Charles awoke the next morning with the rising dawn. His body was warm, despite his chest being bare. A blanket covered him from the waist down, but that was all. He was disoriented by this position a moment, before he turned his head to find a woman with silver-blonde hair curled up beside him. She was facing away, resting on his arm and sleeping.

Irene.

The events of the evening came flooding back to him, waking him further with every instance he recalled. Irene, looking up at him before she tilted her chin and unexpectedly pressed her lips to his. Irene, pulling him through the door, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping her hands inside. Irene, leading him further in, drawing him close again as they tumbled into the bed.

It had been a moment Charles had only dreamed was possible. He had taken a liking to Irene the moment he'd met her, but he'd begun to believe his interest in her was a hopeless pursuit. Each evening, he had set his mind to say something beyond pleasantries, and each evening, he failed. He could never get the words out, and the brothers he'd once known would call him a fool if they could witness him so tongue-tied.

Charles had eventually given up at initiating any kind of romance, and for months it had truly been enough to speak with Irene, to watch her smile and laugh, even if it was with other customers.

And now the wait was over. The outcome he'd desired had come to pass. Irene had kissed him first, taking the pressure off of him. She'd given him the opportunity to reciprocate, when he hadn't known how to begin.

Unable to help himself, Charles leaned over and kissed Irene's exposed shoulder. His action coaxed a sleepy smile from her.

She was amazing, a beautiful and candid woman that most folks might say he had no business cavorting with. But she'd chosen him, and that was all that mattered. He wasn't afraid to fight any naysayers now that he was aware she was just as drawn to him as he was to her.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss her awake and experience again the night they'd enjoyed with abandon. However, the sunlight streaming in from the window unfortunately reminded him of where he needed to be. He was due at the docks soon. As much as he wanted to lay back down, wrap his arms around Irene, and forget his responsibilities, his job would be in jeopardy if he didn't show up.

Charles rubbed his thumb along her jaw and whispered a promise, "I'll see you tonight."

She murmured a reply he didn't quite understand, but he heard her sigh his name and that made him smile.

Gently, Charles removed his arm from under Irene, managing not to wake her. He paused before leaving the bed to pull the blanket up. He rested a palm on her shoulder and was suddenly tempted to throw practicality to the wind and nestle back in, breathe in the skin on her neck and taste her lips again.

Charles sighed, turning away before the temptation to stay grew too overwhelming to ignore. He distracted himself by hunting for his clothes. He found his trousers over a chair, and his shirt and vest on the floor against the wall. He'd kicked his boots off by the door. When he was ready to leave, he stole one last glance to Irene still fast asleep. He hoped she'd invite him back again tonight.

Usually, Charles walked the distance to the docks each morning, from his apartment above Edmonde's Restaurant and Bar. He liked the brisk air of the dawn, and the quietness of the slumbering city, even if he didn't consider it as peaceful as a morning walking in the woods. Today, though, he had a late start so he caught the trolley at the end of the street instead.

By the time he reached the lumberyard, the sun had disappeared behind the multiplying of gray clouds while the threat of rain frizzled the air. Yet, not even the possibility of a storm could dampen his spirits. It didn't bother him. Something good was happening, a change in his life. He could feel it. The future didn't seem as despondent in his imaginings. He felt good, and it had been a long time for it. He even found himself whistling as he crossed the train tracks to the docks.

"Aye, feck me, there's a sight I've never beheld. Smith coming in happy."

Charles slowed and turned to find one of his co-workers loping up to him. He was a dark-haired, bearded man with a mouth that never shut.

Charles told him, "It's a beautiful day."

"Beautiful? Don't you smell the pissing rain on the air? It'll be shite by the end of the day, mark my words."

The Irishman was full of it most of the time, and never short on tall tales or hare-brained, money-making ideas. He also didn't know how to keep them to himself. In fact, he spoke often and about everything except his real name. As far as Charles knew, he was known only as Irish.

Irish narrowed his eyes on Charles. "Eh, Smith! I didn't see you partakin' in any of Dempsey's girlies last night, but I know what gets a man whistling a merry tune like that."

For once, Irish had picked up on something behind Charles' usual stoic shell. He was already giddy without even knowing any details. But Charles knew better than to speak of Irene with a blabbermouth like Irish.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bull shite! Fine. You keep your secrets, you feckin' wretch. I know what you were up to. I got eyes."

Charles shrugged, saying nothing more as he continued across the boardwalk.

