Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the reviews and the follows/favourites and my apologies for how long this has taken to update. I got hit with some writers block and then went on a trip to Italy over the holidays to visit family. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season, whatever you celebrate! All the best for 2017!

Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox. The only thing I own are my OCs.

And as always, my apologies for any grammar or spelling errors. I read it through multiple times and edited before posting, but things always slip through.

El Paso, Texas

August, 1997

The fire was crackling in the grate as she moved through the quiet house, the hardwood creaking quietly under the weight of her sock feet.

The Choi ranch was a comfortable place to be, an enormous custom-built house that was full of rustic wooden cabinets and tables that Oscar had crafted himself…plush armchairs and leather couches with hilariously mismatched pillows…and a beautiful stone fireplace in almost every room.

There were cowboy hats on every wall-hook and boots on every mat.

The large barn and stable at the back of the house were home to beautiful stallions and mares that, when the weather was nice, ran freely across the property and grazed in nearby fields.

It was like a scene from a movie, and whenever Charlotte was able to spend time there, she always was the better for it.

She'd arrived in El Paso only half an hour before and in usual Oscar fashion he'd wasted no time in welcoming her to humble little abode, as he always put it. He'd given her a great big hug inside the front door and then, like any good host, had helped her carry her bag up the long winding staircase to the second floor.

Charlotte stayed in the same bedroom every time she visited—the second largest bedroom at the end of the hall—but nine times out of ten she always ended up falling asleep on the couch, her and Oscar staying up all night watching re-runs of their favourite old TV shows.

The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Abbott and Costello.

The Andy Griffith Show.

And Charlotte's absolute favourite, Bewitched—which Oscar always grumbled about but deep down loved even more than she did.

Pulling her sweater jacket tighter around herself in an effort to ward off the chill in the air, Charlotte stepped down off the final step of the staircase and made her way into the kitchen, where she immediately spotted Oscar standing at the counter. He was stirring the contents of two large mugs and must've sensed her watching him because he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Wonderin' where you got to." He nodded down at the mugs. "Whipped cream or marshmallows?"

"Does it make me a pig to say both?"

"No, it makes you smart." Crossing the floor to the fridge, Oscar glanced back at her as he retrieved the whipped cream. "So are you gonna tell me about him?"

"About who?"

"About who, she asks. The new boyfriend. Mister Muscles. He's a paramedic, right?"

"No, he's a fireman"

Oscar laughed as he slid the mug of hot chocolate towards her, muttering an amused sounding, "My mistake," as he leaned down and rested his arms on the surface of the counter. "How come you didn't bring him to the crew barbecue last weekend? Good opportunity to introduce him to everyone, don't you think? No pressure, good food, lots of witnesses."

She took a careful sip of her hot chocolate. "I thought about it but you know what Harry is like. It would probably be better to let him meet Shep on his own first—"

"Shep? His name is Shep?"

"—might go over better, you know?"

"Elvis had a dog named Shep."

Trying desperately not to smile and failing miserably, Charlotte shook her head at him. "See? It's stuff like that that keeps the new dude-friends away from crew events."

She crossed the room and folded her leg underneath herself as she sat down on the leather couch beside the fireplace. Oscar was laughing as he threw himself down in the armchair beside her, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Come on now, Charlie. You know I'm only teasing." He smiled at her. "As long as you're happy, my girl, that's all we care about."

"Thanks, Oz, but you know that you're the only one that makes me happy these days."

At her words his face softened, the teasing sparkle in his eyes fading, and when he spoke again, she could hear that his voice had softened as well. "Shep doesn't make you happy?"

"He tries." She shrugged a shoulder. "But to be honest, I'm not really making it easy for him."

The fact that she was romantically-challenged wasn't a secret. Her numerous failed relationships were often a source endless entertainment whenever someone on their crew was bored enough to bring it up. It wasn't that she was hard to please or difficult to get along with; on the contrary, she was as laid back as they come. She just had a habit of getting involved with men that were either too clingy or too independent. She needed someone right smack dab in the middle.

Was 'Shep the fireman' that man? She'd known right away that he wasn't. So why had she gotten involved with him in the first place?

