Charlie wasn't happy, exactly, that he had come storming back. But there had been a strange kind of relief when she had heard the frantic pounding on the door. An odd satisfaction when he had put his hands on her shoulders, lowering his head to look her in the eye and make sure she understood him.

He wanted her to understand him.

Part of her knew that was just ridiculous conjecture. Remi Robicheaux was not the kind of man anyone understood, nor did he need them to.

Still... when she'd finally gotten him to explain his actions tonight, she had been struck by the feeling that all he'd wanted was for her to understand who he was, what he was... and maybe how he'd come to be.

Now she was in his lap, his hands warm on her arms, keeping her from falling over backwards. Her heart was throwing itself against the backs of her ribs, and her lips tingled from the force of his kiss.

His pupils were dilated, and his bottom lip had a dark pink line in it where she'd bitten him.

Remi's grip on her arms tightened and he pulled her back into him, but she turned her head at the last moment and he fell still, mouth light on the edge of her jaw.

Her insides were trembling and she desperately wanted to turn her head and kiss him until she no longer cared that he killed people, that he hurt people.

But she couldn't.

That little voice deep inside of her refused to be silent, warning her of what could happen were she to continue with him like this. Warning how it would eat away at the foundations of her soul.

"I think you should go," she whispered past a too-tight throat, repeating what she'd said before he'd kissed her.

Remi tensed under her, but she couldn't decide if it was with shock or anger. His eyes gave away nothing when she turned her head to look at him.

"You should go," she repeated a third time. She needed him to go.

Because he was very warm and very solid, and her body ached with the memory of him. An experience made more miserable by the fact that he was very present and very willing, right here in front of her.

"What have you been thinking these past couple days?" he asked, voice quiet as hers.

Charlie blinked, startled from her train of thought. 

He must have seen the question on her face. "You said this is all fucking nuts, because you're sitting here with someone who's sunk more bodies in the bayou than you've met. Then you said you've been thinking these past few days," he said, wrapping a tendril of her hair around his finger. "You never finished the sentence."

Because she hadn't even wanted to start saying it.

He stopped playing with her hair, hand moving down to cup her chin.

Sometimes she wondered if he realized how often he touched her. Sometimes she wondered why she didn't tell him to stop.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, like that would break some magic seal and force her to pour out all her secrets.

"Tell me and I'll go," he bargained.

"Do you think everything is for sale?" She didn't completely succeed in keeping her voice from trembling.

He blinked twice, his hand falling away from her face to the side of her thigh, fingers brushing the sensitive skin. It took him a moment to answer.

"I think there are things that are, even though they shouldn't be," he said. "Having a price is not a character flaw, Charlie, it is simply human."

"That's a terrible outlook," she said, her fingers beginning to play with his tie again. A distant part of her brain observed that she touched him nearly as much as he touched her. She looked down, frowning slightly, watching her fingers skid across the slick surface of the tie.

"Truth is often terrible," he replied. "That's why we find it so much easier to lie. What have you been thinking?"

Charlie reluctantly met his gaze. The clear green of his irises was somehow shadowed. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek.

"I've been thinking," she started slowly, "that... there is something..."

When she trailed off, he shifted impatiently, dragging her attention back to the fact that she was on top of him. This in turn made her realize she didn't want to move.

"That there's something wrong with me," she finally spat out. She let go of his tie to rake her hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. "Because no sane fucking person, no good person would sit here like this and have a conversation w-with—"

She cut herself off. The trembling in her voice had moved to her body. She wanted to make it stop. She knew he could feel it.

"With someone like me," he finished for her, voice kind.

He was very good at pretending to be something he certainly was not.

Charlie nodded mutely, then tried to get up, but he didn't let go. Moving slowly, he placed his hand between her shoulder blades, pulling her forward. He stopped when her face was barely an inch away from his.

"I can't change what I am, Charlie. Not now. I've been this way too long to remember how to be anything else."

"You don't want to be anything else," she muttered, ignoring the pleasant heat of his breath on her lips.

"What do you want to be?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The moment was too serious. Too heavy and real for that. "You know what I want."

"Does it matter how you get there?" he asked.

"Some people would say yes," she answered, realizing as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she'd avoided his question.

"I'm not asking some people," he said. "I'm asking you. To get what you deserve, do you think the ends will justify the means?"

She didn't have an answer for that, and Remi seemed to sense that.

After a moment of silence, he let her go. She stood up, and he did the same, straightening his tie, then his jacket. 

Looking up at him, hugging her arms around herself, she suddenly felt very small. Like something fragile and easily destroyed. It was an old feeling. A scared feeling.

She was so tired of being afraid. 

Remi tilted his head, brow furrowing and he reached out, thumb brushing just under her left eye. Her vision suddenly blurred, making her blink rapidly, but he'd wiped the only tear away.

"I'm not leaving," she choked out. "I just don't know how to stay. I don't know how I can."

