"Oh my god", Charlie barely breathed the words as she watched the soldiers burn. She slid her gaze to Monroe, "Oh my god," she mouthed again.

His eyes moved lazily from her, to his gun, to the dying men and returned to meet her troubled stare, "Aaron," he mouthed.

Charlie sunk into the rubble that she said been hiding behind. She leaned her head back and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. It was always the same, just as everything was starting to make sense again, the whole world shifted around her. She noticed movement in the corner of her eye.

Monroe lowered himself beside her, shoulder resting against hers, and sunk beneath the line of rubble, still weary of attack. "Let's see who we can find," he murmured in her hear. His voice was a steady balance between grim amusement and desperate concern for his friend.

Charlie wrapped her fingers tightly around her gun and rose to her feet slowly. Once standing straight she glared at him, daring him stand up above the line of safety.

They stepped softly past the now still and charred bodies; she, desperate to look everywhere else for unlikely survivors, and he, morbidly fascinated by their sudden death.

She raised her arm to silence him as she heard movement further down the corridor and listened; the sound of feet dragging against the floor and the dull thud of over-burdened footsteps reached her ears. "Mom?" she whispered into the quiet, pressing her back against the wall to look around and down the corridor.

"Wait." Monroe's urgent whisper accompanied a firm grasp on her wrist. "Let me look." It was out of place, for him to take the lead. It wasn't easy to remember that he was as concerned about Miles as she was.

He stepped forward, flat against the wall, against Charlie, reaching to glance around the corner. In a moment, he had stepped out into the open, arms wide and gun held slackly.

"Great to see you alive Rachel, what on earth have you done to Miles?"

Charlie jerked out from behind the wall, "Mom?" then she caught sight of the body she dragged, "Miles?!" She ran towards them and helped support his body. "He needs a doctor."

"Not likely to happen, we can't go back to Willoughby."

Charlie rolled her gaze to her mother, struck by the truth of it, "but, other towns must have doctors?"

"Not as skilled as your Grandpa, Charlie."

"Better than nothing," Monroe's strained voice betrayed the stubborn distance displayed in his posture.

"Wanna help us, General?" She hadn't been so callous towards him in weeks, but the sight of her uncle so weak had her on edge.

Monroe reached out to gently lift Miles over his shoulder, both Rachel and Charlie looking on with little help to offer.

It was fifteen miles to the nearest town, but the day had just begun and they had no time to waste.

"Aaron," Charlie whispered as they left the buildings of the old High School.

"Fine." Monroe's voice was saturated with impatience, "you two stay and find that defenceless waste of all our energy, I'll get Miles fixed up."

"I won't leave him." Rachel's voice was lined with determination and Charlie breathed out slowly as she regarded her thoughtfully. Something must have happened.

"I'll stay." Her eyes still fixed on Rachel's expression.

"Okay, Charlotte, you look for Aaron."

"I'll meet you in town."

"I'll come back for you," she met his eyes and was surprised by their intensity.

"Okay," her jaw set as she nodded and turned back towards the school.

ooo

Monroe placed one foot in front of the other carefully and silently. She would be around here somewhere, it made sense to start in the middle and work out; Aaron and Cynthia had arrived in the school before anyone else, so would most likely be found in the centre of the circle of surrounding Patriots. He heard a sharp intake of breath, a sudden response belonging to Charlie. His steady pace quickened, examining each turn quickly as he went.

Turning the third corner on the right, he saw Charlie, her figure slumped and gun lowered. Monroe advanced with caution.

Before he had reached her, she turned, sensing his presence. "She's dead and he's gone. I guess everything, all this," she gestured back down the corridors where the patriot bodies lay, "must have spooked him." Monroe reached her side as she spoke. "Not sure where we find him now. He's run away so many times but I reckon this must be it now."

Monroe didn't have an answer, but reached out and clenched his hand around her tense arm, "C'mon Charlotte, let's get into town and see how Miles is doing."

"Can't we at least bury her?" Her question was quieter than a whisper.

ooo

"Charlie, you say? Yes, you mother said you'd be here. She said you'd be here with a man old enough to be your father." Monroe scowled, his hand still tightly clamped around Charlie's arm, guiding her, supporting her, checking her pulse was still going. She'd not spoken as he dug the grave, just crouched on the ground to weave twigs into a cross. He'd not noticed that much affection between Charlie and Aaron, but it must be there.

They entered the small public room her mother had rented for the night and Charlie let out a snort, "I'm glad he's gonna be okay, but, is this room all you could get?"

"Gonna be pretty crowded by the looks of things," He slowly let go of her arm, he didn't need to guide her anywhere any more, and briefly brushed passed the skin on her forearm.

Rachel's eyes were trained on the unconscious Miles. "If you're bothered about the space, there's a second room next door," her preoccupation with Miles numbing her awareness of her daughter.