"Wait, Smith!" Irish caught up to him, his ire falling away. He was close enough that Charles picked up on the smell of stale whiskey already on the other man's breath. "You ready to fight at Saint Saturnines? I've got it on good authority there's an openin'. These fights pay out real good, ya know."

He'd pitched the offer yesterday and Charles still hadn't given it any thought. "If it's so lucrative, why don't you do it?"

"Oh, now, I don't got the build for it, ya know, or I would. Weak gut," he explained as he patted his stomach. "I'm of much better use as a middleman, a...negotiator, say, for the real fighter."

"Is that so?"

"I wouldn't lie!" Irish retorted, affronted. "So, will you do it?"

Charles remembered the reaction he'd gotten the night before, when he'd offhandedly mentioned the back alley fighting to Irene. She'd had real concern in her eyes when she'd pleaded with him not to join. And after last night, he wanted nothing more than to please her.

"I won't be participating."

Irish scowled under his beard, but his face cleared after a minute. "Fine. Probably doesn't matter much anyway. Wouldn't have been able to manage you for long once Welsh gets his business cooking in Mexico. Then, I'm out of here."

The rest of Charles' work shift, as he pulled lumber and crates off a harbored ship, Irish was filling his ears with the details of his ambitious ventures. He was leaving the area, heading south with this Welshman and another "business partner". They all had grand plans of thievery, ideas that had Charles shaking his head. He didn't bother to point out any flaws he heard, and it amused him that it wasn't so long ago since he'd been involved in the same sorts of schemes.

In all honesty, Charles had considered getting back into that line of work again. Even before the Van der Linde gang, he'd worked on his own and had made enough to live off of. But he'd never managed to gain the riches for a life of comfort. And while everything was easier with a crew, the money always ran out the same. On top of all of that, Charles had grown to find the theft of innocents unappealing.

Besides, there was plenty of honest work in Saint Denis, even if it all paid less than any job the Van der Linde crew had ever taken on. There was never a shortage of manual labor in the big city, and he knew it well.

Charles had worked one of the stables for a few months, until the owner was forced to let him and a few others go when the duties grew scarce. They had left on amicable terms, the stable owner appreciate of the work Charles had done, even if he didn't have a job for him to continue.

Charles had tried the brewery, but he couldn't get used to the stale smell of the place, and the taskmaster had been overbearing. He wound up at the docks, working for a lumber company. The labor could be grueling, but rarely did it run out, and the pay was fair enough.

At the bottom of it, Charles wanted to live an honest life from here on out. Spending time with Rains Fall had shown Charles how to live as a better man, and seeing Arthur with his new life inspired him to seek out what he once thought an impossibility. If Arthur, a former hardened criminal who used to rob from every town he'd come across, could be domesticated as a father and a husband living in peace, why couldn't Charles have the same?

Maybe that place could be Saint Denis, or a small house outside of it. And maybe, that person could be Irene.

Unexpectedly, the foreman called his workers off early since the delivery shipment of the day had been smaller than usual. While it seemed a stroke of luck at having a half day, it also directly impacted their pay, leaving Irish beside him and the others grumbling with dissatisfaction. But Charles couldn't help a rising elation. He could see Irene early.

Yet, as eager as he was to visit Irene, there was another he owed his attention first. After collecting his pay, Charles left the docks, stopping at a market stall to purchase an olive branch for his awaiting lady. He followed Rue de la Diligent, heading to the western side of Saint Denis. He ended his journey at the Theodore Eckhart Stables.

The owner himself, Charles' previous employer, opened the barn doors. The graying man squinted, saw who it was and beckoned him in. Eckhart had been gracious enough to offer Charles a stall at a fair price and he'd taken it.

Charles closed the barn doors and asked, "How is Taima?"

Eckhart moved across the stable to sit at a bench, where he had been mending a saddle. "She's well. She doesn't take to being cooped up, but she's docile enough."

Charles nodded, painfully aware of the truth in that statement. As even as her temperament was, living in a crowded city did nothing to abate her craving for the openness of the wilderness. Charles struggled with the same when he first started living in Saint Denis.

"I will take her out again soon."

"I could make your life easier, and your pocket a little heavier. You've trained her well. I could find a seller who would pay top dollar on her."

"No," Charles said immediately. "There's no need for that."

Eckhart nodded. "Can't say I blame you for wanting to hold onto her, but if you change your mind, you can trust me to sell her to someone who'd care for her."

Charles grunted and moved further into the stable without deigning Eckhart with an answer. In the second to last stall, he heard Taima's whinny. She made herself visible by emerging forward in her stall. She always recognized his step.

