There are ten finalists for MissAlex's and Larin20's Stache Riders OneShot Challenge. This is one of them.

Details/rules of this contest can be found on the Stache Rider's main profile page.

If you leave a review, that is your vote.

You are only allowed to review/vote for ONE of the ten stories so please read all ten before you make your final decision.

***VOTING ENDS Wednesday October 7, 2009 AT 8PM (EST)***

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TITLE: Charlie's Hidden Passion

AUTHOR: chels926

Anyone who personally knew Charlie Swan would never have guessed that he hid a secret, a burning passion that dwelt inside him, one that remained dormant for months out of the year. Once a year, however, Charlie Swan was able to unleash that passion onto the world.

The young, new police officer from the small, rainy town of Forks, Washington was quite a stud in his mid-twenties. His long, dark hair fell to his shoulders with such volume that would make even Fabio jealous. The full mustache below his straight nose framed those luscious lips. His brown eyes held a spark that said, "Hey. I'm Chuck, and I'm here to party." Many girls fawned over the young officer, but he had never been interested in the girls in Forks. No, he had his heart set on someone else.

One Friday afternoon in early April in 1986, Charlie left the small police station quickly, happy that he could start the weekend early. It was the weekend for which he had been waiting for many months. His heart sped in excitement at the prospects that the next few days could and would hold for him.

Adjusting his killer shades, Charlie hopped onto his bike – the steel stallion that made the chicks go crazy. Checking that he had all of his paraphernalia within the bag on his back and that his sleeping bag was attached, he cranked the throttle and sped off down the winding road, leaving a trail of dust and the smell of diesel fuel behind him.

The ride to Tacoma was exhilarating. Charlie loved the feeling of the wind in his face, blowing his hair back behind him. Although he was a cop, he still exceeded the speed limit, feeling invincible in his new black leather riding jacket. Knowing the directions by heart, Charlie pulled off the main road onto a small gravel road. The drive would stretch for miles into the green, Washington wilderness, he knew, but he was getting close. He could feel it in his veins. He was going home.

Finding a parking space was easier with a motorcycle than it would have been with a car. Being a rebel, Charlie decided to make his own parking space at the front of the lot. No one was going to ticket him, for fuck's sake. He would dispute it, after all. He was a goddamn cop. Everyone here knew not to mess with Chuck Swan.

Looking up at the sign, he sighed affectionately. Washington State Renaissance Faire, the sign read in its old, scripted letters. After a year's wait, the weekend had finally arrived. Grabbing the large bag from the back of his motorcycle, he made his way towards the bank of port-a-potties to the side of the parking lot. He couldn't arrive at a renaissance festival dressed in his 1980s attire, after all. He needed to travel back in time to the 1570s, and the port-a-potty was the only way.

Stripping off his pants, shirt, and jacket, he stuffed them into the sac and pulled out his costume. The dark red tights went splendidly with the black tunic, black pointed shoes, black floppy hat, and red sash. Putting on the costume, Charlie felt as if he had become a different man. This was not the badass cop from Forks, Washington. This was Charles, Duke of Something-shire.

Leaving the port-a-potty, Charles breathed a deep breath of fresh air and continued on to the registration tent, bag and sleeping bag in hand. Entering the festival, he saw that there were several familiar faces in the crowds, all dressed as wenches, elves, jesters, knights, princesses, or fairies.

"Charles! Blimey, you're finally here!" a horrible replication of a British accent took Charlie from his thoughts and made him turn around swiftly. The man at the registration tent, Quil Ateara, was dressed a court jester in his green and white costume. Jingling bells were attached to the three-pointed hat atop his head, making that beautiful noise every time Quil's head moved even an inch. Charlie knew Quil back in Forks, but neither of them mentioned their love for renaissance festivals. Here, they were completely different people.

"Quilliam, yes I am here," Charlie said with a bow. He always decided to keep his American accent, realizing that he didn't want to sound as pretentious as some people sounded with their fake accents.

"Right," Quil replied, getting back to business. "You're here for two nights and will be renting a tent, I assume. Correct?"