Bear said it was because he was a good cook. 'That's all firefighters do, right? Cook and sleep?'

AJ said it was due to his…prowess in the bedroom. 'He's probably like one of those kiddie rides at the supermarket; you put a quarter in him and he just goes.'

Charlotte, for her part, didn't really know. Maybe she was with him just for the sake of being with someone? Maybe she liked the idea of him as opposed to the reality?

Oscar hesitated for a moment before letting out a measured breath and moving to sit forward in his chair.

Deep conversations were a common thing between the two of them when Charlotte visited the ranch; they gave each other advice, listened to problems, and ranted and raved about their co-workers or family whenever it was needed. Oscar's house was a safe place where they knew that they could speak freely and sometimes that was all a person needed.

After a second, he said, "I don't think you really believe that. You've got so much love in you…just gotta find the right person." He nudged her knee affectionately. "There's no rush, y'know. You got plenty of time."

She knew that she would never be able to convey to him how much his words meant so she settled for a big smile; he seemed to understand her silent message because he bashfully shrugged his shoulders and looked down towards the floor. After a moment, she asked, "And what about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"She's a veterinarian, right? Helps you with the horses?"

He groaned. "How'd you find out about that?"

"Completely by accident." Oscar made a face at her and she couldn't help but chuckle, watching as his face got redder and redder by the second. "I took Pie out for a ride the last time I was here and met her when I brought him back to the barn. She was sweet…kinda had a Daisy Duke vibe about her—"

"Oh, don't say that, please—"

"Big floppy hat, blonde pig-tails, denim shorts."

He let out a long breath and leaned back, resting his arms on the arms of his chair. "Well…you said it best—you're the only one that makes me happy these days."

"But she's so cute! What's her name again?"

"Denise."

"Denise!" Charlotte held her arms up in the air, as if to say come on. "Denise. The veterinarian from El Paso who makes her living helping baby colts learn to walk. I mean, really, how Disney princess is that?"

"You're dating a muscled fireman named Shep, ok? Let's not compare stereotypes."

The two of them shared a hearty laugh before falling into companionable silence.

The popping and whizzing of the fire in the otherwise quiet house, coupled with the comfortable couch and the sweet hot chocolate, brought a wave of relaxation crashing down over them. She could hear the wind-chimes tinkling cheerfully on the front porch and the distant sounds of horses whinnying in the back field…the sound of wind echoing in the home's high rafters…the rhythmic way that Oscar was drumming his hands on the leather arms of his chair.

She didn't even realize it when her eyes slipped shut.

The next thing she was vaguely aware of was Oscar taking the mug from her hands before gently lifting her into his arms, the comforting smells in his shirt—freshly cut grass and well-oiled leather—lulling her even further into sleep as he carried her up the stairs.

Houston, Texas

Johnson Space Center

The sudden camera flash made white spots appear behind Charlotte's eyes and she tried desperately to blink them away.

The press room at the Johnson Space Center was nearly bursting at the seams with the world press and from her place at the table—seated somewhat securely between Chick and AJ—she tried hard to ignore the roiling sensation in her stomach.

They'd been given less than an hour with their families and friends out on the tarmac before armed Air Force guards had gathered them all up and escorted them to a nearby bus, military rifles slung over their shoulders and stern expressions on their faces. Despite the definite air of celebration that had surrounded them after landing, the ride back to the base was heavy, sad, and silent.

She'd made it. She'd survived.

AJ. Bear. Rockhound. Chick. Watts. Sharp.

But Oscar hadn't. Noonan hadn't. Max hadn't. Harry hadn't.

Even though she was relieved that all was said and done, she wasn't going to feel like celebrating for a very long time.

She saw Truman and Sharp exchanging a few quiet words before the former bravely stepped up to the podium—the latter taking his seat at Truman's right—and the entire room erupted. Reporters sprang from their chairs, waving their recorders in the air, and for the shortest instant, Charlotte didn't know whether or not the Executive Director was going to get control.

However, with the air of a man who had been cornered at that microphone a thousand times, he raised his hands in the air and spoke loudly over the chaos. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, take your seats so we can get started. Time is short and we have a lot to get through, so let's try and keep this as organized as possible, shall we?"

