A/N: Sorry, I took a bit of a break from posting new stories to work on some longer Bass/Charlie fanfics I'm writing. I'm pretty excited about them, but I don't want to post until I have at least half of a longer story written. This takes place sometime after Revolution 2x09, when they've got a semi-stable resistance going. I love me some Miles, but he sort of had to be a bit of a bad guy in this one...And Rachel came off that way too. We don't know their history yet, so plots abound. This may be added onto eventually, I have some vague ideas about where I'd take it, but for now it's done...mostly. Comments are always wonderful...I'm addicted to them!

Upon first waking, Charlie felt as if she'd been run over in a cattle stampede or hit by one of those anvils from the old cartoons she'd watched as a child, before the blackout. Her head and neck ached, she felt weighed down, her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, completely dry and cracking at the corners. Even her teeth ached. As she laid there, she realized the hurt wasn't just in her head, but she had the strange sensation of bruising and aches all down her body. She tried to move to assess her situation, only to realize she had been feeling weighted down because she was weighted down by someone's arm clamped around her abdomen. Looking down, Charlie could tell it was a masculine arm, and very well defined. For the first time, she felt the rise and fall of a muscular chest behind her and soft breathing against her neck, goosepimpling the flesh beneath.

When she shifted in shock, her body slow to catch up with her mind, the action roused the man slightly, causing him to move against her, his morning erection pulsing fully aroused against her ass. The contact pulled a low rumble from his chest, vibrating against her back, as his hand slid up to cup one of her breasts, tweaking the nipple. Charlie had to bite her lip in order to quiet the moan that wanted to slip past her lips. He laid a few kisses against the curve of her neck, mumbling discontentedly under his breath, before stilling once more. She waited a couple beats to see if he'd awaken further, but the slow rise and fall of his chest indicated he'd settled back into slumber. Charlie was aching to find out whose bed she was in, more dread than anything else. He muttered quietly in a low, raspy voice as she managed to slowly twist herself to her back, so she could see who was behind her. Seeing the man's face was a shock and she had to slam her hand up against her mouth to stifle the gratingly loud noise which threatened to erupt and wake him.

Of all of the men in the world...Sebastian Monroe...she'd slept with Monroe.

It took her a few seconds to begin moving again, but she was even more desperate to keep him from waking up and finding her still there. She didn't even want to imagine that confrontation. It wouldn't matter that he was Miles (sometimes) best friend, in fact that just made it all worse. Miles...her mother. She grit her teeth in order to stomp out thoughts of what she'd overheard between the two of them the evening before, needing to focus on the current situation she was in with Monroe. He really was the last man in the entire remnant of America that she should have slept with...okay not slept with-the sleeping had only come at the very end. She blushed as thoughts of the previous night flitted through her memory; from what she could remember, it had been a particularly active one.

Images from the night before starting racing through her head.

Pulse slamming in her eardrums.

Sweat and sex scenting the air.

The obscene noises his cock made as he thrust inside her.

Slick skin sliding against each other as they moved, eyes locked together in a dance all their own.

How drunk had she been?

She had slept with Monroe; it was only now sinking in. She had the bruised, heady feeling of being well-fucked, her muscles languid and center sore from pleasurable release, and knowing he was responsible for it...was confusing.

It was the booze she told herself, just the alcohol.

If the pounding of her head and the aroma on her body was taken as evidence, Charlie would guess she had run to the nearest trough of whiskey and thrown herself in headfirst. It wasn't just liquor on her skin though. She smelled of a strange mixture of vanilla, the aforementioned whiskey, sweat, sex, and whatever soap it was Monroe used these days. Charlie could literally smell Monroe and their sex on her body. And that realization, combined with his arm around her and his very prominent erection burrowing into her side, were creating some very interesting sensations between her legs.

She needed to get out of here...like yesterday...before she did something stupid like giving into the temptation to turn over and flatten the man to the mattress, waking him up by riding his cock to completion. Charlie bit her lip against the small whimper that wanted to escape at that idea. Yeah, she needed to take the advice Maggie had given for scenarios like this: make like a baby and head out first.