Despite having to stable her, Charles still visited her often. Charles also took her out a couple of times a week, even on the days his back ached from twelve hour shifts. Yet, he knew what the stable master said was true. She should have more freedom.

"Hello, Taima." Charles smiled as he reached her. From his pocket, he drew an apple. He fed her the treat, patting her. "It's been too long."

After her treat, she nodded her head insistently, side-stepping twice. It was her way of telling him she was ready to be saddled and let out of her stall.

Charles petted her and sighed. "Rain's in the air, Taima. There will be no trip tonight. We wouldn't want to be caught in a lightning storm."

She huffed, as if she understood and disagreed with him.

"Soon," he tried to soothe her, even though she wouldn't understand.

In the stall next door, the last one of the row, a Nokota with a white face stuck her head out and whinnied.

"I didn't forget about you." Charles produced another apple, stepped away from Taima and offered it up.

Since he'd been coming to the stables to visit Taima, he'd taken a liking to her neighbor the Nokota. Eckhart said she was another horse not for sale, but Charles had never seen her owner.

Charles returned to Taima. "I have someone I want you to meet eventually."

Taima was a good listener as he spent the next several minutes talking of Irene, freely revealing his thoughts as he brushed Taima with care. It was a sort of relief to speak his mind so openly, despite not receiving any feedback.

"You'd like her, Taima. She has spirit, like you. And like you, she's never shown any fear of me." It was an issue he'd run into a few times from working girls. Money usually got them past their trepidation easily enough, but their initial reaction tended to sour the experience.

Charles had always had a difficult time speaking to anyone, but he used to have an impossible time with women. Sharing a camp with men and women in Dutch's gang had helped some, but he'd still shy away from saying much more than a greeting to the women. But Irene was different. His silences didn't seem to make her uncomfortable and she treated him like a friend. It was more than that now, and he was ready for a courtship with her.

When Charles left the stables, his mind felt clear, his disposition jovial. Now that he was on his way to see Irene again, his eagerness had returned. He took the time to stop at his room above Edmonde's to wash up and change into a fresh set of clothes.

It was late afternoon just before the dinner rush when Charles entered the cafe. He was hoping to catch Irene early, for them to have a private moment. He made his way to his usual spot, noticing there was only one other customer, a regular who had his own usual spot but at the bar.

As soon as he sat, Daisy was next to him saying, "Sorry, buckaroo. Irene's not here. You have to deal with me tonight."

Charles frowned. "Not here?"

"She was supposed to be. But she didn't make it in for some reason or another. I don't know. Henry didn't say and he's too pissy right now for me to get an answer out of him. It's bullshit because I was planning to work at..."

Charles heard nothing past, 'She didn't make it in'.

Suddenly, another aspect of last night came into his memory, the reason that had led him to walking Irene home in the first place. Her strained smile and hesitant explanation of a man she didn't want around, but who had been asking for her.

Charles stood, disrupting Daisy's affronted tirade. "Has anyone seen Irene today? Has anyone checked up on her?"

Daisy scrunched up her nose. "Checked on her? Why?" Concern furrowed her brow as if now realizing something could be amiss. "Did something happen?"

Charles spared himself from answering her as he left the cafe abruptly. Daisy was on his heels until she reached the doorway. She yelled at his back, "You let me know if she's okay, Charles Smith!"

He didn't stop to acknowledge Daisy's request as he focused on his march down the street. He strode in the direction of Irene's apartment, through the lane between the buildings, all the while dread creeping in. When he reached the courtyard, he heard an argument echoing in the opposite direction.

Charles stopped, listening, and thought a moment. Instead of staying on the path to Irene's apartment, he followed his instinct and went towards the voices instead. He turned the corner to another connected alleyway, coming to a halt when he spotted Irene with a stranger ten feet in front of him.

The man had a well-trimmed dark mustache, large forehead, and pale skin. His dress indicated him as well off, but his stance made Charles think he was some kind of thug. The two were face to face, so focused on one another that neither one noticed him.

"I don't have it!" Irene stated heatedly.

"Then where is it?" the man demanded.

"I don't know."

The stranger moved suddenly, clutching Irene by the throat and pushing her against the brick wall. "You're lying. Where, Rena?"

At the sight of Irene being held by the throat and clutching at the man's hand, Charles blurted out, "Let her go."

It was a simple request, spoken low and firmly, but all of his anger simmered under the surface. It took all of his concentration not to strike immediately. To prevent Irene from anymore harm, he chose instead to approach the situation cautiously. He eyed the distance between them and wished he'd grabbed a gun from his apartment. He still had his knife, the one he always kept on him, but could he be fast enough?