And to her great surprise, much like a kindergarten class that had been called to attention, the press core slowly took their seats, each person watching Truman expectantly as he waited for complete silence.

After a few seconds, he cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering here on such short notice. We know that many of you have travelled a great distance to be here and we appreciate your efforts in sharing this truly…inspiring story with the world." He looked thoughtfully around the room before saying, "Looking around this room and seeing the diverse press core that we have here today, I'm reminded just how far reaching this ordeal has been—the United States, France, Japan, Canada. Every country in the world has been affected by what has gone on here the last few days, and if you'll indulge me, I'm going to take a few moments to explain in detail our process—"

"Mr. Truman!" A female reporter popped up from her chair, a French lilt in her voice. "My sources tell me that President Sheppard ordered a surface detonation but that Mission Commander Sharp disobeyed that order. Can you confirm?"

Charlotte could feel the tension in the Colonel from halfway down the table, and when she turned her head to look at him, she immediately saw the hard set of his jaw.

Sharp's eyes were set on Truman and she could tell that he was just aching to stand up and shoot back, to explain himself; but Truman didn't seem to notice, instead shaking his head and raising a hand. "Elise, I appreciate that you have questions, but that's not where we're starting, ok?"

"Will you address it?"

"If the Colonel wants to speak to it, we will of course give him that opportunity." The reporter went to sit down but Truman called out to her and she froze on the spot. "But let's not lose sight of why we're here. Mission Commander Sharp, as well as the rest of our team, just pulled off an amazing feat. We all owe them our lives and that is not an exaggeration. He doesn't need to explain himself to anyone…especially anyone in this room."

With an expression on her face that was both surprised and insulted, she took her seat again.

Truman let out a long breath and rested his arms tiredly on the podium. He seemed to recognise the harsh turn the press conference had taken and Charlotte could almost see his defensive hackles lowering. He'd come to the defence of his lone-surviving Colonel and his atypical mother-bear protectiveness made her feel a kind of security that she hadn't felt in that room before that moment.

"There's something that I'd like you all to understand—" Truman's eyes scanned the room as he spoke, his face serious. "The conditions that this group of astronauts dealt with, what they encountered on that asteroid…none of us here will ever experience or understand. They are more than just a team of civilians that we gathered up and threw into a shuttle. They are a family, in every sense of the word. The initial mission report and press-packets that you all received the day before yesterday made note of the crew members that didn't make it home. They gave their lives for this mission. Decisions were made and I know that our team members, our entire organisation, stand by those decisions." He let out a thoughtful breath. "We send astronauts, pilots, commanders into space because human beings have a moral barometer that unmanned vehicles, that machines, don't have. We rely on them to look at the bigger picture, to look at a situation and make the choices that we would never want to make ourselves." He motioned towards Sharp and said, "Commander Sharp is one of the most experienced officers that we have at NASA. His record is beyond reproach and his abilities are second to none. I trust him completely and I know that President Sheppard does as well."

There was a definite hush that had fallen over the room as Truman spoke and Charlotte found herself almost mesmerised at his words, at the unabashed sincerity in his voice.

Here was a man that had suffered right along with them, from the moment they'd been recruited until that very moment in the press room. He'd stayed up with them, cried with them, screamed with them, mourned with them. As far as Charlotte was concerned, he was the one person at NASA that they'd really trusted, that had had their best interests at heart, in spite of the obvious political pressures.

He'd defended and protected them as best he could and that was reason enough for Charlotte to adore him.

Over the next forty-five minutes, Truman and Flight Director Clark took turns at the podium speaking about the mission and taking the occasional question. Charlotte simply sat there in silence wringing her hands, counting down the minutes until it was over. She hated being in that room and on display for the press, for the countless cameras and the billions of people that were most likely watching. She understood the need for it but that didn't take away from the fact that she'd rather be anywhere else.

They had memorial services to plan and a wedding to organise. She wanted to move forward, honor her family, and put the entire ordeal behind her.

She took the opportunity to look around the room at the sea of faces. The reporters obviously wanted to hear from the crew, wanted to get their firsthand accounts of what had happened in space, but Truman had guaranteed them that they wouldn't have to speak. "You guys have done enough," he'd said. "We'll take the questions."

