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Chapter Text

All I Have Left

     As cicadas chirped around her, Charlie sat against the trunk of an ancient willow, the soft sounds of the river soothing her in spite of the never-ending oppression of Texas’ summer heat. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the rivulets of sweat running down her back or the way that her long, blond curls stuck to her neck. All she could think of was the look on Jason’s face when she shot him. Charlie closed her eyes, a grimace of pain briefly contorting her face before she straightened her shoulders and whirled around to face whoever was creeping up on her.
     “Relax, Charlotte,” the disembodied voice said. “It’s just me.”
     Charlie shook her head and leaned back against the tree. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, scorn dripping from her voice. “I don’t think you can ever be ‘just me’.”
     Bass emerged from the darkness and stood next to her, his eyes on the river, his gun held loosely by his side. “What are you doing out here, Charlotte?” he asked, ignoring the insult. “You’re a little too far from camp for safety.”
     “Are you my babysitter now?” Charlie snapped, shoving to her feet and moving away from him.
     “Miles was worried about you.”
     “If Miles was worried about me, you’re the last person he’d send,” she retorted, her lip curled in derision. “Try again.”
     Bass exhaled sharply and turned to look at her. “Fine,” he admitted. “I was worried about you. What happened earlier . . .” He paused, his jaw clenched. “It’s not something you could just get over. I thought you might need someone to watch your back.”
     Charlie gasped, an incredulous smile on her face. “Are you serious?” she exclaimed, rough laughter erupting from her chest. “I don’t know what world you’re living in, Monroe, but you’re not exactly someone I trust. But maybe I need to spell it out for you.” She walked up to him, crowding into his personal space, her eyes bright with fury. “I don’t care what reparations you feel like you’ve made,” Charlie spat. “You killed half my family, you kept my mother imprisoned for a decade, you deprived me of whatever happy life my parents could have given me and my brother in this absolutely fucked up post-apocalyptic world. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
     Bass stood silently under this onslaught, his eyes never leaving her face, his jaw tight. “Charlie, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I understand what you’re going . . .” Before he could even get the words out, Charlie’s hand cracked across his face and suddenly she was shoving him away from her.
     “Don’t you dare tell me that you understand!” she screamed, her eyes bright with tears. “You don’t know anything about me or what I feel! My father, my friends have died in my arms, my brother . . .” Charlie broke off with a sob and pressed a shaking hand to her lips. “My little brother was killed right in front of me. And I could blame all of that on you.” Charlie was sobbing in earnest now, her breath grating harshly in her throat. “But tonight I killed someone that I . . . cared about. I shot him and he wasn’t some nameless, faceless enemy. He was Jason.” Charlie turned away from him, her shoulders hunched as if to shield herself from pain. “So please just . . . don't tell me that you understand,” she almost whispered, her voice trembling. “You’d have to feel something to do that.”
     A hard hand was suddenly on her shoulder and she was whirled around to face a coldly furious Monroe. “That’s right, Charlie,” he snarled. “It was all my fault. The death, the hatred, the misery, your ruined life. Everything is on my shoulders. Do you think that I don’t live with that every day?” He released her and stepped back, shoving a hand through his blond curls. “And on top of all that, I have to wake up every morning to the knowledge that my son’s mother is dead because of me. She was the first woman I ever loved and my obsession got her killed. You were there. You saw. Emma died in my arms.” Bass swallowed heavily, his voice softening and he stepped closer to the trembling woman. “I might not be the person you’d choose, but I do know what you’re going through. And, as much of a bastard as I am, this isn’t something that you should try to deal with on your own.”
     Charlie stood stone-still, eyes on his and arms folded across her stomach; a tear trickled down her cheek. She reached up to brush it away and snapped back to herself. “You don’t get it,” she told him, her voice rough with emotion. “I don’t want your help and I don’t want your sympathy. If I take comfort from you, I’ll lose everything.”
     “Charlie, what are you talking about?” Bass exclaimed, confusion clearly written on his face. He moved towards her, his hand outstretched, and halted when she stiffened.
     “I’ve killed, stolen, lied. I’ve become someone I don’t recognize anymore,” Charlie admitted softly. “And I’ve justified all of it because I was going after you. My hatred for you made everything that I’ve done right.” She tried to laugh though it sounded more like a sob. “And now you’re standing here offering me a shoulder to cry on.” She shook her head, unnoticed tears leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. “I can’t lose that hate,” she told him, her voice trembling. “It’s all I have left. If I forget why I became what I am, I’ll just be a monster. Like you.”
     Bass’s head snapped back as though she had struck him. “I see,” he whispered eventually, nodding slowly. “Alright, Charlie,” he told her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “God knows the world doesn’t need any more monsters.” Charlie flinched and half turned away from him, staring blindly at the river.
     “Don’t stay out here too long,” Bass murmured as he walked away. Charlie stood, her back to him, until his soft footsteps faded into the darkness. Her face crumpled and she stumbled back to the tree, her hand reaching out to find support. She muffled her choking sobs against her arm and mourned – for Jason, for herself. And for what she had just sent away.

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     Charlie lay huddled on her bedroll, her eyes dry and staring unseeing into the receding darkness of the dawn. She had finally made her way back to camp after getting herself under control but sleep had eluded her. The conversation with Ba . . . with Monroe kept replaying in her mind. She had been right in what she said. Charlie was sure of that. She couldn’t afford to let herself feel anything for the man, for the one person who could be held responsible for everything she had lost – her family, her home, her very innocence. And yet she could not forget the look of pain on his face when she had rejected his help. That hint of vulnerability went against everything she knew to be true about Monroe. Charlie sighed softly and forced herself to sit up. If she couldn’t sleep she might as well try to do something useful.

     Making her way over to the campfire, she began measuring out the last of the group’s dried oats to make breakfast. The mundane task allowed her to focus on something other than thoughts of Jason or Monroe. Soon the water in the pot was boiling and Charlie slowly poured the oats in, adding a handful of dried fruit to the bubbling mixture. They had managed to find a little coffee in the knapsack of an unfortunate Patriot who had crossed their path and Charlie set that to boil as well. Soon the scent of oatmeal and coffee was wafting through the camp and people began to rouse. Rachel gently smoothed a hand over Charlie’s tangled hair and Miles gripped her shoulder tightly as she ladled out his oatmeal, but neither of them said anything to her about Jason. Really, there was nothing to say and Charlie knew that. Eventually everyone was sitting around the fire eating. Everyone, Charlie noticed, except Monroe.

     “Where’s your dad, kid?” Miles asked Connor, his eyes sweeping the camp’s perimeter.

     “No idea,” Connor replied shortly. “He said he was going to make a sweep last night and didn’t come back.”

     “What the hell, Connor!” Miles exclaimed, swiftly rising to his feet. “He’s been gone all night and you never thought to tell me?”

     “What are you getting so worked up about, Matheson?” Connor snapped. “He can take care of himself. And if he wanted to leave, nothing would stop him.”

     “You really are a little prick, aren’t you?” Miles asked almost conversationally as he grabbed his gun and cartridge belt. “No one knows better than I do that Bass can take care of himself, but being gone all night might make even me a little nervous about whether he’s alright.”

     “I’m fine, Miles.” Everyone turned to see Monroe emerge from the woods at the north end of the camp, the carcass of a deer dragging behind him. “I knew we were running short on supplies and thought I’d catch us some meat.” He left the deer by the fire, his eyes studiously avoiding Charlie as he bent and helped himself to the last of the coffee. “Though I do appreciate your concern.”

     “Shit, Bass,” Miles sighed as he sat back down. “Would you please let me know the next time you’re going to take off for hours on end? Just for the sake of my sanity.”

     “No problem, brother,” Bass replied easily as he sat next to Miles. “We need to get that deer field dressed as soon as we can. This place is going to be swarming with Patriots before we know it.”

     “I’ll do it,” Charlie said quietly, rising and gripping the rope. Connor moved to help her but she glared at him and he sat back down. She slowly dragged the carcass to a tree with a low hanging branch and, tossing the rope over, pulled it up and began to dress the deer.

     Miles glanced over at Rachel and sighed deeply as his eyes returned to his niece. “She’s taking this hard,” he said quietly.

     “No other way to take it,” Bass replied as he closely studied the contents of his coffee cup. “She killed someone she cared about. She won’t get over that.”

     “I know that, Bass,” Miles snapped. “But she can’t afford to fall apart right now. Her life, and ours, depend on all of use staying sharp.” He ran a weary hand over his face. “Believe me, I feel like an ass saying this. Charlie shouldn’t have to be dealing with this right now. She should have time to mourn. But that’s for when we’re safe.”

     "Give her some time, Miles," Bass insisted, his eyes resting on the distant figure. "Charlotte'll stay sharp, you know that. We'll just have to make sure that we keep an eye on her. Eventually it's going to hit her hard."

     “Since when did you become so concerned about Charlie?” Connor asked suspiciously, his eyes sharp on his father. “She’s not exactly your biggest fan. And vice versa.” His face tightened. “Or is this something more than concern? I seem to remember Charlie being gone last night at the same time you were.”

     “That’s enough!” Miles ground out, rising sharply to his feet. “Not one more word, or I rip your tongue out.”

     “Take it easy, Miles,” Bass warned, even while glaring at his son.

     “Oh, please,” Connor scoffed as he stood. “Are you going to tell me that you haven’t noticed how he watches her? Or how he’s never far from her side?” His lip curled in disgust. “A man old enough to be her father.”

     Before Miles could reach him, Bass was there, fury in his eyes as he twisted his fingers in his son’s shirt. “Shut your mouth, Connor,” he ground out. 

     “Oh, sorry, Dad,” Connor snarled. “I guess I find it a little weird when my father seems to have the hots for the girl I’m sleeping with.”

     The camp was deathly silent, the only sound Bass’s harsh breathing as he struggled with the impulse to strike his son. He finally managed to control himself and slowly uncurled his fingers from the fabric around his son’s throat. “You’ve said enough, Connor,” he told him. “Too much.”

     “Yes, he has,” a voice intoned from beyond the group. Everyone turned to see Charlie standing on the edge of the camp, a bloody field knife in her hand.

     “Charlie,” Connor began, but she cut him off. “Don’t bother, Connor,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “I won’t be used by you in whatever argument you have with your father.” Her eyes darted to meet Monroe’s and then went back to glaring at Connor. “And don’t worry about who might or might not have the hots for me. That’s none of your business anymore.”      

     “But I was just trying to . . .” “I don’t care what you were trying to do, Connor,” she snapped, angry color flooding her cheeks. “What I do and who I do it with is no one’s business but you just decided to announce one of my biggest mistakes in front of my family.” Connor flushed darkly at the implied insult and had moved as if to say something. Charlie raised her hand to cut him off and slowly approached him. She stopped next to Monroe, her eyes never leaving Connor’s face. “I won’t be used, Connor, by you or anyone else. Not for sex, not for revenge, and not for getting a pound of flesh from dear old Dad. So from now on, you just keep your distance, understand?” She turned, not giving him a chance to answer, picked up an empty saddlebag and walked back over to the deer carcass.

     Miles smiled grimly at his niece and turned back to Connor. “Like I said,” he smirked at the boy, “a little prick.”

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     The group struck camp and remounted their horses, heading West and away from the main body of the Patriot forces. Charlie volunteered to ride point, a duty that allowed her to be blessedly alone and away from the concerned looks of Rachel, Miles, and Gene, the angry sullenness of Connor, and the stoic silence of Monroe. Charlie huffed out a silent laugh. Connor. What a mistake he had been. She passed a weary hand over her face and shook her head at her own folly. What had she been thinking? Alright, if she was being honest . . . She cut herself off. No. This was not the time to go into the whys and wherefores of sleeping with Connor. She had enough to deal with at the moment and . . .

     The crack of a rifle broke through Charlie’s reverie and she jerked her head around in the direction of the shot. Her eyes widened when she saw a mounted Patriot scouting party rapidly approaching and her mind scrambled to figure out her options. As she quickly scanned her surroundings, her eyes fell on a large fallen tree, its limbs bare of leaves and its trunk partially hollowed. Not idea, Charlie acknowledged as she spurred her horse into a gallop, but better than nothing. She reined in her horse and flung herself from the saddle even before her mount had stopped, looping the reins over a broken limb, taking refuge behind the tree trunk and resting her cross bow on top. She checked her quiver and swore silently. There had been no time to make new arrows and she was down to her last ten shafts. There were at least fifteen men in the scouting party. If Miles and the rest of the group didn’t get there soon, she was screwed. The Patriot group halted about twenty yards from her refuge and one rider separated from the group and rode a little closer.

     “That’s close enough!” Charlie shouted, her finger resting lightly on the crossbow’s trigger. The rider reined in and rested an arm on his pommel.

     “I’m Captain John Mason of the United States Army,” he hollered to her. “Identify yourself.”

     “Don’t know that I will,” Charlie answered, grinning in spite of herself. “Don’t feel the need to be making any new friends today.”

     The Patriot leader shook his head. Texans. God Himself couldn’t get those stiff-necked bastards to cooperate. “We’re looking for a group of terrorists,” he informed her. “Four men and two women. Guilty of attacks against innocent civilians and the government of the United States. Have you seen any other riders today?”

     “Can’t say that I have,” Charlie shouted back.

     She watched as one of the other Patriots broke from the group and whispered something to the Captain. The group leader’s head whipped around and Charlotte saw his gaze rest on her horse. Shit. He gestured to his men and they began to spread out in a line in front of her.

     “Where’d you get that horse?” the Captain asked, his hand moving to rest on his sidearm.

     “Found it,” Charlie replied shortly, her body tense in anticipation of what was sure to come.

     “Is that a fact?” he asked almost conversationally. “Because one of those terrorists I mentioned was riding a horse that fit that animal’s description. Tall, dapple grey, distinctive patch on the right flank.” He leaned forward in his saddle, peering closely at the horse. “Same tack, too.” The Captain shook his head almost mournfully. “Yes, the Colonel was real upset when he found out his favorite mount had been taken.” He paused and glanced behind him to check the position of his men. “We both know you’re not getting out of here, Miss Matheson. Why don’t you come out and make this a whole lot easier on yourself.”

     Charlie sighed deeply and briefly rested her head on her crossbow. Dear God, she was getting tired of killing. But if it came down to a choice between her life or theirs, she’d choose hers every time. She raised her head and looked back at the Captain. “Nope,” she replied simply, then raised up and let the first shaft fly. The Captain was thrown back and reeled in his saddle with the arrow struck him in the upper chest. Charlie had the crossbow reloaded and ready as the Patriots began to return fire. She could only pray that the sound of the shots would bring the others before she ran out of ammunition.

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            Charlie was vaguely aware of muffled voices as she tried to fight her way through a haze of pain. God, what had happened? The memory was there, she knew it was, but it was somehow just out of reach. She shifted and groaned as a sudden, blinding shaft of pain shot through her body. The voices abruptly ceased and a rough hand jerked her chin up.

            “She’s coming around,” the disembodied voice said grimly. It was vaguely familiar but Charlie couldn’t force herself to remember where she had heard it before. “Get her up, secure her to the chair.”

            Charlie couldn’t stifle a cry of pain as she was dragged upright and hauled over to a chair, her feet trailing and her head hanging limply on her neck. She felt herself being thrust onto a hard, rough wooden chair and her arms were jerked behind her back and tied to the support rungs. She could feel consciousness slipping away again and blessed darkness beckoned.

            “Dammit, don’t let her pass out again! Wake her up!”

            Charlie gasped as icy water was thrown in her face and she forced herself to open her eyes to confront her attackers.

            “And there she is,” the voice said. Charlie blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision and saw herself peering into the visage of Captain Mason. “Shit,” she slurred. “You’re not dead.”

            Mason’s face tightened in annoyance. “Not for lack of trying on your part, Matheson,” he gritted out. “Fortunately, our field surgeon was able to get your arrow out and patch me up.”  

            Charlie noticed how he held himself rigidly, as if any movement might be painful, and she forced herself to grin. “Maybe next time.”

            Mason chuckled and the sound sent chills down Charlie’s back. “Oh, I’m afraid one chance is all you get,” he said smoothly. “And that same skilled doctor who kept me alive to oversee your questioning is going to make sure that you stay alive long enough to make this extremely enjoyable.” He grinned and shrugged. “At least for me.”

            Charlie felt her stomach clench at his words, though she kept her face blank. “Get your jollies however you need, Mason,” Charlie replied calmly. “But I’m afraid that this is going to be a real disappointing experience for you.”

            Mason suddenly lunged and jammed his thumb into her shoulder. Charlie’s back bowed as lightning-hot pain knifed through her body. She wanted to scream, oh God, she wanted to scream, but her throat was locked and all she could do was writhe against the bonds that held her captive. Suddenly the pain was gone and she fell forward, the room filled with the sound of her ragged gasps. A hand grasped her hair and roughly jerked her head back. Charlie clenched her teeth together and swallowed heavily, refusing to give into the urge to vomit in the aftermath of her torment.

           “Now, Miss Matheson,” Mason said almost genially as he sat in a chair directly across from her, so close his knees were just touching hers. “In addition to the wound in your shoulder, you also have one in your thigh,” he slapped her left leg and she hissed sharply, her eyes tightly shut, “and we can always introduce new ones if these don’t prove to be sufficient.” He waited until her eyes were open and gestured to one of his men. A soldier appeared and set a low table next to Mason, on top of which an array of knives, pincers, and needles were meticulously arranged.

           “But all of this unpleasantness can be avoided,” he assured her. “All you need to do is tell us where to find one person.”

           “One person?” Charlie rasped, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Earlier you said you were looking for six.”

           “Well, I’m not greedy, Miss Matheson,” Mason replied. “And I’m not stupid. I know the likelihood of your giving up any information on your uncle or your mother is very low.” He leaned forward, his eyes sharp on her face. “All I want is for you to give me a man who you must hate as much as we do. All I want is Sebastian Monroe.”

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            Miles and Bass lay flat on the rise overlooking the Patriot camp, their eyes trained on the barbed-wire enclosed tents as they searched for any sign of where Charlie might be held.  Miles peered through the field glasses, his eyes straining as if he could see through the tent walls. “What are they doing to her, Bass?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper in the darkness.

            Bass stiffened beside him but otherwise didn’t move. “Don’t think about it,” he advised flatly. “You think about it, you take your eye off the ball. That gets us dead. Her, too.” Suddenly he shifted, nudging Miles with his shoulder. “There,” he said, gesturing to a tent in the center of the encampment. “Look at the security they have on that one. And,” he added as the tent disgorged several officers and their lackeys, “brass wouldn’t be in there if it wasn’t something important.”

            “How the hell are we going to get to her?” Miles growled as he scanned the security measure the Patriots had in place.

            “We’ll need a distraction,” Bass replied. “Take all the attention to the front gate while someone makes their way around the back of the camp over there.” He gestured to the back of the camp, which, unwisely, the Patriots had placed near a somewhat sparse link of poplars. “Not a whole lot of cover, but we’ve worked with worse. Provided she isn’t hurt too badly, we can be in and out in under ninety seconds.”

            “Don’t get cocky, damn you,” Miles snapped as he turned furious eyes to the other man.

            “I’m not being cocky, Miles,” Bass replied coldly. “Believe me, I want to get her out of there as badly as you do. And I’m willing to do just about anything to do it. So just cool off and start thinking.”

