I'm sorry.

How many times had I said it at her bedside? I was prepared to watch her die, to hold her as her life slipped away, and all I could say was, "I'm sorry."

I remembered when she stirred awake and the fever finally broke, she smiled at me. She touched my cheek and said, "Now, didn't I say to come home, or we'd catch a fever?"

She blamed the rain, not me. It took her ten years to learn that it was my fault, and even then, she wasn't angry. That anger took over a hundred years to settle in, and when it did, it exploded into an uncontrolled emotion. Could we have controlled it had I stayed?

If I'd been the man she wanted all along?

A doting husband and father.

"Monty?"

I rolled over, reached for my pillow, and found it with ease. I was awake, aware, but didn't open my eyes. For once, my head didn't ache. There weren't screams or reaching hands. I felt at peace, calm, and normal.

"Monty?" I felt hands on my legs, shaking me gently.

I grumbled under my breath, "What?"

Rosie sighed and made room for herself beside my feet. A sniff followed. "Nathan left," she said.

I opened one eye. Oddly, she wasn't dressed in her clothes. She wore mine: a white shirt—too large on her—with her own black tights. Her hair was brushed neatly and clipped to one side. She didn't look at me, but down at her hands where she held my journal. I could tell she'd been crying.

"Rosie?" I sat up straight without a second thought, motioning her to come to me. "What is it, love? Why are you crying?"

She shook her head as she looked at my fingers. "I'm sorry," she said.

I blinked. Had I said something in my sleep? Had she heard me? "Sorry for what?" I asked.

Rosie's fingers traced a page of the journal. "For just barging into your life, taking shit over. I didn't mean to, it's just without mom, I'm alone. You're all I have to get her back."

When she blinked, a tear fell from her blue eyes. Still, she smiled. The way her cheeks rose when she did mirror Charlotte, only with porcelain skin and bright freckles.

I touched her cheek. She wanted Charlotte back just as much as I did. And she apologized for everything, just like me. Perhaps, that dream was a reminder of what I wanted to be. To live simple, normal, at her side, with a family; to live Charlotte's dreams.

I had that chance. I only needed to save her.

"Hey." I shook her shoulder playfully to brighten her smile. "You aren't barging into my life at all. I want you in it."

She blinked at me as if she hadn't expected me to say it.

"You, and your mother. We could be the family we're supposed to be. We will be."

Rosie laughed and scratched her ear around the small pink stud she wore. "You're something else, Monty," she said as she wiped her eyes. "I can see why mom loved you."

"Well, I'm a loveable guy, what can I say?" I said with a smirk.

"You can probably say a lot." Smiling at me, she placed the journal between us and shifted her hands under the collar of the shirt she wore. Underneath it, she had a necklace—a thin, silver chain that carried a tiny cross. Rosie held it up to me before pulling it over her head. "This is yours," she said, "Mom always wanted you to have it."

The chain was warm when she placed it in my palm. I stared at it longer than I should have.

"A necklace?"

"Mhm," Rosie nodded, "she bought it for you the Christmas before I was born. I've had it since I was a kid."

I remembered the journal entry and slipped the chain around my neck. "She has one that matches, doesn't she?"

Rosie wiped away her next tear before it could fall. "Yeah, she said it made her feel safe."

I chuckled as I touched the cross, rubbing it with two fingers. It was beautiful, properly etched at the sides like it'd been handcrafted. "I always thought I'd been the one who made her feel safe."

She cocked a brow, and for a moment, I saw a little more of me. "Hm," she leaned back on her hands, "was that before or after you killed people?"

The grin that lifted the corner of her mouth was too much like me, and I laughed, too hard.

"Really?" I reached back to grab a pillow and threw it at her, but she dodged it. She was out of the room with me chasing close behind. Luther, confused and scared, hissed as he ran behind the couch.

"No!" Rosie squealed as I lifted her onto my shoulder and tickled her sides. "Stop!"

"Say uncle!" I ordered as her small fists punched at my back.

"Just stop!" she laughed, her legs kicking.

I grinned and spun, tossing her onto the couch. I grabbed the small pillow and swung. She grabbed the other and I did the same. "Say it!" I laughed.

"No!"

"Uncle!" I reached under her arms and tickled again, forcing an array of giggles out from her. She rolled over once, dropping down on the floor to escape, but I tossed a pillow at her still. "Say Uncle!"

"No, I won't!" She stood, defensive, giggling tears in her eyes.

I readied the pillow again, a large grin on my face. "And why not?" I asked.

"Because you're not my uncle, you're my dad, duh!"

My grin dropped a bit, and I swallowed a ball of emotion that settled in my throat. Rosie's eyes went wide. She hadn't meant to say it. I wasn't Monty, I was dad. She covered her mouth with one hand.

