It's all the same, only the names are changed

Everyday it seems we're wasting away
Another place where the faces are so cold
I'd drive all night just to get back home…
-Bon Jovi

"I don't get it." Miles shakes his head as the ratty pieces of paper flutter from his hands to the table top.

"Don't get what?" Bass asks before taking a bite out of a mostly un-bruised Macintosh apple.

Miles points to the text at the top of the paper on the table. "A wanted poster for you? That I get. But why Charlie?" Miles pushes Bass' poster aside and taps the one with Charlie's name on it. "What did you two do that got you on fucking Patriot wanted posters? You were supposed to lie low." He raps his knuckles on the papers. "This is not lying low."

Bass shrugs. "It wasn't my fault. If Charlie hadn't got hurt, our plan would have worked and they never would have gotten a good look at us."

Charlie had been trying to ignore them but she finds this is no longer possible. "Me? You're blaming me? You shot me in the leg, you fucking idiot."

Bass rolls his eyes. "It's a flesh wound. You're going to be fine. Don't be such a pussy."

Miles looks back and forth between them. "Stop it, both of you. I don't care whose fault it is. Bottom line, you can't show your sorry faces for a while which means I have to do all the dirty work for Blanchard. Again."

Bass shakes his head. When he speaks, small flecks of apple spray from his lips. "Bullshit. You don't do all the -."

"Gross," Charlie sneers. "Don't you know better than to talk with your mouth full, Monroe?"

Bass narrows his eyes at her. "I know how to do all sorts of things with my mouth full –"

"Eww." She fakes a shudder.

Miles interrupts, standing with a growl. His chair falls back, banging loudly against the wall. "Enough!" He throws his hands up in the air in a sign of surrender. "I give up. Not only do I not care that you can't come with me on this next mission; I'm thrilled. Because I swear to God, if I have to hear one more snarky remark from either of you, I'll turn you both in for these goddamned bounties myself."

"Yeah, right," Bass mutters.

Miles picks up the posters and throws them at Bass' head. "I'm totally serious."

Charlie and Bass watch as Miles leaves. "He's not serious," Bass says, chewing thoughtfully.

"Or maybe he is," Charlie disagrees. When he glares at her, Charlie just shrugs. She can't seem to agree with Bass on anything lately. Miles is right. All they do is argue.

"You're doing it again." Charlie frowns at Bass before taking a drink from the bottle of grain alcohol Miles had given them before he left. That had been two days ago. The bottle is almost empty.

"Doing what again?" He asks, unsure.

"Singing that song. You are not a cowboy. You have a loaded gun and you have your swords. You don't have a six string, whatever that is."

Bass grins slowly. "Oh. That's from Bon Jovi, Charlie. Way before the blackout. Those stupid posters made it pop into my head and I can't shake it. Not singing it on purpose."

"I don't know what a Bon Jovi is, but I'm sick of that song."

"Whatever. I'll try not to sing it anymore, but I make no promises." He stands and begins to pace. "It's boring here. Want to play checkers?"

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"What I wouldn't give for a pack of cards. I miss solitaire."

"I miss civilization." Charlie frowns. "When do you suppose Miles will get back?"

"No clue. We should have gone with him. Fuck the wanted posters. We could have worn disguises."

"Don't tell me. You'd go as a cowboy?" She smirks.

Bass begins to sing again. Louder this time.

"Asshole."

Four days.

She's going to kill him. She's been fantasizing on various methods for the past twelve hours. It's not just the singing, although that has not stopped. It's also this stuffy cabin which they can't leave. It's not a big space anyway, but after four days cooped up here with him, she thinks her head might explode.

Everything feels too close. The walls. The floor. Monroe.

Especially Monroe.

Also, they ran out of alcohol yesterday and this has shortened both of their tempers.

Their sixth day dawns. Birds are singing and soft pink morning light filters through dusty windows as Charlie wakes. She's unsure what brought her out of her slumber at first. It's way too early to get up, but up is what she is. She sees Monroe is not lying on the floor where he's been sleeping. His bedding is there but he isn't. She glances up. The cabin is small so it doesn't take much sleuthing to find him. She yawns. "Monroe?"

He's standing on the far side of the small cabin. His back is to her. "Yeah." His voice sounds strange.

She tilts her head, watching him in the dim light. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

Charlie stretches lazily, watching him. He's doing something but she's not sure what. She shakes her head. "Come on. What are you doing?"

"Doesn't matter. You told me not to sing. Not singing,"

He sounds out of breath and as sleep clears from her eyes, she suddenly realizes what he really is doing. "The hell, Monroe? Were you jerking off while I was asleep?"

"Yeah," he grunts, not bothering to stop or even slow his actions. Clearly he's not finished.

Charlie sits, listening in disbelief as he works his cock. She starts to say something but stops. Truth is it's been a while and being cooped up with Monroe for days has her on edge for a lot of different reasons. She shifts uncomfortably, shuddering a little as her body responds. She feels a cold sweat beading on her brow. "So, uh, do you do this often?"

He makes a noise that might be words. Charlie isn't sure and rushes to fill the space between them with her own. "I mean, we've been in here for days but I didn't realize you were – you know."