Monroe followed Charlie into the adjoining room and held her gaze when she suddenly turned to face him. "Didn't fancy sharing a room with Mom and Miles, huh?"

"Not really."

She raised her right hand to clasp her left shoulder, around where he had been gripping earlier. He had been so set on guiding her home he hadn't thought much of the extended contact. She had.

"You came back twice."

He frowned, "what?"

"Today, at the school. You left and came back for me twice." He dipped his head slightly, nodding as he understood, but said nothing in reply. "Mattress or couch?" There was no bed in this room, Rachel had decided Miles was most deserving of a bed.

"Couch, and you can have the blanket too." He sank onto the seat and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Thanks," her voice was strained. They'd spent nights in close proximity before, in the swimming pool, on the journey to Willoughby. But there was something about being in a room, four walls and a ceiling that made her tense.

ooo

The shot tore through his body. His strength buckled under Emma's dead weight. The cold night air stung his watering eyes as he let her sink to the ground.

He woke up in the dark, tensing his muscles as his eyes adjusted. He turned his head to see Charlie lying on the mattress. She lay on her back, with her face turn away from him. She must have been restless at some point earlier in the night because the blanket was bunched up around her stomach, doing little to keep her warm.

Her worn boots and leather jacket lay on the floor next to the mattress, the skin on her arms bruised and marked against the dull white sheets. Would she have been like Emma, he wondered, if the world had gone differently? He bit the inside of his cheeks, that was a complicated place to go.

Probably not. He couldn't imagine anything that would have turned Emma into a fighter, no amount of pain would ever cause Emma to hunt a man down and shoot an arrow in the night.

"He was the only one left." Her voice was barely audible, but echoed around his head. How long had she been lying awake? Had she heard his nightmares?

"Left of what?"

"Home," the word struck him like a blow to the stomach, "the village we lived in, before going after Danny. He's the only one left from there. Everyone else, well, they're not there anymore are they?" Monroe stared intently at her bruised arms, lost for anything to say. "I barely remember Mom, she doesn't really feel like a part of that home anymore. So it's just me and Aaron. We could try and track him, but so many people went to that school yesterday, I don't know how we would do it."

"Charlotte, I –" he stopped short as he noticed her getting up and reaching for her boots. "Going somewhere?"

"We came through a bar to get here didn't we? By the sounds of it, it's a twenty-four hour place. You coming?" She asked as she reached the second door, the one that would take them to the hallway, rather than the adjoining room. He caught up with her on the staircase.

"Double whiskey," she purred as the lowered herself onto a bar stool

"Two, please," he lowered onto the stool next to her. "I don't think many people are left who can think of home anymore." She looked sideways at him, she'd been there, she'd seen Emma die. Monroe returned her gaze and then slid his focus to look over her shoulder. A group of men crowded a small table of empty pint glasses and leered at the view of Charlie's bare arms and low-rise jeans. She noticed him sudden clench his fist and tension shot through her body.

"What is it?" she mutter under her breath.

Monroe forced himself to relax his hand, "Charlotte, I don't know if you remember what happened last time you and I were in the same bar."

She felt her body relax and she rolled her eyes and lifted her glass to her lips. She closed her eyes as the warmth flowed down her throat. "That was the first time you came back for me."

ooo

Two whiskey glasses sat on the bar either side of an almost empty bottle.

"What was it like, growing up with electricity?"

He searched his inebriated mind for memories to share and he swallowed back some drink, "For starters, whiskey used to come with ice in it." The corners of Charlie's mouth pulled up slightly. "I rode a motorbike when I was a teenager" his eyes were directed at Charlie, but glazed over and thoughtful.

"There was an old, rusty one in the village. Danny and I used to play on it when we were kids." At the mention of her brother, Monroe's eyes focused on her face intently, but there was no sign on anger or blame in her expression. She smiled as she continued remembering, "There was an old Ferris wheel I used to go to, mostly when I was mad at Dad."

"Fairgrounds," he muttered wistfully, "I remember fairgrounds. Miles and I would go and win big on the shooting games."

Charlie scoffed as she drank, "cheats."

Monroe ground his teeth and in response to her questioning look leaned in close, his rough breath brushing her cheek, "your fan club's growing, Charlotte."

She slowly turned to glance over her shoulder and as she turned back, sustained the closeness of his face defiantly. She rose an eyebrow and she spoke and smirked, "reckon you can take them, Bass?"

He smiled, "I'm not going to try." They were a still for a moment, then Charlie sat back and reached for the whiskey bottle, making light work of the remaining drink, straight from the bottle. She stood up and made her way to the staircase.

Monroe watched her for a moment, then slowly rose to follow. As he reached her side he casually slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently into his side, "might as well let them know there's no chance you'll be on your own tonight."

She breathed in a faint laugh, "Isn't there?"

He shot one last cutting look at the group of men as they turned a corner on the staircase, "no, there isn't."