            Miles exhaled and rolled to his back, passing a weary hand over his haggard face. “Alright,” he finally said. “Any ideas?”

            “A couple,” Bass replied, returning his gaze to the tent that held Charlie. “I’m not real thrilled with any of them but our options are pretty limited.”

            “At this point, I’m willing to listen to anything,” Miles admitted wryly. “Let’s get back to the others and you can lay them out for us.”

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            “We’re not going to get anything out of her now,” an angry voice declared. “Mason and the others are gone and I could use a break myself.”

            Charlie’s head was roughly jerked back and she couldn’t even find the strength to moan. “You’re right,” another voice agreed. “She’s not going anywhere. We can take a fresh run at her after . . .” A deafening explosion rocked through the camp followed closely by rapid gunfire. Charlie heard feet pounding as the tent emptied and she was left blessedly alone. She was just about to allow herself to slip into welcome unconsciousness when urgent hands began to work at the knots binding her wrists.

            “No,” she moaned, ‘damn you, I . . . won’t . . .”

            "Charlie, it’s me,” a familiar voice hissed. “”We have to move fast. How badly are you hurt?”

            “Bass!” Charlie gasped, not even realizing that she hadn't called him 'Monroe'. “You . . . no . . . you have to. . . . get out!” She struggled weakly and muffled a cry at the shafts of pain that shot through her body. “Dammit, go!”

           “We’re both getting out of here,” Bass told her as his fingers fought against the knots at her wrists. “Now tell me where you’re hurt, dammit!”

           “Shot in . . . my shoulder and . . . leg,” Charlie gasped as her hands were finally freed and she would have slumped to the floor if Bass hadn’t caught her as she fell. He slung her uninjured arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her firmly to his side. Her head lolled onto his shoulder and she could have wept at the unexpected comfort she found there.

            “I know that all you want to do is pass out, Charlie,” Bass whispered as he half-dragged, half-carried her towards the opening he had cut in the back wall of the tent. “But stay with me for a little longer, OK? I’ll have you to your mom and Miles in no time.”

            Charlie drew on every reserve of strength she had a lifted her head from Bass’s shoulder. She put as much weight on her injured leg as she could, her breath hissing out between clenched teeth. “Let’s go,” she replied, her voice faint but firm. “Good girl,” Bass told her and squeezed her hand. “Hold on.”

            Somewhere in the back of her mind, beyond the overwhelming sensations of pain and a desire to just close her eyes and let go, Charlie knew that Bass was trying his best not to hurt her. Every step was torture and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood. “Not much farther, Charlie,” Bass whispered encouragingly, as if he knew what she was feeling. “You’ll be safe before you know it and then you can let go.”

            Charlie held on to that promise over the interminable journey that followed. She could never remember exactly how they got away from the Patriot camp. Everything passed in a blur of agony, of darkness, gasped breaths and stumbling feet. And through it all, the memory of Bass’s arm banded around her like steel, keeping her firmly pressed to his side. What could have been minutes or hours later, she heard Bass’s hoarse voice calling for her grandfather. Gentle hands took her from Bass and she heard Gene frantically repeating her name. She was safe. And finally, finally, she let the blackness take her.

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             Gene rested his forehead against his hand, the knife blade glowing red in his grip. “Monroe,” he said, his voice steady, “You’re going to have to hold her.” When there was no response from the other man, the doctor raised his head. Bass was sitting next to a prone Charlie, his jaw clenched as he glared at the ground. “Did you hear me?”

            “Yeah, old man, I heard you,” Bass responded, still apparently fascinated with the parched earth beneath him. He finally raised his eyes to look at the older man and Gene found himself drawing back from the rage he saw in them. “You’d better be fast, damn you,” he growled. “She’s been through enough.”

            “Don’t tell me what she’s been through, Monroe,” Gene spat, his face contorted in fury. “Everything she’s had to endure has been because of you. I wish to God I could wait for Rachel to get back, or Miles. Hell, even Connor would be better than having to rely on you.” He scoffed, his eyes raking over Monroe, derision on his face. “But you’re what I’ve got and she needs those bullets out now. So just hold her down, Monroe, and let me worry about the rest.”

            Bass had paled at Gene’s attack but kept his mouth shut. He honestly couldn’t argue with him, he thought. He moved to face Charlie and regret rippled through him. He secured her injured arm across her stomach and placed the majority of his weight on her opposite shoulder. Charlie stirred and Bass held his breath, praying that she remained unconscious. But this prayer was destined to remained unanswered. Charlie’s eyes fluttered open and Bass could see her confusion as she took in their respective positions.

            “Monroe, what . . . what the hell . . .” she croaked as she tried to move away from him.

            “Calm down, sweetheart,” Gene soothed from the other side as he placed a calming hand on her forehead. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

            “Grandpa,” Charlie breathed, her eyes sliding shut. “Where are Mom and Miles?”

            “They’re on their way back,” Gene replied, his voice betraying none of the concern he felt. “Charlie, you’ve got two bullets in you. They have to come out and Monroe is going to make sure you don’t move, alright?”

            What little color Charlie had in her cheeks fled at his words but she pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

            “Here, Charlie,” Bass murmured, offering her the sleeve of his discarded leather jacket. “Bite on this.”

            Charlie closed her teeth over the smooth leather, braced herself, and nodded to her grandfather. Any illusions she might have had about bearing with the pain dissolved at the first incision. Her body tried to arch from the ground but she was held in place by the solid strength of Bass. She couldn’t help the choked sobs that erupted from her, muffled though they were by the leather clenched within her mouth, and Gene muttered half-formed pleas that she would simply pass out.

            Bass’ jaw was clenched tight as he pressed his weight across the struggling girl. Without even realizing it, he had pressed his forehead against her temple as if trying to absorb some of her suffering. As Gene dug deeper, finding the bullet, Charlie abruptly went still. Gene frantically checked her pulse and gasped in relief. “Thank God,” he murmured as he returned to her wound. “She fainted.”

            Bass released a breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding and loosened his grip on Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t get up,” Gene snapped as he continued to probe the wound. “If she comes around again, she’s going to buck. Ah!” he exclaimed, removing the rudimentary tweezers in which he clasped the bullet. The doctor quickly sutured the wound and bandaged it, wrapping it tightly before moving to Charlie’s leg. “This one went through,” Gene said with a grateful sigh. “It’s going to hurt like hell but she should heal up just fine.”

            Bass slowly levered himself off of Charlie and gently smoothed her hair from her face. His eyes narrowed with rage as he took in the various bruises and contusions that littered her cheeks, forehead, and nose, evidence of the persistence of the Patriot interrogators. “What about the rest?” he asked, his voice tight with concern. “Just look at her face, Porter.”

            “I know,” Gene replied as he finished wrapping his granddaughter’s leg. “Move up near her head. I’m going to check her ribs and if she wakes up, she’ll need to be kept still.”

            Bass moved to sit near Charlie’s head and placed his hands on her upper arms, careful to avoid the thick bandage on her shoulder. Gene gently pushed the hem of Charlie’s tank top up and his breath hissed out between his teeth. “Oh, my God,” he gasped, tears in his eyes. “Oh, Charlie.”

            Bass steeled himself and tore his eyes from Charlie’s still face to see what had prompted such a reaction from Gene. He felt the heat rise in his face as rage coursed through him. Charlie’s torso, covered now only by her bra, was crisscrossed with shallow cuts, heavy purple bruises, and even, dear God, what looked like cigarette burns. Gene pressed trembling hands over Charlie’s ribs and Bass tensed as she groaned, preparing to hold her still, but, thankfully, she remained unconscious.

            “Definitely a couple of broken ribs,” Gene told him. “Go grab my saddlebags. I have some bandages we can use bind them. Nothing else we can do about that. And there is some salve in there for the burns, too.”

            Bass was just heading back to Gene when he heard hoof beats rapidly approaching the camp. He dropped the saddlebag and snatched up his rifle, kneeling as he faced the incoming threat. The riders reined in sharply, their mounts sliding to a halt on their haunches, and two figures threw themselves from the saddles. “Bass!” Miles shouted, his hands in the air, “it’s us!”

            “Miles, where in the hell have you been?” Bass exclaimed as he rose and moved to meet them. “Gene’s patching Charlie up and . . .” His eyes traveled from Miles to Rachel and searched the darkness for the person he wanted to see the most. “Miles?” he said, a quiver in his voice as he silently asked the question he couldn’t bring himself to utter.

            Miles slowly walked up to Bass and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bass, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “But Connor . . . Brother, he didn’t make it.”

            Bass felt his breath catch and he held himself rigid as the words sank in. “What . . .” he began, finding his throat suddenly dry and fighting to get the words out. “What happened? Where’s my son?”

            “He had . . . placed one of the charges near the main gate,” Miles said slowly, his hand gripping Bass’ shoulder tightly. “And he was running to take cover when the charge went off early. The blast didn’t catch him but the fire . . . it revealed his position to the Patriots and the sentries . . . they shot him before he could get to us.”

            Bass seemed carved from stone as he stood and listened to Miles’ halting description of his son’s death. Long moments passed before Bass could manage to speak. “Where. Is. My. Son.”

            “We brought him back,” Rachel said quietly. “Connor is on his horse. We . . . wouldn’t leave him there, Bass.”

            Bass moved woodenly to where the three horses stood, sides heaving, just within the circle of the firelight. He seemed to stumble when he caught sight of the blanket-wrapped form draped across the tall bay’s back but straightened and made his way over to Connor’s side. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled the blanket to the side, revealing a dark, curly mop of hair that stirred briefly in the warm Texas breeze. Bass slowly placed his hand on his son’s head and, in a gesture he never would have made had Connor been alive, caressed the soft curls.

Chapter Text

            Charlie was lost in a red sea of pain, torment ripping through her body. She fought for consciousness , fought for an escape from the emptiness of her suffering. Slowly, so slowly, she found the strength to open her eyes only to be met with oppressive darkness. Her breathing began to speed up, hitching in her throat, as she fought off panic. “Mom,” she whispered, hoping against hope that someone was there. She heard faint sounds of movement and suddenly Rachel was at her side, a lit camp lantern in one hand, a small water-filled cooking pot in the other.

            “Oh, thank God,” her mother murmured, reaching out to smooth a damp cloth across her daughter’s brow. “Charlie, honey, I’m right here.”

            “Mom, what happened?” Charlie asked as she passed her tongue over dry, cracked lips. “Where are we? Why is it so dark?”

            “We’ve been camping here since Monroe got you out of the Patriot camp. Miles and your grandfather set a false trail for them to follow and they’ve been chasing their tails ever since. They struck camp and headed South the morning after you were rescued. We dug in here to provide shelter and a hiding place in case they came back. You’re in no condition to travel and Monroe . . .” Rachel broke off and hoped that her daughter wouldn’t notice. “I’ll go get your grandfather,” she continued quickly as she moved to crawl to the entrance to their tiny, low ceilinged refuge. “He’s been sitting with you for the last two days and we finally convinced him to stretch his legs. I’ll be right back.”

            “Wait.”

            Rachel stopped short and looked over her shoulder. “What is it, honey? Are you in pain?”

            “What aren’t you telling me?”

            “Charlie, let me get your grandfather, he’ll check you over and then we’ll talk, OK?

            Charlie’s eyes scanned her mother’s face and recognized the look that Rachel always had when she had dug her feet in. “Alright, Mom,” she agreed softly. “Go get Grandpa.”

            Rachel had only been gone a moment when Charlie head the soft sounds of hands and knees scrambling in the soft earth of the dugout’s floor. “Charlie!” Miles exclaimed as he reached her side, his eyes tracing her features in the dim, flickering light of the lantern. “How are you feeling, kid?” he asked gruffly, his eyes suspiciously bright.

            “I’ve been better,” Charlie admitted, wincing as she tried to move. “How long have I been out?”

            “Almost two days, Charlie,” he told her, slipping a supporting arm behind her back. “Don’t try to move too much, kid,” he warned her. “You have stitches in your shoulder and a couple of cracked ribs. Gene said you were to stay as still as possible.”

            “I don’t see that being a problem,” Charlie replied in a voice rough with pain. She closed her eyes and rested against her uncle’s arm.

            “What the hell did they do to you, Charlie?” Miles murmured as he passed a gentle hand over her hair.

            “Talking about it won’t change anything, Miles,” Charlie replied, avoiding a direct answer.

            “No, it won’t” he agreed stonily. “But when I find those bastards, they’re going to pay for every mark they put on you and it’s going to be in ways they couldn’t possibly imagine. I promise.” Miles took a deep breath to collect himself and looked back down at the pale, bruised face of his niece. “Tell me, Charlie. Please.”

            “Honestly, Miles, I don’t remember a lot of it,” Charlie admitted softly. “I remember waking up in a tent. There was a Captain.” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to sift through the confusion jumble of sounds and images associated with her captivity. “Mason,” she said slowly, carefully. “Captain Mason. They . . . wanted to know where the camp was. I wouldn’t tell them.” Charlie swallowed heavily and gave a tiny jerk of her head. “That’s it.”

            “Bullshit, Charlie,” Miles replied calmly. “You’ve given me the ‘why’. At least part of it. I want to know that ‘what’. And more importantly, I want to know who hurt you.”

            “I don’t remember, Miles,” Charlie insisted, her voice cracking. “And as long as we’re calling ‘bullshit’, I want to know what Mom has been keeping from me. Something’s wrong and she won’t tell me.”

            Gene entered the dugout before Miles could answer. “The patient is awake!” he declared with false cheerfulness. “Miles, why don’t you wait outside with Rachel while I examine Charlie?”

            Miles hesitated for just a moment, but then slid past Gene to make his way to the dugout door. “Sure, Gene,” he said. “We’ll be right outside. Let us know when you’re done.”

            Gene waited until Miles had left before he turned back to his granddaughter. “How are you feeling, kiddo?” he asked as he gently probed her ribs.

            Charlie hissed when he hit a particularly tender spot. “Better,” she replied, “though that’s not saying much.”

            The examination was over as quickly as her grandfather could manage it and he was able to assure Charlie that, in spite of the fact that she both looked and felt as though she had been beaten half to death, she was healing well and that there was no sign of infection in her bullet wounds. As he moved to leave her, Charlie reached out and caught his arm. “Grandpa, I need to get out of here. Please, help me.”

            “Charlie, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

            “Please,” Charlie repeated, almost begging. “I feel like I’ve been in the dark for so long . . .” She broke off and gripped his arm tighter. “I can’t stay in here.”

            Gene studied her carefully for a long moment and then sighed. “Alright,” he agreed, “but you don’t stay out long, you sit quietly, and you come back in when I tell you to. Agreed?”

            “Agreed.”

            Miles and Rachel helped Gene lead Charlie out of the dugout and into the blinding light of the mid-day sun. Charlie, pale, clammy and gasping from pain and exertion, lifted her face to the sky and soaked up the soothing warmth. Rachel spread out a blanket and stacked the others on one end, providing Charlie with a comfortable place to rest while Gene and Miles supported her on either side as she slowly made her way to her “bed”. Charlie lay back with a sigh and rested back against the blankets. “Thank you,” she murmured, slight color coming back into her cheeks.

            “Not too long, Charlie,” Rachel reminded her as she sat next to her daughter. “We’ve been staying pretty close to the dugout the past couple of days just in case the Patriots come back. We don’t want to have to rush you back in there if they happen to find us.”

            “How in the hell have six people fit in that little dugout?” Charlie asked, her eyes closed and a smile curving her lips. “It just doesn’t seem possible.”

            The uncomfortable silence that greeter her question forced her eyes to pop open and she peered at the carefully averted faces of her mother, uncle, and grandfather. “Alright, this is where we left off, Miles,” Charlie told him forcefully. “What are you three not telling me?” Her eyes suddenly widened and her hands clenched convulsively on the blanket beneath her. “Where are Connor and Monroe? Miles, tell me!”

            Rachel and Miles exchanged worried glances while Gene stared off into the distance. “Charlie,” Rachel began, “I don’t think this is the time to go into all of that. You’ve only just . . .”

            “Tell her, Rachel,” Gene said softly. “She’s just going to get worked up and that’s the last thing she needs right now. You’ll have to tell her eventually and the waiting won’t make it any easier.”

            Rachel covered her face with her hands for a moment and then raised her head, one hand reaching out to grasp her daughter’s; she stared, unseeing, at their interwoven fingers and began to talk. “Miles, Connor and I created a diversion at the Patriot camp so that Bass could sneak in and get you out. Even though we had to get the equipment ready quickly, we thought we had everything under control. Bass made his way to the rear of the camp and, after enough time had passed for him to be in position, the three of us set explosive charges at three separate spots along the front of their perimeter. We were running back to meet up just out of sight of the sentries when . . . when Connor’s charge blew too early. The light from the fire was so bright and the Patriots . . .”

            Charlie’s hand twitched under her mother’s and Rachel’s eyes sought her face. Charlie’s eyes were huge and every bit of color had been leeched from her face. “Connor’s dead?” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, my God.” She slumped back against the cushion of blankets and turned her face away from her family.

            “There was nothing we could do, Charlie,” Miles told her as he moved closer to his niece. “He was dead before he fell. But we couldn’t just leave him there. The Patriots were too busy to bother him, so we waited until the fires burned down and managed to retrieve his body.”

            Charlie’s head whipped around, her eyes seeking her uncle. “Where’s Bass?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer. “He left, didn’t he.”

           “No, he didn’t leave,” Gene replied. “He’s with Connor. He hasn’t left the boy’s grave since we buried him the night it happened.”

           “Where is he?”

            Gene nodded back behind them. “Down behind this ridge,” he told her. “We couldn’t risk burying him on high ground and at least Monroe is somewhat hidden down there.”

            Charlie painfully pushed herself to sit fully upright, a grimace twisting her features. “I need to see him.”

           “Charlie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Miles objected forcefully. “You can barely move and he . . . No,” he emphasized. “Absolutely not.”

           “Miles, I’m going to see him,” Charlie insisted, her voice hard. “You can help me or not. Up to you. Either way, I’m not going to change my mind.”

           Rachel squeezed her daughter’s hand and looked over at Miles. “Take her down, Miles,” she said softly.

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            Miles’ and Charlie’s progress was painfully slow and Charlie felt as though she had been put through a wringer by the time they made their way down the shallow ridge behind the dugout. Charlie scanned the terrain and jerked to a stop when she saw the lone figure sitting beside a long, newly-turned mound of earth.

            “Stay here, Miles,” Charlie murmured. Miles began to object but Charlie shook her head, her eyes never leaving Bass’ hunched form. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Just stay here.”

            Miles stood ramrod-straight as he watched Charlie make her way to the grave, her gait uneven, her posture rigid as she fought against the pain of her injuries. He’d respect her wishes . . . to a point. If Bass, in his anger and grief over his son, made one move to harm her, Miles wasn’t willing to answer for his actions.

            Monroe stiffened as he heard her approaching but otherwise made no move to confront whoever was intruding on his vigil. “Leave,” he growled, his gaze firmly fixed on his son’s grave.

            “Bass.”

            He didn’t even turn to look at her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice flat and cold.

            “I just heard about Connor,” Charlie replied, her voice soft with sorrow.

            “Yeah?”

            “I wanted to come down here and . . .” Charlie stopped and shrugged her shoulders helplessly, wincing at the resulting pain. “Just tell you that I’m sorry.”