Charlotte's eyes settled on a particular group of reporters and her heart leapt suddenly up into her throat.

Standing there amongst the press, nearly hidden behind a camera tripod, was her mother.

It had been years since Charlotte had last seen the woman but she knew deep down in her gut that it was her. The long honey-colored hair and green eyes that she'd inherited…the familiar scar above her right eyebrow from when she fell while trying to teach her daughter how to rollerblade…and the most recognizable, the silver chain around her neck that Charlotte remembered playing with when she was little.

Everything around her seemed to grind down to a halt, as if she'd been submerged head-first in water. She was no longer paying attention to what the reporters were asking or how Truman was responding…she couldn't focus, couldn't look at anything else but the woman standing at the back of the room. When the two of them locked eyes for the first time in over a decade, Charlotte had to make a conscious effort to keep herself from erupting from her chair and either shouting or storming out. The last thing she needed to do, or wanted to do, was to give the press even more drama to report on than what they already had.

Her emotions were coursing through her veins like scalding hot water and it must've been obvious to those that were sitting near her because Chick, who had barely moved a muscle since they'd sat down, discreetly slid his right hand across the surface of the table, his fingers wrapping themselves around her forearm.

She knew without looking at him that he'd spotted her mother in the crowd as well and it was obvious from his body language that he was channeling all of the disgust for her that Harry had expressed over the years.

Harry was a quiet man, steely-eyed and serious most days; however, those that knew him best knew that that wasn't always the case. When it came to the people he loved, his family and friends, there was a fire in him that burned with more ferocity than most were capable of expressing. On the flip side of that fiery passion was hatred, a genuine blinding hatred directed at anyone that hurt someone he cared for or threatened what he'd worked so hard to build.

Her mother, quote-unquote, embodied both of those things.

And as if she hadn't wished for it enough since returning home, she wished, more than anything, that Harry was there beside her. Her was her net, her safety blanket…he would look out for her when she either forgot to or couldn't look out for herself.

She desperately wanted her father back.

She realised once again that she hadn't been paying attention to what had been happening around her and she forced herself to focus on Truman's voice, pulling her eyes from her mother.

"—couple of weeks. Obviously, rebuilding the structural damage in France and China is among our top priorities going forward, and from what I understand, our government has pledged to assist however we can. It would be prudent to direct questions regarding our international involvement to the White House press secretary, she'll have more information for you than I do."

A reporter with a Canadian flag pin on his jacket held up his hand politely and Truman acknowledged him with a nod. "So what can the people expect from NASA and the Air Force over the next couple of days?"

"The next few days for us are going to be strictly internal. Now that we have our quarantine and associated medical exams completed, we'll be taking the time to get our crew debriefed."

"And what will that involve?"

"Everything from extended medical treatment to counseling, if our doctors deem it necessary. It's a large part of NASA's programming to help astronauts assimilate back into society in a way that is healthy and productive following extended space travel. Given what this particular crew has been through, that's even more important now. We'll work closely with them and their families to make sure that once they leave the base they have everything they need."

"Will there be a funeral service for Colonel Davis and Pilot Tucker?"

Truman hesitated slightly before placing a hand over his microphone and leaning down towards Sharp, whispering something quickly in his ear. The Colonel nodded and slowly stood from his chair to the sound of shutter clicks and bright camera flashes.

Charlotte took comfort in his calm face and his steady hands as he cleared his throat, his smooth voice echoing throughout the room. "Mr. Truman thought it best that I speak to this. Colonel Davis and myself have known each other for a very long time, and due to that, I've been in direct contact with his family. His wife and son are obviously devastated at his loss and have requested time to grieve. Once they're ready, NASA and the Air Force will work with them to organize a memorial that best suits his memory. From what I understand, the same offer has been extended to Pilot Tucker's wife and parents."

