"Handbags & Gladrags"

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

I started this quite a while ago on my SaSA site (Save a Starving Author) so I thought I'd transfer it and then maybe I'd catch up with it.

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

Charlie slapped him hard across the face, her manicured nails flashing red in the light. His hand came up to catch her wrist and he tugged her furiously closer. "You don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do you, Angel?" he spat, eyes dark as they glared at her. She tried to tug herself free but he just gripped harder and she felt her teeth clench angrily, the line she had been about to deliver lost from her mind. What the hell was he playing at? She found herself shaking with anger as he glared down at her, her other hand poised by her side as she decided what she should do. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Why was he looking at her like that? Was this about what had happened earlier?

"Cut! Cut! Meth, what are you doing? That's not in the script!" Lee strode onto the set, the cameramen peering out from beneath their equipment in puzzlement. He was brandishing a copy of the script in front of Meth's face, but Meth was just glaring at Charlie. He looked almost as if she'd turned him to stone. She didn't like the man, but, damn it, there was no need for him to pretend that she was Medusa. "Meth, what are you doing?"

Meth came back to his senses and relinquished his hold on Charlie's wrist. There was an angry expression splashed across her face that turned his stomach. Their mutual dislike had yet to be thrown across the gossip magazines, which was at least one thing that the pair of them had to be thankful for. There was certainly no love lost between them, but what had happened just then? He could see the cogs turning in Charlie's mind as she watched him in mutinous silence. She thought that he had done it on purpose to sabotage the scene. It wasn't because of that that he had suddenly just blanked out. The way she had jerked her hand in his had reminded him of someone else and how terribly close it was getting to a particular date. Lee was talking to him, trying to figure out exactly where Meth had gone wrong or gotten confused. Meth was barely listening to the director as he rattled through the script and the actions that they had discussed previously. He nodded absent-mindedly, glancing up to catch a glimpse of the sulky yet sultry Charlie Andrews slinking over to one of the cameramen, tipping her head in a lilting laugh that set the blood of most men on fire... but not Meth. Charlie was one of those diva bitches. He didn't like her attitude one bit. She found people who could help her get further on in her life, wrapped herself around them and squeezed until there wasn't any sweetness left, until the victim was as sharp and as bitter as a lemon. Oh yes... Charlie had a reputation alright and he sure as hell wasn't going to get involved in any of that. He glared back at the script that Lee was pouring over, angry at the way Charlie laughed and flicked her hair. She was nothing but a celebrity whore, ready to sell herself to the highest bidder.

It was disgusting.

"It's fine, Lee. I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind lately," Meth lied. Lying was one of the easier things he could pull off as an actor. This was his poker face, his work face, his Charlie-is-just-a-bitch-and-I'm-not-going-to-let-her-get-to-me face.

"I understand." The director clapped him on the shoulder, his jovial smile charismatic to the very end. "We all have a lot on our minds. It's the stress of the job."

"Yeah..." It wasn't the stress of the job that was getting to Meth. It was the stress of something else, but that was his own personal business. It was something he would prefer to keep deeply hidden from the tabloids and definitely hidden from Charlie. He didn't like the idea of her knowing anything about him that could give her potential ammo. He'd already heard from some of the make-up team that she had somewhat of a reputation to exploit the weaknesses of her co-stars. Meth liked his job at The Elite. It was a position his agent had fought to get him. He would fight to keep it if he needed to. Charlie could just go whistle if she thought she was going to take this away from him.

The brunette, her glossy lips sparkling in a smile, laughed, her perfect hair bouncing in a perfect image of professional beautitude as she slid away from the cameraman, thanking him for generously offering her a glass of water before slipping back over to Lee and Meth. "So are we alright to continue?" Her eyes spoke fire and ice, sweetness disguising a sharp annoyance. Meth had had no need to interrupt everything like that. They were bound to be at it all day anyway, so why had he had to call an undue halt to the proceedings? It wasn't as if she was going to enjoy this scene. She had to kiss him, for gods' sakes, and try to make it look like she was overcome with passion. She had no doubts of her skills as an excellent actress; the question was really whether or not she could manage to lock up the urge to vomit when she and Meth locked lips. He was arrogant, cold and aloof... and he clearly hated her. That much was obvious, though she could not think of how she had managed to offend him. It was dog eat dog in the acting world. If Meth wanted to act like an injured puppy, then he could, so long as he was aware that Charlie would guard herself with the intensity of six bodyguards and an ice fortress.

Meth nodded, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand, trying to ignore the feelings at the back of his mind that were the cause to the pitch and toss of the storm in his stomach. There was the memory of an angry blonde trapped in his mind. They had argued that fateful night. She had slapped him across the face and he had grabbed her wrist exactly as he had had to grab Charlie. And he had simply glared at her, unable to frame the angry words he had felt for fear that he would explode with it all. The argument had been about something so stupid. She had asked if she could stay the night, but he had said no. Jean had told him that she didn't believe the depth of his affection, didn't believe that he loved her. "It's been two years of us being together and you still won't let me stay the whole night. What is so wrong with me, Meth? Why can't you just let me in? Why do you have to play these stupid mind games with me?" The shrill voice echoed in his memory as he slipped off set and into one of the cooler, empty corridors. The darkness made him feel a little safer as he leant back against the wall, closing his eyes and wrapping himself in a cloak, drowning in his own misery and guilt.

There was the heavy print of Charlie's lips on his lips. He had tried to ask the writers to alter it so that he didn't have to kiss her, but they had questioned his motives on the matter and so he had simply shut up, to which they had said that there was a chemistry between him and Charlie. He had been inclined to tell them to shove their job up their backsides, but had bitten his lip, instead, concentrating everything inwardly. He needed this job. It was his big break. He was just biding his time until a better offer came along, which his agent was sure it would. Good things, after all, come to those who wait. Meth stuffed a hand in his pocket and flicked open his mobile phone with the other. The call connected quickly and the young man relaxed a little as his brother picked up, wittering on about how they were going to meet up for a game of pool later.

Charlie slumped in her private dressing room. There was a message from that stupid reporter on her mobile phone. She was getting sick of this. He was almost as bad as Mike Day, her stalker, who insisted on waiting outside of the studio for her to leave work. She had started leaving by the back door, but it didn't seem to help much because no sooner was she home than he would turn up outside of her appartment and just wait. Charlie had no idea what he was waiting for, but it unnerved her and it was getting embarrassing to keep phoning the police and having them escort him away. Other than Mike and the reporter, it was pretty lonely in her world. Her parents had cut her off ever since she'd decided to become an actress. It was hard trying to get in touch with them because when she did they made her feel as if nothing she did was worthwhile. This was one of those many secrets that were being withheld from the public eye.