            Long moments passed in dreadful silence until Monroe finally rose and faced her. Charlie took a step back, shocked. This was the Sebastian Monroe she had first known – his eyes cold, flat, devoid of emotion. He held himself rigidly in check, though she thought she saw a tremor pass over his unyielding features. “You’re sorry?” he whispered. “Why, exactly, are you sorry, Charlotte?” Monroe took a step towards her, eyebrows raised. “It certainly can’t be because of Connor himself. Didn’t you just recently call him ‘one of my biggest mistakes’? People generally don’t mourn the passing of someone like that, do they?” Charlie moved as though to answer but he cut her off. “And such sympathy couldn’t possibly be for me. Because I don’t feel. You said so yourself. There’s no way that I could understand someone else’s loss because I’m a monster. Monsters don’t have emotions, they don’t feel pity or loss.” Monroe spread his arms wide, his eyes hard on her face. “This should be a big day for you,” he declared bitterly, his voice increasing in volume as he stepped even closer to her. “Not only is my son dead, but he died carrying out my plan. The plan I came up with to save you. This is justice, right?”

            Miles had started running towards them as soon as Monroe had risen and now pushed himself between the two. “That’s enough, Bass,” he commanded as he moved to shield his niece, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

            “Don’t, Miles,” Charlie told him, her eyes never leaving Monroe’s face. “Let him talk.”

            Monroe kept right on going, walking towards Charlie until his shoulder was flush with Miles’. “Isn’t this justice?” he repeated bitterly. “I killed your father and brother, took away your family. And now I’m responsible for the death of my son. The only family I had is gone. So take a good look, Charlotte,” he barked. “This is what you’ve been hoping for. I’m standing in front of you with absolutely nothing left. Except for my own life. And I’m not giving that up, sweetheart. Not until they’ve given up theirs.” Monroe stood there, his eyes boring into hers, until finally he turned and walked back to Connor’s grave. The rage seemed to leave him and he, who always moved with such grace and confidence, almost collapsed back to the ground.

            “Keep your sympathy,” he said coldly. “The only thing I want from your little group is help to track those Patriots down. Other than that, we don’t know each other.”

            Charlie stood as though rooted to the ground until Miles touched her gently on the arm and began to lead her away. Before passing the crest of the ridge to return to camp, Charlie turned back and saw Sebastian Monroe, the terror of the Republic and the most hated enemy of the new United States, reach out and rest a gentle hand on the mound of earth blanketing his son.

Chapter Text

     Pain exploded across her cheek and her head snapped back, a hoarse cry ripped from her throat. “ Wake up, Matheson!” Charlie felt her stomach drop as she slowly brought her head around and forced her eyes open to confront her attacker. Her brow furrowed in surprised confusion. Not Mason. A new one. She glanced down, her eyes widening. Her tank top was gone, leaving her torso covered in nothing but her bra. At least they had left her pants on, she thought grimly. As the stranger stood before her, leisurely drawing on a cigarette, her eyes moved slowly around the tent. Officers, she realized, and their aides. Her lip curled in derision and defiance. They looked soft. And . . . ah. There was Mason. Sitting diagonally from her to get the best view, the rabid son of a bitch. Charlie forced herself to straighten in her chair despite the pain coursing through her body. She could feel a new bruise blossoming on her cheek where the stranger had struck her but, she shrugged inwardly, what did it matter? Just one more to join the rest they had inflicted on her. Charlotte returned her gaze to the man standing before her. Must be a new interrogator. Her jaw tightened but otherwise she did not allow herself to react, to give them the satisfaction of knowing that she was afraid.

            “I understand you’re being a bit stubborn, Matheson,” the Patriot said as he circled her. “Quite stubborn, I’d guess. And the information you have must be pretty important.” He stopped behind her and bent so that his lips were almost touching her ear. “They don’t call me in for the little fish.” Charlie jerked her head away from him, a look of disgust on her face. He chuckled darkly and straightened, continuing his perusal. “Come now, you should be flattered,” he protested genially. He gestured and an aide brought a chair over, setting it in front of Charlie. The Patriot interrogator flipped it around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back, and reached into his pocket for another cigarette. “But I’m being rude,” he apologized as he lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old. “I know who you are. You really should know my name. Makes everything so much friendlier, don’t you think.”

            “Fuck off.”

            He laughed and shook his head, turning slightly to look over at Mason. “Oh, she’s going to be a challenge,” he said, a touch of glee in his voice, and turned back to Charlie. “I do so love a challenge.” He puffed on his cigarette again, swirls of smoke writhing around his head and, for a moment, Charlie had the unbidden thought that this is what the Devil would look like. Confident, cocky, assured, even charming, and wreathed in grey, sinuous fingers of smoke. A frisson of fear shot down her spine and she forced herself to remain still.

            “Parker,” the man told her conversationally. “Lieutenant Tom Parker. And since we’re going to get to known each other really well, I think I should dispense with the ‘Miss Matheson’ and just go straight for Charlotte.”

            “Call me whatever you want, Parker,” Charlie spat. “You won’t get shit from me.”

            Parker rose from his chair and stood in front of her, a faint smile on his lips. “Really, Charlotte, you’re just jumping to conclusions. You have no idea . . .” Suddenly he lunged and Charlie had no time to brace herself, no time to hold in her reaction, as the glowing tip of his cigarette scorched the tender flesh between her breasts. She screamed as her body twisted to get away from the searing pain. As abruptly as the torture had begun, it was over and Charlie slumped in the chair, her breathing rapid and shallow.

            “What I can do,” Parker finished calmly as he discarded the used cigarette and brought out a new one. “Now.” He looked down at her and Charlie felt a chill descend as she saw the cold intent finally revealed in his face. “Shall we begin?”

            “NO! God, please stop!” Charlie cried, tears of pain running down her cheeks as she writhed and twisted in her sleep. “Please, no more!”

            “Charlie!” Rachel fumbled as she lit the lamp in the cramped quarters of the dugout and scrambled over to her child. “Charlie, wake up!”

            “Rachel, what the hell is going on?” Miles roared as he and Gene threw themselves into the dugout.

            Rachel was trying frantically to wake her screaming daughter, tears in her own eyes at Charlie’s torment. “Nightmare,” she said as she focused on bringing Charlie out of her remembered hell. “Charlie, honey, please wake up!” She shook her, gently at first so as not to hurt her, and then more roughly when it became clear that Charlie was too deeply immersed in the dream.

            Suddenly Charlie shot up, lurching clumsily as pain shot through her body, sobbing and gasping for breath, an arm clenched across her broken ribs. Rachel reached out and smoothed the hair from her damp face, crooning softly as Charlie’s eyes darted frantically from face to face. Long moments passed as her breathing finally settled and she closed her eyes, slumping against Rachel’s shoulder.

            “Everybody out.”

            Rachel looked sharply over at Miles. “What?” she asked, shock in her voice.

            “I want you and Gene to go outside,” Miles told her grimly, his eyes never leaving Charlie’s starkly white face. “I need to talk to Charlie.”

            “Miles, I don’t think . . .”

            “Don’t, Gene,” Miles cut him off. “Do not push me on this.” He glanced at Rachel before returning his gaze to his niece. “Rachel, I mean it. You and Gene go keep watch. I’ll be out in a bit.”

            Rachel seemed as though she was going to argue about it but Charlie pushed herself away from her mother’s shoulder. “It’s OK, Mom,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Go on. I’ll call if I need you.”

            Charlie smiled faintly as her mother searched her face and finally nodded. “We’ll be right outside,” Rachel assured her as she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Miles waited until Rachel and her father had cleared the entrance to the dugout and then turned to Charlie.

            “You managed to avoid my questions earlier, Charlie. Now I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”

            “Miles, Grandpa can tell you what they did just as well . . .”

            “Don’t give me that crap, Charlie,” he snapped, his eyes hard on her face. “I’ve seen your injuries. I know you were . . . tortured.” Miles stumbled over the last word, his jaw clenched in rage. “It’s obvious you had the crap beat out of you after you were taken. Any stupid Patriot son of a bitch could do that. But the cuts, the burns. Those were strategic. Those were put there by someone who knew what he was doing, how to inflict maximum pain with minimum loss. So I want to know what happened, who did it, and what they wanted from you.” He held up a hand before Charlie could answer, his eyes sharp. “And I’m going to need more than ‘they wanted to know where the camp was’, Charlie. That’s not going to fly this time.”

            Charlie bit her still-swollen lip and forced herself to meet her uncle’s eyes. “I . . . still don’t remember everything,” she admitted in a shaky voice. “After it had gone on for a while . . . it all just became kind of a blur, you know?”

            “Yeah,” Miles said quietly. “I know.”

            “I already told you about Mason. He was the one who gave the orders, at least at first.”

            “Is that the guy who beat the hell out of you?” Miles asked, listening intently.

            “No,” Charlie shook her head, a smile ghosting across her face. “The doctor had just dug one of my arrows out of him, so he wasn’t really up to it.”

            “Good girl.”

            “He called two guards in,” Charlie continued slowly. “I don’t know their names but . . . I’d recognize them again if I saw them again.”

            “You’ll see them,” Miles promised grimly. “Go on.”

            “Mason did the questioning. They did the encouraging.”

            “Your face,” Miles stated flatly.

            “And ribs,” Charlie added. “I must have passed out eventually because I the next thing I knew, the tent was full of Patriot officers and . . .” She broke off and swallowed thickly, her eyes clenched shut against the terrible onslaught of new memories.

            “Charlie?”

            “Give me a minute,” she snapped, her control almost gone. “This isn’t exactly easy for me, OK? That damn dream brought it all back and I just . . . need a minute.”

            They sat in silence while Charlie breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her pounding heart, Miles waiting in tense, almost unbearable anticipation for her to continue. Finally she cleared her throat and her eyes slowly opened. “His name was Tom Parker. He was only a Lieutenant. All of the other officers in the tent outranked him but there was no question that he was in running the show. He told me that they only brought him in for special cases. Like I should have been impressed.” She inhaled deeply, her face twisting. “Parker . . . enjoyed what he did to me,” she whispered. “I could see it in his face. Every burn, every cut. There was this excitement in him.” Charlie turned to Miles, her eyes desperate. “I tried not to scream,” she told him, her voice pleading as though trying to convince him of her resolve. “But eventually I just . . . couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

            Miles reached out and framed her face in his hands. “Don’t you dare feel like you need to apologize for that,” he rasped. “My God, there is no shame in it.”

            Charlie nodded shortly, leaning her cheek into her uncle’s hand to draw the much-needed comfort and assurance he was offering.

            Moments passed and Miles finally drew back. “What did they want you to tell them, Charlie?”

            She jolted at the sound of his voice, ripped out of her brief moment of peace, and blinked owlishly. “What?”

            “The information they were trying to get out of you,” Miles said patiently, his voice gentle. “What was it?”

            “They . . . wanted me to give up the location of our camp,” Charlie told him, her eyes steady on his. But Miles had heard the brief hesitation in her voice and knew that she wasn’t telling him everything.

            “Nope,” he said briskly. “Not buying it, kid. You’re leaving something out.”

            “Miles, it doesn’t matter,” she began, her jaw set.

            “Charlie . . .”

            “Honestly, Miles, that’s all they wanted.”

            “Goddamit, Charlie,” he suddenly shouted, surging to his knees in the cramped space. “I’m not going to settle for some half-ass, bullshit story. Tell me right now – what did they want?”

            “They wanted me to give them Bass!” Charlie cried, her uncle’s anger pushing her over the edge. “Mason told me he’d leave the rest of us alone if I gave him over to the Patriots!”

            Miles rocked back on his heels, stunned at this revelation and, even more, the torment that Charlie had endured on Bass’ behalf. Before he could speak, Rachel crawled back into the dugout, her eyes fierce. “That’s enough, Miles,” she warned him in a low voice. “I could hear the two of you yelling outside. Charlie doesn’t need your heavy-handed questioning right now, dammit.”

            “Rachel . . .”

            “No,” she snapped, shoving past him to kneel next to Charlie’s head. Rachel turned and glared at Miles. “For God’s sake, Miles, leave her alone. You can satisfy your curiosity tomorrow. Go back out with Dad.” Miles looked as though he was going to argue and Rachel shifted to block Charlie from his view. “I mean it, Miles.”

            Finally, he relented. “Alright,” Miles replied reluctantly. “Get some rest, kid,” he told Charlie as he moved to leave the dugout. “But this conversation isn’t over.” Charlie’s eyes met her uncle’s and, for a moment, she saw the anger, the unbending authority, the loathing of his own helplessness that had driven him to co-found the brutal Monroe Republic. A chill skittered up her back as she realized how easy it would be for him to become that man again, the one spoken of in hushed, terrified whispers as “The Butcher of Baltimore.” Driving that thought forcibly from her mind, she pressed trembling lips together, closed her eyes, and turned her head into the folded blanket that served as a pillow. Unbelievably, she slipped painlessly into dreamless slumber, her nightmares, both waking and sleeping, temporarily at bay.

Chapter Text

" . . . have to move, Rachel, and we have to do it now."

"Miles, she can't yet! She can barely move on her own. She needs more time. Dad, would you please tell him?"

Rachel and Miles' voices, low though they were, carried into the cave and Charlie's eyes fluttered open. She lay there for a moment, listening to argument go back and forth, before she struggled to lift herself from her pallet in the dugout and began to inch her way to the entrance. Any conversation revolving around her, she was going to be part of it, Charlie thought grimly as she shuffled forward. She was hurt, not dead.

"Miles," Gene was saying, his hands raised in a gesture of conciliation, "I know you're concerned about the Patriots finding us but we have the dugout, we're relatively safe –"

"There is no such thing as relatively safe, Gene," Miles responded harshly. "It's been three days, for God's sake. They've figured out that the trail we left was false. They're probably spread out all over the place by now. Before we know it the sons of bitches are going to be riding right up our asses." He whirled and threw an arm up, gesturing down the ridge. "And Bass is a Goddamn zombie! We need to get him away from Connor's grave. He's no good to us like this. The more distance we put between us and this place, the better for everyone."

"Miles, I am not moving my daughter one minute before –"

"Mom," Charlie called breathlessly as she slowly rose to her feet just outside the dugout. "Miles is right."

Her mother, uncle and grandfather rushed to her side, Rachel reaching out to put a steadying arm around her waist. "Charlie, you should have called me," she chastised gently. "You're not strong enough to be moving around by yourself."

"Mom," Charlie said firmly, "we need to go." She saw that her mother was going to argue and cut her off. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "Believe me, the discomfort of a few hours on a horse is nothing compared to what will happen to all of us if the Patriots catch us." Her voice trembled at the end, and she swallowed thickly before continuing. "Please. Don't fight Miles on this."

Rachel's brow was furrowed in consternation and she glanced between Charlie, Miles and her father. "Dad?" she asked. "What do you think? Hard riding on horseback . . . It just can't be a good idea yet."

Gene scraped his hands wearily down his face. "Honestly, Rachel, if we had an ideal situation here, I'd say keep her in bed for at least a few more days. But," he added when he saw that Rachel was about to jump on that comment, "this is about as far from ideal as you can get." Gene turned to look at his granddaughter and he sighed deeply. "Charlie, it's going to hurt like hell," he told her bluntly. "Your ribs are nowhere near healed and you're going to be jostled all over the place on your horse. It's going to be painful to grip the horse with that leg. But . . . it's doable. We'll bind your wounds as tight as you can stand and stop every few hours if you need it. Ultimately, it's up to you."

Charlie glanced at Rachel and then turned her attention to Miles. "I'm ready when you are," she said simply. Rachel caught her breath and shook her head, worry evident on her face, but she didn't object.

"Alright, kid," Miles replied with a small smile. "Rachel," he said, looking at her. "Get everything packed up. I want to be out of here within the next half hour. We'll eat as we go." Miles turned and squared his shoulders, definitely not looking forward to what he had to do next. "I'll go get Bass."

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Miles walked almost silently down the ridge and into the little valley where Connor was buried. As far as he could tell, Bass hadn't moved since Charlie's visit the day before. Miles ran a hand across the back of his neck and took a deep breath, preparing for Bass' inevitable objections to leaving his son behind.

Bass half turned as Miles approached, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "What is it, Miles?" he asked. Miles noticed with some surprise that Bass sounded almost . . . normal. He moved to stand next to him and knelt on one knee, their faces almost even with each other.

"Bass, I know you don't want to hear this but we can't stay here. We have to go."

Monroe shifted his gaze back to Connor's grave, his jaw tight, and Miles waited for him to break the lengthening silence. "I know," he finally replied. "When?"

"As soon as possible," Miles answered quietly. "Gene is just making sure Charlie is set to travel." He noticed how Bass tensed up at Charlie's name but continued as though it hadn't happened. "I want to be out of here within the next half hour."

Bass nodded slowly. "Fine. Just give me a couple of minutes. I'll be ready."

"Bass, I – "

"Don't, Miles," Bass told him wearily. "Go back to camp. I'll be right up." He sat there silently as Miles walked away. When he could no longer hear the soft, retreating footfalls Bass allowed his head to fall forward, passing a weary hand over his dry, burning eyes. "I . . ." he began, but then clenched his jaw. It was stupid, he thought. Connor was dead. He couldn't hear him. Bass moved as if to rise but just couldn't seem to make himself leave his son's gravesite. It didn't matter whether or not Connor could hear him, he realized. There were things that he just needed to say. Bass sat back down, raising a leg and resting his head against his knee. "I'm so sorry, Connor," he whispered as one hand blindly sought out the dry, crumbling earth of his son's grave. "I'm sorry that your life was so fucked up. I completely failed you and now I'll never have a chance to make it right." Bass felt himself starting to give way and bit down sharply on his lip to keep his Goddamn worthless tears from falling. He took a deep breath and raised his head, his eyes dry and bleak as they rested on Connor's grave. "You deserved so much more than this. So much more than me. You'll never know how much I'll always regret that we . . . didn't even have a chance to know each other." Bass' jaw clenched and the hand resting on the silent, encompassing soil tensed into a fist. "I swear, Connor, the people who did this are going to die for what they took from us. That's the last thing I can do for you, kid, and I'll spend the rest of my life making sure that they pay."

 Bass stood slowly and turned. He walked away from his son and not once did he look back.

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Rachel, Gene and Charlie sat on their mounts, Miles stood next to his as he held the reins of Bass' horse, their eyes trained on the ridge as they waited for Monroe.

"Miles, if we're going, you need to go get him," Rachel said impatiently.

"He asked for a little time, Rachel," Miles told her sharply. "Considering this is probably the last time he'll be able to visit his son's grave, I'm going to give it to him." He turned to look at Rachel, his eyes dark with remembered pain. "You of all people should know how that feels."

"Don't you dare compare –" Rachel started furiously, only to be cut off by Bass' quiet, toneless voice. "Let's go."

He walked over to Miles, grabbed the reins, and vaulted onto the horse's back. Charlie looked at him closely to see if she could find any sign of emotion, any crack in his stony façade of grief, but there was none. She almost wished that he'd rage, scream, weep, anything but this cold, controlled silence. She shifted restlessly in her saddle and groaned, the knife-like pain shooting through her torso taking her mind temporarily off of Bass. Shit, they hadn't even started moving yet and she was already in agony. Charlie straightened carefully in her saddle and pressed her lips together. They weren't going to hear a single word of protest out of her, she vowed. She wasn't going to be the reason that sick son of a bitch got his hands on her family.