If she was fortunate, Charlie would get out of the room without waking him. If she was really lucky (and ignored that inner dissenting voice), he wouldn't remember what had happened at all. He had been drinking long before she'd shown up in the bar, so maybe it would just be a lost night for him. However, karma had not been kind to her in the last couple years, so she wouldn't be holding her breath.

Charlie slowly starting edging away, moving at a snail's pace in order to avoid waking him up and the unpleasant confrontation that would inevitably follow. She listened for the slightest change in his breathing, stopping her motion anytime he shifted or mumbled in his sleep. It was slow going, trying to keep the bed from moving under her weight, as she finally edged out from beneath his arm, pushing the pillow underneath it. She did not even want to imagine the level of awkward that would occur if he woke up.

Finally, she was able to slide to the edge of the bed and stand up, albeit slowly, balance uneven at first as a wave of vertigo washed over her. She was sore between her legs, not to mention very sticky. Choosing to avoid thinking about the reasons behind it, she used the edge of the sheet as a wipe, nerves jumbling at the contact of fabric on her still too sensitive feminine tissues. She had to keep her mind set on getting out of here, lest she be inundated with the memories. Spotting her clothes, she quietly gathered them, locating her bra underneath his pants and belt. As much as she looked, Charlie couldn't find her underwear, and she shrugged, leaving them as a loss. Pulling her pants up her legs, she stopped at the sight of bruises vividly painted across her thighs and hips-his fingerprints. There was a mirror across the room and shifting to look, she nearly gasped at her reflection. Her hair was tousled, lips bruised, hickeys marred the length of her throat, and beard-burn scalded her skin pink. There was a bite mark on her shoulder, her nipples were tinted and inflamed, and bruises stood out from the waist down and along her arms and wrists.

She was the very essence of debauched.

Mouth laving and nipping at her nipples until she begged him to stop, sensations twisting between pleasure and pain.

A punishing grip on her hips as he fucked her from behind, rubbing stubble along her spine.

Head tipped back as his mouth latched onto the curve of her neck, sucking bruises into the soft skin.

Fingers tangling in her hair, holding her still for a biting kiss.

Shaking her head, she began to hurry her dressing, finding herself torn between her instinct to flee and her longing to stay.

Once she was somewhat presentable, Charlie took one last look around the room to see if she'd left anything lying about, other than her pack and coat. There was nothing. She bit her lip as her eyes wandered around the room, settling onto the man in the bed once more, knowing it was a stall tactic. She should leave, needed to leave, but watching him so unguarded, vulnerable really, was too fascinating by far.

Looking at him sleeping, he looked like a boy with his curls against the pillow, wrinkles smoothed out with sleep. Charlie couldn't help the half-smile curving her lips as she compared him now to the man from the night before, and to the madman of the Monroe Republic. He almost seemed an entirely new person. In many ways he acted as one. She knew he wanted redemption, forgiveness, and family. There was so much darkness inside him still...but, if he could change...if she could...

Chewing the inside of her cheek harshly, she called herself 10 kinds of an idiot for that train of thought.

Bass shifted in the bed, wrenching the sheet down with his movement. He hadn't gotten off scot-free from their encounter either; she could see that now. His hair was a wild tangle and his mouth looked just as bruised as hers did. She could see gouges from her nails along his shoulders, as well as trailing, red scratch marks on his biceps and pecs, and she made out three separate bite marks along his neck, shoulder, and chest. Blushing deeply, Charlie was shocked at the level of her abandonment.

Hand clasping his chin, stilling his face for her bruising, nipping kiss.

Biting the side of his neck as she came with his fingers buried in her pussy and her nails embedded in his chest.

Her fingers tunneling through his curls, forehead against his, gazes meshed, as she sat astride him rocking on his cock.

Sinking her nails into his ass, moaning his name as she orgasmed once more.