She looked in the mirror and ran the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the thick lipstick that had been painted on by the make-up girls earlier. The woman in the mirror looked to her like some cheap tart, which is what her parents thought of her, selling herself to the highest bidders. Azure eyes that looked as though they were smattered with glacial frost or icy stars stared back at her, circled with thick spidery lashes. She could feel the backs of her eyes pricking with tears as she continued to stare at herself. Despite the glamour and the celebrity friends... it was a lonely existence. There was a knock on the door. "Just a minute!" she called out, scrabbling for a make-up removing wipe. She rubbed hard at the smeared lipstick and dabbed at the kohl and mascara that thickened her lashes. Satisfied that she looked less like Frankenstein's drag queen, she coolly slid open the door. "Yeah?"

"Mr Day is out at the front again; Harris told me to warn you. He said there's a taxi waiting out at the back for you."

"Thanks, Laura." The PA nodded and slipped off down the corridor, shoulders sloping. Charlie sighed, looking at the huge mirror in the gloomy lights of the room. Yet another backstage exit, then. She hated all of this sneaking around, but that was the price of fame. Another price was having to kiss Meth Croft. Her fingertips went to her lips. The skin was tingling from scrubbing herself with the make-up removing wipes.

Meth was watching his feet, concentrating on what he would do if he should have to entertain the dreaded subject with his younger brother. He didn't think Weston would bring it up, but at least if he was prepared for it then he wouldn't have to talk about it in too much detail. He could design a way of changing the subject and pushing his brother in the other direction. Weston wouldn't mind; he was laid back and understood his brother's need for privacy in that area. It was bad enough when he went back to see their parents around this time of year. His mother had a habit of fussing over him. Her intention was to make him feel better, but it very rarely had its desired effect. His father was no better. He was a man who did not know exactly how to express his emotions and it was painful to see him try for it would always express itself as though his limbs had frozen on the inside and a block of wood had been placed in his mouth as he had no idea what to say or exactly how to act. Meth had occasionally thought that his father's reactions to discussing feelings were similar to his own, perhaps showing from whom he had inherited the characteristic... but he didn't like to read into his own thoughts and feelings too much; it always made him feel a thick film of guilt slide over him as brought what had happened to Jean to the front of his mind. If only he'd said how he felt, perhaps she-

He knocked into somebody in the corridor, raising his head and his eyebrows in surprise, stilling his tongue a moment later as it reached for the habitual apology. It was Charlie and, though she looked like a different person without all of that heavy make-up slapped on her face to make her look like the sultry scarlet woman of The Elite, he did not want to take any chances with her. After all, the female of the species was most definitely more deadly than the male. Look at black widow spiders, for example, they did what they wanted with the males and then they ate them. You could see that enough down the pub; broken men who'd enjoyed the honeymoon and then found that their wives were divorcing them for half of their earnings. Still, he supposed there were men like that, too. "I didn't see you," he said, woodenly, to the woman looking up at him with those huge, frosty blue eyes.

Charlie shook her head, brown hair shimmering and shimmying in the dim light. "Well you wouldn't have. You were looking at your feet." She frowned at him, a small furrow appearing in her brow that he couldn't help but notice. It made her look more innocent and real than she did on the set, but it might still all be an act. "Be more careful in future, Meth."

He grunted something in reply, letting her take it in whatever way she wanted to. His hands stuffed themselves back in his pockets. Queen Bitch or not, he wasn't taking any chances so she couldn't take any prisoners. He moved to the side to step past her.

"Is Meth your full name or is it short for something else?"

There was a quizzical expression upon her face. He considered it a moment, wondering how he should reply. Was she digging for something? What was her motive? Could there possibly be any motive to this question? "Why do you want to know?"

Charlie just looked at him. Why did she want to know? There was no reason, really. She was just curious. She should have realised that after his cold behaviour towards her she wasn't going to get any kind of answer to her question. Her eyes slipped down to the left before she could stop them, her head tilting at an angle and making her look as though he had injured her somehow. Why should she give him the satisfaction? Charlie angled her chin into a more defiant position. "It doesn't matter. See you tomorrow." And with that she moved past him.

His hand caught on her arm with a light but firm touch. "Methwick. It's short for Methwick." She was blinking up at him with those big eyes he was sure had been made to make men go weak at the knees. "My parents like names that are 'different'."

Charlie pursed her lips for a moment, considering him. "Oh... Okay..."

He let go of her arm. They simply stood looking at each other. There was a low hum in the direction of one of the studio doors that sounded like muffled chatter. A light flickered overhead. Charlie and Meth both wondered why they were standing there in such an awkward silence.

"You're heading in the wrong direction for the car park," he said, finally, as though it had been jerked out of him.

Charlie looked down again. It was going to sound big-headed if she told him, but what other possible reason could she have for leaving by the back door? Besides, Harris and his PA would back her up with the truth. She was just afraid that the reason why he was being so cold towards her was because she was egotistical, which was certainly not true. She had this terrible need for people to like her, at the moment. Perhaps it was because her parents were being so cold towards her. "I... I have a stalker. He's waiting outside at the front, again..." This was it. This was where he told her that she was completely self-absorbed and needed to get a grip. The line of his mouth hardened a little. He was going to say something like the make-up girls.

"I see. See you tomorrow." And then he left.

Charlie watched him go down the corridor, broad shoulders tensed, not glancing back at her. She was trying to work out whether the silence was better than the comments of the make-up girls, but she couldn't decide.

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

His hands gripped the steering wheel. He was trying to decide whether or not he bought Charlie's story about the stalker. She had seemed to be being genuine about it, but it was always hard to tell with an actress. They could play whatever part they wanted to play and make it believable. And, as they said, the best part of believe is the lie. Should he believe her or would he find out that she was lying? His eyes fell on a rather anxious man who was waiting by the security gate. Perhaps that was her so-called stalker? Then again, it could always be an anxious friend of a cast or crew member who didn't have the authorisation to be in the studio grounds. A security guard had gone over to talk to the man, clearly trying to tell him in gentle tones to leave, but the man just shook his head and looked on. Meth turned his eyes away, sighing in frustration that he would be at all bothered by this stupid stalker thing that Charlie just had to have made up. His traitorous eyes fell on the curvy, red convertible sitting snugly in Charlie's usual spot. It did give the impression that she hadn't intended to leave via the back door. Why did he honestly give a damn, though?

Turning the key in the ignition, he revved his engine hard and sped over to the exit. He was going to go for a drink with Weston and that would be the last of this nonsense of Charlie Andrews. She was nothing to do with him. They just worked together. That was it. He slammed his foot back on the accelerator as the gates opened for him. London had never felt as claustrophobic to him as it did at that moment. He needed to get away and see his brother.