Miles mounted his horse and turned back to check to make sure that everyone was ready. His eyes lingered on Charlie, concern in his eyes. Damn it, the girl was white as milk, though from that stubborn look on her face she wouldn't complain even if she were dying. Rachel was fuming at the delay, wanting nothing more than to drag Charlie from her horse and put her back to bed. Gene just looked resigned to whatever hell they were riding into. And Bass. Miles was beyond concerned about Monroe. He hadn't seen that look on his face since Shelley and the baby and Miles was genuinely concerned that Bass was perilously close to losing whatever progress he had made and becoming, once again, the unstable, conflicted, murderous President Monroe.

"Miles?"

Rachel's voice brought him back to reality and he nodded at the group. "Alright, guys, let's go." With one last concerned glance at Charlie, he tapped his boot heels against his horse's sides and led them away from their temporary sanctuary.

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The following hours passed interminably for Charlie. Every step of her horse, whether they were walking or cantering, unfurled ribbons of pain throughout her body. There were a few times that she had been afraid her teeth would go through her lower lip, so hard had she bitten down to prevent any sounds from leaving her as they strained to put miles between them and the Patriots. Eventually, though, the horses grew weary and twilight descended around them. Miles, who had ridden point for the last few hours of the journey, had found a relatively safe location to camp. The ground in every direction was worryingly flat but he had found a small lake with a clump of trees along its bank. In terms of cover it wasn't what he would have preferred but at it was better than nothing.

Charlie sat rigidly in her saddle, every breath causing her ribs to explode in agony, and worried that any movement on her part would just make everything worse. Miles appeared at her left stirrup and put his hand on her ankle. "C'mon, kid, just swing your right leg over the pommel and slide down. I'll do the rest."

Charlie braced herself as she slowly, torturously brought her uninjured leg over the horse, her jaw clenched against the pain streaking through her as her ribs protested the strain. Miles gently slid her left foot from her stirrup and carefully gripped her hips, trying to avoid putting pressure on her waist and ribs. Charlie slid down the side of the horse, Miles guiding her down, but when tried to put pressure on her injured leg it gave way and she stumbled back with a cry. Miles lost his grip and lunged to grab her. Charlie felt herself falling and then, abruptly she wasn't. Hands gripped her elbows and she found her back resting against a hard chest. Even in the midst of her pain, she stiffened and tried to pull away.

Miles put an arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. "Thanks, Bass," he said sincerely, tightening his hand on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie risked a look over her shoulder, her eyes taking in Monroe's rigid profile. Bass was staring straight ahead, his face expressionless. Without a word, he released her arms, grabbed his horse's trailing reins, and maneuvered around Miles and Charlie to lead his mount to water.

Miles and Charlie stood watching him for a moment before Miles sighed and put gentle pressure on her shoulder. "Let's get you settled, Charlie," he said as they walked towards Rachel and Gene. "You have to be absolutely wiped out."

"Yeah," Charlie murmured, her mind still on Bass and the terrible deadness in his eyes. "Miles," she started and hesitated, not knowing if she should ask.

"What is it, Charlie?"

"Is he . . . going to be OK?"

Miles stopped and looked down at Charlie, though she avoided meeting his gaze. "I don't know, kid," he replied, sighing deeply, his eyes abruptly losing focus as he was lost in painful memories. "I haven't seen him like this since –" He broke off as he became aware of what he had been about to say and, jaw clenched, kept leading Charlie to the campsite.

Even though it was obvious that Miles didn't want to tell her, Charlie couldn't help but press him. "Since when, Miles?" she asked.

"Forget it, Charlie," Miles almost snapped, gesturing to Rachel to help Charlie to her pallet. "Keep away from Bass," he warned under his breath as Rachel moved in their direction. "I mean it, kid."

As Rachel led Charlie to her bedroll, Charlie couldn't help but glance over at Sebastian Monroe, now nothing more than a shadow in the fading light – dark, silent, and very alone.

Chapter Text

            Bass had been given the second watch. He accepted the assignment willingly enough as he couldn’t have cared one way or another. The images of his Connor’s death that ran through his mind every time he closed his eyes had come between him and his sleep every night since he had seen his son draped over the back of his horse. Bass sat with his back against the base of a tree trunk, his gun resting across his knees, and scanned the perimeter of the camp. A sudden noise caused his head to snap around and he saw Charlie flinch in her sleep, mewling gasps slipping past her lips. Shit. He was going to have to wake her up. He couldn’t run the risk of her screaming. It was incredible how far sound could travel over the flat, open Texas landscape. Bass reluctantly rose to his feet and walked towards her.

            Charlie ground her teeth together - trying desperately to keep from screaming, from sobbing, from telling them whatever they wanted - as the thin, sharp blade sliced through the flesh covering her ribs. She could feel blood seeping down her side, running down her waist and soaking into the waistband of her pants. How many times had Parker cut her, she wondered vaguely. Two times? Ten? Twenty? She truly couldn’t remember. Just as the pain began to lessen, he cut her again, this time just under her breast. Fire exploded in the new wound as he pressed a wet cloth against it.

“Burn a bit, does it?” Parker asked. “Salt water on open cuts can be a tad . . . uncomfortable.” He pressed harder and Charlie’s head fell back, the cords in her neck standing out as she strained to ride out the pain, her mouth wide open as she gasped desperately for breath. Then, suddenly, the cloth was gone and she slumped, limp, in the chair.

“Most people make the mistake of getting overly complex,” he said as he ran the flat of the blade across her collarbone. “But that’s all just window dressing. A knife, a little water, some salt. Really, it’s all you need. Amazingly affective if you keep it up long enough.” Another swipe of the blade parted the skin just below her belly button and Charlie’s breath shuddered out of her, sounding perilously close to a sob. “Minimum blood loss, compounding pain with every nick of the blade. Keep the cuts wet and they stay open for as long as I want. This can go on indefinitely.” Charlie felt tears slip from beneath her closed eyelids and she hated herself for giving him the satisfaction.

“We both know how this can end, Charlotte,” Parker said soothingly. “Just tell me where I can find Sebastian Monroe. You and your family can go wherever you want, no looking over your shoulders anymore. You can settle in one place and have a real life again. You’ll never have to wake up knowing that Sebastian Monroe is still on this earth while your father and brother are rotting under it.” He leaned in close, his lips almost touching her ear. “Give him up, Charlotte,” he whispered. “You can finally pay him back for everything he’s taken from you. Tell me it’s not what you’ve always wanted.”

Charlie forced her eyes open and blinked several times to try and clear her vision. She could make out the Patriot officers sitting in their chairs, neatly arranged in a semicircle and watching the scene before them with no pity in their eyes, only unconcealed hunger for what she could tell them. She turned to face Parker, black spots blotting her vision as she struggled to remain conscious. Yes, she thought blearily. It would be so easy. And then he’d stop. Then she could rest. She tried to speak but found her mouth was too dry. Parker saw her struggle and gestured urgently for a glass of water. He held it to her mouth and she gulped it greedily, closing her eyes as she savored the cool wetness slipping down her throat, rehydrating parched flesh.

“Alright, Charlie,” Parker prompted gently, his voice betraying no sense of the urgency he felt . “I think there’s something you want to tell me.”

Charlie looked at him again and suddenly memories flashed through her mind – of Monroe saving her life in the Tower, of him bursting into that damn bar like a fallen avenging angel and saving her from being raped and murdered. Bass coming back at the high school, protecting her once again, and fighting alongside her in the gym. Offering himself up as a sacrifice to Gould so that his son could live. In spite of everything he had done, she couldn’t forget all of that. She blinked and looked Parker right in the eye. “Yes,” she rasped. “There is.” She inhaled deeply, knowing what was coming, and spat in his face.

He reared back in shock and disgust, wiping his face on his sleeve and staring at her in blank fury. She watched him, waiting for him to strike out, and was chilled when she saw him regain control. “Very well, Charlotte,” he said, the calmness of his words belied by the rage kindling in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and drew out a cigarette. Charlie’s flesh cringed and she felt the blood drain from her face. No. Not again.

“Let’s have another go, shall we?”

A hand clamped across her mouth and Charlie’s eyes flared open, her heart racing as she struggled to free herself from an unknown assailant.

“Charlotte!” a familiar voice hissed and Charlie collapsed back onto her blanket in relief. The hand was slowly removed and she drew in breaths in heaving gulps.

“You were having a nightmare,” Bass told her flatly. “I had to wake you up before you started screaming.”

Charlie flinched away from the coldness in his voice and pulled her blanket higher around her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, grateful that she hadn’t awakened the others to face their inevitable questions.

Bass rose without a word and resumed his seat by the tree. Charlie lay there in the silence, staring into the darkness, wondering if morning would ever come.

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            Rachel helped Miles and Gene pack up their gear, all the while keeping a close eye on Charlie. She was still so pale, Rachel noticed, and the dark circles under her eyes had only grown worse. It was obvious that what little sleep she was getting was not restful. She turned to Miles and noticed that he was keeping an eye on Bass. Monroe had kept himself separate from them, a decision for which Rachel was grateful. He had slept away from the group the night before and had eaten by the small copse of trees by the pond. She noticed with almost complete disinterest that he appeared to be even more exhausted than Charlie.

            “Miles.”

            He turned to face her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. “What did Charlie tell you yesterday?”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “When you sent Dad and me out of the dugout. What did she tell you?”

            Miles dropped his eyes from hers and focused on folding up his bedroll. “I think you should ask Charlie that, Rachel.”

            Rachel huffed out a breath. “Please, Miles,” she replied. “You know that Charlie doesn’t exactly confide in me.” When he shot a pointed look at her over his shoulder, Rachel glared back. “Just because she won’t talk to me about it doesn’t mean that you can’t,” she reasoned. “Miles, I’m her mother. I need to know.”

            “Look, Rachel,” Miles said as he slung his saddlebags over his horse’s back. “I respect the fact that you’re Charlie’s mother and that you love and want to protect her. Believe me, I get it. But I also respect the fact that she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

            “Oh, please, Miles,” Rachel scoffed, her anger evident in her voice. “You’re the one who browbeat her to get her to tell you what happened and now you’re telling me to wait until she’s ready? Do you not see the hypocrisy in that?”

            “We both know that Charlie wouldn’t have told me a Goddamn thing if she hadn’t wanted to,” Miles snapped as he strode towards her. “Even bruised and bloodied, Charlie is still one of the most stubborn creatures God ever put on this earth. I could have brought the dugout down around her ears and she still wouldn’t have said a word unless she was damn good and ready. I knew that, and so did Charlie.” His face softened when he saw Rachel’s genuine distress and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Let her come to you, Rachel,” he advised.          

            “Fine,” Rachel sighed. “I’ll wait. But I don’t know how much longer I can stand seeing her like this.” Her voice trembled and she shook her head, frustrated by her own helplessness. “She’s suffering and not just from her injuries. I hate knowing that I can’t do anything to help her.”

            “I know,” Miles soothed, pulling her into a comforting embrace. His eyes moved from Charlie, who was leaning heavily against her horse, to Bass as he was securing his gear to his horse’s saddle. “Believe me, I know.”

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            Each day was remarkably, terribly, like the other. They rode as long as there was light, often backtracking, sometimes abruptly changing direction. Anything to befuddle the Patriot patrols that Miles was certain were attempting to run them to ground. With every mile, Charlie clung desperately to the hope that, eventually, they would stop and truly rest. She wanted more than just snatches of slumber out in the open. Every time she lay down on her thin bedroll she could feel the tension of the day bleeding into the inky blackness of night so that there was never any true sleep, just broken periods of restless dozing punctuated with the relentless nightmares that had plagued her ever since Monroe had snatched her from the Patriots. More than once she had been wrenched from the grip of some terrible memory by Bass’ hand pressed across her mouth, her cries of terror muffled as tears trickled down her temples. Every time, he had started down at her impassively, his face a cold mask of indifference. Until the last time, Charlie reminded herself wearily. She had seen something in his eyes then. Just for a moment. At first she had thought that she had imagined it. But no, she reassured herself. There had been something. It had almost looked like . . . shock? Horror? It didn’t matter, Charlie told herself. All that mattered was sleep. Dear God, she was tired.

            Bass watched Charlie as he brought up the rear of the group, a frown briefly appearing on his face. She still held herself rigidly in the saddle, so he knew that she was still experiencing pain from her wounds or at least her ribs. And he knew first-hand that she was barely sleeping. He found himself waiting as he kept watch, listening for those muffled sounds of distress, watching for the slight twisting of her body as she wrestled with unseen demons. Every night he woke her from her nightmares and every night he managed to keep himself distanced from her torment. Until the last time. He had been reaching out to cover her mouth when she suddenly wrenched her head to the side. She had gasped and a low, sobbing moan erupted from deep within her. He bent closer, trying to reach her, to rouse her, when he heard her whisper a single word as her face crumpled in remembered pain: “Bass.” He had been frozen in place, stunned that he had been part of her nightmare. Was she dreaming that he had been torturing her? The very idea made him feel sick. Bass had forced himself to wake her up and, as he had done every other night, to walk away when she had come to herself. But he knew that he had let his feeling show, just for the briefest of moments. Charlie hadn’t seen, he told himself. She couldn’t have. She had been too upset, too exhausted to notice a flicker of emotion on his face. He had hidden it too quickly. He was safe.

Chapter Text

            The setting sun was a churning spot of fire in the West, casting its dying rays across a sky streaked with pink, orange and an ever-deepening indigo. Rachel was kneeling by the small fire, steadily feeding it dry clumps of grass and small sticks that she had gathered from around their campsite. She frowned as she tended to the growing flames and glanced at the partially filled cooking pot. Dinner was going to be a sorry affair tonight. If Miles or Monroe didn’t find some game soon, she thought, this situation was going to get a hell of a lot more miserable. Not that it could get much worse. Her eyes scanned the camp, stopping as they came to rest on her daughter. Charlie had lost weight, her eyes were haunted and perpetually bruised from a continued lack of sleep, and she still moved as though afraid that she might shatter. Rachel felt tears burn her eyes and angrily blinked them away. She would not give into tears, knowing from bitter experience that they would not make her feel better. Nor would they help her suffering child.

            A flash of movement caught her attention and she turned her head to see Monroe moving silently through the camp, his dead eyes looking neither to the left nor the right but staring straight ahead. He had been ignoring them for almost a week, ever since they had buried Connor. That had been just fine with her. But she had noticed that Charlie’s eyes seemed to follow him when he passed, sought him out whenever he settled away from the others as they turned in. And Miles. He was watching them both. He was concerned, Rachel knew, and he had every right to be. But there was something else, something more than the natural anxiety an uncle would have about a wounded niece, the apprehension he might feel about a friend slipping back into darkness. Rachel couldn’t put her finger on it but she knew instinctively that, whatever it was, it was something that linked Charlie and Bass together. She watched as Bass mounted his horse and rode out of camp on what would doubtlessly be another fruitless search for game. She kept her eyes on him as his figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing from sight. In her peripheral vision, she noticed that Charlie did the same. Rachel’s fingers tightened around a stick and the sharp crack as it snapped jolted her out of her reverie. She continued to feed the fire, her face smooth and impassive. She would find out what was going on and she was going to do it by following Miles’ advice. Be patient. Don’t push. It was going to happen, Rachel silently assured herself. And, if nothing else, a decade as Monroe’s prisoner had taught her how to bide her time. She could wait.

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            Gene slung the saddlebag containing his medical supplies over his shoulder and glanced at his daughter as he walked past the campfire. Rachel had that look on her face again, he noticed with some trepidation. Oh, she might appear calm, even placid, but he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. God knew there was enough to keep even her mind busy, he thought wearily. He glanced around and saw Charlie unfurling her bedroll, a slight hitch in her movement as she felt a tug, whether from her ribs or her other wounds, he couldn’t tell. He made his way quickly to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked around, eyes wide with fear, her shoulders heaving with her gasping breath. Gene stepped back, keeping his eyes on hers. “Charlie, honey, it’s just me,” he said soothingly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

            It seemed to take a moment for his words to register and then her eyes slid shut and she turned away. “Grandpa, I’m . . . sorry,” she murmured, shaking her head in frustration. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

            Gene approached her carefully, making sure not to touch her, until she turned to face him again and tried to smile – a swift, tight movement of her lips that was more of a grimace than anything else. He felt rage boil up in his chest at how wounded, how broken she still way. And, he acknowledged reluctantly, may always be. Gene smoothed a gentle hand down her hair and smiled back. “It’s OK, Charlie,” he assured her. “It’ll take time but soon you won’t have to be reminded that you’re not in any danger. You’re safe with us.”

            “For now.”

            “No,” Gene insisted as he slid an arm around her shoulders and brought her into a gentle embrace. “Not just for now.” The two of them stood there, Charlie leaning into her grandfather’s chest and Gene momentarily free to let his feelings of anger and frustration show on his face. But, he reminded himself, there would be time for that later. Right now, he had a patient to attend to.

            “It’s been three days, Charlie. Time to change your bandages,” he told her as he stepped away and gestured to the saddlebags draped across his shoulder. She groaned but allowed Gene to lead her away from the camp where they might have at least the illusion of privacy. They found an old, hollow, rotting log and Charlie sat down, grimacing as she tried to remove her tank top by herself.

            “Hold on, Charlie,” Gene told her, his voice crisp and professional. Chalrie almost laughed. If she just listened to his voice and didn’t know any better, she’d think she was in a real doctor’s office. At least he could bandage her leg through the tear in her jeans, she thought thankfully. Gene gently raised the shirt and set it aside as he began to unwind the bindings around Charlie’s ribs. Her torso was still heavily bruised, the purple beginning to fade to an ugly yellow. The cuts and burns that marred her flesh were healing, though more slowly than he’d like. Gene frowned as he reached into his bag for his jar of honey. Thank God for natural antibacterials. He began to dab the sticky substance on the wounds - he couldn’t believe how many there were – and finally, after long minutes, double-checked to make sure he hadn’t missed any.

            “Alright, kiddo, here’s the unpleasant part.” Gene brought out his last clean set of binding rags and Charlie braced herself as she held the lead end in place just under her breasts. Gene wound the cloth around her, pulling gently but firmly as he went, making sure that they were as tight as she could bear. Charlie’s breath hitched in her throat a couple of times but, he noticed with a mixture of pride and irritation, she didn’t make a sound. When he was finally done and had tied off the ends, he sat back on his heels. There was a fine sheen of sweat on Charlie’s pale face and her eyes were dark with fatigue and pain. Gene shook his head.

            “Charlie, pain is nature’s way of telling us that something is wrong,” he told her as he began to remove the bandage on her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong in admitting –“ He broke off as his breath caught in his throat. Her shoulder was red, inflamed, and hot to the touch. “Goddamn it, Charlie, why didn’t you tell me about this?” he exclaimed, his face flushed with anger.

            Charlie glanced over at her shoulder, surprise evident on her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, confused.

            His attention firmly on the wound before him, Gene didn’t even spare her a glance as he gently prodded the torn flesh. “It’s infected,” he bit out. “And it has to be incredibly painful. Why didn’t you tell me?”

            Charlie shook her head as she tried to remain still during her grandfather’s gentle examination. “It’s been painful since it happened,” she told him. “I didn’t notice anything different.”