Charlie had never been that uninhibited with a man before. She had completely let go. In the past, with her few lovers, she had always kept a reign on things, never letting it get too out of control. Having been taught by Maggie that a woman needed to be careful no matter the scenario, she had always stayed a touch removed during sex, never fully trusting her partners.

Not last night though.

Last night she had given Monroe every inch of herself, had held nothing back from him, hadn't wanted to hold anything back from him. Charlie had laid herself bare to him, completely open. And from what she remembered, the way he had looked at her constantly while buried as deeply as he could get in her body...he'd done the same. The intensity between them had been nearly frightening.

She had to get out of here.

Glancing around the room hurriedly, her actions taking on a panicked tint, she slipped her shoes on, wound her coat about her waist, and grabbed her pack. Hefting it over her shoulders, she made her way to the door. Easing it open quietly, she couldn't resist taking one last look at his face before leaving the room. He had moved again, allowing her a full view of his face and chest. Memories of Bass cuddling her against him and listening to his heartbeat in between bouts of sex edged out of the grayness of her hangover. She had felt safe with him. God, was she stupid to be thinking this way? As she walked down the hallway, she berated herself, but her heart wasn't in it.

Leaving the rooming house behind, Charlie forced herself to accept that Bass had made her feel secure, protected. It was strange, it made no sense, but when she and Bass were fucking, she never once felt that he was a threat to her. In fact, several times in between the bouts of rough, desperate sex, he had been gentle with her, told her repeatedly how beautiful she was. He'd always held her afterwards, somehow knowing she needed that human connection just as much as he himself did.

There was another house in the area they were using as a safe house. She'd head there and figure out what she was going to do next. Charlie just knew she couldn't stay in the rooming house another moment, especially if he was there. She wasn't a good enough actress to cover up her emotions over the previous night; all her confusion would be displayed openly for everyone to see.

Besides, this would be the first place Miles and Rachel would look for her, knowing she had been scouting it out yesterday evening (that it was the only place to stay in town would factor in as well), and she couldn't deal with them yet.

So, safe house it was.

Closing her eyes didn't help. Memories of what she and Bass had done the night before tattooed across the back of her eyelids. For a man his age, he had amazing stamina. And then Charlie was cursing herself for acknowledging it, however true it was. He'd gone for hours, switching positions easily and quick to hardness, he had been downright insatiable. As had she.

Fingers tracing the line of his abdominal muscles as he moved.

Calloused hands encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist.

His voice, a hot whisper in her ear, telling her how tight she was around his dick.

Stickiness from his come staining her thighs and matting the curls between them.

Pushing off the bed, Charlie walked to the nearest wall, collapsing back against it, letting gravity take her, and sliding down to rest on the shabby carpet. She pulled her knees up to her chest and lowered her forehead to rest against her folded legs, trying to hide in the worn denim. Her nerves were jittery, raw, and she could feel the wetness pooling heavy at her center. Charlie closed her eyes, but that just made it worse, the memories blazing across the backs of her eyelids.

Hands bruising her sides as he held her beneath him, forcing her to take the full measure of every thrust of his hips.

The hoarse moans she released every time he hit her cervix

Legs cramping from the new position over his shoulders as he slammed into her from above.

The low rasp of his voice growling the 'Charlotte' into her ear as he came deep inside her.

She whimpered softly, as her hands slammed into her temples, attempting to eradicate the images from sheer pressure alone. If she could just push hard enough, the images would flatten and cease to exist, snuffed out, destroyed by willpower alone. Unfortunately, that's not how the mind worked, these memories would follow her for the rest of her life.

Hand wrapping in her hair, yanking her up, back against his chest.

Kneading her breasts until the feeling verged on pain.

Forcing her head to the side, swallowing her moans with his lips, and filling her mouth with his tongue.

Fingers tracing down her stomach to pinch at her clit, as he forced her exhausted body to another climax.