Charlie picked up her mobile. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was enough to make her inwardly groan. It never rained but it poured; why couldn't she deal with just one problem at once? "My agent already told you. I'm not free for interviews. I already told you. I'm not free for interviews." Her brow furrowed and she could feel anger bubbling inside of her. "I don't care how much you're offering. Stop calling me before I have you done for harrassment." She put the phone down and turned it decidedly off. The taxi driver nodded to her in the mirror and made some comment about nuissance calls. She smiled, tight-lipped and pale from the amount of stress and tension she was carrying on her shoulders. Why couldn't anything ever be simple? Everything in her life, except her career, was taking a nose-dive and she didn't seem to be able to take control of this collision course. All she needed now was for Harris to call and say she was being written out and would need to go in so many weeks.

The Elite was all that was keeping her together. Outside of work her social life had ground to an almost abrupt halt. At work she could talk to the crew except for the make-up girls who held a grudge against her. The male make-up artists were fine, but it was just the clique that despised her. Then there were her co-stars who all seemed to be very self-involved, especially Estella Carmichael who played Charlie's best friend and Meth's fiancee. Meth was another one. He held himself so carefully apart from everybody else. He could be relied upon to bring humour or conversation, but it was never personal and eternally aloof. Well... They weren't actors and actresses for nothing. The ability to keep a perfectly tuned mask in place was what paid their wages.

The current story line involved her, Meth and Estella as Charlie's character 'Angel South' was in a passionate affair with Meth's character. Estella's 'Diamante Rourke' was due to find out so that there could be an explosion in the story. The Elite was already an explosive soap. It was full of wealth, sex and scandals; what more could the public ask for? Charlie was only sorry that she had to involve herself so heavily with Meth because of the story. It would be fine if he didn't look at her as though she was the devil incarnate. Did he seriously think that she wished him harm? It didn't really matter. It was showbiz. Everybody and anybody was false and unreal. That was simply how it worked. Falsity and botox. That was how they moved. Charlie preferred the mask to the plastic smile, anyway.

*

"Did you get the wine for dinner tomorrow?" Weston asked.

"Damn..."

"You forgot it?" the younger asked in surprise, watching Meth rub his eyes.

"No. I bought some... I just left it back at the studio." He looked down at his half empty pint. "I'm still under the limit. Do you think I'll be okay to drive?"

Weston blinked at his brother, leaning against the bar with more weight than was necessary. It was nearing the anniversary of the accident, but he didn't know how it had affected his brother's confidence in his driving skills. Perhaps it was just because it was so close to the anniversary that Meth was being cautious. Or perhaps his brother was normally like this, but West had his doubts. Meth was competent. He was a good driver. That one terrible accident had just... It had hit them all hard, but it had to be worse if you were actually the driver. "No. I think you'll be fine. Just be more careful than usual, I guess."

"I'll be back soon." And with that, Meth swept out of the pub, leaving his brother to down the rest of his drink. He had meant to pick up the bottle of wine on his way out, but he had bumped into Charlie and the conversation had unsettled him enough to forget. How could he forget? It was most unlike him. He shook his head, striding across the street, away from his apartment and the pub towards the car park where Old Reliable was parked.

He pulled up to the studio car park, the soft orange lights lending a hazy glow to the bonnet of Old Reliable. It wasn't a particularly modern beast but it did its job. He slapped the door back into place, stepping confidently across the car park and clocking Charlie's car as he went. Why was that still here? Shouldn't she have come to collect it by now? Meth frowned, running his tongue over his teeth in a nervous way. The guards on the doors buzzed him in and he swept through to the dressing room where he'd left the bottle. His hand slipped around the slender neck of the green glass and his eyes connected with the mirror above the dressing counter.

The car was travelling fast. Jean had her arms folded across her chest, sulkily glaring out of the passenger window as he changed gears on the dark road. The lights flashed across the tarmac. The radio was burbling in the background. He glanced down at her, a quick sweep of her face and a soft sigh and his eyes were back on the road only to find something dart into the middle of it and stand looking frightened by the oncoming headlights. He swerved the wheel with a screech of brakes, seeing the canal come up to meet them.

Meth blinked and shook his head, seeing his reflection in the mirror instead of the murky waters of the canal rising up over his windscreen. He swallowed, ran a hand through his hair and turned off the soft lights that lit the mirror. He was out to the car park before he knew it. His hand brushed back through his hair once more, breathing the crisp night air in slowly. The air flushed white as he exhaled. The mist cleared to reveal a figure standing by a red convertible, rubbing her forehead before slumping to the ground by the front tyres. Meth blinked. Brown hair glimmered in the orange streetlights. There was a swish and flick of a mobile phone, but a sound made the woman look up. Meth froze where he stood. There was a fellow standing by the security gate. He squinted into the semi-darkness, recognising the man from earlier. The woman watched him uneasily and then edged around to the other side of her car. The adam's apple in Meth's throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed; he stepped towards the woman. "Charlie?"

The breath in Charlie's throat caught tight. She clamped the mobile to her chest out of fear, turning to see who it could be. Her heart fluttered, finally resuming a steady beat as she realised that it was only Meth. Frosty eyes slipped over to the figure of a man by the gate. "I... I came back to get my car... He followed me. I... The car..."

Meth frowned. She was an icy drama queen but he couldn't help being concerned for her. "Are you okay?" It was strange to him how much stronger and steady his voice sounded than hers did. He took a step closer to her, looking away to the gate where the figure clung to the shadows simply watching them.

"My car won't start. I think the battery has gone dead."

He nodded in the direction of the man at the gate. "Is he bothering you?"

Charlie blinked at him. For a man of so very few words, Meth was making progress tonight. She brushed back a flip of her brown hair, freeing her blue eyes that were looking upon him in such wonderment. "I..." Her eyes ran between the two men. "I'm going to call a taxi. He won't bother me." Her last sentence was filled with hesitancy.

Meth shook his head. He didn't like this at all. No matter how much he despised the way Charlie handled herself, he wasn't leaving her at the mercy of this stalker. "No. I'll drive you home and bring you some jump leads tomorrow. We'll kick start it then."

"I don't want to cause any trou-"

Meth shook his head. "You're not, but even so... I'm not leaving you here... with him." He nodded towards the dim figure and saw Charlie swallow in the corner of his eye. "Get in the car, Charlie." He moved over to the passenger side, fishing for his keys in his pocket.

"Thanks..."

The soft words pricked Meth's conscience, freezing his movements for a moment. "Don't mention it," he muttered, unlocking the door to the passenger side. A shiver passed down his spine as he did so. It was very rare for him to allow a passenger into his car after what had happened.

Charlie smoothed down her skirt, anxiously watching Mike Day from her seat in Meth's car. It was an old car and certainly not something she would have previously pictured him driving. He had a quietitude about him that made her think he was one of these men with a mysterious side and the ambition to be James Bond with a flash car and some strangely named sex kitten to share his ride. She watched him slide his seatbelt into place, herself already buckled in. Yes. She could definitely see him driving an Aston Martin. His eyes flicked up to the mirror and, if only for a moment, connected with hers. A shiver traced her spine. It felt strange, to her, being in his car. She clasped her hands carefully in her lap and brought her knees together, not sure exactly what to do with her limbs. Should she cross her legs or keep them like that? Should she fold her arms, rest an arm on the door or simply keep her hands clasped in her lap? Her chest felt a little tight. Why did she feel so nervous? Perhaps it was because he had offered her help and he was the last person she would have expected that to come from.