            “Son of a bitch, this set in fast,” he muttered to himself. “No sign of any infection the last time I saw it.” Gene finally looked up at Charlie, his jaw set and eyes hard. “I’m going to put a temporary bandage on your shoulder, Charlie. Come on,” he said as he wound a strip of cloth loosely around the injured joint and then helped her put her top back on. “We need to talk to your mother and Miles.”

            Miles looked up as Gene and Charlie returned to the group and rose swiftly when he saw the look on Gene’s face. “What is it, Gene?” he asked urgently. “Patriots?”

            “No, not Patriots,” Gene replied shortly as he helped Charlie sit on her bedroll and lean back against her saddle. “Rachel,” he called, gesturing for her to join them. “We need to talk.”

            Rachel hurried over to stand next to Miles, her concerned gaze sweeping over her father and daughter. “What’s wrong?”

            “Charlie’s shoulder is infected,” Gene told them bluntly. “It’s bad. Set in fast and we’re past the point where honey will help. We need to take care of this now or I’m afraid she could turn septic.” Rachel gasped and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes shooting over to her daughter. She shifted so that her back was partially turned to Charlie and raised damp eyes to her father.

            “Dad, what can we do?” she asked quietly, her hand almost instinctively reaching for Miles’.

            Gene gestured for them to move farther away from Charlie and pitched his voice low. “The only thing we can do,” he said grimly, “is to cut away the infected flesh and cauterize the fresh wound.” Miles bit out an oath and spun away, his hands clenched at his sides as his gaze was drawn almost reluctantly to his niece. Even though she had her eyes closed, he knew she wasn’t asleep. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a faint frown and her breathing was rapid as she fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. Her suffering hit him like a fist to the gut and he could have howled with rage at his own helplessness. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and turned back to Gene.

            “I know, Miles,” Gene said. “Believe me, I’d give anything if we had another option. But the infection has gone too far for that. And,” he added urgently, “we cannot do it here. When it’s over, she won’t be in any condition to travel. She’s going to need rest, plenty of it, and a roof over her head. Clean water. And food. Charlie’s exhausted and she’s dropped far too much weight. Her physical condition has deteriorated to the point that she’s not healing as quickly as she should.” Gene stepped forward, his eyes hard on Miles’ tense face. “I let her choose last time,” Gene reminded him. “But not now. I don’t care if the Devil himself is on our heels. We don’t stop, she’s as good as dead.”

            Rachel stifled a soft cry and Miles swore fluently under his breath. “Goddamn it, Gene, why don’t you just ask for gold to rain down from the sky?” he asked incredulously. “Look around us!” Miles told him as he gestured to the flat, barren landscape, a shadow of distant hills a smudge on the horizon. “Where the hell are we going to find any of that?”

            “Miles, I’m just the doctor. I am telling you what I know and what she needs. The rest,” he told him over his shoulder as he moved back to Charlie’s side, “is up to you.”

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            Dinner, what little there was of it, was grimly silent. Rachel kept pressing Charlie to eat something but, after a few small mouthfuls, Charlie shook her head and turned away to lay back down on her bedroll. Rachel, Miles and Gene sat dispiritedly around the campfire, each avoiding looking at the others as their concern and tension mounted.

            “Where the hell is Monroe?” Rachel finally asked, her voice a hissed whisper in the darkness. “He’s been gone for hours. Has he finally decided to leave us in peace?”

            “I don’t know where he is, Rachel,” Miles answered immediately, “but I doubt he’s taken off on his own.”

            “How can you be so sure?”

            Miles huffed out a grim laugh, his eyes remaining on the dancing colors of the fire. “Because I know him. He wants revenge and he knows that he needs us to get it. He’ll be back.”

            “Well, he’d better be here by morning,” Rachel replied as she rose and turned to go to bed. “Because we’re leaving as soon as the sun comes up. We’re finding a place for Dad to operate on Charlie and I don’t care if Monroe’s with us or not.” She settled onto her blanket and glared at Miles. “I’ll be damned if I lose another child because of Sebastian Monroe.”

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            Rachel was up with the sun, moving swiftly to pack up the camp and pushing Miles and Gene to move faster in securing their own gear. “Let’s go, Miles,” she insisted as she helped Charlie to sit by the banked embers of the camp fire. “The sooner we leave, the better. And no,” she cut him off sharply, “we are not waiting for Monroe.”

            “Mom, what are you talking about?” Charlie asked wearily. “What’s with the urgency?”

            Rachel stopped and knelt next to her daughter. “Charlie, you know your shoulder is infected. Grandpa,” she paused, but pressed on. “Grandpa said that you need surgery or your life could be in danger. So we need to find a place where he can treat you and you can recuperate. The sooner we do that,” Rachel told Charlie earnestly, “the better it will be for you.” She peered into her daughter’s pale, still face for a sign of comprehension. “Do you understand?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie replied, “I do.” She turned to look at her mother with weary determination in her eyes. “But we can’t just leave him.”

            Rachel cursed and pushed to her feet, pacing back and forth in front of her daughter. “Charlie, he left us!” she exclaimed, her movements jerky with agitation. “He rode out last night and we haven’t seen a sign of him since. He’s gone and it’s for the best.”

            Gene nodded over her shoulder as he joined the conversation. “I think you may have spoken too soon, Rachel.” He peered into the distance and grimaced. “At least, I hope you have. I can’t tell if that’s Monroe or not.”

            Miles ran towards them, tossing a rifle to Rachel, and they both stood in front of Charlie and Gene, aiming their weapons at the approaching figure. Long moments passed until Miles relaxed and sighed, lowering the gun. “It’s Bass,” he announced, watching the familiar figure approach, and frowned at Rachel when she hesitated in pointing the gun barrel at the ground.

            “Where the hell have you been, Bass?” Monroe shouted as Monroe rode into camp. Bass dismounted, not even looking at the others as he unhooked a dead rabbit from his saddle. Miles jerked him around by the shoulder and Bass shoved him away, cold rage in his face.

            “Back off, Miles,” he said, his voice rough from disuse.

            Miles ground his teeth together, suppressing the need to lash out physically at the man. “Where. Have. You. Been?” he repeated slowly, maintaining a tenuous hold on his control.

           “You know that I was hunting,” Bass replied flatly. “It got dark, there was no moon. I found an abandoned cabin and stayed there for the night.”

           Miles jerked as though he had been struck. “A cabin?” he asked hoarsely. “Where?”

          “About seven, eight miles that way,” Bass replied, nodding in the direction from which he had just come. He finally noticed Miles’ tension, the look of desperate hope on his face, and, for a moment, Bass allowed a flicker of confusion to cross his features. “What’s your problem?”

           It took a moment for Miles to gather himself before he could finally answer. “Charlie’s worse,” he said grimly. “Gene says he needs to operate. Her shoulder is infected. He needs a place to do it and for her to recover. This could be exactly what we’re looking for.”

           Bass appeared to remain emotionless as he listened and Miles found himself growing more and more infuriated by the man’s lack of interest in Charlie’s welfare. Intellectually, he understood how Connor’s death had affected Bass. Miles had seen him shut down like this before when the pain of his loss had been more than he could bear. But knowing what Charlie had gone through and, more importantly, why she had suffered so terribly, Miles could feel his resolve start to slip. He wanted to tell Bass, oh, how he wanted to tell him. He watched his hand reach out as if to grasp Bass’ collar and vaguely thought how odd it was that he felt totally disconnected from the movement. It was as if he had no control over what his instincts were pushing him to do. Before he could complete the action, however, Rachel interrupted them.

          “Miles?” she snapped, her eyes hard and unyielding as she glared at Bass. “We don’t have time for this. We have to –“

           Miles spun to face her, the mask of anger slipping from his face to reveal his excitement, his hope. “Rachel,” he said urgently as he gripped her shoulders. “Bass found a cabin.”

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           “That is absolutely not going to happen, Miles!” Rachel hissed, her eyes burning embers in a face pale with rage. “How could you possibly think that I’d agree to such an asinine idea? Of all the ridiculous, soft-headed, moronic . . .”

            Miles stood in front of her, his arms folded across his chest and waited for her rant to finish. When she finally seemed to run out of ways to express her serious doubts as to his intelligence, he spoke. “Honestly, Rachel, you don’t have to agree to it. The final decision isn’t yours.” He watched in morbid fascination as a tide of red rose up her neck and across her face. Just as she seemed ready to lunge at his throat, he held up a hand and cut her off. “We don’t have a choice in this,” he snapped. “We can’t afford to have the Patriots follow us to the cabin and we need to confuse them as much as possible. You, Gene and I have to lay false trails for them to follow. I'll lead Charlie's horse. She can ride double with Bass so they won’t know that two riders went in that direction. If they find the tracks, they’ll follow the ones with the highest possibility of a significant yield.” His face softened slightly and he stepped closer to the fuming woman. “He won’t hurt her, Rachel.”

            “I don’t understand, Miles,” Rachel insisted, panic starting to creep into her voice. “He’s told us where the cabin is. Why can’t he leave a trail and you take Charlie to the cabin?”

            Miles stood with his hand son his hips, studying the ground for a long moment, before raising his eyes to Rachel’s. “Because they both need this,” he said simply. “They’re hurting, Rachel, and I’m pretty sure that they’re the only ones who can help each other.”

            “Miles,” Rachel said incredulously, her eyes wide on his face. “Are you listening to yourself? You want to send my daughter off, the only child I have left, with Sebastian Monroe because you think she can help him?” She took several steps backwards, shaking her head as though she just couldn’t fathom such an idea. “Have you forgotten what he’s done? What he’s taken from us?”

            Miles strode up to her and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Have you forgotten what we’ve done, Rachel?” he asked furiously. “I was right there next to Bass, carving out the Republic. My hands are as bloody as his. I was the Butcher of Baltimore, remember? Why do you think people called me that? And, my God, I’m the one who tricked you into coming to Philadelphia! You didn’t see your family for over a decade because of me.” Rachel shook her head, tears on her cheeks, and tried to pull away but Miles just tightened his grip. “And when the power went off,” he said softly. “How many people died that first day alone, never mind over the last fifteen years?”

           Rachel raised tortured eyes to his, betrayal on her face. “We never meant for any of this to happen,” she whispered brokenly. “It isn’t the same.”

          “Do you think Bass and I intended to become what we were?” Miles shook her again, his voice harsh. “The four of us – you, Ben, Bass and I – we all thought we were doing the right thing at the time and everything . . . just got away from us. This isn’t an excuse, Rachel,” he insisted. “But think about it. Charlie has forgiven us both for everything we’ve done. Everything. She wouldn’t be with us if she hadn’t. That forgiveness –“ he broke off abruptly and dropped his hands from her shoulders. “It changed my life, Rachel. And I think it changed yours. Charlie needs the opportunity to forgive him and he needs to know that maybe he isn’t as lost as he thinks. They both deserve that chance.”

           Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes closed tight as she struggled for composure. Finally she raised her head and looked at him, resigned and yet still quietly furious. “You’re going to do what you want,” she bit out. “And, knowing Charlie, she’ll probably go along with it. But if anything happens to her, Miles, I’ll kill him. And I will never forgive you.”

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            Charlie stared at him for so long that Miles was actually starting to get uncomfortable. “Charlie,” he said, “This is the best idea we have.”

            “He won’t agree to it,” Charlie told him bluntly. “Miles, he won’t even eat his meals with us. How can you think he’ll willingly be in my company for . . . what? The next twenty-four hours, at least, right?”

            “I didn’t ask him,” Miles informed her. “I told him that this was how it was going to be.”

            “And?”

            “He didn’t say no.” Charlie just looked at him. “OK, he didn’t say anything,” Miles admitted ruefully. “But he hasn’t been exactly talkative since Connor died.” He stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek with his hand. “It’ll be alright, kid,” he said soothingly and found himself repeating the words he had said to Rachel. “He won’t hurt you.”

            Charlie quirked an eyebrow. “Miles,” she said patiently, as if speaking to a child, “I wouldn’t let him hurt me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her hunting knife, which was once again strapped to her waist. Miles suppressed a smile at the gesture of baseless bravado. The kid looked like a slight breeze would knock her over but she still tried to act like the toughest dog in the junkyard. Gotta love that kind of grit.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Charlie continued as she half turned from him, her hand reaching up to press against her wounded shoulder. “I’ve . . . been having nightmares,” she told him. “Every night. I always wake up before I say anything. At least I think I do. But,” she turned back to him, concern in her eyes. “What if I talk in my sleep? What if he hears me? I don’t want him to know, Miles.”

            “Charlie, I think you’re borrowing trouble,” he assured her. “But honestly, I don’t think it would be the worst thing to happen. For either of you.” Charlie shook her head and studied her feet. “Kid, you can’t keep holding onto this. The memories of what happened – they’re poisoning you. You’ve got to face them. Even more, you have to face why you made the decision you did about protecting Bass. Now,” he continued, “I’m not saying you have to tell him a thing. Do it, don’t do it. Whatever. All I want is for you to be OK.”

            “When did you become so introspective, Miles?” Charlie asked grimly.

            “Oh, you know, man gets to a certain age, he appreciates the need for a hobby,” Miles replied with false cheer. He became serious once again, his eyes studying her closely. “Your decision, Charlie,” he told her. “If you really don’t want to do it this way, we’ll change the plan.”

            Charlie sighed wearily and shook her head. “It’s fine,” she told him, her voice low. “Honestly, I don’t care. I just want to get to the cabin and get my shoulder taken care of. I need it over with.”

            Miles gestured to Bass and he walked over to join them, leading his horse by the reins. “We’re good to go,” Miles informed him. He glanced at his niece. “Charlie, why don’t you go say goodbye to your mother and Gene?” he suggested. In spite of her exhaustion, both physical and mental, Charlie managed to roll her eyes at his attempt at subtlety and slowly moved to do as he asked.

            As soon as Charlie was out of earshot, Miles turned to face Bass. “I swear to God, Bass, anything happens to Charlie, if I find that she’s had so much as an uncomfortable moment because of you –“

            “Yeah, I get it, Miles,” Bass replied coolly. “I’m not stupid. I can’t take these Patriots out by myself. I want your help, I take care of Charlie. Simple as that.”

            Miles stared at his friends, his eyes searching Bass’ face. “Yeah,” he finally agreed. “Simple as that.” He turned and beckoned to Charlie before facing Bass again. “We’ll meet you at the cabin tonight. All you have to do is sit tight, make sure she rests as much as possible, and keep a close eye on her. I don’t want you leaving her alone, got it?”

            Before Bass could answer Charlie was next to him. “I’m ready.”

            Miles led her around the horse and gently helped her to mount, making sure she had moved up as far as possible so that Bass could climb up behind her. Charlie sat stiffly as Bass settled in and slid his arms around her waist to grip the reins. Miles rested his hand on Charlie’s leg and gave a little squeeze. “See you tonight, kid.” He shifted his eyes to Bass and his faze sharpened. “Stop if she needs to, Bass. Don’t push it.”

            Bass nodded tightly, gathered up the reins, and kicked his horse into motion. Miles forced himself to turn around to face Rachel and Gene. “Alright, you two,” he said briskly. “Let’s get started.”

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            Charlie attempted to hold herself away from Bass, reluctant to allow any more contact than absolutely necessary. Between her ribs, her exhaustion, and the infection raging through her body, however, she wasn’t able to keep it up for long. She slowly relaxed into the motion of the cantering horse and tentatively rested her back against Bass’ chest. She felt him tense behind her and his fingers gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white. “Relax, Monroe,” she called back wryly. “You’re perfectly safe from me.” Charlie thought she felt a huff of breath against her hair but, then again, she might have just imagined it.

            Other than that brief interaction, if it could even be called that, the miles and hours passed in silence. The sun began its slow descent into the West and still they rode. Though occasionally slowing to a walk, Bass hadn’t allowed them to stop and Charlie didn’t ask him to. More than anything else, she just wanted to for this interminable ride to end, get to the cabin and put some distance between herself and Sebastian Monroe. The horse stumbled a bit, his exhaustion evident, and Charlie stifled a moan as her ribs protested the sudden movement. Bass tightened his arms around her as he checked the horse. “Not much farther,” he told her. “Just over the next rise.” Charlie nodded in acknowledgement, grateful that the end was finally in sight.

            Less than half an hour later, Bass reined the horse in and slid from its back. Charlie took a moment to examine their new refuge. It was a log cabin, one level, with a stone fireplace rising above the slate roof on a far side of the building. She glanced down and saw Bass standing beside the horse, waiting to help her dismount. Gritting her teeth, Charlie slowly swung her leg over the pommel and slid down the side of the horse. Bass, aware that her ribs were still tender and her shoulder enflamed, gripped her hips and stepped forward so that she was trapped between the horse and his body, cutting off the chance that she might stumble. Charlie landed gently, her hands resting on his arms and she glanced up to find his face disconcertingly near her own. For an endless moment they stared at each other until Bass dropped his hands and moved back. He stepped around Charlie and grabbed the saddlebags and their bedrolls.

            “Come on,” he said as he walked towards the cabin. “You look like you’re going to drop.”

            Charlie followed him slowly and made her way up the front stairs. She walked through the front door and stopped to take a good look at the cabin. From what she could tell, it hadn’t been abandoned for long. There was a thick coat of dust on everything, of course, though some of the dust was streaked, a sign of Bass’ presence just the night before. The windows were all intact, though she could see ivy creeping up along the edges of the glass. The fireplace bore the blacked remains of Bass’ fire so she was assuming the flue was clear. Charlie was about to explore further when Bass emerged from the hallway, dragging a sagging mattress.

            “What are you doing?” Charlie asked, confused.

            Bass remained silent as he dropped the mattress in front of the fireplace and turned to disappear down the hallway again. Moments later he was back with . . . Charlie blinked. Was that a pillow? She almost moaned in delight. Bass tossed it onto the mattress and turned to grab one of the bedrolls. He unfurled the blanket on top of the mattress and looked at Charlie expectantly. She stared back at him.

            “Lay down,” Bass finally told her, his tone as flat as ever. “It’s going to be too cold in the bedroom tonight. You’ll have to sleep here.” He turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll get some firewood.” Before Charlie could answer he was out the door and closed it behind him.

            Charlie shook her head and walked over to the mattress, lowering herself gingerly to its softness. Oh, it felt marvelous after weeks of sleeping on nothing but a blanket spread on the hard, unforgiving ground. She sighed as she allowed herself to sink into the mattress, her head resting on the pillow. Charlie was asleep before she even realized her eyes were closing.

            Bass finally returned to the cabin, his arms loaded with firewood, and stopped short in the doorway. Charlie was huddled in the middle of the makeshift bed, her head spread out on the pillow and her face, relaxed in sleep, finally wiped clean of tension and pain. She must have been completely exhausted, he told himself. She hadn’t even taken the time to get under her blanket, sleeping on top of it instead. Bass crept into the room and gently set the wood next to the fireplace. He’d wait to light it until he woke her up to eat, he decided, and grabbed his own bedroll and gently spreading it over Charlie’s sleeping form. He knelt next to the mattress for a long moment as his eyes traced her features, a slight frown marring his brow. Charlie shifted on the mattress and he jerked to his feet. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find him staring at her. Bass retreated a few steps and grabbed his rifle, turning to make sure the door was secure. He finally took a seat on the sagging sofa, resting the gun across his lap, and rested his head on an upraised fist. Eventually his eyes drifted closed and he allowed himself to doze.