"That's right," Charlie responded. After making the necessary financial exchanges and saying a quick goodbye to his friend, he took his bag, the sleeping bag, and his rented tent and walked through the fair to the campground on the other side.

The faux English village looked as if it had been transplanted from the 16th century, with a few exceptions, of course. The metal bleachers surrounding the tournament field were obviously recent inventions, as were the popcorn machines in the snack tent and the dunk tank and other festival games. Charlie chose to ignore these anachronisms, however, and just enjoy the experience.

It didn't take long to set up the large tent and roll out the double sized sleeping bag that he brought at his lot in the campground. Unlike many of the other playtrons at the fair, Charlie did not share a tent with anyone else. It wasn't his style. Besides, he couldn't be sure what lovely lady would be sharing his sleeping bag what night.

Deciding to look around and peruse the shoppes of the festival, he found that it was basically the same deal as it was the year before and the year before that and the year before that. The vendors dressed as peasants, selling items from homemade arts and crafts to boiled peanuts and saltwater taffy. Somehow, though, it never seemed to get old. He loved all of it.

Charlie grabbed a turkey leg and a pint of lager for dinner and found some old friends at the food stalls. Harry Clearwater and his new wife, Sue, were present this year, Charlie noted. Harry was dressed as a wizard, a long white beard hanging dramatically from his chin, a gray sackcloth robe, and a pointed hat. His long black hair contrasted against the beard, making Charlie chuckle. Sue, on the other hand, was dressed as a duchess or marquise or something. Her fine dress was quite ornate, and the pointed hat on her head had a long scarf flowing from the top. Charlie had met the two of them a couple of years ago, and by strange coincidence, he found that they both were from the same Quileute reservation as Quil. As with Quil, however, Charlie, Harry, and Sue never discussed their real lives. Those were separate.

Wandering off, Charlie decided to head over to the games area of the festival. He was alone, and he was on the prowl. Which lucky lady would it be tonight? A fairy? A wench? A queen?

It was then that he saw her, the young woman sitting atop the seat of the dunk tank. She was breathtaking, Charlie thought. Her loose white peasant blouse was unbuttoned to just the top of her ample bosom. She was sitting with the skirts of her red skirt hiked to her thighs, her feet bare as they hovered above the water. Dark brown curls flowed down onto her shoulders, and the smile on her face showed that she was also having the time of her life.

"Drench a wench!" a peasant man yelled from the dunk tank, breaking Charlie from his reveries.

Looking back to the woman, Charlie realized that she was not yet wet. He also realized that she was wearing a white blouse. A wicked grin appearing on his face, he approached the man in charge of manning the tank.

"How much?" he asked, looking down at the sack of potatoes that would be thrown at the target.

"Fifty cents per potato goes to charity," the man replied.

"I'll take one," Charlie replied, fishing two quarters from the pocket in his tunic.

"You think you can make it in one shot?" the man asked, taking the change and handing over a potato. "Give it a go, then."

Charlie glanced once more at the woman on the stool and smiled at her.

"Good luck!" she sang out in her beautiful voice. To Charlie, it sounded like angels were descending from heaven.

Looking once more at the target, Charlie aimed and threw the potato as forcefully as he could towards the large target on the wall. It spiraled towards the target, but it missed by inches.

A blush creeping onto his cheeks, Charlie dug once more into his pocket for change. Handing another two quarters to the peasant man, he heard the woman giggle. It was in that moment that he knew that she was the one. It was the wench that he had been waiting for all of his life. She was beautiful, and most importantly, he wouldn't have to hide his passion for renaissance festivals from her. She would understand. His heart leapt at the thought.

Concentrating on the target, he aimed once again and threw the potato perfectly at the center. He heard a squeal as the seat let out from under the woman, and she plunged into the water of the see-through tank. She was under the water for only a few moments before she surfaced, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes clear of water. The young brunette climbed a ladder out of the tank and back down onto the ground, water dripping from every part of her.

Before Charlie could really check out the woman's wet white blouse, however, the man handed her a towel and she pulled it around her shoulders, covering her bosom from view.

"Great aim," she told Charlie, walking over and standing in front of him.