"Whereabouts is it?"

Meth's voice snapped her back from her silent reverie, pulling her eyes from the shirt he was wearing, which was a very nice fit, and parting her lips in question. He glanced at her, a direct look in his eyes that said he was a little annoyed with the situation. Her wits gathered themselves and pieced together the question he had asked. "Er... Lyons Street. Number twenty-one." He made a grunting noise in reply, clearly not feeling jovial enough to strike up a conversation. Charlie felt even more awkward, fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt. "I'm sorry..."

Meth blinked and looked up at her. What? He forced his eyes back to the road, fearing that he was hearing things. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry."

She'd definitely said it again. The man shifted slightly in his seat. "I told you. It's no trouble."

"Oh..." Her voice trailed off in a hesitant wispy way that made him think she was holding back on him as she sat and frowned at the piece of thread she was plucking at rather dejectedly. Meth found himself frowning and wondering who was sat in his car because it couldn't be Charlie Andrews. Charlie Andrews was much more self-assured than this. Then again, he thought, perhaps that was just her work face and this was the real Charlie. He glanced at her. She looked more real without the heavy make-up smeared across her lips and slapped to her eyelids. Her lips moved again, but for a moment Meth hadn't realised that sound had fallen from them. "I'm sorry about earlier, before recording. One of the make-up girls made the drinks. I got ours mixed up... The salty tea was meant to be mine."

Meth blinked again. He really had to be hearing things. The make-up clique? "Come again?" he said, turning a corner. He saw her swallow in the corner of his eyes and tug at her necklace.

"They don't like me. The salt was meant for me. Not you."

"Hmm... Okay." He didn't quite believe her, she could tell, and it made her feel worse that he hadn't simply asked why. If she went on and explained then he might think she was just making things up and that she had been sat for hours thinking this up just to get him to feel sorry for her and forgive her. She didn't want him to pity her, but she didn't want him to think badly of her, either, without real cause.

Charlie fidgeted a little, watching the road with unease. If he had asked it would make it simpler, but he had done the same thing earlier. She had told him about her stalker and he had pulled a similar face before walking away in what she could only describe as a black mood. The only good thing about Mike Day showing up tonight was that he had clearly had an effect on Meth who was showing more concern than he had when she had told him. Men never asked why. It was aggravating. They didn't ask so they didn't get the full story of what had happened and yet they could take it out on you in their ignorance. "I was dating one of the girls' husband a while back." Charlie paused, waiting for him to react but he did nothing, which left her feeling more than a little disconcerted. Maybe he hadn't heard her properly, but that was entirely doubtful. "I didn't know they were married... or even an item... The girls think differently." She saw him nod but that was about all he seemed to want to give her by way of a reply. Something in Charlie's stomach dropped like a stone.

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

The car stopped outside of the apartment, crushed up against the kerb. Rain splodged the windscreen, heavy and fat as it fell upon the glass. Meth was scoping out the dark street, lit only by the dim glow of orange streetlights and the flicker of passing traffic. It wasn't the sort of place where he would have envisioned Charlie to live. She was unbuckling her seatbelt, getting ready to make her escape. He pushed the handbrake into place, glancing at the dark door with the number twenty-one hung in faded gold and rather crookedly in its center. He raised an eyebrow at the dark shops beside the door. The line of his mouth compressed decidedly. Charlie muttered her thanks, reaching for the door handle.

"I'll see you to your door."

She paused, looking at him as he unfolded his long legs, fishing the keys out of the ignition and opening the car door. Her arms crossed over her chest and she stepped out into the pouring rain. Puddles rippled and splashed beneath her feet as she stepped over to the pavement where Meth reached out, his hand settling on her elbow and steering her closer to the building. She tugged a jingling bunch of keys out of her pocket, slotting the silver one into the lock of the rather shady looking door. Meth leant on the wall, waiting for her. She turned to him, looking up into his face with frosty azure eyes. "Do you want to come in?" she said quietly. The rain laced her lashes as she looked up at him. "To say thank you for driving me home." Meth hesitated. There was something telling him that he should leave, but he didn't. "I only mean a cup of tea... I don't think I have anything alcoholic, anyway." He nodded slowly, seeing that really she meant that he was driving so she wouldn't give him anything to hinder his senses.

It was... thoughtful of her. Despite the fact that it went against his better judgement after all that he had heard and the fact that he still considered Charlie to be a honey trap, Meth was beginning to like her. "I guess I could." The fact that Weston was waiting for him in his local had not been erased from his mind, but it had been pushed to the back of it. Besides, he reasoned, what if her stalker turned up there? There would be nobody but her around and despite the character she played on set, Charlie was turning out not to be quite as fiesty as she pretended. It was all an act. A very good act.

A small smile played out on her lips as she pushed the door, letting them in from the cold and the rain and the dark of the night. Somewhere inside the close quarters of the cramped passage, Charlie flicked a light switch and a cobwebbed bulb dangling somewhere overhead stuttered into life. Meth shoved the shutters down on the surge of amazement that had clouded his eyes upon seeing the cracked and stained walls of the passage. He hadn't envisioned anything like this at all. Charlie simply ignored it all, hiking up the steep, narrow stairs that were carpeted in something that was hideous and apparently navy blue. He followed closely, wondering what on earth her living quarters could be like if this was just the passage in. Charlie Andrews, he decided, was full of surprises. She turned the key in another door at the very top of the stairs, muttering something about extra security measures. Meth was having a little trouble with security measures of his own as he realised how close the confines of the tiny staircase had pushed him to Charlie.

The top door gave way and Meth found himself clamping the shutters tightly on his amazement. After the horrific preamble to her apartment, he had been expecting some sort of run down dump, but run down dump it certainly was not. It was actually a spacious loft apartment, though Charlie seemed to have done her very best to clutter it up and make it homily. She stepped through the living room to a small kitchen area, sliding a curtain of beads aside to get inside and then filling up the kettle through what seemed like force of habit before setting it down and putting it on the boil. Meth hovered by the doorway. She had definitely tried to make it as homily as possible with her piles of cushions squashed onto the sofas and her randomly placed teddy bears and quirky ornaments. Nevertheless, Meth couldn't help but feel like the place had a certain emptiness to it. It disturbed him, slightly. He wasn't used to interpretting the atmosphere of a place like that. Perhaps that was his inherited inability to cope with feelings showing through again.

"Do you want tea or coffee?"

The words brought Meth back down to earth. He nudged the door shut behind him, taking a few tentative steps into the center of the living room, feeling slightly like a gangly alien in her comfortable room. There was lots of red and cream, he noticed, which somehow reminded him of her little convertible. "Whatever you're having."

