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Charlie pressed the lid down on the box, sealing it shut with tape that felt final. Too final. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. The house was too quiet, the walls too bare. Like her life had already been packed away, leaving nothing but echoes behind. Then, the doorbell rang. Charlie froze. For a second, she considered ignoring it. But she knew who it was. She wiped her hands on her jeans and walked toward the door. She opened it. Roscoe stood there, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world, one hand tucked into the pocket of her jeans, the other resting against the doorframe. The usual sharpness in her stance was missing—no badge, no holster, no weight of responsibility pulling at her. Dressed down in a worn T-shirt and denim, she looked… easygoing, casual in a way Charlie had rarely seen. But her presence still filled the doorway, still made Charlie’s chest feel like it had been wound too tight. Roscoe lifted a hand in an easy wave, her smirk just shy of teasing. "Wasn’t sure you’d answer." Charlie arched a brow but stepped aside. "And yet, here you are. Come in." Roscoe sauntered in, casting a slow look around, her fingers tapping against her thigh like she was cataloging details. Charlie shut the door behind her. Charlie let her gaze flick over Roscoe’s outfit, amusement tugging at her lips. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you looking this… regular. Thought you came with a permanent badge and boots combo." Roscoe scoffed, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops. "What can I say? I contain multitudes." Charlie tilted her head, folding her arms. "Multitudes, huh?" Roscoe flashed her a lopsided grin, rocking back on her heels. "Had to make sure you still recognized me without the uniform. Guess I had to find out for myself, too." Charlie hummed, lips twitching. "Well, not bad, Conklin. Didn’t think you had this in you." Roscoe smirked, shifting slightly. "What, looking normal? Or making you do a double take?" Charlie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Go ahead, get cocky. See how far that gets you." Roscoe chuckled, but there was something in her expression—something unreadable—that made Charlie’s breath catch for just a second before the moment passed. And then Roscoe’s gaze swept the room, and just like that, the teasing dropped from her face. Her smile faded as she took in the room. The boxes. The empty shelves. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. "What’s going on?" Charlie pressed her lips together, her stomach tightening. Roscoe turned fully to face her now, eyes scanning hers. "Charlie… you’re moving?" Charlie’s breath stuttered. She swallowed. "Yeah." She had known things would change after Reacher left town, after the dust settled, but she had thought—maybe foolishly—that she would still have Charlie around. That in the quiet moments, when she didn’t want to be alone, she’d have someone to rely on. Someone who understood. And now Charlie was leaving, too. Roscoe blinked, her throat working. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "You, Paul… the girls?" Charlie hesitated, then shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just me and the girls." A beat. Roscoe’s brows pulled together. "Wait, what?" Charlie exhaled, forcing the words out. "We’re getting a divorce." The room felt still. Roscoe’s lips parted slightly, her body tensing. "Since when?" Charlie gave a small, tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s been coming for a while. We just kept pretending things were fine. But after everything, it got harder to ignore. Guess this just forced us to face it." Roscoe’s jaw ticked. Her arms crossed, weight shifting slightly like she was grounding herself. "Bullshit." Charlie blinked. "Excuse me?" Roscoe let out a sharp breath through her nose, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her body was clear. "That’s the nice, clean version. The one that sounds good when you say it out loud. But it’s not the truth." Charlie’s stomach twisted. "Roscoe—" Roscoe took a step closer, voice low but steady. "I was there, Charlie. I know what you went through. I know what this town did to you. And I know what it looks like when someone is trying real damn hard to convince themselves they’re making the right choice." Charlie inhaled sharply, hands clenching at her sides. "I’m not—" Roscoe’s gaze flicked to her hands, then back to her face, her voice gentler now, but no less firm. "You don’t have to say it. But don’t lie to me." Charlie’s breath caught. Roscoe reached out, fingers brushing against hers, hesitant but sure. "You don’t have to carry this alone. You don’t have to do this alone." Charlie swallowed, her chest aching. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her gaze. Roscoe’s grip tightened just a little. "You don’t have to let go of everything just to feel like you can breathe again." Charlie let out a shaky breath. Roscoe’s jaw clenched, her eyes burning. She stepped closer, voice rough, almost pleading. "If you're gonna leave, at least look me in the eye and say it like you mean it." Charlie sucked in a sharp breath, something breaking inside her—and then she grabbed Roscoe’s face, fingers trembling against her skin, and kissed her. Roscoe inhaled sharply, body going still for a second before Charlie pulled back, her lips trembling, her eyes wet. "I…" Charlie swallowed, her throat tight, voice cracking. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—" She let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking her head. "God, I don’t even know what I’m doing." Roscoe could still feel the warmth of Charlie’s lips on hers, still feel the desperation behind them. But before she could speak, Charlie rushed on, voice breaking. "I love you," Charlie whispered, her breath hitching, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I don’t even know when it happened. Maybe the first time you walked into my house like you belonged there. Maybe when you looked at me like I was more than just someone you had to save." She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Maybe it was when I realized that I could breathe around you, even when everything else was falling apart." Roscoe's chest ached, but she stayed quiet, letting Charlie speak. Charlie’s voice wavered. "And it’s killing me, because I can’t stay here. I wake up, and I see what happened in this house. I step outside, and it’s like I can still feel it, like it’s in the ground, in the air, in every damn shadow I turn my back on." She sucked in a sharp breath. "I walk down the street, and people look at me like I survived something I should be proud of. But I don’t feel proud, Roscoe. I feel like I lost something I’ll never get back." Roscoe clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching at her sides. Charlie let out a quiet, broken laugh, wiping at her face. "And you… you belong here. You’ve fought for this town your whole life. You’ve built something real, something solid. And I—" She shook her head, voice thick. "I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t ask you to throw it all away for someone who doesn’t even know how to stand still anymore." Roscoe inhaled sharply. Charlie let out another shaky breath. "And my girls… they deserve better than this. They deserve somewhere that isn’t haunted by what I went through, by what they went through." Her hands curled into fists. "I can’t let them grow up in a place where I still flinch every time the floor creaks at night." Roscoe swallowed hard, her throat tight. Charlie blinked up at her, her eyes glassy, pleading. "So tell me, Roscoe—how the hell am I supposed to ask you to come with me when I don’t even know where I’m going? When I don’t even know if I’d be dragging you into something worse? That’d be selfish, wouldn’t it?" Charlie’s confession hit like a wrecking ball, slamming into everything Roscoe had buried deep, everything she’d forced herself to forget. From the moment they met, Roscoe had felt something—a pull, an instinct to protect, to care, to be something solid for Charlie when everything else was falling apart. But she had shoved it down, convinced herself it didn’t matter. Charlie was married, untouchable, off-limits. And Roscoe wasn’t the kind of person to take something that didn’t belong to her. But now, standing here, hearing the words she never let herself hope for, it all came rushing back—sharp, inescapable, impossible to ignore. Roscoe exhaled through her nose, her patience snapping, her voice turning sharp. "And deciding for me is?" Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. "Roscoe—" "No!" Roscoe barked, the sheer force of it making Charlie’s eyes snap open. She stepped in so fast Charlie flinched. "You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to stand here, tell me you love me, and then act like that means nothing! Like I’m supposed to just stand back and watch you walk away!" Charlie’s breath stuttered. "Roscoe, please—" "No!" Roscoe cut her off, eyes blazing, voice rising. "You don’t get to ‘please’ me, Charlie! You don’t get to rip me apart and tell me it’s for the best!" Charlie sucked in a sharp breath, chest heaving. "I don’t want to go! But I—" "Then don’t!" Roscoe nearly shouted, stepping in, grabbing Charlie’s arms, shaking her just slightly, desperate, fierce. "Then stay, goddammit! Stay because you can! Because I am not letting you go without a fight!” Charlie choked on a sob. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to pack up my life and leave the only person who—" She cut herself off, pressing a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. Roscoe clenched her jaw, her hands tightening against Charlie’s arms. "Then stop! Stop acting like you have no choice! Because you do! You don’t have to leave, you’re choosing to! And I’m telling you, Charlie, I won’t let you! I won’t stand here and watch you walk out of my life like it’s something I have to accept!" Charlie sobbed, voice breaking. "Roscoe—" "No!" Roscoe’s grip didn’t loosen. Her breath was ragged, her whole body trembling. "You don’t get to leave me, Charlie! You don’t get to just disappear and tell me it’s for the best! I won’t let you go!" Charlie’s lip quivered, tears falling freely now, hands clutching at Roscoe’s wrists like she was holding on for dear life. Roscoe shook her head, her voice raw, cracking. "You don’t get to do this, Charlie." Charlie’s breath shuddered. Roscoe’s chest rose and fell sharply, anger and something deeper pressing against her ribs. She was done with people walking out, done pretending it didn’t gut her every damn time. Her hands curled into fists at her sides before she grabbed Charlie’s wrist, rough and firm, fingers digging in like she was making damn sure Charlie felt this. Felt her. Her eyes burned into Charlie’s. "You can tell yourself this is what’s right. You can convince yourself it has to be this way. But I don’t care. I am not letting you walk out of my life. I love you, so you don’t get to." Charlie whimpered, the sound breaking out of her as she lifted a shaking hand and cupped Roscoe’s face. "Please, Roscoe," her voice was barely there, trembling, soaked in pain. "Please don’t make this harder. Please—" Roscoe didn’t let her finish. She grabbed Charlie’s face, fingers threading into her hair, gripping tight as she slammed their mouths together. It was rough, messy—all heat, all frustration, all the anger Roscoe couldn’t put into words. Her hands moved fast—one fisting into Charlie’s hair, yanking her in, the other digging into her waist, holding her in place. Charlie gasped against her lips, but