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            Bass jerked awake, his hands gripping his gun as he scanned the room for whatever had roused him. He stood to check the door, his eyes peering into the growing dimness for any sign of an intruder. A gasping cry broke the silence and he whirled to face the threat, only to find himself looking at a still-sleeping Charlie as she writhed on the mattress. Another nightmare, he told himself as he loosened his fingers around the gun. Bass walked silently towards her and knelt down to wake her. Just before his hand covered her parted lips, he paused. She had said his name the last time she had been in the grip of her terrifying dream. The memory of her tormented whisper still haunted him. Bass drew back his hand and sat on the floor next to Charlie’s bed. He’d wake her if it got too bad, he thought. But he couldn’t just yet. He had to know what was haunting her, why he was involved, and he was afraid if he asked her . . . Charlie cried out softly and Bass clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out to her. Just a few minutes, he told himself. He just had to know.

           He would later recall those minutes sitting by Charlie’s bed as she struggled against her unseen tormenter as some of the longest of his life. Her neck arched back against the pillow, her face contorted in agony as she was gripped in the horror of her nightmare. Bass felt drops of sweat trickle down his back, so desperately did he fight against his impulse to wake her. Finally, just when he could stand the strangled gasps and sobs no more and reached out to touch her, her lips parted and, in an agonized whisper, she began to speak: “No, please, no more . . . I won’t . . . Bass, no . . . won’t tell you . . . Bass, run . . . get you . .  .” Tears raced down her temples and dampened her hair as her head twisted from side to side. “Miles, I couldn’t tell . . . they wanted . . . Bass . . . “

          Bass was frozen in place, his hand still outstretched, as he listened to this litany of anguish pour from Charlie’s lips. Oh, my God, he thought as he looked down at her. Had she . . . No, it was impossible to believe that, of all people, Charlotte Matheson had . . . protected him? A tremor ripped through him and he finally lowered his hand to her uninjured shoulder. Her eyes flew open at his touch and they darted frantically around the room before falling on Bass. She drew in heaving lungfuls of air as she looked at him, sitting so silently at her bedside, his face a mask of confusion and pain. She blinked in surprise at such a display of emotion, something she hadn’t seen since she had tried to speak to him at Connor’s gravesite.

         “Charlotte,” he said, drawing back his hand. “We need to talk.”

          Charlie froze and her eyes slid shut as she immediately realized what had brought about this change. The nightmare. She must have talked in her sleep. What had he heard? How did she explain this? Did she even want to? Charlie looked back at Bass, seeing his apprehension, his sadness and even, as incongruous as it might seem, his fear. It was the fear that broke her. In that instant, Charlie realized that Miles had been right. She did need to confront the consequences of her decision to shield Bass. And, as painful and uncomfortable and just plain scary as it might be, it had to be with him.

           “Yes,” Charlie agreed quietly. “I think we do.”

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       Charlie pushed herself up from the mattress and slowly rose to her feet. Bass lifted his hand as if to help her but she flinched from his touch. His fingers curled into a fist at her rejection and his hand dropped back to his side. Charlie felt a momentary twinge of regret at her involuntary action but she just . . . couldn’t bear to be touched. Waves of tension flooded through her and felt as though the slightest brush of his skin against hers would cause her to shatter. Charlie lowered herself to sit on the end of the sofa, hands gripped tightly in her lap. Bass stood across the room from her and propped his shoulder against the smooth stone of the fireplace. The roaring silence stretched on, both dreading what was to come, until Bass finally spoke.

            “You said my name the last time,” he told her roughly. “I thought . . . from the way you sounded, I thought you might have been dreaming that . . . I was the one hurting you.”

            Shocked, Charlie’s head jerked up to look at Bass, his face white and drawn as he waited for her answer. Slowly, Charlie shook her head. “No,” she finally told him. “It wasn’t you.”

            “I realized that tonight,” he replied as he stared at her, his eyes fixed on her face with a terrible intensity. “Charlotte, I have my own idea about what might have happened in that tent, but it’s so . . . incredible that I can’t quite bring myself to believe it.”

            “What is it?”

            “I think that you were tortured for protecting me.” His eyes were almost desperate on her face as he waited for her answer. “Please, Charlotte,” he said raggedly, “for God’s sake, tell me that isn’t what happened.”

            Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa. “The Patriots recognized my mount,” she began. “They knew that I was one of the ‘terrorists’.” She sneered on the last word, her disgust at the Patriots plain. “I held them off as long as I could but eventually I ran out of arrows. They didn’t have to beat me,” she said calmly, almost pensively, and was so engrossed in the memory that she missed his look of unbridled fury that flashed across his face. “I was already down,” she said as she gestured to her shoulder and leg, “but I had put an arrow in their captain and I think they were a bit . . . annoyed.” A smile flitted across her face at the memory of Mason reeling in his saddle as the arrow struck, falling backwards off his horse and landing in a boneless heap in front of his stunned soldiers. “I can’t remember much after they got to me. The next thing I knew, I was waking up tied to a chair and . . .” Charlie’s tongue stumbled a bit, as if reluctant to form the words that had to follow but she forced herself to keep going. “Parker was there. The tent was filled with officers. And then he started talking.” Charlie couldn’t suppress the quick shiver that traveled through her body and Bass saw it, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he held himself in check. “I thought Parker was just going to ask me where the rest of you were, where we were camped, what kinds of weapons we had, things like that. But . . . he didn’t.” Charlie swallowed heavily and passed a trembling hand over her eyes. “And when I wouldn’t answer his questions, he started using his cigarette on me,” she said bluntly. The calm of her voice, however, was belied by the way her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes slid closed and she pressed icy fingertips against them.

            Long moments passed and still Charlie sat silent. When he finally couldn’t take it any more, he spoke. “What did he want?” Bass already knew what the answer would be; he was terrified to hear it and yet unable to keep from asking the question.

            Charlie raised bruised eyes to meet his, her gaze unwavering. “You,” she replied simply. “He wanted me to give him you.”

            Bass flinched but kept his eyes on hers, his face starkly pale. “You’re going to have to explain that a little better, Charlotte,” he told her, his voice surprisingly calm.

            “Parker wanted me to tell him where you could be found,” she answered bluntly. “He promised that the rest of us would be free to go if I helped him capture you.”

            “And you refused.”

            “Yes.”

            “He continued to . . . question you.”

            “Yes.”

            “How?”

            Charlie finally shifted her eyes from his. “You’ve seen for yourself,” she said calmly. “I know you helped Grandpa patch me up after you got me out of the camp.”

            Bass could feel his heart start to pound, his suspicions now terribly confirmed. “God damn you, Charlotte,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. Her gaze shot up to him and she sat, her eyes wide and bruised with fatigue, stunned at the intensity of his anger. “Why the hell wouldn’t you just tell them?” he blazed as he paced before her. “One fucking word and the pain and suffering would have been over!”

           “Mine or yours?”

           Bass stopped abruptly in front of her, his lips white. “What are you talking about?”

          Charlie rose and walked towards him. “You know exactly what I mean.” She stopped in front of him and her eyes locked on his. “It would be so easy, wouldn’t it, Monroe?” she murmured. “Everything would be erased. The memories of everyone you’ve hurt or betrayed or lost. You wouldn’t have to fight anymore, not Miles or me or yourself. Death would have taken that all away.”

         “Shut up, Charlotte.” His voice was tormented, his eyes furious as they burned into hers.

         “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” she pushed relentlessly. “The Patriots would have raided the camp. As the great Sebastian Monroe, you would have gone down fighting. But eventually, it would have been over. Are you really that much of a coward?”

         “Goddamn it, shut your mouth!” he raged, a flush of rage flooding his face.

         “Make me,” she taunted him.

          His hand shot out and hard fingers wrapped around her throat. “I could do it,” he warned her softly, dangerously. “You know I could.”

         “No,” she contradicted, “I don’t. But go ahead and try.”

          They stood there staring at each other, Charlie pale but calm and Bass trembling as if in the grips of a terrible fever. His fingers tensed on the soft skin of her throat and, suddenly, he whirled away from her, cursing long and fluently.

        “Why didn’t you just turn me in?” Bass shouted, his back to her. “You have more reason than most to want me dead. For God’s sake, why –“ His voice broke and he had to take a moment to get himself under control. “Why would you go through that kind of hell?”

         Charlie moved to stand beside him and he turned his head away. Charlie studied his grim profile and shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “Because you’re not that man anymore.”

         Bass barked out a rough laugh and threw his hands up. “So now you’re the one that’s delusional.”

        “No, that’s still you,” she retorted smartly. Charlie moved to stand in front of him, though Bass still avoided her gaze. “I’m not going to lie,” she told him. “I’ve dreamed about killing you.” Unable to help himself, Bass found himself turning to face her and the corners of her mouth tilted up, barely a smile. “Often,” she added. “And every time it happened, I remember the feeling of . . .” Charlie paused, searching for the right word. “Peace,” she finally said quietly. “That and relief that you were gone. And that I had been the one to end you. It got to be so that killing you was the only thing I thought of. I came so close, too. I almost had you in New Vegas.” Charlie saw him start at that bit of information. “If that bounty hunter hadn’t tackled you, my arrow would have gone right in your ear. I would have had my justice and the world would have been rid of the great President Monroe.”

         “If you felt that way, why didn’t you let the Patriots have me?” Bass exclaimed incredulously. “It was your perfect chance – be ride of me and live in peace with your family. It was offered to you on a silver platter.”

         “I told you,” Charlie insisted stubbornly.

        “Right,” Bass scoffed as he shook his head. “I’ve changed. And you let that sick son of a bitch torture you, put his hands on you, because you think that the man you saw as basically Satan on earth is now . . . what? My God, it wasn’t even two weeks ago that you told me that I was a monster and now, all of a sudden, I’m worth saving! I mean, really, Charlie, what exactly do you think I am?”

         Charlie considered him for a moment, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I think you’ve been lost,” she answered simply. “I think over the past months, since the Tower and New Vegas, you’ve started to remember who you used to be. No, don’t turn away from me!” she told him, grabbing his arm and bringing him back to face her. “You wanted to know why I didn’t turn you in, so I’m telling you. As much as I hate who you used to be and what you did to my family and to so many others, I couldn’t forget all the times that you saved my life. You saved me in the Tower and from those sick, disgusting animals who tried to rape me. You had a chance to leave me in the high school andto escape with your life, but you came back to help me. You allowed your own son to whip you just so he wouldn’t be hurt. And you told him how to kill you to save his life.” Charlie saw how his face blanched at the mention of Connor and his mouth worked as he tried to speak.

        “How did you know about that?” he finally rasped.

        “Connor told me,” Charlie replied gently. “He knew how sorry you were for the way things had turned out and he was grateful that –“

         “I’m not talking about Connor, Charlotte,” Bass bit out. “I mean it.”

        “Bass, his death wasn’t your fault.”

         Bass stumbled away and whirled to face her. “Of course it was my fault!” he shouted brokenly. “I sent him to those gates! I should have gone instead and let Miles get you. If I had –“

       “If you had, then you’d have seen Connor die right in front of you,” Charlie finished, hating herself for being so harsh.

       “No!” Bass protested. “I could have saved him. I know I could have done . . . something!”

       “Bass, the charge went off early. There was nothing you could have done to change it.”

       “You don’t understand, Charlotte,” Monroe told her bitterly. “How could you?”

        Charlotte felt anger boiling up inside of her, the rush suddenly leaving her dizzy and she swayed. Bass leapt to catch her and she pushed him away. “How could I understand?” she ground out. “You’re actually asking me that? My father, my brother, Maggie, Nora – they’re all dead, Monroe! They died right in front of me and you think I . . .” She moved away to lean her burning forehead against the coolness of the stone fireplace.

        The silence was broken only by their harsh breathing, each wrestling to rein in their emotions. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Bass said dully. “There’s no point. And you’re too sick to really know what you’re saying.”

      “Don’t dismiss me like that,” Charlie said hoarsely, turning to face him. “I know exactly what I’m saying and what I mean. Don’t make me regret saving you.”

       Bass’ legs seemed to give out and he sat heavily on the sofa, his head resting in his hands. “Charlie, there’s nothing to save.”

       Charlie hesitated for a moment and then crossed over to sit next to him. “If I had believed that, I would have given Parker what he wanted the moment I woke up in that tent. No one is more surprised to hear this from me than I am but over the past months you’ve found your conscience again, Bass, and you’ve started to care. It’s why you came after me all those times, why you followed me to the river. You risked your life again to get me out of the Patriot camp. There is good in you, Monroe.” She hesitated, but steeled herself for how he was bound to react. “Don’t dishonor Connor’s memory by making him responsible for you falling apart. It can’t be like last time.”

       Monroe slowly turned his head to look at Charlie and she was floored by the pain she saw in his eyes. “What do you know about ‘last time’?” he rasped.

       Charlie shook her head slowly. “Miles told me that he had seen you like this once before and that it had pushed you over the edge. That’s all.”

      “Oh, that’s all?” Monroe repeated incredulously. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He had no business saying anything about it.”

       “It was the car crash, wasn’t it?”

       “My God, you’re really out for your pound of flesh today, aren’t you, Charlotte?” Bass asked as he slumped wearily against the back of the sofa. “Dissecting my character, telling me you basically allowed yourself to be carved up to protect me, bringing up my son. Now this.”

       “I’m trying to help you, Bass,” Charlie said softly as she stared at her clasped hands.

       “Why?”

       “Because you deserve more than to lose yourself again. And so does Connor.” She gently reached over and covered one of his hands with hers. Bass was rigid with shock but slowly, very slowly, he began to relax. Moving tentatively, his hand turned and grasped Charlie’s. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and waited for him to speak.

        “It wasn’t –“ Bass voice trembled as he spoke and broke off, roughly clearing his throat. “It wasn’t the car accident. After the blackout, I was married.” Charlie’s hand flinched in his but he didn’t notice it, trapped in his remembered pain. “At least, as married as you could get in all that chaos. Her name was Shelley.” Bass smiled softly and Charlie was shocked at the tenderness on his face when he said her name. “She was beautiful, smart, funny. We . . . loved each other very much. And when Shelley told me she was pregnant, we were absolutely over the moon. It never occurred to either of us that something could go wrong. Yeah, we were living in a tent, in a camp surrounded by random people, pretty much alone except for Miles, but we were young and healthy. And stupid.” He sighed deeply and passed his free hand over his eyes. “The pregnancy was normal. Shelley felt great. She never even had morning sickness. Miles found out that a woman in the camp had been a midwife so we asked her to check out how Shelley was doing. She said that everything was progressing well. I remember that the baby was so active,” he said softly as he remembered those happier days when he still had hope. “After the seventh month, I could even see the outline of a foot in Shelley’s belly when the baby kicked. It was incredible.” Bass swallowed thickly and Charlie squeezed his hand, her throat aching with unshed tears for what she knew was coming. “When her labor started, I ran to get the midwife. She came right away and said that she was pleased with how Shelley was doing; we thought everything was fine. Between contractions, we talked about who the baby would look like and what names we had decided on. One minute we were looking forward to being a family and the next, Shelley was screaming like she was being torn apart. The midwife wanted towels and fresh water so I ran outside and sent Miles to get them. I was outside of the tent for twenty, maybe thirty seconds. When I went back in, Shelley was unconscious and there was blood everywhere. It was pouring out of her. I could tell from the midwife’s face that it was bad but, even then, I wouldn’t allow myself to think that I might lose either of them.” He shook his head and Charlie saw his lips tremble. “So stupid. Shelley bled out in minutes and all I could do was hold her and beg her not to go. The midwife tried to save the baby as soon Shelley died. I sat there . . . and watched her cut into my wife’s body. She pulled the baby out and tried to resuscitate her but it was too late. My daughter was dead.” He sat in silence as he remembered and Charlie simply sat next to him gripping his cold hand. She almost jumped when he spoke again. “Miles . . . saved my life,” he murmured. “I would have killed myself if he hadn’t been there. Maybe it would have been better if I had.”

       “No,” Charlie said forcefully. “It wouldn’t.”

        Bass raised haunted eyes to hers. “Charlie, Miles and I started the Republic after Shelley died. I couldn’t stand the filth and the disorder and the helplessness anymore, so we decided to do something about it.It doesn’t matter that we started the Republic to bring order out of chaos or that we wanted to make sure people were protected and provided for. How many people would be alive today if Miles had just let me . . . end it before it even started?”

       “How many people would be alive if it hadn’t been for my parents?” Charlie asked. She looked at him until he raised his eyes to hers. “Nobody’s hands are clean in this, Bass,” she told him grimly. “You, Miles, my mom, you all have a lot to make up for. But you aren’t the only one to blame.” She looked down at their joined hands and her chin trembled. Charlie shook her head and got a hold of herself. “We’re all just wandering around in the dark, Bass. It’s up to us whether or not we let the dark inside.”

        Bass stared at her, disbelief warring with hope. “Charlie – “ he rasped, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

       “You have a choice, Bass,” she insisted, her eyes intent on his. “Please.”

       “What changed, Charlie?” he whispered. “How did you suddenly go from seeing me as a monster just a couple of weeks ago to sacrificing so much for me?”

        Charlie bit her lip and looked away. It would be so easy to make up an answer, she realized. But he had given her honesty. She could do no less. “I was angry when I said that, Bass. I wanted to lash out at everyone. Especially you. Not because I blamed you anymore. And I think that was the biggest reason for what I said.” She pulled her hand from his and stood, moving away from him as she struggled to find the best way to explain herself.

        “I wasn’t lying when I said that I felt like my hate was all I had left,” Charlie admitted. “But . . . I was having a hard time admitting to myself that I didn’t hate you anymore. I definitely still hated who you had been and what you had done. But not you, not the man who stood in front of me and offered me comfort when I was at my worst. It was difficult for me to reconcile those feelings, to admit that I had actually . . . started to care. To believe in you.” Charlie felt dampness on her cheeks and realized with a start that she was crying. She heard the sofa creak as Monroe stood, listened to his footsteps as he moved to stand behind her, and moments later felt the warmth of his body at her back. She shivered in reaction and turned to face him, raising her eyes to his. “I finally had to face it when Parker asked me to turn you over. Please,” she whispered, “don’t make it for nothing.” Charlie grasped his shirt, twisting the fabric in her fingers. “Don’t go back to what you were.”

        Bass stared down at her lovely, tear-streaked face and he felt something inside him break. He raised his hands and gently smoothed the tears from her cheeks. “I promise,” he murmured. Slowly, gently, Bass drew her closer and slid his arms around her shoulders, careful to avoid her wound. Charlie allowed her hands to slide around his waist, her breath shallow and fast, until she rested against Bass’ chest. Suddenly she relaxed into him, nestling her face in the hollow of his neck, and sighed.

Chapter Text

            As the rapidly dimming light threw everything within the cabin into shadow, the two figures standing in the middle of the room, wrapped snugly in each other’s arms, seemed to meld into one. Bass rested his cheek against Charlie’s mussed curls, his lips just touching her temple, and his eyes slid closed at this long-forgotten feeling of peace. He dimly marveled that Charlotte Matheson should be the one to bring it to him and shifted to bring her closer into the curve of his body. Abruptly he stilled and a frown furrowed his brow. He drew back slightly and peered down at Charlie’s face in the fading light. He couldn’t see much and smiled at how she had burrowed her face into his neck but, in the next moment, the smile faded as he noticed with growing concern how her cheek seemed unnaturally flushed. Bass pressed his lips fore firmly against the soft skin at her temple and felt the first hint of panic twist low in his stomach.