"Tea then."

"That's okay." He was letting his eyes wander about this intensely private space. It felt bizarrely like he was intruding though she had invited him in. It looked very lived in. Still, he couldn't shake off the notion that not many people saw this personal haven with all of its strange charm and comfortable chairs and sofas. Another odd thing was the lack of pictures. There were a few of Charlie and some close friends or people from the set, but he couldn't see any family photos. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard much about her family either. "Pardon?" he asked, realising she was stood looking at him for an answer to some question or other that she had undoubtedly asked.

"I said 'how many sugars do you take?'" She was watching him patiently, a small chill running down her spine and then into her stomach. He was looking at her things as though he'd stepped into some kind of museum. Was that what her life had become? Was it now so isolated, old and dusty that it was worth putting in a museum? "Me too," she muttered when he finally answered her, dragging his eyes from a stuffed giraffe teddy that was sitting by a photo of the African plains. "What were you doing up at the studio so late?" she asked, trying to cover up the awkward silence if she could.

"Picking up a bottle of wine I left for dinner with my parents tomorrow."

"Oh... That's nice," Charlie faltered, pouring the burning liquid into two separate mugs.

"What about your parents?"

She almost dropped the kettle. The woman swallowed, setting the heavy thing back on its base and wondering how she was supposed to answer that. To say that her parents thought she was throwing her life away and therefore wouldn't speak to her wasn't exactly the kind of thing you dropped into polite conversation. "We... er... We don't see a lot of each other..."

"Oh? How come?" She could hear him moving about in her living room, presumably finding somewhere to sit on one of her sofas in between a mountain of cushions.

That was another thing about men. They never asked you the questions that you'd prefer they asked. And they always asked the questions you wished they would never ask. They were all completely inadequate when it came to reading the signs in an expression or the tone in a voice. They were all blind and deaf to the subtle vibrations caused by emotions. "Differences of opinions," she settled on, ferrying the mugs into the living room. She was about to ask him if he wanted milk when the phone began to ring in the kitchen. Her phone only ever seemed to ring when it was bad news. She was sorely tempted to ignore it, but what kind of signal would that give out to Meth if he was, indeed, receptive enough to recognise it? "I'll be a moment." She slipped through the beaded curtain into the small kitchen again and picked up the phone. "Hello? Ivor...?" There was a pause and then Meth heard her voice drop into despair. "Oh gods..."

"Do you know what they...?" There was a pause. "Oh..." Meth shifted uncomfortably in his comfortable seat. Something obviously hadn't gone entirely to plan. "I... I understand... Yes... Oh gods... Tomorrow? Oh-" There was another pause whilst a ream of information was apparently relayed to her. Meth kept his eyes on the bead curtain, watching Charlie's back as she cradled the phone to her ear. She seemed even smaller than usual, diminishing beneath whatever was being said to her. "Isn't there anything I can-?" Her shoulders slumped again as whomever was on the other end of the phone cut her off mid-sentence. "No... No; I don't suppose it would..." He saw her free hand, which had, until that moment, been lying limp by her side, move up to her face and, he fancied, dash away some tears. She sniffed. "Mmhmm... Shall I call the studio? Oh... Okay... Yes. Bye."

Charlie closed her eyes, feeling the hot tears drip down her face. Why did this always have to happen? There was a jingling sound and the breath in her throat caught as she felt a large hand come to rest on her shoulder. "Charlie?" He was looking at her with concern. She sniffed and tried to smudge the tears staining her cheeks, but it didn't help her to look collected and composed. "What is it?" he asked calmly and quietly, with that same steadiness he had used in the car park.

Charlie felt like she was falling to pieces, crumbling away as the tears in her eyes built up and began to leak some more. She tried to give a little laugh but it was so half-hearted and dejected that it seemed to just die on her lips. "Uhm... My parents... They've been talking to a journalist-" The woman broke off, finding her throat clogged with too much emotion.

Meth felt more awkward than usual, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do to make her feel better. He got that strange sensation where it seemed like his limbs had turned to wood and were of no use at all. He tried to wipe away the tears spilling down her cheeks. "And that's bad?" he asked gently. She nodded, frosty eyes spilling over as the ice thawed and wet her lashes. "Why?"

"They think... They think I'm wasting my life... That acting is just... " She tried to make a hand gesture to explain it, but there was simply nothing else she could say. How could they do this to her? Her throat was constricted with tears and emotions.

Meth found he was leaning almost too close to her as she looked up at him, those frosty eyes compelling. He was twisting his fingers in strands of soft brown hair that fell close to her damp cheeks, wondering what he could do, how he could comfort her. Her mouth was too close to his and his eyes were locked to it. "Why do they think that?" he muttered, watching her tongue delve out and moisten her lips. He could feel her fragility beneath his gaze, but he couldn't help looking at her like that, knowing that they were only inches apart.

Charlie's heart was hammering in a strange step inside her chest. She couldn't quite figure out what was going on, her emotions unravelling like a ball of wool, spilling at every side. And then she looked up at him and saw that his gaze was following the movements of her mouth and her heartbeat stepped up a pace, uneven and unsteady. Her palm lightly lit upon his chest, the thud of his pulse recognisable under her touch. "Because... to them... I'm not using my brain. And... they say I could do better..."

His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, his head feeling heavy with the intoxicating scent of her perfume and the struggle to keep a grip on what he was doing, what he was saying, why he definitely should not be entertaining the idea of kissing her. The light touch of her palm upon him felt like fire branding his skin. "Could you do better?"

Charlie was dimly aware that this should not be happening, that she shouldn't be willing him to touch her, to move his fingertips from her hair and to draw them over her skin as his lips crushed hers. She was barely aware of what he had asked, her eyes entertaining his as they stood there in the kitchen, closer than was really necessary, her tears drying upon her cheeks. His breath was fanning her mouth, warm and pleasant as she realised that their noses were almost touching. "Meth," she heard herself whisper before his lips lightly played her lips. It was a careful kiss, his fingertips slowly unwinding from her hair to find her shoulder and sweep down to rest upon her hips, guiding her closer to him. Her hand moved from his chest, sliding around his neck and slinking into the back of his hair to cradle him nearer to her. With her lashes settled against her cheek, she drowned herself in the way his mouth made her melt with its gentle movements, its daring kiss.

The kiss gathered haste as their combined need to feel something other than the emptiness inside grew. She was slipping her hands over his broad shoulders, memorising every dip and plain, as his hands slid her ever closer to him, reaching around to settle one upon her lower back and to slide the other further up. He heard her mutter something not unlike his name between the hasty rush of kisses that they were swopping, and he pulled back. "Charlie..." His voice sounded husky even to his ears. "Charlie, this shouldn't-"

"Please...?" Her words half-frightened half-compelled him. Her wide eyes locked onto his, their depths swirling with a heavy black colour. "Please, Methwick?" He blinked. She hadn't called him that before. In fact, it was very rare anybody called him that, but it made a strange yet nice change. The man swallowed, watching her, her lips heavy with the building force of their kisses.

