldly one at that. A man would have to be blind not to see it, not to feel it from her. Confidence, wisdom and cynicism, all wrapped into that breathtaking package. And she had endured more than enough to age her, in her precious few years.

And now, she was an undeniable force. He remember her hands on him, in her darkened hall, where she had faced her grief, and embraced her loss, and he had been right by her side, he had guided her through it, without realising. She was a force of nature, she sucked the breath right out of him, and he was consumed by her. He worked and he lived, slept and ate, but he didn't live, not really, outside his thoughts of her.

He was too old to feel this way, to find himself completely absorbed with someone else. He was too old to try and care about what a college student would care about, and he found himself agonising over his texts to her sometimes, and then, he found out, that she didn't care in the slightest.

Charlotte Matheson danced to the beat of her own drum. He was an old man, and demented in his desire for a girl who could be his daughter, and hell if he didn't meet enough of them. He'd always had a way with women, and had never struggled to find some pretty young things, Charlie's age, to warm his bed... but her – Charlie – Charlotte- was something else entirely. He had drunk those nights away, and sweated and trained the days, and held her in his mind, under the relentless Floridan sun and humidity. When he went home, he would forget her, he would release her from this fascination, he had promised himself, he honestly would, he had told himself and at the time he had actually believed it.

In the next room, Charlie was emptying her pockets of her bounty from the robbed guards, her face pale, her brow sweaty.

"You're sick... you should rest."

"Yeah, well... so should you." she muttered back, going to the window and looking out. He watched her a long moment, so many things he wanted to say on his lips, and yet none of them making it past.

"Charlotte... please" he murmured and was rewarded with her look. She turned and looked at him, scanning him up and down.

"Can you help me upstairs?" he asked, and she narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for some kind of trick.

"Don't you need to go and find your men?" she asked tartly as she started toward him.

"They'll catch up, don't worry" he said as they started up the stairs, his side throbbing now as Charlie carefully supported it. If he was surprised that she was helping him, he didn't show it as they slowly ascended the stairs and shuffled along the hall. Her body rubbed against his, and sent his nerves on fire as they made it down the hall, and quickly realised it was a one bedroom place. In the bedroom, Charlie didn't say anything as she helped him lie of the bed, and then stepped back, raising his shirt a few inches, frowning at his darkened ribs.

"There's nothing I can do for that... just rest" she said, and broke off in a sneeze. He watched her beautiful face wrinkled in the action, and her back trembled for a moment as the action shook her.

"You aren't well Charlie... come and lie down" he said, trying his best to sound purely interested in her well being, as he lay on his side on the soft bed, feeling his ribs relax for the first time in 24 hours. She shook her head.

"I'll go to the couch, it's fine" she said as she started toward the door he sat up, grimacing as it hurt.

"The hell you will – if anyone is, it's me" he said, swinging his legs over the edge, making her hesitate at the door.

"You need to rest..." she said, and trailed off, looking away from him, so incredibly determined not to show him any weakness, and yet so unwilling to hear him say he'd sleep on the lumpy couch.

"So – come rest with me... I'll be a perfect gentleman" he promised and saw her wavering. She looked at him long and hard, before shrugging slightly, her weariness overtaking her. She slipped her tattered jacket off, and her boots. He was transported for a moment into their past, and their first night together. She climbed slowly up the other side of the bed, turning on her side, her head supported by her arm and looked at him. They could have been in the dreamworld for all the similarities, but this... it was real.

"You came for me – thank you." she said suddenly, and he looked at her expression and wondered if she had really been surprised he had.

"Had no choice. I would always come for you" he said, and willed himself to meet her frank and searching gaze. She opened her mouth, her look indicating that she was about to disagree with him, about to disparage his comment, or condemn it, about to remind him of why that impulse was so very inappropriate.

"I know." she said, and her lips, softened into the smallest smiles.

"Let's get some sleep" she said, as she saw his confused, intrigued gaze sweep over her face, searching for a meaning she was not ready to give, before tucking her head into the crook of her arm and closing her eyes.