I laughed to break the awkwardness before it settled between us. "Well, you're right about that," I said as I tossed the pillow back in its place. "Besides, that's a horrible way to call defeat."

She tossed her pillow beside the one I threw. "Who made that up, anyway?"

I shrugged, sliding my fingers through my hair. "Actually, I don't know," I said, "and you'd think as old as I am, I would know."

We walked into the kitchen, and as I poured myself a glass of whiskey, she poured herself milk. With a plop, she dropped down on one of the bar stools and looked at me. "How old are you, really?"

I hissed as I swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. "There's something else I don't know."

"Grandpa Vic said if you were alive, you'd be 534 years old."

I was how old? "Over 500?"

She nodded with a muffled 'mhm' as she stared into her glass. I reached to pour myself another drink. "Wait until Nathan hears this," I muttered.

"Oh!" Rosie placed her glass on the counter. "That's what I wanted to tell you! Nathan!"

The whiskey burned more than it should have. "What about him?" I asked as I looked around. "You said he left?"

Rosie nodded, clapping her knees. "Yeah. He said he thought he found something, and would let you know later. I told him I'd help, but he said you'd be worried if I left without you."

Ah, very true. I smiled, "Nathan's a genius, after all."

"I guess," she puffed out a ball of air, "he sort-of told me everything while you slept; disease, black plague, all of that."

Another glass gone. I half thought to pour myself one more. I wanted to be the one to tell her, to tell Charlotte. Just like Nathan to not talk about his project. "Ah, well, yes," I said with a shrug. "Nothing divine runs through these veins, contrary to what you were brought up to believe."

"I never said I believed it."

"Oh?" I sat down beside her. "Why is that? Surely, they gave you no other explanation for this," I pointed at my eyes, turning them the brightest blue. Her mouth dropped. "Or, the apparent immortality."

"No," she blinked as my eyes returned to normal, "I just never saw the good in killing people."

"Coming from the girl who continues to point out that I'm a murderer."

She laughed and shook her head. "You're different," she said. "Mom told me what you did. I'm very aware I'm a brat, so I'll blow things out of proportion. But, with Abby, it was different. She said it was all for good, but the only reason why we'd leave is that she couldn't hide all of the bodies."

I listened as Rosie's voice dropped below a whisper. She continued, about the Sunday sermons that led into evening blood baths. About the hundreds who flocked to be saved from the curse of mortality, only to die in Abby's arms. The few who lived remained at her side, worshipping her every move. Like slaves, blinded by her lies. "You can't kill for God," Rosie whispered. "That won't save our souls."

"You believe in the bible, then?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Mom and Gramps told me the true stories. Maybe that's why I didn't believe them. I mean," she scurried over to her bag that sat beside the couch and lifted a bible—a real bible—in her hands, "I carry it with me. I'm pretty bad and sin a shit-ton, but I'm not gullible. I know Abby's lying. She'll kill everyone if she can."

I nodded, agreeing with her. From what I knew so far, this Abby had a goal to wipe the Earth clean. To erase man and replace all inhabitants with angels. To prove that 'Lucifer' was right in denying mankind, because the man turned out to be a pretty awful lot. She wasn't entirely wrong—man was evil, and all we did was kill our own kind—but, we weren't angels, nor will we ever be.

"We'll find them," I said as I walked towards Rosie and took her bible into my hands, "we'll save everyone."

"Even Gramps?" she beamed.

I shrugged and smiled. "Sure," I said, "I can't ignore my own father, can I?"

"Awesome!" Her hands clapped together excitedly. The glow sparked in her eyes like a flickering candle, strangely beautiful and mesmerizing to look at. I wondered if mine looked the same.

"Well," I returned to the kitchen and placed our glasses in the sink, "since Nathan's gone, what shall we do?"

Rosie blinked for a moment and tapped her chin. She thought long and hard about it, while I thought she'd easily toss the suggestion aside to watch bad court TV. "What about the lake?" she asked.

"The lake?" I looked out the living room window. "Rosie, it may look nice, but it's chilly outside."

"I know that," she rolled her eyes, "I meant those mansions we saw before. I want to see them."

Ah, history! I loved it. "You're up for some old stories, then?"

She nodded.

"Sure," I clicked my teeth as I glanced back at the bathroom, "let me shower, change, and then we'll be off."

"Sure," Rosie tried to mimic my accent and laughed at her poor attempt. It was my turn to roll my eyes as I reached for a bath towel, draping it over my shoulder. "And while you wait, maybe change out of my clothes?"

Rosie protested and complained, but by then I'd shut the bathroom door and started the water.