"Oh hell," he muttered, and kissed her again, tugging her close to him, needing her as much as she needed him.

*

There was the sound of soft breathing in the dark room. Meth blinked slowly upwards. It was dark and quiet, yet the occasional glitter of headlights glanced across the ceiling. There was the brush of cold air over his chest, dipping low to where the duvet just covered his hips. He stretched an arm back behind his head to rest on. There was a soft noise beside him. He felt the gentle heat of a curvaceous body press closer to him, mumbling something as brown hair whispered against his skin. He glanced across at her, seeing where her lips were still lightly swollen from rough kisses and the smudges beneath her eyes that traitorously spoke of her earlier tears. Her fingers slipped comfortably across his chest, fitting beneath the light smatter of his chest hair. He slipped an arm downwards, pulling the duvet higher to cover her and keep her warm. Her hair was spread out around her face, the picture of exhaustion and sleep. His fingertips brushed her cheek as he moved a few strands away from her face. The corner of her mouth moved into a slight smile before collapsing back into a sleepy line.

Why had he done it? Why had he kissed her? Why had he slept with her? She snuggled closer to him, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. He didn't quite know how he felt. It was difficult. The anniversary of Jean's death was so close and he was so confused and there was this woman lying asleep next to him, naked except for the duvet curled around them both. He oughtn't to have done it, but she had pleaded with him; she had needed him. Secretly, he thought he might have needed her, too, but that confused him so he pushed it away. He needed to get some air. Carefully, Meth extricated himself from her, fishing for his clothes in the dark on the floor. She didn't need to be hurt any more. He wasn't good for her like this.

Charlie slowly opened her eyes. The bed beside her was empty except for a scrap of paper with a note scribbled on it. she smoothed back a flop of brown hair and then reached for the paper, pulling herself into a sitting position in the bed. The note read:

I'm sorry.

That was all there was. What had she done? How stupid could she have been to take him to bed? He didn't want her. She hadn't expected him to. It was just another problem, though. This was just another awkward problem that she had brought down on her own head. She rubbed her forehead, wondering what on earth she would say to him at work. It wasn't the sort of thing you could just avoid. She had told him her secrets and then taken him to bed. What was worse was that she had begged him to sleep with her, like some kind of cheap tart. It was horrible. It made her feel so tacky. It made her feel like she was living up to her parents shoddy expectations. There was a hole burning in her pride right beside where her heart ought to be. It was obvious what had happened. He had seen what a nasty piece of work she was and had left having had his fill. And yet... Charlie didn't think Meth thought like that. He had only done it because she had asked him to. He had been the one to pull away.

Damn it; why did everything have to end up like this? Why did it all get ruined?

Standing by his car, outside, Meth was thinking exactly the same. He was leaning on the car, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say to her when he saw her, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he just felt even more hopeless and alone than he had before. What was he supposed to do if being with somebody after Jean made him feel like this? And what on earth had he done to Charlie? He dreaded to think what she would think of him.

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Weston asked as Meth pulled up to the driveway in Old Reliable. He raised an eyebrow at his older brother, trying to work out what was behind the cold look on Meth's face. West bent close to the car, leaning on the door as he stuck his head close to the window to speak to his elder. There was the faint smell of a woman's perfume, to which he cocked his eyebrow once again. He'd seen that look on Meth's face before. It had been five years since the accident but he was still reluctant to get into a relationship, yet, there had been a few women who had tried. Each try had produced that look upon Meth's face... but there was something different this time. Weston could sense it. Self-loathing. What could be so bad as to cause that? And then it hit him. "You've slept with somebody, haven't you?"

Meth just looked at him and opened the car door slowly, nudging him out of the way. He hadn't caught any sleep after he had left Charlie's apartment. He had driven around for a short while and then he'd gone to Jean's grave. The rain had dampened the earth all around and smattered the flower petals with sprays of dew drops in the cold morning air. He had stood there a long time, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do, how on earth he was supposed make this right. He shouldn't have kissed her. He shouldn't have taken her to bed. She'd been in no fit state to deny him when he'd kissed her and then she'd asked him to... Why the hell had he done it? How was he going to face her at work? She had enough on her mind right now without him messing things up for her. There was that stalker and that thing with her parents. Oh damn it... Why couldn't he have just kept his jeans zipped up? "Don't be stupid. Where are mum and dad?"

"Meth, you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday, you have that look and your car smells of women's perfume. Don't lie to me; I'm your brother." Meth looked away, scanning the garden for any sign of their parents. The car was there so perhaps they were waiting out in the back garden and that was why West had been lounging about in a deck chair on the front porch. "Meth, it is good that you're getting back into the-"

"Don't give me all of that crap about getting back in dating and what have you. I don't want to see anybody, West! Last night was a mistake, okay? I took advantage of her. And then she asked-" He shut his eyes and turned away whilst Weston watched him uncertainly. After a pause, he whirled around and slammed the car door. Old Reliable shook from side to side, making a horrendous creaking sound. West took a step back. He didn't particularly like seeing Meth like this, but it was better, he had decided, than how he had been bottling it up. The problem was if you got caught in the path of the volcano. "I don't want to talk about this, West. Just... I have to get dinner over and done with. I'm not dealing with this right now..."

West shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and headed off towards the back garden yelling over his shoulder to his brother. "You're not planning to deal with it at all!" Weston squared his shoulders. Sometimes his brother was an insensitive prat. Or maybe it was just that he was too sensitive, but Weston didn't want to try to figure it out. There was no point. Meth didn't want to let anyone in. So nobody wanted to get in because after a while people would just stop trying. It was up to Meth now. Let him do what he liked. Weston only hoped this woman, whoever she was, wasn't going to dash herself against the rocks for the sake of his brother. Sometimes even he thought Meth wasn't worth the heartache.

*

Ivor slammed the copy of the magazine down on Charlie's coffee table. It was mid-afternoon and she was still wearing nothing but a nighty and a dressing gown. It wasn't even a glamourous nighty. Imagine if she'd opened the front door to the press dressed like that! She hadn't, of course, but it was the principle of it. As her agent he was supposed to keep her looking squeaky clean and he had, almost effortlessly, until what her parents had said had hit the proverbial fan. Thankfully the paparazzi had no idea where Charlie lived. She was a tv star but she wasn't as high up as some of the others and now she was front page news in some ridiculous angst-ridden story about how her parents saw her as a worthless piece of trash because she was an actress. It might have helped gain Charlie sympathy points if the objective of the piece hadn't been to dismiss acting as a real talent and showing her to be a 'struggling star'. Struggling she was not. She had one of the lead roles in a much watched tv soap; how could the press call that struggling? They did anything for a story. It was slander. The most worrying thing about the entire situation, though, was that Charlie had barely spoken two words to him. He was used to her being silent, at least until he had finished his ranting and raving about what they were going to do and what their options were. It was when he was finished that she usually spoke up, gave her views and told him how she would like him to handle it.