The French reporter from before—Elise, if Charlotte remembered correctly—stood up and waved her hand, not waiting for acknowledgement before asking, "Colonel, are you willing to speak about the order the President gave, or—"

"For the record, yes. President Sheppard gave an order for a surface detonation. And yes, I disobeyed it." Almost every reporter stood from their chair and Charlotte watched as Truman quickly moved to Sharp's side, the two men speaking quietly again. Whatever Truman said it was obvious that Sharp wasn't having it—he shook his head and turned back towards the babbling crowd. "As Mr. Truman said earlier, we make decisions and we stand by them. I made my decision as Mission Commander and I stand by it. I think the President understands that. However, on a personal note, I have to say that I find this particular line of questioning irrelevant at this point. We were given a job and we succeeded. People gave their lives and because of their sacrifices humanity lives to see another day. Does anything else really matter?"

Truman placed a comforting hand on Sharp's shoulder and leaned towards the microphone, saying, "And that'll be all for now. Thank you for coming."

And with that they all stood from their chairs, Charlotte's eyes flashing back towards her mother as they filed out of the noisy room.

The second they stepped out into the main hallway, she heard it.

"Charlotte!"

Her mother's voice.

"Charlotte, please!"

With a tingling feeling shooting up and down her spine she came to a slow stop and turned around, her eyes falling on the woman herself as she fought against an armed guard that was keeping the press and the public back behind the barricades.

Her mind and stomach were still roiling uncomfortably when a familiar hand came down on her shoulder, making her jump. Her panic-stricken green eyes connected with Grace's loving blue ones and it instantly brought on a calmness that Charlotte was very thankful for. She let out a breath, sending her sister a somewhat nervous smile. "I can't believe she's here."

"I saw her in the crowd."

"What in the hell is she doing here? What makes her think I want her here? Today of all days."

"She's here because I called her."

The smile immediately faded from Charlotte's face, the feeling of calm being pushed out by an overwhelming feeling of betrayal. The entire crew, as well as guards and reporters, had their eyes on the two of them and she made sure to speak quietly, wanting to keep private matters private. "You called her? Why?" Grace opened her mouth to speak but Charlotte spoke over her. "Why would you do that? You know how I feel."

"I did it because I thought that it was the right thing to do." Grabbing hold of Charlotte's arm, Grace pulled her to the side of the hallway, as far away from the reporters as they could get. Her tone was unapologetic as she said, "You'd been hurt, we'd lost Oscar and Noonan—I just figured that with everything that was happening…maybe it would be the nudge that you needed to patch things up."

"I don't want to patch things up, Grace. You know how this feels, your mom left you and Harry when you were how old? You've been through it."

"You're right, I have."

"So why?"

"Because while you were up there? I was down here. We lost so many people, Charlie. And sometimes? We have to be reminded of what's most important in life." She nodded her head towards Theresa, who was still arguing with the guard. "She's here. She came. Isn't it worth talking about at least?"

Charlotte pulled her eyes from Grace's and glanced down the hallway, her gaze falling briefly on her mother before it shifted over to Sharp who was standing a short distance away with Truman and Flight Director Clark.

It was obvious that there was a conversation taking place amongst the three of them that Will was supposed to be participating in, but his attention was focused on her instead. There was a question in his eyes—are you all right?—and she waved a hand at him, trying to reassure him from a distance.

She had enough to worry about at that moment, she didn't think she could stand having to introduce Sharp to her very estranged mother.

Grace nudged her arm gently and sent her a smile. "Go talk to her and see what happens. If you decide that taking it further isn't what you want? Then at least you'll know."

Charlotte stood there for a second, moving nervously from foot to foot.

Her gut was telling her to walk away, to let sleeping dogs lie. Theresa had left. She'd made that choice, and not once over the following ten years did she make any kind of effort to reconnect. And it's not like Charlotte could've even if she'd wanted to—she didn't know where her mother was, it was like she'd fallen off the face of the earth. Her heart, on the other hand, was telling her to give it a chance. She didn't know what the future was going to bring; she didn't know what was going to happen over the next few weeks, months, or years. There might come a time where she was thankful to have her mother around. With both of her fathers gone, who else did she have left?

With a quick mental shake to clear her head, she took a few measured steps across the floor. There were several sets of eyes on her, some familiar and some not, and she tried to keep her own eyes forward.

Theresa was still arguing with the armed guard and the moment Charlotte was close enough she tapped the young man on the shoulder, saying, "It's all right, you can let her through."

"Mr. Truman said no one gets through without a badge."