Why, why had she done it-why did she let that man take her to bed, let him inside of her? Why had she felt such need when she was with him, felt so secure in his arms, and why had she bared her emotions so fully to him? Something she had never come close to wanting or allowing with any of the other guys she'd been involved with.

Face buried in her pussy, sucking her clit until it hurt, eyes greedily locked on her face.

On her knees sucking his cock into her mouth, as he told her how beautiful she looked with her lips wrapped around him.

The wild look in his eyes before he spilled himself across her breasts, groaning her name.

Falling to his knees before her, cradling her to his chest as he ran soothing circles on her back.

Sighing, Charlie looked up, taking in the measure of the room; she knew why last night had happened.

It was about Miles and to a lesser extent, her mother. As most things were. They had wanted to hurt them anyway they could, so they picked the most destructive method they could come up with, drunk as they were. They each had their own reasons. For Bass it was because Miles had lied about knowing the location of Bass's son and the man had nearly killed Miles because of it. Charlie couldn't really blame Bass for it and she had been the only thing that had been able to pull them apart. Miles wouldn't hurt her and for some strange reason, Bass was disinclined to cause her pain either. She hadn't thought too much about it at the time, but as she looked back at their encounters, in particular their recent scrapes with Patriots, he'd saved her life several times, even when there was nothing in it for him, even when it meant putting himself at risk.

The night before, she had dropped her pack at their headquarters and then tracked Bass down, thinking he might cause some trouble after his fight with Miles. Charlie had found him drinking in the pub and had tried to talk to him. He hadn't been interested and told her his demons and history were not a place she wanted to go. That he hated Miles so much in that moment, it wouldn't be good for the man's niece to be around him. So she'd left to get Miles, thinking he needed to come and talk Monroe down. She'd had no idea she'd be back in the pub a mere 20 minutes later.

Everything had fallen apart when she'd reached the house they were staying in. For Charlie, her issues with Miles (her mother too if she was being truthful) had happened when some of the history between Miles and Rachel had come out when she'd overheard them talking about their affair and her captivity. She'd come home earlier then they had expected, so they hadn't bothered to check their conversation. Charlie had been shocked to learn it was Miles, not Monroe, who had ordered her father to join them, but instead her mother had made the choice to give herself up to him, to leave her family. She listened as Miles apologized for taking her from her kids, hurting her, torturing her while she was with him. And then her mother forgave him and kissed him.

Rachel kissed him. Her uncle, the man who had tortured her mother and taken her mother from her husband and children. No, that last part wasn't right, the man her mother had chosen to join. Charlie remembered the day her mother had left them like it was yesterday. After she was gone, Dad, Danny, and her had managed to get away from the militia, hiding in the shadows of the forest, and sneaking behind their lines. They'd never been found again until that awful day her Dad had been shot and Danny had been kidnapped. Why hadn't their mother simply gone with them when they ran? They could have made it together-they had made it without her. Had she actually wanted to turn herself into Miles? Thought she alone could save him somehow?

The very thought made her sick. She knew she was probably jumping to conclusions without all the facts (which was the state of confusion Miles and her mother obviously preferred her to remain in), but the sting of betrayal was coloring her rationality.

Charlie had been so angry, she had stepped out from behind the door loudly, watching as her mother and uncle quickly tried to extricate themselves from their embrace. She hadn't said anything, just stood there, while they asked how much she'd heard, that she didn't understand, on an on. The entire time she didn't speak, simply looked at them. Finally, she turned on her heel and left the room, grabbing her still loaded pack from the bedroom she had planned on using for the night, shouldering it as she turned into the hallway, hitting the steps at a run. She could hear their voices calling her back, but didn't stop, reaching the screen door and batting it open, to get to the freedom of the porch. She took one look back at the house where she could hear Rachel and Miles clambering down the steps and the darkness outside their temporary headquarters. Like a shot, she was down the porch steps out into the dark.