            “Charlotte,” he murmured as he brought a hand up to stroke her hair. When she didn’t react, he repeated her name with a little more urgency. Charlie slid her head back on his shoulder and blinked several times as if to clear her vision.

            “What’s wrong?” she asked as she peered up at him.

            “You’re burning up,” Bass told her as brushed a gentle hand across her hot cheek. “How do you feel?”

            Charlie raised her head from his shoulder. “I don’t feel any diff-“ Suddenly a confused look crossed her face and her eyes slid shut. She slumped against Bass with a soft gasp and he reflexively tightened his grip on her.

            “Charlotte!”

            “I’m OK,” she assured him, her voice shaking. “I . . . got a little light-headed for a minute.”

            “Alright, just hold on,” he told her right before Charlie felt as if the room were tipping and she found herself swept up in Bass’ arms. She caught her breath in surprise and then relaxed as he carried her the few steps that separated them from the mattress. Bass knelt, his arms tensing around her as he held her tight against his chest, and then gently placed her on the mattress. Charlie eyes slammed closed at another wave of dizziness and she felt her head slide from his shoulder to the softness of the pillow.

            “Son of a bitch,” she muttered as she opened her eyes, frustration lending an unexpected sharpness to her words. “This is ridiculous. I feel like such a wimp.”

            Concern battled with amusement within Bass and, for a moment, amusement won. He chuckled softly as he leaned back to snag a canteen from the jumbled pile of their belongings by the sofa. “Yeah,” agreed sardonically. “A real wimp. Totally pathetic.” He unscrewed the cap and slid an arm behind her shoulders, lifting her up to rest against him as he held the canteen to her lips. “Don’t be an idiot, Charlotte.”

            Charlie gulped the water greedily, suddenly realizing how parched she was. When she had drunk her fill she slid from his grasp and settled her head back on the pillow. “I’m not being an idiot,” she griped, though the flash of her dimples as she tried not to smile took any sting out of her tone.

            “You’re sick,” Bass reminded her. “And, though you do your best to make everyone else forget it, only human.” He rose to his feet and walked towards their belongings, bending to pick  up the gun and both canteens, then heading past Charlotte towards the back of the house.

            “Where are you going?” Charlie asked sharply as she turned to watch him.

            “I put the horses in the garage out back and need to check on them. And there’s an old well out back,” Bass replied as he slung both canteen straps over his shoulder. “The water’s clean and cold. I tried it yesterday and haven’t gotten sick. You need to drink to flush your system and we need to try and keep your fever down.” He glanced back at her and smiled reassuringly as he walked into the dark hallway. “I’ll be right back.”

            Charlie’s eyes lingered on the doorway he had passed through and she exhaled sharply. The sudden shift in their relationship was finally hitting her and she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that she – no, they – had allowed themselves to be so open with each other. It felt . . . good, she acknowledged. More than good. She felt the way she had when Bass had picked her up – disoriented, off balance, and yet completely safe at the same time. Charlie didn’t allow herself to entertain any illusions. She wasn’t quite sure how to define this new point in their relationship or the feelings that she had finally forced herself to acknowledge. Neither of them were what other people might call easy, and they both still had a hell of a lot of baggage to deal with. But now, Charlie felt like maybe they didn’t have to face any of that on their own.

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            After making sure the horses were secure, Bass hurried across the cabin’s overgrown backyard and stopped to life the metal lid off of the mouth of the well. He found the battered plastic bucket where he had left it the night before and lowered it into the damp darkness by the fraying rope attached to its handle. He was shocked to notice that his hands were trembling and he released a shuddering breath as he fully felt the enormity of what had just happened. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone believe in him that much. Or to trust him the way Charlie had. It was, Bass admitted to himself, a serious responsibility but he didn’t feel burdened by it. On the contrary, he felt strengthened because of it. Bass pulled the bucket back up and filled both canteens, then refilled the bucket again, taking all three back into the house. That should give them plenty of water, he thought. No need to go back out again until morning. Night was rapidly falling and he didn’t want to leave Charlotte any more than was absolutely necessary.

            Bass walked silently through the kitchen and stopped to check the drawers for a towel or cloth that he could use to keep Charlie cool. He had to force himself to suppress a shout of victory when he found an old dishrag stuffed into the back of the last drawer. Beating it against his leg to remove any dust, Bass made his way through the hall to the front room. He frowned when he found Charlotte staring blankly into space and set his burden down to stand in front of her.

            “You OK?” Bass asked as he knelt by the mattress. Charlie started and looked up at him, tension evident in the rigidity of her body. “Charlotte?”

            Charlie forced herself to relax and tried to smile reassuringly at Bass. “Fine,” she answered with an attempt at lightness. It failed miserably.

            Bass cocked an eyebrow as he dipped the cloth in the bucket of water and wrung the excess out before folding it and placing it gently on Charlie’s forehead. She hissed at the sudden cold but then sighed at the relief it brought. “You need to rest,” Bass told her seriously. “You have to be exhausted.”

            Charlie’s eyes opened slowly and she bit her lip. “I –“ she started but stopped, giving her head a slight shake.

            “C’mon, Charlotte,” Bass encouraged, a trace of irony in his voice. “I think we’re past the point where we have to worry about telling each other things.” Her eyes darted back to his, wide and surprised, and, slowly, she smiled.

            “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I guess we have.”

            Bass nodded in encouragement and Charlie forced herself to keep her gaze firmly on his face. “I’m . . . afraid,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

            Bass frowned. “Afraid of what?”

            “Of falling asleep,” she replied and then turned her face away as if ashamed of the admission.

            “Charlotte –“

            “Every time I let myself sleep,” she continued rapidly, “I’m back in that tent and I can feel everything he did. I can feel his breath on my ear and smell my skin burning when he . . .” Bass made a choked sound and Charlie’s head whipped back to see him cover his eyes with his hand.

            “Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he told her, his voice raw.

            “No, Bass,” she insisted immediately, rising up on her elbow and reaching out to gently uncover his face. “It wasn’t your fault. It was his. Parker is the one who hurt me, not you. Tell me you know that.”

            Bass looked down at Charlie, so wounded and weak but with that mule-stubborn look on her face and, in spite of himself, he almost smiled. He clasped her worryingly dry, hot hand in his. “What are the odds that you’ll lay back down and take it easy if you don’t get the answer you want?”

            “I mean it.”

            Bass clenched his jaw and looked away for a long moment. “Alright,” he finally agreed, turning back to her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

            Charlie slowly lowered herself back to the mattress and sighed. “I’m choosing to believe you,” she told him wryly. Bass reached out to adjust the blanket, bringing it higher over her breasts though one arm remained outside of the cover to lie within his reach.

            “I know you don’t want to, but you have to sleep,” Bass told her, ignoring her comment.

            “I’ll just have another nightmare,” Charlie argued wearily. Bass rose suddenly and she watched as he walked back into the kitchen. She heard the sound of something being dragged and then he was back, checking to make sure the door was secure, setting his weapons and ammunition next to the mattress and then pulling the cushions off of the sofa. Charlie watched, bemused, as he stacked the cushions next to her, making a kind of seat for himself. He settled himself on his makeshift easy chair and rested his rifle across his knees.

             Bass reached out and gently removed the now-warm cloth from her forehead. “You’re not going to have another nightmare,” he said confidently as he re-dampened the towel and returned it to its former resting place.

            “I’m not?”

            “No.”

            “How do you know that?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

            Bass took her hand in his and gripped it gently. “I won’t let it happen.”

            Charlie felt her heart squeeze at the earnestness of his words and returned the pressure of his hand with hers. “The great Sebastian Monroe,” she murmured. “I might almost believe it.”

           “No almost about it,” he told her. “Go to sleep, Charlotte. You’ll be alright.” He moved to take his hand away only for her fingers to tighten.

           “Stay,” she asked him, even as the heaviness of her exhaustion began to force her eyes to slide closed.

           Bass looked down at their joined hands, her fingers clasped around his thumb while his lightly caressed the soft skin on the back of her hand. “Yes, Charlotte,” he murmured as she slid into sleep. “I’ll stay.”

          The cabin was soon plunged into inky blackness but Sebastian didn’t dare light one of the pieces of candle that he had tucked away in his saddlebag. Even a small light would shine like a beacon through the cabin windows and into the darkness. There was no telling who might be passing by and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to their fragile refuge. The moon would rise soon, he reminded himself, and then there would be a little light. Until then, Bass sat listening to the sounds of the night, trying to pick out any noise that might tell him that riders were approaching. Where the hell were they? Charlie murmured in her sleep and Bass stiffened, leaning closer to discern if she needed to be awakened. No, he realized quickly and with a deep sense of relief. Not a nightmare. Her breathing remained even, if worryingly fast, and her hand lay still and quiet in his. Bass used his free hand to dip the cloth into the well water and return in to Charlie’s burning skin. She was so deeply asleep that even the coolness of the towel didn’t cause her to stir. Bass frowned as his hand brushed across her cheek. Did her fever seem higher? He swore silently and glared at the door as if willing Rachel, Miles and Gene to walk through it. If everything had gone according to plan, they should have been here just after sunset. What if something had happened? He knew what had to be done to save Charlie. Hell, he had done it a couple of times himself to men who had been wounded while fighting alongside him. But could he do it to Charlie? Could he cut away her flesh while she screamed in agony? Could burn the wound to keep her from bleeding to death? Bass shuddered and forced the thought from his mind. They would come, he assured himself as he tightened his grip on Charlie’s hand and settled back into the sofa cushions. They had to.

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            Charlie woke just before dawn and grimaced as she opened her eyes. Her head felt . . . thick and, dear God, her mouth was so dry. “Bass?” she rasped as she turned her head to find him.

            “Right here, Charlotte,” he assured her as her eyes met his. “It’s OK.” Bass lifted her against him and held the canteen to her lips. As thirsty as she was, she could only manage a few swallows before dizziness forced her to lie back down. Bass ran the cool cloth over her face and down her neck, trying to prevent his concern from showing on his face.

            “I’m getting worse, Bass,” she said softly. His head jerked up in surprise and he stared down at her, tempted to deny her words but he quickly realized that he couldn’t do that. She’d know he was lying and, even if she didn’t, he wasn’t going to insult her by not telling her the truth.

            “I know,” Bass replied tightly. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth together. “I’m going to beat the shit out of Miles when he gest here,” he swore roughly.

            Charlie laughed, a soft gasp of sound and Miles tried to smile at her. “A lot has changed in the past twenty-four hours, Charlotte,” he acknowledged. “But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I become a pacifist.”

            “The thought never occurred to me,” Charlie informed him seriously. The faint of gleam of laughter faded from her face and she reached over to lay her hand on his forearm. “Bass, you’ve seen wounds like this before. I’m sure you could –“

            Bass pulled away from her and started shaking his head before she could even finish her sentence. “No, Charlotte,” he declared in a tone that would brook no disagreement. “I’m not coming anywhere near you with a knife. Don’t ask me.”

            “Bass, please,” Charlie said faintly as another wave of dizziness crashed over her. Her eyes slid shut and she swallowed thickly. She heard Bass shift swiftly and felt the touch of the damp cloth brush across her face. Forcing herself to open her eyes, Charlie found Bass’ worried face hovering over her own. “If Grandpa doesn’t get here soon, you’ll have to.”

            Bass thrust his fingers into his hair and gripped the blond curls, resting his elbows on updrawn knees. “I know,” he finally said in a shaking voice.

            “Saving my life is getting to be a habit with you.”

            “Don’t joke, Charlotte,” Bass ground out. He felt her hand touch his arm and he immediately grasped it in one of his.

            “I’m not,” she insisted faintly. “You can do this. I know you can.”

            Bass jerked convulsively and gently lifted her hand to his lips, his own hand trembling around hers. Suddenly he lifted his head and started intently at the front door. Setting Charlie’s hand down he slowly crept across the floor, careful to stay low enough so that he couldn’t be seen through the windows by anyone approaching the cabin. Charlie watched as he slowly raised himself enough so that he could peek through the corner of a window and caught her breath as his head fell forward to rest on the sill.

            “Thank God,” he murmured brokenly before turning to face her. “They’re here.”

Chapter Text

            Bass leapt to his feet and unblocked the door, throwing it open and rushing out before the three exhausted riders had pulled their horses to a halt. He charged right up to Miles stirrup, his face flushed with fury. “Where the fuck have you been, Miles?” Bass fumed, crowding Miles as he dismounted. “Did you three forget why we needed to get to this cabin in the first place? You were supposed to be here last night or did that slip your mind?”

            “Don’t be a complete asshole, Bass,” Miles snapped, his face grey with fatigue. “We couldn’t help the delay. Gene –“ He broke off and slanted a look at Rachel and her father as they both worked to remove their gear from their horses. “Gene got a little . . . lost,” Miles said in a low voice. “He didn’t meet us at the rendezvous point so we had to go looking for him. Believe me, if we didn’t need him to patch up Charlie, I probably would have left him. But we do, so there it is.” He glanced at the open door and back at Bass, taking in the lines of strain on his face, and when he spoke his voice was rough with concern. “How is she?”

            Bass shook his head sharply, his hands resting on his hips. “She’s not good, Miles,” he said grimly. “Her fever spiked last night and she can barely sit up for more than five seconds without looking like she’s going to faint.” Bass turned his attention to Rachel and Gene and he raised his voice to speak to them. “You need to move faster, old man. Get your ass in there, before I come over and drag you in. Charlotte needs you.”

            Rachel rushed into the cabin with the saddlebags and Gene followed close behind, glowering at Bass as he went. “Don’t tell me what my granddaughter needs, Monroe,” he growled. “You’re the last person who would know anything about it.”  Gene disappeared inside the cabin before Bass could answer and he shook his head, turning back to Miles to find him watching the interaction with an odd look of speculation.

            “Something seems to have changed since yesterday,” Miles said thoughtfully. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

            “We can talk after Charlotte’s been taken care of,” Bass replied shortly. “Come on, let’s go in.”

            “In a minute,” Miles protested. “We need to get these horses put away and I bagged us a deer on the way in. Not the best timing, but we needed it. Gimme a hand, will you?”

            Bass glanced at the riderless horse and froze when he saw the dead deer’s body slung across the saddle, limp and bloodied. It was terribly, eerily similar to . . . He felt his breath catch in his throat and tension invade his body. Connor.

            Miles turned to speak to him and his eyes followed Bass’ gaze. “Shit.” He stepped in front of Bass and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bass, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think –“ Bass threw his hand off and turned away, his back rigid as he fought for control. Finally, he spoke.

            “I’m alright.” Bass turned walked over to Rachel and Gene’s horses, gathering the reins and leading them past Miles towards the garage.

            Miles watched Bass speculatively as he disappeared behind the cabin, then shook his head. Bass’ story could wait. He had to get in to see his niece.

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            “Charlie!” She turned her head towards the voice and she smiled wanly as she saw Gene, closely followed by Rachel, rush through the open doorway.

            “Hey,” Charlie replied, relief evident in her voice. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

            Gene knelt next to her and immediately began unwrapping the bandage around her shoulder. His breath hissed through clenched teeth when the suppurating wound was revealed. Inflamed and oozing blood-streaked pus, its condition, and Charlie’s, had deteriorated rapidly. Rachel, who had been kneeling on Charlie’s other side and wiping her face with the now-tepid well water, glanced over when she heard her father’s reaction and blanched. “Oh, Dad,” she whispered as she raised stricken eyes to Gene’s.

            Gene glared at her and shook his head quickly. “Rachel, build up the fire,” he told her briskly as he turned to rummage in his saddlebags. He glanced over at the bucket of water before turning his attention back to the sturdy leather pouches. “We’re going to need fresh water. Find Bass, have him show you where to get it. And grab the cooking pot. Make sure it’s clean and set some water to boil.” Gene turned briefly to Charlie and passed a gentle hand over her tangled hair. “It’s going to be OK, sweetheart,” he assured her. His eyes snapped back to his daughter. “Move, Rachel.”

            Rachel jumped up, grabbed the bucket and raced through the front door. Shit, she thought frantically. Miles must have taken the horses to the back. She ran around the cabin just as Miles and Bass disappeared into the garage. As she prepared to follow them, she saw the covered well and gasped in relief. “Miles!” she called as the lowered the bucket. “Miles!” He appeared in the wide garage door. “The cooking pot! Grab it!” She turned to pull the bucket back up and suddenly Bass was at her side.

            “I’ve got it,” he told her briskly. “Go.”

            Rachel stared at him for the briefest of moments before she sprinted for the cabin, seeing the back door and shoving at it as she tried to go through.

            “It’s blocked. Come on, around front.” Rachel followed Bass without question as they both hurried to the front, Miles right behind them with the rest of their belongings. The two men slid to a stop just inside the door as they got their first look at Charlie’s shoulder.

            “Did you know it was that bad?” Miles asked grimly. Bass shook his head, his eyes riveted to the scene before him.

            “No,” he replied dully. “I didn’t want to mess with the bandages. I didn’t have any to replace them with.”

            Gene had started to build up the fire while Rachel had been gone and soon it was burning steadily in the fireplace. He opened his leather instrument case and withdrew a slender scalpel, putting it in the fire, followed by two of Miles’ heavy hunting knives. “Rachel, put the water on to boil. Miles,” he glanced up at him briefly before returning his attention to Charlie’s shoulder, “get one of my shirts and tears it into strips about three inches wide. And the other one, cut the sleeves off and give them to Rachel with the strips.” Gene looked up to meet Charlie’s eyes and he smiled comfortingly. “Charlie, we’re going to get this taken care of,” he promised. “First thing I’m going to do is draw as much of the infection out as I can. It –“ He hesitated, his eyes dropping from hers.

            “It’s going to hurt. I know, Grandpa.”

            Gene nodded and grimaced. “Like hell, kiddo. I’m going to soak the fabric from my shirt in the water when it’s just close to boiling and put it on the wound. That’ll force the pus out and, hopefully, reduce the amount of cutting I’ll have to do.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Miles and Monroe are going to help you stay as still as possible through the whole thing,” Gene told her gently. “Yell, curse, cry, whatever helps you get through it. But try not to fight against them too much. I don’t want to take any healthy tissue. OK?”

            Charlie nodded, her eyes seeking out Bass as he stood by the door. Bass’ lips moved in a slight smile and he nodded, just the smallest movement of his head, but Miles saw it. His eyes widened as he looked from Bass to Charlie and back again. What the hell was that, he wondered, incredulously. Miles looked back at Charlie and his jaw tightened when he saw how weak she looked, how completely drained. Shit, he didn’t have time to worry about Bass right now, he thought to himself. But after. Oh, that was going to be an entirely different thing.

            “Dad.” Gene turned to look over his shoulder at Rachel. “The water is ready.”

            “Good,” Gene replied calmly. “Miles, are the shirts ready?”

            “Yeah, here.” Miles handed the strips and the torn sleeves to Rachel and she slid them into the steaming water, pressing them down with one of the knives sterilized in the fire. “Rachel, once we’re done drawing out the infection I want you to put the shirt sleeves in the bucket of cold well water. We’ll use them to cool the burn.”