"It's all right, she's…my mother."

The guard simply nodded his head and moved aside, leaving the two women standing face-to-face for the first time in over ten years.

Despite how angry she was, there was a very small part of her buried deep down in the pit of her stomach that just wanted to hug her mother; that just wanted to fall into the arms that she'd been longing for since the day her mother had left. But it had been a heartbroken teenage girl that had longed for those arms, not the livid twenty-six year old woman that was standing there now.

If a long-term relationship was the ultimate goal, than Theresa had her work cut out for her.

Swallowing hard, Charlotte asked, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Waiting."

The familiar sound of Theresa's voice set Charlotte's teeth on edge slightly and she swallowed hard. "Waiting for what?"

"For this." With a watery smile on her face, Theresa hesitantly reached a hand out and ran her fingers over the embroidered name tag on Charlotte's flight suit. Even though there were multiple layers of clothes between Theresa's hand and the skin of Charlotte's sternum, the younger woman was sure she could feel her skin burning. The contact felt strange, forced, and she had to make a conscious effort to stop herself from shaking her mother's hand off of her. "I saw you on television. What you did...it was amazing. I know that your father would've been very proud of you."

"Yeah, well, it's too bad he died before my big debut."

If Charlotte weren't so furious she probably would've been appalled at how harsh her own voice sounded and how horrible her words were, but the fact that she'd grown into a strong Stamper woman since the last time the two of them had spoken made it much easier. She felt no guilt or shame for what she was saying or how she was saying it. Theresa had given up the right to inspire those feelings in her years ago and since that time, Charlotte had become far more selective of who she shared that part of herself with.

It was obvious that her words and her admittedly callous tone had cut her mother deep based on Theresa's physical reaction; her eyes dimmed and the small smile that had been there fell slightly as she moved awkwardly from foot to foot. After a second, she said, "I've been meaning to get in touch with you, I just…I didn't know what to say."

Reaching into her purse and pulling out her wallet, Theresa flipped it open and held it out for Charlotte to see. With a pang of sadness, she recognised the faded old photo almost immediately; it was the same picture that her father—Andrew—used to keep on the desk in his office. A photo of a six year old Charlotte sitting on the carpet in their living room, her long hair in a loose ponytail as she cheerfully played with crayons. "I look at this picture every day, it's my favourite one of you."

The familiar image did nothing but remind her that her father had died without knowing where his wife was or why she'd left.

Andrew Scofield had been a tough man, emotionally and physically, after years spent in the military. He'd travelled the world and trained with the best of them—having even spent some time in the boxing ring in his younger days—but none of that had prepared him for the fight he'd face later in life. Abandoned by his wife, separated from everything and everyone he knew after being discharged from the service, and a truly brutal cancer diagnosis had brought one of the strongest men Charlotte had ever known to his knees. He'd died a shell of what he once was, and while she logically knew that his physical illness wasn't Theresa's fault, everything else that her father had gone through certainly was.

"That's like loving a puppy, that's easy." Charlotte quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not that kid anymore, I grew up."

"Charlotte, I know that I hurt you and your father…and I know that I have no right to be here. But when Grace called…I thought, I hoped, that maybe we'd be able to start over? Maybe get to know one another again?" She reached back into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper, tentatively holding it out. "I'm staying in Houston. If you want to get together and talk—"

Charlotte opened her mouth to say 'thanks but no thanks' but snapped her mouth shut when Chick appeared beside her, his hand resting protectively on her lower back. "Charlie? Sorry to interrupt but Truman's sayin' we gotta go." He looked over and tossed a quiet "Nice to see you, Theresa," at Charlotte's mother as an afterthought.

Theresa, for her part, let out a breath. It was obvious that she was trying hard to smile. "Hi Chick."

"Wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Well, you know me, I'm full of surprises."

"Yeah, ain't that the truth." The two of them stared at each other like a couple of gunslingers before he redirected his eyes back to Charlotte, giving the younger woman a nod of encouragement. "Come on, kid, we got a busy afternoon ahead of us."

And without another word, Charlotte slipped the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of her flight suit and let Chick lead her away, the two of them joining up silently with the others as they were escorted back out to the bus.

END