Bass doesn't turn around.

Charlie suddenly feels like the room has gotten hotter by degrees usually reserved for stories about hell. She needs air. "Bout done?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

This time the noise he makes in his throat is low and has a moaning quality that sends a shudder down Charlie's spine, shooting need straight to her core. She can't take it anymore. "Who are you thinking about right now?" She asks.

"Not you. Definitely not you." His voice holds no conviction whatsoever although he's shaking his head adamantly. "Someone else," he pants. She thinks he's getting close now.

She stands, careful of her injured leg and takes a step closer. Then another. She can't explain why she's moving in his direction. It's like she can't control her own movements. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper. "Someone else, who? You haven't seen anyone but me in almost a week and this is such a tight space."

"Don't say the word tight." He braces himself against the wall with his free hand. He leans forward and clenches the fist that rests against the wall before pounding it into the boards once, twice, three times. And just like that, he's done. He sighs and his head drops forward until his forehead rests against the wall. She can see the tension ease out of his back as his shoulders slump.

Charlie backtracks to her cot and sits down shakily, still watching him; her body still acutely aware of his every move. "You were thinking of me." It's not a question.

He still hasn't turned around. "No. Not you. Not -" He sighs, trailing off.

"Monroe?"

"Shit. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong."

"Which part? Masturbating in a small shared space? Picturing me in your head when you do that? Wanting me at all?"

"All of it. Should have gone somewhere else but we're stuck here and – " He shakes his head again. "It doesn't matter." He wipes his hand on an old rag and tucks himself away from view before turning. His eyes are glazed. His expression is a mixture of regret and relaxation. "I know it's wrong. Miles would kill me." Bass drops into the one chair in the room, resting his head in his hands. "You'll probably kill me."

They sit in silence for a long time. Charlie licks her lips and asks, "Was that the first time that you did that, you know, here?"

She can tell he's tempted to lie. He hesitates, watching her. Finally he shakes his head. "Not the first time, no."

Charlie clears her throat nervously but doesn't say anything.

"What?" he asks. Bass tilts his head to the side, watching her. Something is up.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"What were you thinking?" He takes a few steps closer but not too close.

"Um, just – no. Nothing."

"Clearly not nothing. What?" He sees a flicker of something in her eyes and watches as her gaze jerks to his crotch before bouncing back to his face. "Wait," he says, suddenly feeling tingly all over. "You aren't mad."

She shakes her head, "Not really, no."

Realization dawns. "Not mad because you are kind of turned on?"

"It's nothing personal, Monroe. You're a guy. I'm a girl. I get urges too, you know." She begins to pace. "It's not my fault. We're cooped up in this space. And you are always walking around with no shirt on and singing that god-awful song and sometimes when I know you're asleep…"

He cocks an eyebrow, suddenly very curious. "What do you do when you know I'm asleep, Charlie?"

She shakes her head having decided she's said too much already. She stops pacing but crosses her arms and won't meet his gaze.

He pushes. "Come on. Out with it."

"You aren't the only one who has taken care of their own needs a time or two. That's all. It's not a big deal. We're both adults." Charlie's cheeks flame red.

"Not a big deal? I disagree." He steps closer still. "Were you thinking of me when you took care of yourself?"

She shakes her head but there's not much conviction in it.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"How would that conversation go exactly?"

"Might have been awkward but we'd have figured it out. Would have been easier before we ran out of liquor, I guess." He leans in, his lips touching the shell of her ear. "Just imagine how much better this stupid place would have been if we just had something to do. We've been bored out of our minds for days and suddenly its clear that there is at least one thing we could have been doing to while away the time."

Charlie can't help herself. She laughs nervously. "You think?"

He nods. "Oh yeah." Bass steps closer, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me something, Charlie."

"Mmm?" Their gaze locks and heat flashes between them. Her lips part in sudden, undeniable, breathless need.

"Do you want me?"

Charlie flashes a smile. "You mean like the patriots do? Or in your song? Dead or alive?"

He smirks. "Alive is going to be way better for both of us. I promise."

The door slams open without warning and Miles is standing there with a frown on his face. "You promise what?"

Charlie is torn between being thrilled to see her uncle and being frustrated by his interruption. She runs over and gives him a hug. "Nothing. We were just arguing again."

Miles throws down his pack and thumps down in a chair, sprawling his long legs and making himself comfortable. The cabin seems exponentially smaller. "You two idiots always argue. Patriots are stupid to want either one of you."

Bass and Charlie make eye contact. Their gaze is a mixture of heat and humor. "I need some air," Charlie says. "You?"

Bass nods. "Air sounds good."

Miles watches them leave. They don't even bother to ask if he wants to join them. The door has barely closed when he hears Bass begin singing. Miles listens, trying to place the song. His friend's voice fades before he finally thinks of Bon Jovi. Miles shakes his head. "Idiots."

End

I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, 'cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, still I'm standing tall
I've seen a million faces and I've rocked them all

I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride
I'm wanted dead or alive
I'm a cowboy, I got the night on my side
And I'm wanted
Dead or alive...