Author's Note: This was written in response to a prompt from an anon on Tumblr requesting Charlie on watch while everyone is sleeping, and hearing Bass say her name in his sleep.

But It's A Conversation I Just Can't Have Tonight

Charlie hated having second watch. Third watch was easy, it was just a matter of getting up a couple of hours early. First watch wasn't bad either, she just had to stay awake an extra couple of hours until it was time to wake her relief. Second watch was hell; it meant that someone came and shook her out of a too-short sleep, usually not long after she'd managed to reach the point of complete relaxation rather than the restless twilight stage where she was on some level still aware of her surroundings. Even worse, Bass had a tendency to take more extreme measures if his target didn't wake quickly enough. He'd never kicked her, but she had woken to water being splashed on her face more than once. Then he'd laughed when she'd cursed at him.

Tonight instead of shaking her he nudged her with the tip of his boot against her backside, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be annoying. She shifted onto her back with growl and rubbed her eyes, blinking up at him. The firelight exaggerated the shadows and angles of his face, lending him the appearance of the monstrous General Monroe that had once fueled her nightmares.

"Get up, Charlotte. It's your watch," he said gruffly.

Without offering her a hand to help her stand, or even waiting to see if she was completely conscious, he walked to his own bedroll, placed well away from the rest of their group. She watched him go, wondering if it was paranoia, self-preservation or just plain avoidance that drove him to sleep separately from the rest. Grumbling softly, she wrapped herself in her bedroll and propped herself against a wagon wheel in front of the fire, mentally beginning the first chapter of The Hobbit in an attempt to stay awake

By the time Gandalf, Bilbo and the dwarves made it to Rivendell, Charlie was nodding off. The heat from the fire, combined with her exhaustion from the day's ride and the remaining alcohol in her system, was making her drowsy. She and Connor had shared stories and a flask all evening while Bass looked on. She'd asked him to tell them stories about what the world was like before the power went out, but he'd declined, giving some bullshit excuse about being too old to remember. Instead he'd drunk steadily from his own flask, smiling occasionally at their antics, but the alcohol seem to have the opposite effect on him than it did on either her or Connor. Where they became increasingly relaxed and silly, Bass instead became pensive.

When she had turned in for the night, he'd acknowledged her with a nod but had been unwilling to meet her eyes. She thought maybe he was still holding a grudge that Duncan had put the mercs under her command rather than his. Stealing his flask seemed like an appropriate punishment, and she needed to stretch her legs anyway. After checking over the rest of the camp to make sure everything was secure, she crept soundlessly over to where Bass lay, as if she were stalking a deer. However, unlike the rest, he was not sleeping quietly; he was instead thrashing occasionally in his bedroll. As she drew nearer, she could hear him muttering faintly.

"No. Don't," he murmured. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Charlie felt a pang of empathy for him. She was only just now getting to the point where she didn't wake screaming more nights than not, either reliving Danny's death, or Nora's, or one of the countless horrible things that had happened over the past year and a half. Being buried alive beneath a mountain of rubble was a frequent one, too.

General Sebastian Monroe suffers from nightmares. Who knew?

Of course, when she thought about it, it made sense. He had likely seen as many horrors as he had committed, and going by what Miles had shared with her, his life before the blackout had been no picnic in the sunshine, either. She abandoned the childish plan to steal what was likely one of his few sources of comfort. Let him have his drink. Sometimes I want to drink away my nightmares, too. She turned to go back to her spot at the wagon, but his next utterance stopped her in her tracks.

"No. No! Charlie!"

His voice was pitched higher this time; her name a cry of despair. She couldn't help herself. Even as she realized it was likely a bad idea, she knelt down beside him and gently shook his shoulder.

"Bass, you ok?"

Without warning he grabbed her upper arms and rolled her under him, pinning her in place with his forearm and body weight. Before she could utter a sound his knife was at her throat instead of in its holster. His eyes darted around furiously, still seeing invisible horrors instead of Charlie or their camp site. His sides were heaving as if he had been running. When he pressed the knife into her skin, Charlie fought the panicked urge to ram her knee into his crotch. Instead, she called his name softly.

"Bass. Bass, look at me."

He did as she asked, but his eyes were still wild, and she could tell he wasn't actually seeing her; he was still lost in his nightmare. She brought her hands up and pressed them gently against the sides of his face, keeping his gaze focused on hers. "It's just me, Bass. It's me. It's Charlie," she said calmly.

The sound of her own name seemed to do the trick; sanity gradually returned to his expression. He flicked his eyes from her face to his knife, which he then he hurled it away. But instead of rolling off of her, he lowered his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder and exhaled deeply. Tentatively, she slid her hands around his shoulders. In response, he tucked one hand behind her head, grasped her waist with the other and tugged, rolling her with him until they were on their sides, her head pillowed on his arm. She could have extricated herself easily if she wanted, but she didn't, yet. They lay that way for several moments, hearts drumming in sync, until Charlie felt compelled to break the silence.

"Bass, what were you-" she began nervously, but he interrupted.

"Charlotte…don't. Either get up and walk away, or shut up and let me hold you for a few more minutes. Your choice," he said in a rough voice edged with exhaustion. His breathing was still ragged, disturbed by whatever he had experienced in his dreamscape. When she didn't move to roll away from him, he shifted his hand to the small of her back and tugged her closer before resting his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.

After a moment of deliberation, Charlie relaxed into his embrace, molding her body to his. There she stayed until his breaths were deep and even. Realizing he'd fallen asleep, she pulled back a fraction and studied his face carefully, searching for a trace of the monster she hated in the man who sought comfort in her arms. Finding none, she explored the lines of his face with her fingertips before leaning in to press her lips gently against his. His fingers tightened reflexively against her back.

"Mmm. Charlie?" he murmured, and the rumble of his voice spurred an electric charge that began in the base of her spine where his hand was splayed and spiraled outward to the rest of her. For a moment, she was tempted.

No thinking. No talking. Just bodies in motion.

But instead, she whispered, "Shh. You're dreaming."

When he was quiet again, she wriggled out of his embrace as carefully as she could so as not to wake him. Then she went back to the wagon to finish her watch and wound up taking Connor's, too.

She had a lot to think about.

*I don't remember if the Lord of the Rings books being one of the textbooks Aaron used is canon or fanon (if it's fanon, I apologize to whomever I stole it from and will give proper credit to you if you let me know)

**Title obviously ripped from Florence and the Machine's "No Light, No Light"

Reviews are love. Constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.