Roscoe didn’t give her a chance to breathe—she kissed her harder, pushing, taking, claiming. Charlie whimpered into her mouth, her fingers twisting in Roscoe’s shirt, pulling just as hard, not trying to stop her, just meeting her there, just taking as much as Roscoe was giving. Their lips parted and Roscoe’s tongue slid past, licking into her mouth, deep, demanding, dragging a shaky moan from Charlie’s throat. Roscoe growled against her lips, tilting Charlie’s head back, her grip in her hair tightening as she kissed her even deeper, even rougher, like she could burn herself into Charlie’s skin, like she could make damn sure Charlie felt this for a long, long time. Charlie clung to her, hands gripping at her sides, nails pressing through fabric, letting Roscoe push her back, letting her take control, letting her make this impossible to forget. Roscoe bit down on Charlie’s bottom lip, sucking, pulling, dragging her in closer, tighter, like she was trying to keep her from slipping away. Charlie’s body melted against hers, but Roscoe wasn’t done, wasn’t slowing down, wasn’t letting her get away easy. Their tongues met again, wet, deep, all heat and need, and Roscoe swallowed the soft sound Charlie made, tugging her even closer, her grip on her hair keeping her right where she wanted. Tears slipped between them, but neither of them stopped, neither of them pulled away. Roscoe only broke the kiss when she had no choice, her lips barely leaving Charlie’s, their breaths tangled between them. Charlie’s lips were swollen, glistening, trembling, like she wanted more, like she wasn’t ready to stop either. Roscoe’s fists stayed tight in her hair, her grip still holding Charlie exactly where she belonged. Charlie’s lips trembled, fresh tears falling. Roscoe’s voice was barely above a whisper, her breath shaking. "You’re not leaving me. You’re not leaving this." Charlie choked on a sob. Roscoe cupped her face, fingers pressing in just enough to make Charlie look at her, thumbs swiping at the dampness on her cheeks. "Stay. Dammit, Charlie, just stay. We can figure this out, we can—" Charlie cut her off, pressing her lips to Roscoe’s again, desperate, breathless, stealing whatever words were left. Roscoe hissed against her lips, frustration and need tangling together, her hands gripping tight, fisting in Charlie’s hair, holding her exactly where she wanted. Charlie whimpered, body shaking, tears slipping through the kiss, but she didn’t pull away. Roscoe’s breath was heavy when she barely pulled back, her lips still brushing against Charlie’s. Her grip on Charlie’s waist tightened like she was holding her in place, like she was making damn sure she wouldn’t slip away, "You think I’d let anything happen to you? To your girls? You think I’d stand back and let the world take from you again? I won’t, Charlie. I’d tear through hell itself before I let anything touch you or them." Her voice was rough, raw, filled with everything she’d been holding back, "You matter to me. They matter to me. And I don’t care what’s right or what’s fair—I’m not letting you walk out of my life like none of this means a damn thing." Charlie let out a strangled sob, her hands trembling against Roscoe’s chest. Their foreheads pressed together, eyes slipping shut, breath mingling between them. Roscoe’s grip stayed firm, one hand fisted in Charlie’s shirt—her other hand already tight in Charlie’s hair, holding fast, like loosening her grip would mean losing her entirely. Her breath brushed against Charlie's lips as she whispered, "I don't care what you think you need. I don't care what's right or fair." She kissed her-quick, barely there. Then again. And again, "You're not leaving me. You're not walking away. I won't let you." Charlie's breath hitched, her hands tightening against Roscoe's sides, but she didn't pull away. Another kiss. Then another. Soft, firm, almost stubborn. "I don't give a damn if it hurts." Roscoe's voice was rough, cracking under the weight of everything she couldn't say. Her fingers twisted tighter in Charlie’s hair before yanking her head back, forcing her to face her, to feel every word. Charlie gasped against Roscoe’s lips, a sharp, breathless sound, a choked sob slipping free as her fingers clenched at Roscoe’s sides, gripping like she was holding onto everything that made life worth living—like letting go would mean losing herself entirely. Roscoe pressed her forehead harder against Charlie’s, breath ragged, grip still tight in her hair. Then she kissed her—quick, firm, insistent, giving Charlie no space, no chance to think, just taking, just making her feel it. Between each kiss, she caught Charlie’s bottom lip between her teeth, nipping, tugging, releasing, only to chase her mouth again. Charlie shuddered in her arms, a quiet whimper breaking from her throat, her fingers curling into Roscoe’s shirt, not just holding on—but pulling her in, wanting more. "I don’t care if it’s messy, if it’s hard, if we never figure it out." Roscoe’s breath was hot against her lips, her grip firm, holding Charlie like she wasn’t giving her a choice. Charlie let out a shaky breath, her body trembling. Roscoe pressed more kisses to her lips-repeated, urgent, like she was trying to make Charlie feel every word she couldn't say. "I'll take all of it, Charlie. Every bit of it. But I'm not losing you. I won't", Charlie let out a broken sound, her fingers twisting into Roscoe's shirt, clutching like she needed to hold onto something solid. Roscoe kept kissing her, short, breathless presses of lips between each word. "If you're drowning, then so am I." Kiss. "But I'd rather sink with you than watch you walk away." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Charlie's breath stuttered, her lips trembling, but before Roscoe could say anything else- Charlie crashed their lips together, silencing Roscoe.