"This doesn't concern you, boy," the man spat at him, hardly sparing him a glance.

Irene's panicked eyes met his, and there was no way Charles was abandoning her. He would have to be fast enough without the knife.

It only took three wide strides to reach them. Charles ripped the man off of her and threw him to the ground. The stranger lost his grip on Irene and she collapsed to the ground coughing.

The man was indignant when he regained his feet. "I told you this isn't any of your business!"

Charles whipped around, pulling his knife from his belt and aiming it at the villain. "I'm making it my business."

Thick, dark eyebrows came together while the other man looked Charles up and down, as if to determine how much of a threat he was. He choose to ignore Charles and pointed at Irene. "You'll bring me what I want by tomorrow."

Hand on her throat, Irene answered in a whisper, "That's…not enough time."

"Two days then."

"Three."

"You're pushing it, princess."

"I'll need three," she repeated firmly despite her weakened voice.

"Fine! You can have three days. But if I don't have that jewel in my hand by Sunday morning, the next time I catch up with you, I'm dragging you to the nearest Sheriff's office and collecting the reward on your pretty little head instead."

Charles stepped forward, blocking the man's view of Irene. "It's time for you to leave."

"What are you, her bodyguard?" he sneered. "He's barking up the wrong tree isn't he, Irene?"

Irene looked away, not giving him the pleasure of a reply.

Charles closed in on him. "Get out of here. Now."

The man bared his teeth, entirely too confident in facing Charles. He cut a glance back to Irene. "You know where to find me."

The man sauntered away, Charles keeping a hard eye on him until he turned the corner and left the alley. Charles sheathed his knife and approached Irene. "Are you alright?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "Thank you for stepping in, Charles."

He offered her an arm and helped her stand. Charles glanced again down the alley, to make sure they were still alone. When he looked back to Irene, she was picking up a discarded satchel from the ground. After she did so, she started walking, away from him and down the alley. He didn't expect an immediate explanation necessarily, but neither did he expect her wordless retreat.

"Irene." Charles followed her. "What is this about?"

She didn't stop or look at him as she answered, "Charles, I greatly appreciate your interference, but from here on out, you need to get away from me."

Her words stung like a slap, catching him off-guard. She lifted her satchel strap higher on her shoulder. He noticed then the direction in which she was walking and it wasn't towards her apartment. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Charles. I don't want you any more involved than you already are."

Her evasiveness confused him. He'd never known her as secretive. What had that man said or done to make her so skittish and close-mouthed?

"He wants something from you," Charles stated.

"Yes," she said curtly.

"What are you going to do?"

She finally stopped, and he waited beside her. She took in a breath and faced him. "The only thing I can. I don't know how much you heard, but I can't stick around Saint Denis for a moment longer."

He stared at her, startled at the admission. "You're going on the run?"

"I don't have a choice," she said, her tone desperate, her eyes shining. "You don't understand."

Charles understood enough. Irene was leaving. She was in danger. No matter who that man was, or what his relation was, it didn't bode well. Irene needed someone on her side.

"What can I do?"

"Do?"

"How can I keep you from having to leave?"

She stared searchingly into his eyes, as if wanting to give him a better answer. "I don't think you can."

All of his simple ideas of courting a woman he felt affection for and turning it into the beginnings of something permanent were crumbling before his eyes. Just when this dream was in reach, some unknown force had arose to try to take it away from him.

He couldn't accept that.

Charles stepped towards Irene, unable to stop himself from reaching over to hold her hands. "Will you let me try?"

He sounded rash, even to his own ears. He didn't even know what he was agreeing to, but Irene was worth it. Because when he looked at her, when he held her, he knew he was in the right place. When he gazed into her blue-gray eyes, he saw a future he wanted and he was ready to fight for it.

Irene said hesitantly, "You…really don't know what you're getting into."

"But I know for who. Irene, I…" ….don't want to lose you when we've only just started to know each other in an intimate way... "...can handle myself."

She met his eyes, and he saw the light of hope arise, felt the moment when she passed her faith unto him. "If you don't find it an inconvenience, Charles."

He felt a relieved grin taking over at her acceptance of his involvement. "It is not."

It didn't matter if it was. He was too far taken with her already. There was no situation where he'd allow her to strike out on her own, knowing someone was chasing her, confronting her and threatening her life.

Despite their short acquaintance, Charles was ready to do anything to keep Irene close.