Something painful flashed in his eyes. Softly, he said, "It gets easier...and then it gets harder."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "There's no more wrong with you than there is with me, Charlie. We don't have to like the things we do in order to succeed, we just need to make them worth it."

"No, we just have to live with them," she replied, fingers digging into the skin of her upper arms, where her hands were gripped tightly.

"Getting what you want out of life makes that easier."

"At the expense of others?" she whispered, finally digging down to the core of the problem—of why she couldn't just accept his offer.

Remi was silent for so long, she had to look up at him. His eyes were grave when he said, "Every success is at the expense of someone else, cher. That's just how the world turns, and there isn't anything you or I can do to change that."

"Can't beat 'em, join 'em?" she asked, skepticism seeping into her voice. "That seems like an easy excuse for bad behavior."

A small smile tugged at the side of his mouth. "I make no excuses, Charlie. I do bad things. I'm a bad person." He stepped forward, brushing her hair away from her ear. 

She shivered as his teeth grazed her earlobe.

"But so are you," he whispered. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head slightly. "No," she tried to say, but it was nothing more than a soundless shape of her lips.

He pulled away, just enough to meet her gaze, that smile still tugging at his mouth. "The secret is that we're all sinners, Charlie. Might as well enjoy the ride."

"There are other things to worry about beyond this life, Remi."

All this earned her was a choked on laugh. Gently grasping her chin, he said, "Maybe so, but I'd bet you can talk yourself into anything."

She had no rebuke for that. He wasn't wrong—that's why she was standing here.

Charlie didn't try to stop him or turn away when he leaned in. Her eyes fluttered closed when he kissed her, and she knew he was right.

There was something dark in her. There always had been. 

It's what had let her abandon her mother to her father's violence. What had let her use Grayson for as long as she had. What let her meet Remi for dinner three nights ago.

And it was what made her push his jacket down over his shoulders, using his tie to pull him with her back to the sofa. He laughed low in his throat, but then her eyes flew open when he pulled away.

He shrugged his suit jacket back up, fixing his collar.

"You should think about it, knowing what you know now," he said, turning slightly toward the door.

Frustration with herself bubbled in the pit of her stomach. She crossed her arms. "What if I decide I can't do this? Or that I don't want to."

One of those was closer to the truth than the other.

He smiled and kissed her lightly. "I still think you can talk yourself into anything, cher."

A knowing smile was offered to her, but she turned her face away. 

"You should sleep," he said. "You look tired."

Charlie turned back, but he was already closing the door behind him. She turned on the ball of her foot and fell back onto the sofa. The throw pillow under her head smelled like him, and she sat up for a moment.

Putting her head in her hands, she stared down at the wood floor beneath her. 

She was so screwed.

                                                                          §§§

A hand shaking her shoulder startled Charlie awake.

She lunged to her feet, hair blotting out her vision and her heart pounding in her throat.

"Easy, dear, easy." Small, steady, cool hands grabbed her arms, keeping her from toppling over.

Charlie's heart slowed as she recognized Moira's lovely accent. The hair was brushed out of her face and she met reserved hazel eyes. 

"Long night, love?" Moira asked, finally releasing her. "Remi hasn't been home yet, I was hoping to find him here."

She looked around like she was expecting him to come down the stairs, or perhaps from the kitchen. 

Charlie sat back down on the couch she'd fallen asleep on, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her lips felt dry and sticky, and her mouth tasted horrible. "What time is it?" she croaked.

Moira sighed. "Nearly 6:00."

"Fuck," Charlie spat, turning to run up the stairs. "Can you give me a ride?"

Moira blinked slowly, then nodded and Charlie shot up the stairs. She dragged on some clothes, threw her hair into a sloppy ponytail and hoped a piece of gum would suffice because she didn't have time to brush her teeth.

Rushing back down the stairs, she nearly smacked right into Moira as she came from the kitchen. Without thinking, she grabbed the woman's hand and attempted to haul her toward the door.

It would have been more effective to drag a statue. Moira leaned back, and Charlie was nearly dragged backwards into the smaller woman. "What?" Charlie asked. "Come on. I gotta go!"

"Where's Remi?" Moira asked.

"I don't know." Charlie sighed in exasperation. "I'll tell you about last night in the truck. But seriously, I cannot be late twice in the span of four days!"

"I don't care about the romp you two—"

"No!" Charlie yelped, making Moira raise an eyebrow. "That's not—we didn't... Look, please just take me to the hospital. I'll answer any questions on the way. Please!"

Moira closed her eyes for a moment, then scowled, stalking forward. Charlie sighed in relief, grabbing her bag as she followed the Irishwoman out the door.

Once they were headed in the direction of the hospital, Moira gestured at her. "Well, out with it."

She inhaled deeply, digging through her bag for a piece of gum. "He... introduced me to Matty last night."

"Fecking idiot," Moira muttered under her breath. "So you know everythin'?"

"Define everything," Charlie said, making a small sound of triumph when she extracted her last stick of spearmint from the bottom of her bag. "No. I don't know everything. I don't wanna know."