As she ran from the house, their voices hollering from behind, her eyes had welled with tears, which she had blinked back repeatedly, refusing to let them fall. So much they had never bothered to tell her. Everyone around her knew what was going on, God she thought with new eyes, even her Grandfather knew about it, but no one ever bothered to explain it to her. It was like some secret in the room only the grown-ups were privy to, information not to be shared with any children present. How long had this been going on? Fuck, her poor father-had he been duped by his wife and brother while alive?

Alec had been right, when he'd told her to ask Miles what he'd done to her mother. And she had just let it go, deciding it couldn't be anything that bad. She was such a trusting idiot!

No wonder Miles had thought she was naive.

Charlie hadn't known where she was headed, only blindly running to put as much distance between herself and them as possible. Their voices had faded by that point, but she hadn't slowed down, not until she'd made it to the outskirts of the small town they'd used to resupply earlier in the day. She'd slackened her pace then, falling onto a cracked stoop outside an abandoned dance studio. As she caught her breath, she eyed up her surroundings, caution returning. No one was about, the only noise came from the bar a couple blocks down the street from her. The Bar. Monroe was there.

Monroe.

The shadows of a plan started to form as she walked towards the pub, her anguish transmuting into anger, a need to hurt Miles and her Mom as much as she was hurting; she'd need plenty of booze for this.

When she had gone into the pub and seen Monroe drinking in a dark corner, Charlie had made her way over to him. As if sensing her presence, his face had lifted and their eyes had met. They'd locked gazes and the bleakness she was feeling found an ally in him. She'd been surprised by the need and desperation she felt. He'd read something on her face, because with a tilt of his head, he beckoned her over, interest making his eyes glitter. That one gesture had sealed her fate and the surge of heat that accompanied it had governed her actions for the rest of the evening.

Charlie had seated herself next to him, as he knowingly poured her a glass of whiskey. She opened with battle tactics as her reason for seeking him out but that was just a farce, he knew it, and she switched rather quickly. They fell into verbal sparring as it was easier and it allowed her to order her thoughts. He'd seemed to realize this and permitted it, waiting for the truth to eventually start spilling out. It wasn't until the second bottle that she'd admitted why she was there, what she'd overheard. After that, the floodgates had opened and Charlie had settled into ranting about Miles and her mother with the man. Monroe had joined in, angry with Miles over his son and Rachel over hypocrisy. By the time they'd vented their spleens on anger at the absent Matheson duo, they'd been drunk enough for the flirting to start. And they hadn't stopped there. Another bottle was opened for the round of daring and outright innuendo. Finally, they flat out propositioned each other and the two of them had been out of the bar 10 seconds later on their way to his room.

So, Charlie had fucked a monster.

She cringed at that, knowing it wasn't precisely fair to call the man a monster anymore. She'd seen him emotional. After he found out Miles had lied about knowing where his son was, she'd seen the tears he never allowed to spill, and the self-loathing on his face. When she'd stopped to check on him before finding out about Miles and Rachel, he'd told her there was no place for her with him, warning her away, and he'd seemed almost saddened by it. He was too angry at Miles to censor himself and she should run. Which is exactly what she had done, well, she'd walked, fast. There'd been something in his eyes that worried her, so she'd gone to warn Miles and the rest was history. Less than 20 minutes was all it took to put her on the same level as Monroe. When she'd gotten back to the pub, he'd taken one look at her face and just known that something had happened in the short time frame she'd been gone. Monroe had pushed out the chair next to him and grabbed another glass, filling it to the brim for her. And even through his own storm of emotional trauma, he'd been there for her all evening.

So, it had been about Miles. At least it had started that way. Somewhere in the middle it all changed. It became a competition of sorts, to see which of them would break first. Neither of them had wanted to give in to the other. Finally, when anger and competitiveness had deserted them, all that was left were two lonely, despairing people finding solace the only way they knew how at the moment. Their emotions had come through in the desperate way they'd wrapped around each other. They'd sought comfort by fucking themselves into exhaustion, until numbness took them and they could collapse into the oblivion of sleep, content in the arms of someone who understood.

