Maybe it is the whiskey. Maybe it is her, being tired of telling herself that things should not be the way they are for a long time now. Maybe it is like Miles always says, that she cannot keep her stupid to a minimum.

But here they are. It is her and Monroe. Again.

A storm is raging outside. It's dark. The cabin they use as a safe house for the night is old, abandoned and long forgotten. They had found it at the end of another long day on the road and had worked together in an effortless way to make sure they were ready for another night.

Blanchard had welcomed Miles and Monroe to strengthen his forces. And when he had sent Monroe on a three-day mission and Charlie had offered to join him, tired of the boring days in their camp, Monroe had looked at her intensely with his in control blue steel look in his eyes.

After everything that had happened she should not have been surprised that he had nodded with approval. His voice had been low and his shoulders had been in strong General Monroe mode with his hands behind his back, when he had ordered and almost barked at her to be ready at dawn the next morning. A part of her had wanted to tell him to go to hell and stop being a smug asshole, rebelling against the fact a part of General Monroe was back. But another part inside of her had been rebelling even more against the fact it was just more acceptance of more the man she carried with her just like she carried her crossbow with her.

If he was going to fight, she was going to be right there too.

So now, here they are. After nightfall the darkness had covered the forest. Monroe had checked the perimeter while she had started a fire. The fire in the fireplace is burning softly. It is adding warmth and shadows and sounds of crackling fire to their cabin.

Lucky for the Matheson inside of her, Monroe had found whiskey. Without hesitation, he had offered her the bottle before taking a swig from the bottle himself.

They now share that bottle of whiskey. They are sitting across from each other, close to the fire. Charlie on a small old couch. Monroe in front of her but with distance between them. His legs wide, his boots firmly on the old wooden floor and the light of the fire playing with bare skin above the V-neck of his shirt.

She knows the enemy is outside. She knows Monroe knows it too. She can sense it in the tension of his muscles, she can see it in the way he locks his jaws in a familiar way and his eyes burn with hate and thirst for revenge while he stares in the dark.

She puts the bottle to her lips. Bass follows her with his eyes before he picks a spot on the floor and stares at it.

'Fucking Mini Miles.' He grunts softly.

She knows she should be offended but somehow, this insult coming from him, it is as welcoming as the soft burn of the whiskey in the back of her throat.

They drink in silence until as always, his eyes find hers again. And there is so much in there, there in familiar eyes, that should make her stop but she is too stubborn. Because it's what is in there that makes her move forward. The feeling to not walk away is overwhelming. And then, there is no going back. Because she knows what she craves.

'You ever going to stop looking at me like that?'

Her voice fills the air with a dangerous invitation in their blackout world.

She knows she is playing with fire. She knows how dangerous Monroe is, in so many different ways. The danger is there in his eyes when his eyes burn into hers. A cold grin appears on his face, a grin that moves all the way to his eyes in an even colder way.

'Well, I am sorry Charlotte,' his voice is laced with venom while he uses her name he only chooses when he wants to get a reaction out of her. 'Did not realize my looking at you was a problem.'

Charlie does not look away. A part of her suddenly remembers their stare down in an empty swimming pool with bounty hunters close, a lifetime ago.

She knows Monroe. When he is crude like this, she knows there is more behind the powerful crudeness and dark dangerous ego.

She wants to open her mouth when a sound coming from outside the cabin suddenly reaches them. Their Matheson and Monroe instinct combined makes them react fast. It could be the wind playing with the trees. It could be something else. They reach for their weapons which are always close and without thinking about it, move in the same rhythm together. He is right behind her, somehow where he always is when a threat is near.

When Charlie opens the door, she senses how Monroe covers her. She has accepted him there for a very long time now. They point their guns into the darkness. The forest stays quiet.

When they are sure nobody is out there, Charlie turns around and without looking at him walks back into the cabin.

She puts down her gun and reaches for the whiskey which is now almost empty.

When they both are back inside and sit down again, the moment seems to have faded away. Charlie does not understand why but she feels empty all of a sudden, the complete opposite of what Monroe makes her normally feel.

She takes another sip of the whiskey. The bottle is now empty. She gets up. Her body feels heavy. Maybe, whatever this is, it's just impossible. She does not look at Monroe when she walks over to the small kitchen.

She stops in front of the kitchen counter and places the bottle on the counter.

The overwhelming sound of his boots on the wooden floor in the darkness behind her fills her chest and breath.

He is tall, impossibly tall, and standing behind her all of a sudden. He is close enough to touch. She is standing in the shadow of his body and wide chest. It is dark but she can see him clearly without even having to turn around to look at him. He is an impossible tall strong wall of black leather jacket and whiskey behind her.

'Not here.' And with these two words, he finds her in the dark. The sudden warmth and meaning of his words and honest rawness in his voice is overwhelming. There is no crudeness, no ego. There are no mind games and no steel blue, just the overwhelming sense of the man he is. And Charlie knows, they are on the same page.

'When?' Her brain fires the one question into the small space between them that needs to be answered. She can feel him without him even touching her.

'Tomorrow night.' His voice is a low growl, a promise in the dark. A promise of what is going to happen after their mission. She looks up and turns her head to meet his eyes while his tongue is moving against his teeth and then his lips

'You better not get yourself killed then before tomorrow night.' A stubborn blue strength appears in her eyes and the smallest of smiles appears around her lips.

Charlie has never felt him this close while she refuses to look away.

She knows, and she knows Monroe knows it too that this, this between them right here and now, is inevitable.

It's them after all.

It is who they are.

His nose slowly moves to her hair, soaking up her scent. There is a dangerous grin on his face when their eyes are locked, his eyes filled with possessive dark want and hunger.

And yet, there is also more. Somehow when he looks at her, there is always more.