"Thanks," Charlie replied. "Sorry about drenching you, though." In that moment, he was remorseful. It was only April after all, and the darkening sky made it quite chilly outside. She could not be comfortable in those wet clothes at all.

"I'm getting paid for it," she replied with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "My name is Renée." She stuck her hand out for an introduction.

"Charlie," he introduced himself, taking her small hand in hers and shaking it. "I haven't seen you here before. Are you new?"

"Um, yeah," Renée replied. "I guess you're one of those returning visitors, then. But yeah, this is the first year I could do this. I only graduated in December."

"I'm glad you could make it then," Charlie responded. "What made you want to come to one of these festivals?" He was truly curious. He knew of his own reasons, but not everyone could have been raised by historical reenactment actors.

"Um," she replied hesitantly, looking around. "Can I answer that as you walk me back to my tent so I can change out of these clothes? It's getting a bit cold." She flashed him a shy smile to show him that she did not want to leave his company just yet.

"Uh, yeah, no problem," he told her, waiting to follow her lead to her tent.

"I come to these festivals because I find them interesting and tons of fun," Renée told Charlie as she walked beside him towards the campground. "It's like going to Disneyland, but everyone is dressed up and there are fewer lines." The sky was growing dark above the tree line in the distance, and flames started popping up everywhere to provide light for the patrons to see. "And the history part of it is also fascinating," she added as they walked along the wide path. "What about you? Why do you come here every year?"

Although it shouldn't have, the question did catch Charlie off guard. In all of his years attending, no one had asked why he came to the Renaissance Faire every spring.

"It feels like home, I suppose," Charlie answered, readjusting the floppy hat on his head and flipping his long hair behind his shoulder. "My parents were actors who performed historical reenactments at Renaissance fairs throughout the country. When I was little, I used to come with them when I wasn't in school or with my grandmother. They died five years ago, but I suppose I come back to honor their memory."

"That's noble of you, Charles," Renée responded, using Charlie's Renaissance name. By this time, they had arrived at what Charlie presumed was Renée's tent.

"Are you here alone or did you come with friends?" he asked curiously before she could enter the tent. He didn't know if he had to look out for friends that would cock-block him.

"I came here with a girlfriend, but I don't know where she ran off to," Renée replied flippantly. "I'll be out in a minute. You mind waiting?"

"No," Charlie replied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tunic. Kicking a small rock around on the ground, he waited until Renée exited the tent a couple of minutes later, dressed in a different, dry wench's costume. Her wet hair was already drying into wild curls, and her face didn't even need an ounce of makeup to look stunning.

"All better," she told him. "I'm off duty for the rest of the night."

"Oh yeah?" Charlie asked in pleasant surprise. "Do you want to, uh, grab a drink?"

"I'd like that," she replied with a broad grin.

The next few hours for Charlie and Renée were spent drinking pints and pints of beer and cider. The more Renée drank, the more handsome Charlie's stache looked in her green eyes. When she had seen Charlie approach the dunk tank, she felt an automatic connection with him. Maybe it was love at first sight. Or maybe it was just lust at first sight, she wasn't entirely sure. She could feel the desire burning within her body though, and she only hoped that it would lead somewhere tonight.

With Renée's flirtatious manner, placing her hand innocuously on Charlie's thigh or his shoulder and whispering in his ear breathily, Charlie realized that he would score at the renaissance fair tonight. From what he had already gotten to know about Renée, however, he already knew that he didn't want this encounter to be merely a one night stand. She seemed to complete him – her humor, her intellect, her charm, and her beauty.

Somewhat drunkenly, the pair stumbled back to the campground until they reached Charlie's tent. "You want to come in?" Charlie asked Renée out of mere formality. He knew that she would come in.

"Do I ever," Renée replied, pulling Charlie by the collar of his tunic and leading him inside. She pushed Charlie down so that he was sitting on the large sleeping bag, and she sat down, straddling his lap and pushing her lips to his in a feverish passion.

Fifteen minutes later, in a tent under the stars at the Washington State Renaissance Faire with her parents halfway dressed as a 16th century nobleman and a wench, Isabella Marie Swan was first conceived.

A/N: Pretend Bella was born prematurely in September. :)

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