"But ya know enough, don't ya," Moira said, rolling to a stop at an intersection. 

Charlie unwrapped the piece of gum, eyed the spotless interior of the truck, and stuck the wrapper in her pocket. She chewed for a moment, then when the gum was suitably pliable, she said, "I know enough."

The other woman let out an unamused snort, stepping on the accelerator when the last car with the right-of-way had gone through the intersection. "And?"

"And what?" Charlie asked, voice sour.

"And then what did he do?" Moira returned, voice sharp and impatient. "My guess is he didn't bloody disappear. What did you do after meetin' Matty?"

"We... he took me... I don't know." Charlie looked out the window, picturing the dilapidated street from last night. "To some place north of the Rabbit Hole. He said he needed to meet with an acquaintance, he did... then he... he took me home."

She stopped there, not sure she wanted to give Moira all the dirty little details. 

"Well do you have any idea where he is now?" Moira swore under her breath when a motorcycle dove in front of them, barely missing the front fender and forcing her to slam on the brakes, just to zip into the next lane.

Charlie scoffed. "No. Why would I?"

"Well it's like this, innit?" Moira started, her accent thicker as her temper spiked. "You're the one he's screwing. You're the one has him all wound up over nothin', aren't ya? You're the one he's bloody throwin' money at despite the fact that you're stubborn as a mule. You're—"

"Okay, okay," Charlie nearly yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "Jesus Christ, I get it. Well why don't you try this one on for size? He's a damn grown-up, if he didn't come home it's probably because he didn't want to. Did you check anywhere else? Did you call him, perhaps? Did you—"

She was cut off by a phone ringing.

Moira drove her thumb into a button on the steering wheel even before the caller id popped up on the dash display.

"Where in the bloody, fucking hell are you?" she spat.

"Well good morning to you too, sunshine," Remi replied. 

Charlie made sure to keep her face perfectly still, not looking over once. She could see the hospital up ahead, and pointed toward the main entrance. It would be the easiest if Moira just dropped her at the doors, rather than worry about parking in the madness that is an inner-city hospital parking lot.

"Remi," Moira growled in warning.

"Don't take that tone with me, mother hen," he nearly growled back. "I'm working on a little hangover and if you keep screeching like that I will find a way to kill you through the phone."

Charlie frowned at that, but didn't say anything.

"Where have you been?" Moira repeated, though in a much lower tone.

"I've been busy," Remi said. "Last night was..." 

He sighed and Charlie couldn't stop herself from turning toward the screen, glaring at the little green dragon.

Moira glanced at her, brow wrinkling, but she didn't say anything.

"I'm beginning to think you're right, Moira, much as it pains me to admit that. Charlie's costing me more than I was expecting."

The two women looked at one another, each guarded in her own way.

"You can afford her tuition a dozen times over," Moira started.

"Not like that," Remi snapped. "I don't mean the damn money. To hell with the money, I don't care. No it's..." He sighed. "It's her, Moira. It's her. She's just... not what I expected."

"Well what did you expect?" Again Moira looked at Charlie, like she was seriously doubting her choice to let this happen.

Charlie, for her part, was frozen solid. She wasn't even sure she was breathing anymore.

"I don't know," he said, frustration plain in his voice. "Just... not whatever the fuck this all is. But I know what I'm doing."

"And that is?" Moira asked.

"She can sit and stew for a few days. Realize she can't get where she wants without me. So I'm headed to Cartagena. Everyone knows the Mexicans want to sweep in and I'm not in love with the idea—"

"Remi, I'll call you back," Moira said, punching another button on the steering wheel, pulling to a stop outside the main entrance to the hospital. The call screen dropped away, Charlie staring at it blankly as the dragon winked out of existance.

If only it were that easy.

"Charlie," Moora started slowly.

"Don't," she hissed, throwing the door open. "He's just telling the truth, right? This isn't about what I can do. It's never been about that. I hope he has fun with his fucking drug smugglers. Tell him I don't wanna see him when he gets back."

"That won't—"

Charlie slammed the door behind her and nearly sprinted into the hospital. Her chest tightened as the too-cool, antiseptic air swept over her, and she slowed down, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. 

Thankfully, Jazira wouldn't be in today, so she wouldn't have to face her friend after the disaster of the past few days. She walked into the locker room, avoiding the eyes of the interns and other volunteers.

Her fingers trembled on the dial of her lock.

She would sit and stew all right. She would stew over every tiny detail.

She was certain she could make this as miserable for him as it currently was for her, and she nearly smiled at the idea. Changing quickly, she took a moment to neaten her hair, then took the stairs to the sixth floor.

By the time she got there she was out of breath, but she felt a little better. A little more in control as she paused at the door leading to the main hall and closed her eyes, forcing her breath and her heart rate to even out.

By the time she checked in with Dr. Mila, she felt less like she was drowning, and more like she was staying afloat.

It took two to play a game, after all.