When she'd woken up that morning with his arm wrapped around her waist, she'd been stunned by what had happened between them. She'd managed to get out of the room without waking him and had hightailed it out of town to the nearest safe house she knew of. Charlie was torn about how she felt, didn't know if she ever wanted to see Sebastian Monroe again, but knew she'd have to face up to the man eventually. It was inevitable, they were fighting the patriots together after all.

And as angry as they both were, neither of them would leave, because without this war they were waging, what else did they have?

Charlie didn't know what would happen when she next ran into Miles and her mother. The anger wasn't subsiding and she knew it wouldn't be good for any of their relationships to speak with them before she could control it. But the problem at present, was she didn't want to deal with her anger; she wanted to stay angry. At this point, she just didn't know if she wanted to deal with them at all anymore, or at least not anytime soon. Charlie figured that would pass in time. She hoped.

She went into the bathroom to splash her face with water she poured from an old cracked jug. She'd bathed when she got back here, eager to try and wash away last night's evidence from her skin, but she knew it wouldn't work. Memories from the previous night kept hitting her, flooding her with arousal. Charlie pondered whether to have another bath, as her panties were soaked again, and she needed to cool down. Maybe she'd hunt for some dinner first, before it got too late, and then she'd have another wash.

Sighing, she dried her face, hands falling to the counter, as she inspected the grains in the wood. There was no getting away from it, as much as she wanted to forget (or thought she should want to forget) what had happened between them, Charlie knew she never would. Sleeping with Sebastian Monroe had been amazing. Unexpectedly, what came after the sex had been just as good. Afterwards, the quiet solitude, security, and acceptance she had found in his arms had been a shelter for her. All things aside, if it was just the experience itself, she had never had its equal.

Laying against his chest, his arms securely around her.

His cock still semi-hard buried inside her.

Liquid slowly cascading out to coat her vulva in their combined juices.

Soft kisses laid to her forehead, as she listened to his heart pulse under her ear.

But it couldn't happen again, she thought as she made her way out of the bathroom to sit in the corner chair. There was something between them, Charlie knew this, but she didn't think it was healthy, and an electrical spark, anger, and sexual chemistry alone couldn't make a relationship work. Could it? And then she was rolling her eyes at herself. A relationship? More like fucking. He wouldn't want anything more from her either, she figured, thoughts bittersweet. Charlie had seen the type of women Monroe spent time with, and she was not in their league. Even if most of them were only a few years older than her, prostitutes by trade, and wearing enough face paint for three clowns. It wasn't going to happen.

So, why was this even bothering her?

She heard a knock on her door and sighed, ignoring it. She was tired and in no fit state to converse or socialize with anyone. All she wanted was to try and forget the night before and move on with life to the best of her ability. The knock came again, and Charlie nearly growled in frustration, deciding it was best to just deal with the person. Slowly, she got up and padded across the room to answer it, sword at the ready. Pulling it open, she wanted to kill herself for the stupidity of not checking the peephole. Standing on her doorstep, braced against the frame, was none other than Monroe himself, eyes dark, mouth grim. He looked just as foreboding as he had the night before, his eyes locked onto hers.

Charlie wasn't ready for this...not ready to talk to him, not ready to see him, and definitely not ready for the bolt of lust she felt at his nearness. She didn't know if she'd ever be ready to deal with Sebastian Monroe.

But as usual, he didn't give her much of a choice when it came to sharing space with his person.

Before she could speak, he shouldered his way into her room, brushing up against her, and turning around as she shut the door and faced him. "We need to talk Charlotte," he rasped quietly. His blue eyes flashed as they dragged lust down every inch of her body, before making the return trip to her eyes. The heat and hunger in his gaze left her breathless, and she quickly grasped the message.

This was not over...not by a longshot.

Charlie half-hated the giddy knot of anticipation she felt begin to thud in her gut. But as he stalked towards her, hunger and strain evident in the feral glint of his eyes and the sharp lines of his face, she found it fairly simple to reconcile herself to the situation.

Oh hell.