Today she did not. She just sat there, her azure eyes wandering off into space as she nursed what had to be, by now, a cold cup of tea. Ivor snapped his fingers in front of her face, the light glancing off his bald head as his brown eyes scrutinised her. Her eyes slowly flickered to life, settling on him for a moment before she turned back to her clammy tea. He clasped his hands behind his back, stalking over to the large windows that covered one side of the loft apartment where Charlie resided. Catching him in the corner of her eye with his black suit jacket ruffled up at the back and his bald head glinting in the gloomy light from the melancholy sky outside, she thought he looked rather like a vulture. She sighed softly so that he might not hear her, tucking her legs further in as she stayed curled up on the sofa. Many thoughts were running through her mind and the presence of this bird of prey was not helping her to slow them down and to catch them.

There was the fact that her parents had spoken to this ridiculous magazine and that reporter that had been hounding her, and there was the thought of what had happened last night. She pushed the latter to one side, not sure exactly how to deal with Meth nor how important it was in relation to the tabloid fiasco that was unfolding. She reached forward and picked up the copy that Ivor had so unceremoniously planted on her coffee table. The glossy cover winked up at her. She could remember when she was a young girl and she had picked up her first magazine, marvelling at the shine upon the cover and the beautiful, smiling girls on the front, headlines scattered around them. Her father had remarked that it was 'materialistic trash' and that one day they would 'all get what's coming to them'. Today it was a picture of her, an old photograph that she had had taken quite a while ago, with a large caption splashed beneath it. She flicked to the allocated page, trying to blind herself to all of the images of herself. There was an inset at the bottom of her parents stood in the doorway of their bungalow, grey-haired, pale-faced and with expressions of sadness and resentment painted over them.

Underneath there was a quote undoubtedly from her dad, reading, "We wanted her to be respectful of herself but she's just a hired harlot". Her father liked that word; 'harlot'. He had used it several times when she had admitted to them that she had secured a job as an actress on the stage. It hadn't gone down at all well. He had forced her to get out of the house and stay with an elderly friend of her mother until she could find a place of her own. The woman had been kind and supportive of her choice, something she only wished her parents could have been. And now the story was splattered all over the news. What could she possibly do? Ivor had suggested that they try a public reconciliation but she knew, in her heart of hearts, that with her father such a thing would not be possible. The scariest thought that she had was that it would be nice if Meth were there with her, even if he said nothing. She mentally shook herself. It was a stupid idea. What had happened the previous night was just a mistake. He'd done it in pity and she'd taken all the comfort she could... Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was just a harlot.

*

Meth stood outside the door, the rain slanting down onto his face, splattering his skin and soaking his clothes. He had known that he wouldn't be able to handle it. Rain dripped off the tip of his nose, but he just stood there, staring at the door. The rain clattered against the pavement and the bonnet of Old Reliable. It fell heavy and fast. He had driven there because he had nowhere else to go. He'd stayed the night at his parents, leaving early in the morning. The air was cold on his lips. It was almost eleven o'clock at night. To think that only a few years ago he would have been arguing with Jean at that moment in time. The noise of the traffic was ugly to his ears, harsh and unforgiving. This was a sidestreet, though, so the only people who would see him were the nosy ones who liked to watch the world outside of their windows. There was a doorbell beside the door. Meth wondered if it actually worked or it was just sitting there in disrepair. His loose jacket was getting heavy with the passing minutes and the dropping water. He was trying to figure out why he was there, of all places. Maybe it was because she'd confided in him. Maybe it was because of that. Her face had been splashed across the newspapers thanks to her parents. But they had just been the beginnings of an avalanche. Old boyfriends with chips on their shoulders were emerging out of the woodwork to try to help bring her down. The studio who managed The Elite had given a press statement to say that she would still be working, though. Unfortunately Meth knew that that meant they'd be keeping her on a tight leash. If she didn't do exactly what they wanted or if she got herself in any trouble, they would drop her like a stone. It was easily done, even if it destroyed someone's career in one fell swoop.

He'd seen it happen. There had been an actress a few years ago who'd been doing brilliantly. Her career had been sky high... And then pictures of her naked had turned up from her teenage years. They'd been done all in the name of fun, but sometimes fun comes back to haunt you. The paparazzi had hounded her and her managers had issued a similar statement. Then, one low night, she'd gone to a club and gotten herself legless. Pictures had been splashed across the magazines the next day. And that had been it. She'd been too hot to handle except for a few sleazy late night gameshows. It could happen to Charlie. It could happen to Charlie and something about that did not sit so well with him.

His breath spilled out into the rain like smoke, damped down by the stormy weather. The cars driving by at the end of the road dipped into puddles, making loud splashes as they passed by, reminding Meth just how wet and cold he was. He ough to press the doorbell. He ought to see if she was there. The man took a step forward, his shoe shattering the surface of a shallow pool of water. The bell made a rusty noise somewhere higher up than the door. He waited, water dripping off his nose as the rain frosted his hair and lashes. Perhaps she'd gone out. Perhaps she'd been sent to some kind of safe house or something to keep her from the press. He pushed the doorbell again, hoping that it would work. There was the dim sound in Charlie's loft flat again. Meth told himself that she was probably out with friends or co-stars. He had no idea how friendly she really was with their co-stars. He'd never asked her or taken that much interest before. What did she even do after work? Did she go out or did she stay in? None of it mattered, he told himself. None of it mattered because what had happened should never have happened and all he wanted was somebody impartial to be around. She didn't know anything about what had happened; therefore, that meant she wouldn't pressure him into talking about it, right? Right.

"Methwick?" The breathless voice made him register reality with an expression of delayed surprise. Her azure eyes were wide upon his face. It was like he was looking into some deep valley lined with exquisite wild flowers that had yet to be discovered. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Another drop of water fell off the end of his nose. She was looking at him as if he was insane. Maybe he was insane. He'd come to her apartment despite the fact that it was against his better judgement. Maybe it was a mistake being there. What could he possibly gain from her?

"Maybe I should go," he muttered slowly, not quite sure of what he was saying. He half-turned to leave, but a small hand settled on his wrist. He looked up into the deep valley again, mesmerised by the wild violets waving on its sloping sides. She gave him a small, kind, tug of a smile and then guided him inside, closing the door behind him. Charlie led him like a child up the stairs, opening the door at the top and watching him through like a patient mother. He blinked at her in wonderment. Why was she being so kind to him? She had enough on her plate. She should have just turned him away. As she slipped the door shut, her back to him, he rested a hand gently at her hip, lightly kissing her just below the ear.

Charlie swallowed. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her neck. The feel of that heat pulled her back two nights to the moment he had kissed her in the kitchen. His lips were cold, though. They were cold and wet from the rain outside. The hand at her hip was just as numb. How long had he been standing there? "I'll make you a cup of tea." Charlie turned her eyes up to his, smiling as softly as she could, though her lips were stretched. He only seemed half there. It was quite unnerving. His eyes followed her to the kitchen but he did not move. Charlie set out two cups, wondering how anyone could look so lost and vulnerable. She was lumping spoonfuls of sugar into the cups when he appeared in the doorway, hovering like a ghost that didn't know where to put itself. Charlie could almost feel a ghost in the room. It was bothering him, but it was as silent as the grave. What could it be? It was doubtless some kind of past mistake or situation that he still hadn't let go of. She offered him the cup. The steam swirled and evaporated off it but he made no move to take it. Instead, he drew his fingertips along the angle of her chin and tipped her jaw ever so slightly so that he could kiss her. Charlie closed her eyes and felt his lips on hers whilst reminding herself that this probably wasn't what he really needed. His mouth parted from hers a moment, giving them both breath. Charlie pulled a little further back before he could continue kissing her, sapping her of the will to sit him down in her living room and let him settle. She pressed the warm cup into his icy hands and led him back through to the living room, motioning for him t take a seat on the sofa.

The sofa was soft and comfortable, just as he remembered it with its mountains of pillows. Meth ignored them, though. He was watching Charlie's eyes, searching for the valley of wild violets trapped beneath that azure frost. It was there. He was sure it was there. She glanced up at him, those beautiful eyes round and innocent. "There was a woman I loved, once." Charlie looked at him in surprise, which she quickly hid. He was speaking as if he was on automatic pilot. If she didn't know any better she might have said that he'd come to that numb stage just after you've cried your whole heart out. But... Would Meth let himself cry? He was strong like steel. Nothing got past his outer layer. Did it? "I killed her..." Charlie blinked. Meth had... killed someone?

[Rebecca Clare Smith]

"What do you mean... you 'killed' someone?" Charlie asked without moving from her seat. He couldn't be serious, could he? He didn't seem to be joking, at any rate. The woman swallowed and put her cup down on the coffee table, conscious of the trickle of water finding its way down his nose. The mournful look in his eyes coupled with the vulnerability of his body language made her think that this couldn't possibly be a joke. Still, he was an actor. He was a very good actor. She felt sure that he could pull off this sort of act if he wanted to. In fact, she had seen him do it before when he was playing Jack Coulter to Estella's Diamante Rourke. There was something different about this, though. Perhaps it was because there wasn't a crew stood around them, their silence almost audible as they waited for the next line to be delivered beneath the heat of the studio spotlights and the tension built by the actors. She waited for that next line to be delivered, but it didn't come. Meth was just staring at her. His eyes had lowered to somewhere around her throat and it was as if he wasn't looking at her at all. He was simply seeing straight through her. She wondered if he was even in the room with her any more. "Meth?" she murmured quietly, but answer came there none. Carefully, she crossed the room to his side and sat down beside him. She took one of his numb hands in hers, gently rubbing the skin to try and bring some life back into him. Meth didn't move. He just kept staring into middle distance. This wasn't like him. At least, this wasn't like the Meth she was used to. She kissed his cheek lightly, feeling the ice of his skin and the damp of the rain against her lips. He turned his head and looked at her. He looked at her sa if he had never seen a woman before. Charlie managed to catch her breath before she gasped her surprise at the expression in his eyes.

Meth brought a hand to her cheek and gently touched her cheek, drawing his fingers down along her jaw. He kissed her, softly and slowly. His lips were almost as cold as his cheek, doused by the rain that was still falling outside. She reached her hands around to run through his hair as though she was in a daze. It wasn't right to kiss him in this state, though. It wasn't right to take advantage of him. A little voice inside her head told her that that was what had happened before and that that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted a little more. What, exactly, this little more that she wanted was, Charlie had no idea. The thought confused her.

As if it had been prearranged, they both carefully broke apart, as if one slip or one harsh move and the world would dematerialise right before their eyes. Charlie's lashes flickered slowly before they opened that valley of wild violets onto his face. Meth swallowed, drawing a strand of loose hair away from her cheek with an infinitely careful hand. "I loved her... and I killed her," he said with his voice low. He felt like he had to confess it all. He felt like he had to tell someone. He had chosen Charlie but he didn't know why. Maybe it was because she had told him a little. Quid pro quo. He stroked his fingers down her cheek, watcing the action as his hands shook. He wet his lips before he spoke again. "Sh-She wanted me... to tell her. But I... I'm not very..."

"Vocal?" Charlie asked quietly.

He looked back into those eyes with that valley of wild violets that was criss-crossed with frost. There was a slow, sincere but lost movement as he carefully nodded his head. "Yeah... So we argued. And... I said I'd drive her home. We were in the car... then, this deer ran in the middle of the road. So I swerved..." Charlie didn't need to hear any more. She took the hand that was gently drawing patterns across her jaw and held it instead, leaning over to kiss his cheek again. He closed his eyes and she felt his lashes brush her skin. She backed off a little, causing Meth to open his eyes and look up at her. Charlie could feel that peculiar tension rising up in her chest at the way his eyes searched hers and looked over her lips. He was wet still. His skin was soaking and cold. She needed to warm him up and get him dry. He was watching her with those compelling eyes. "I think... It was my fault-If-" Charlie pressed the tip of her index finger to his lips. He really didn't need to say it. She could tell exactly what he thought. He thought it was his fault and that if he'd told this woman how he'd felt then maybe none of it would have happened.

"It wasn't your fault. It was just an accident." Meth looked at her like a little boy who desperately wanted to believe what she was saying. He looked at her like whatever she said had to be truth. Charlie felt her well of compassion surge for him. He moved her fingertip and kissed her on the mouth. It was slow at first, tender as their other kisses had been, but it soon lost that searching air and Charlie found passion meeting her mouth. He drew those kisses down her throat and to her shoulders, holding her to him as if he didn't want to let go. And Charlie didn't want him to let go as she cradled his head with both hands, letting her neck roll back so that he could kiss her more and more. Her breathing was shakey and she had to remind herself that this wasn't right. It wasn't right and he would never forgive himself. She realised now that that was why he had disappeared after they had slept together. He had felt as if he was betraying the memory of the woman he had lost, the woman he hadn't told how he felt. She didn't know how long it had been since he had lost her, but she knew that he was still grieving. She blindly found his shoulder with her hand and squeezed gently. Meth paused, removing his heady kisses from the neckline of her shirt and facing her instead. She smiled kindly at him. "Come with me to the bathroom and I'll get you dried. You're stopping here tonight." He nodded with the innocence of a child and let her take his hand and lead him from the sofa.