            “Miles, Monroe, I’m going to need you to hold Charlie in place,” Gene told them, gesturing to her uninjured shoulder and her legs. The crackling of the fire seemed unnaturally loud as the moved towards Charlie, Miles at her shoulder and Bass at her legs. “Be careful of the wound on her thigh, Monroe,” Gene ordered him as he pulled out a pair of scissors to cut away Charlie’s tank top. “Rachel, you’re next to me. I’m going to need your help.” He looked over at Miles. “Do you have any alcohol in your saddlebag, Miles? No, don’t pretend to be confused. I need it to sterilize my hands. Do. You. Have. Any.”

            Miles rose, crossed to his saddlebag and pulled out a rolled-up shirt. He unfurled it and caught a small glass bottle that contained about an inch of clear liquid. “Moonshine,” he said briefly, handing it over to Gene as he resumed his spot at Charlie’s side. “Take the skin right off your hands, Gene.”

            Gene poured the alcohol into a cupped palm and briskly rubbed it over his hands and forearms. “Alright, Rachel, I’m going to want the strips fast. Ready?” Rachel nodded, her face starkly pale. He looked down at his granddaughter. “OK, Charlie?” Charlie clenched her teeth together and nodded. Miles and Bass leaned their weight against her as Rachel held out the knife, a strip of steaming fabric dangling from the tip. Gene grabbed it and quickly placed it on Charlie’s shoulder.

            Every resolution Charlie had made about staying still and silent evaporated the moment that fabric hit her mangled flesh. She arched sharply, a keening cry ripped from her lips. Miles and Bass struggled to keep her under control, both of them grim-faced and sick at the sight of her suffering. Bass was sorely tempted to look away but forced himself to keep his eyes on Charlie’s face. Against his will, his mind had drifted back to Shelley. He had taken his eyes off of her for just a moment. That’s all it had taken for everything to change. He wasn’t looking away this time, he told himself. It wasn’t going to happen again.

            Time passed slowly and the minutes felt like hours as Gene kept changing the strips of cloth on Charlie’s shoulder until they had all been used. As the last piece of soaked shirt was removed, Charlie went limp, her lungs pumping like bellows and her hair soaked with sweat. Gene quickly inspected the wound, which was so inflamed from the treatment that it was almost purple, but he nodded, pleased with the improvement. “You’re doing great, Charlie,” he told her as he gestured to Rachel for the scalpel. “We got a lot of the infection out. We’re almost done, OK?” He looked at Miles and Bass, his eyes hard. “Hold her,” he ordered them under his breath. Miles nodded, his mouth pinched and white. Bass swallowed hard and leaned more fully onto Charlie’s legs. Gene bent over Charlie and began to cut.

            The pain was so intense that Charlie couldn’t even cry out. Her mouth flew open on a silent scream of agony and she bucked against the restraining hands with an almost inhuman strength. “Goddamit, hold her down!” Gene roared as he continued to work. Miles threw more of his weight onto her shoulder and clamped an arm across her stomach. Bass stretched across her legs and anchored her hips to the mattress with his hands. Suddenly, frighteningly, Charlie collapsed back onto the mattress and was completely still. “Rachel, check her,” Gene barked, never taking his eyes from where he was cutting.

            Rachel leaned over and placed trembling fingers on Charlie’s wrist. She gasped in relief. “She’s fainted.”

            “Thank God,” Gene murmured. “I just hope she stays out until everything is finished. You two,” he said to Miles and Bass without even glancing at them, “stay where you are, just in case she does wake up.”

            “How bad is it, Dad?” Rachel asked, her eyes intent on Charlie’s still face.

            “It hasn’t reached the bone,” he replied, his voice tight as he continued to remove dead and infected tissue. “If we had waited much longer, it would have been another story.” Gene’s skilled hands moved steadily, carefully, but as quickly as possible. Dear God, he wanted to finish before she regained consciousness. Please, he prayed silently, keep her asleep for a little bit longer.

            Interminable minutes later, Gene straightened and wiped his bloodied hands on a rag from his saddlebag. “I got all of it,” he announced gratefully. “Rachel, I need the knife. Hurry.” Rachel wrapped the knife handle a cloth and handed it to her father, the blade so hot it was almost white. “She’s going to feel this,” he warned everyone just before he pressed the knife to her shoulder.

            The pain wound its way through Charlie’s unconsciousness and forced a broken moan from her lips, her body arching in reaction, though she remained blissfully unaware. Rachel retched as the odor of burning flesh filled the room, while Miles turned his face into his own shoulder, unable to watch as Gene seared the wound closed. Bass, however, kept his dry, tormented eyes on Charlie’s face, looking for any flicker of wakefulness. When Gene was satisfied that the wound was sufficiently cauterized, he gestured to his daughter. “Rachel, give me the shirtsleeves.” She handed him the cool, wet pieces of fabric and he placed them immediately on Charlie’s shoulder. “As soon as this is cooled down, I need the honey and the rolled bandages from the saddlebag.” He nodded at Miles and Bass. “You can let go,” he told them wearily. “The worst is over.”

            “Is she going to be alright?” Bass rasped as he rocked back on his heels, his eyes never leaving Charlie’s still form.

            “We have to watch her for shock,” Gene told them as he blotted the wound dry. “Keep her wrapped up, warm. You two need to go butcher that deer. She’ll need broth. And firewood. We need to keep the fire going.” He spared each of them a brief glance as he continued to work on Charlie. “Get going. You can’t do any more for her in here.”

            Miles and Bass rose slowly and moved towards the back door. Bass paused in the doorway and looked back at Charlie. “She’s going to be alright, man,” Miles assured him. Bass nodded tightly and followed him out of the house.

Chapter Text

            Gene dug around in his saddlebags, then glanced up and looked around the room, his eyes searching for Bass and Miles. “Crap,” me muttered. “Rachel, I collected some willow bark on the way here and must have left it hanging from my saddle horn to dry. Go out and get it, would you? As soon as Charlie wakes up I want to give her some willow bark tea. It’ll help with her pain and the fever.” Rachel hesitated, reluctant to leave her daughter’s side. “Nothing is going to happen in the two minutes it will take you to get to the garage and back,” Gene assured her gently. “I promise.”

            Rachel slowly rose to her feet, her gaze lingering on Charlie and her face pinched with worry. “OK,” she agreed quietly. “But if she wakes up while I’m gone, yell for me, alright?”

            She turned and raced through the kitchen for the back door, unwilling to be away from Charlie one minute more than she had to. As she approached the makeshift stable, she heard Miles and Monroe talking through the half-open door, their voices pitched low as if unwilling for anyone to overhear their conversation. As she drew closer, however, their words became clear and Rachel jolted to a stop, the blood rushing from her head, leaving her dizzy and reeling. No, she thought desperately. Please, God, don’t let it be true.

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            Miles and Bass were silent as they made their way to the garage, both lost in his own thoughts about Charlie. When they reached the horses, they moved together with the practiced ease of old friends, lifting the deer from the saddle and stringing it up over one of the structure’s rafter. Miles started butchering the deer while Bass began removing the horses’ saddles and rubbing them down. Finally, Miles managed to shake himself out his reverie and looked over at Bass.

            “What the hell was that, Bass?” he asked calmly as he continued to skin his kill.

            “What are you talking about?” Bass replied, never faltering in his movements.

            Miles lowered his knife and turned, watching Bass carefully for reaction. “That look between you and Charlie right before Gene started working on her.” He saw Bass falter for a moment and then continue moving the brush along the horse’s smooth back.

            “There was no look, Miles,” he said calmly, a note of confusion in his voice. “I think you were imagining things.”

            Miles chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. “I gotta hand it to you, man, if I didn’t know you I would completely believe what you just said. But,” he added grimly, “I do know you. And so I know that you’re full of shit. I can always tell when you’re lying, remember?” He glared at Bass’ back, as the man remained silent. “Answer me, damn it!” he finally snapped.

            Bass slowly turned until he was facing Miles, his hands loose at his sides and a look of resignation on his face. “What do you want me to say, Miles?” he asked, resigned, and Miles huffed out an impatient breath. “No, really, how do you expect me to answer that?” Bass pressed. “If I tell you that I was just trying to give her encouragement, you’ll just say that I’m lying. And if I say . . . what you’re obviously expecting, you’ll probably come at me with that knife. So you tell me what it is you think you saw.”

            “I think I saw you making googly eyes at my niece, Goddamit!”

            “Seriously, Miles?” Bass asked, almost smiling. “Googly eyes? I feel like I should be asking to copy your algebra homework”

            “Don’t you dare try to brush this off, Bass,” Miles ground out, his hand tight on the handle of the knife. “What the hell happened between the time you left with Charlie and when the rest of us got here?”

            Bass’ eyes were fixed to the knife clenched in Miles’ hand. “Fine,” he told him. “But I’m getting that itch in between my shoulder blades. The one that tells me that someone wants to plant a blade in my back. So put the knife down and we’ll talk.”

            The thump of the knife hitting the concrete seemed magnified in the tense silence that stretched between the two men. “Alright, Bass,” Miles said finally, nodding at the knife. “It’s down. Now I want answers. What happened?”

            Bass dropped the brush and ran a hand through his hair, his head lowered as he searched for the right words to explain to Miles the incredible change that had occurred between Charlie and himself. “I . . . don’t know how to explain it,” he began. “We really didn’t speak during the ride to the cabin. Charlie was in no condition to have a conversation. Neither was I, to be honest. I just wanted to get here, put her in one room and myself in the other so we wouldn’t have to deal with each other. I got her settled on the mattress and she fell asleep. She . . . started to have a nightmare. I knew she would. I’ve been waking her up before they get too bad for the past few days but this time . . . This time I didn’t.”

            Miles managed to hide his shock at the news that Bass had been keeping such a close eye on Charlie and focused his lack of action. “You didn’t wake her up . . . because she was talking in her sleep.”

            Bass’ head jerked up in surprise and he frowned at Miles. “How did you know that?”

           “Charlie told me right before you two left that she had been having nightmares. She was worried that she was going to say something in her sleep and . . . give away things she wasn’t ready to talk about yet.”

            Realization flooded Bass and he took a step towards Miles, his eyes locked on his face to catch any change in expression. “You knew,” he breathed and his face quickly flushed with anger. “You knew what happened and you didn’t say anything? How could you not tell me, Miles?”

           “In the first place, it was Charlie’s choice whether or not to tell you!” Miles retorted harshly. “I think you’ll agree she earned at least that.” Bass flinched, his face going pale, but didn’t answer. “In the second place, you were an absolute wreck. How, exactly, was I supposed to tell you that Charlie had been tortured for protecting you? And –“

           Whatever Miles had been about to say was cut off by a roar of outrage as the garage door was thrown fully open and Rachel tore in, her face mottled with fury as she lunged at Bass.

          “You son of a bitch!” she screamed and, before Miles could reach her, Rachel’s arm swung and Bass’ face snapped around as her fist made contact with his cheek. The three figures were frozen in a terrible tableau until Bass slowly brought his head back around and looked down at Rachel with eyes that were chillingly, menacingly flat. Rachel reached back to swing again but Bass’ hand struck out and grabbed her wrist in a merciless grip.

          “You only get one, Rachel,” he said coldly as he started down at her. “Try that again and you won’t like what happens.”

           Rachel wrenched away from him, too furious to be frightened, and sneered at him. “You think that scares me, Monroe? I got past being afraid of you years ago, you bastard. You took me from my family, you killed my husband and my son, you dragged Miles down into the filth with you and now –“ She broke off as hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Now, I find out that you’re the reason that Charlie was almost tortured to death? My God,” she cried, her voice breaking, “haven’t you taken enough from us? From her?” Her face was a frozen mask of hate and suddenly she lunged. “I’ll kill you!”

           Miles wrapped his arms around Rachel’s body, banding his arms around her torso and trapping her arms at her side; he shook her harshly. “For God’s sake, Rachel, enough!” he shouted as he struggled to hold her. Rachel abruptly went still and she turned her head to look at Miles. “And you,” she whispered. “You knew? That’s what you wouldn’t tell me.” Miles was silent and Rachel’s head dropped, her chin resting on the arms that held her against Miles’ chest . “At least have the courage to say it, Miles.”

          The stillness stretched interminably until Miles couldn’t stand it anymore. “Yes,” he admitted tersely. “I knew.” Miles felt the fight drain out of Rachel and tentatively loosened his grip on her. She stepped away and moved until she could face both men. “Why didn’t you tell me, Miles?”

          Miles threw up his hands. “Are you serious?” he asked incredulously. “After what just happened here, you’re really asking why I didn’t share this particular bit of information with you? In the first place, the last thing Charlie needed – or any of the rest of us – was for you to go completely bat shit crazy over this! She was sick and tired and wasn’t in any shape to deal with your reaction. The rest of us had to focus on getting her to safety and throwing the Patriots off our tracks. Forgive me if I didn’t feel like that was an ideal time to throw off your focus! In the second place, Charlie had made the decision to protect Bass and she was the one who paid for it. It was up to her to tell you, not me.”

            “I’m her mother!” Rachel exclaimed disbelievingly. “I have a right to know –“

            “No,” Miles cut her off. “You don’t. She’s an adult, Rachel,” he said gently, hating what he had to say but knowing he couldn’t avoid it. “And you . . . gave up that right a long time ago.”

            Rachel flinched and paled alarmingly. “How could you say that to me?” she whispered harshly. “You were the one who called me to Philadelphia,” she reminded him, her voice gaining volume as she spoke. “You two were the ones who kept me there! I had no choice!”

           “That’s a popular phrase with you, isn’t it, Rachel?” Bass said coolly. “You couldn’t stop the power from going out because you had no choice, right? It was Randall’s fault or because of Danny’s health or because ‘they’ just wouldn’t listen to you anymore. You missing out on ten years of Charlie’s life wasn’t your fault because Miles and I locked you up.” He took a step towards Rachel, who found she was unable to tear her eyes from his. “But you did have choices,” he reminded her smoothly. “You chose to develop the nanites, even after you knew what could happen. You chose to play God with them to keep your son alive, and damn the consequences for everyone else. You chose to come to Philadelphia when Miles sent for you and you had a pretty good idea of what you were walking into. I’ve done terrible, unspeakable things,” he admitted grimly. “But at least I’m willing to take responsibility for them. Why don’t you give it a try?”

            Rachel’s breath rasped in her throat, the sound harsh in the otherwise silent garage. “You bastard,” she gasped. “How dare –“

           “I’d dare a lot of things, Rachel,” Bass answered, his voice flat. “Even telling the truth.”

           “You stay away from Charlie!” Rachel ordered him, raising her hand to stab her index finger into the air between them. “She’s suffered enough because of you and I will not have you hurting her again!”

           “Is this where I say ‘Yes, Rachel’ and slink off to hide?” Bass asked as he quirked an eyebrow; then he was suddenly serious. “Let’s get something straight. I’ll stay away from Charlotte if she tells me to. And if she wants me around, that’s where I’ll be. So get it out of your head that you have any say over this.” For the first time he looked a little uncertain and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I . . . care about Charlotte,” he admitted slowly, sincerely. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt her.”

           “Yes, you will,” Rachel spat as she began to back towards the door. “That’s what you do, Monroe. You hurt people. You don’t know how to be any other way.” With one final burning look at Miles, she turned and walked away.

            Bass and Miles stood silently, each avoiding looking at the other. Eventually, Miles spoke. “What. The fuck. Was that?”

           “What?”

           Miles turned to glare at Bass. “You heard me, Bass,” he told him grimly. “One minute we’re talking about what happened to Charlie and the next you’re telling Rachel you care about Charlie and you’re going to be around for her? What the hell are you talking about?” Miles was yelling by the end, his face flushed with anger.

           Bass faced Miles’ rage unflinchingly. “Charlotte and I talked last night. A lot,” he said slowly. “About what the Patriots did to her. What I’ve done to her. Connor. And . . . Shelley and the baby.”

           Miles reared back in shock and shook his head in disbelief. “You told her about Shelley?” he asked, stunned.

          “Yeah,” Bass replied. “I felt like I owed it to her after . . . what she had gone through.” He abruptly turned his back to Miles, his shoulders rigid with tension. “I still can’t believe she did that,” he murmured so low that Miles almost didn’t hear him. “It makes me sick to think about it.” Bass glanced at Miles over his shoulder. “But she forced me to realize that I couldn’t . . . dishonor Connor by becoming President Monroe again. And that I had to live up to what she had done for me.”

          “Bass,” Miles began and then stopped short, completely shocked by what Bass had said.

           “I promised Charlotte that what she went through wouldn’t be for nothing.” Bass turned fully and Miles could see the sincerity on his face. “After everything I’ve done, she’s willing to forgive me. I’m not going to turn my back on that, Miles.”

           “I get that,” Miles said slowly. “Really. But Bass, I’m getting the feeling that there’s more going on here than you feeling grateful to Charlie.” He shook his head, his eyes on Bass. “Please tell me I’m wrong.”

            Bass stared at Miles for a long moment. He sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think I can do that, Miles.”

           “Shit, Bass,” Miles sputtered. “You cannot mean that! She’s her and you’re . . . well, you! Do I really need to go into all the ways that this is a terrible idea? For God’s sake, you’re old enough to be her father!”

           “Miles, take a breath,” Bass told him grimly. “I’m not an idiot. Charlotte’s forgiven me and I’m . . . not looking for any more than that. But,” he added quickly, “that doesn’t mean that I’m going to give into Rachel and just avoid her. I’ll be around for her as much or as little as she wants.”

            “Just . . . God, Bass, I don’t even know what to say!” Miles exclaimed as he began to pace. “I wanted you and Charlie to ride together to talk not to jump into some weird-ass Shakespearean drama! And Rachel –“ Miles paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Man, this is going to drive her off the deep end.”

            “She’s wrong, you know,” Bass said quietly. “I . . . used to be different. I’m going to be different.”

            “I really hope so, Bass,” Miles sighed as he scraped his hands down his face. “And not only because I don’t want to see Charlie hurt.” He raised his head and looked over at Bass. “You’ve been eaten up by hate and fear long enough, brother.” Bass moved as if to speak and Miles cut him off. “Don’t think I’m any happier about this than Rachel is,” he warned.

            And,” Miles warned menacingly as he stepped up to look Bass in the face, “the first hint I get that you’re a danger to Charlie, you’re done. Understand?” 

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            Rachel walked through the doorway into the front room as if she was in a trance. Gene looked up at her and frowned. “Rachel, what’s wrong? Where the hell have you been?”

            She jumped slightly at his voice and looked down as if surprised to find him there. “Nothing,” she finally said faintly, ignoring his second question. “Nothing’s wrong.”

            “Then where’s the willow bark?” her father asked, confused. “Couldn’t you find it?”

            Rachel looked down at her empty hands and frowned. “No, I . . . didn’t see it.”

            “OK,” Gene said, confused. “I’ll just go out and –“

            “No!” Rachel snapped. “Don’t go out there.”

            Gene rose to his feet and grasped Rachel’s shoulders. “Rachel, what’s going on?” he asked insistently.

            Before Rachel could respond, Charlie stirred and Rachel dropped down next to the mattress. “Charlie?” she murmured, her eyes riveted to her daughter’s face. “Honey, can you hear me?” Gene knelt down and placed gentle fingers on Charlie’s wrist to check her pulse.

            Charlie moaned and her head rolled to the side on the pillow. “Come on, Charlie, try to open your eyes,” Gene coaxed. Her eyelids fluttered and he lightly ran the tip of a finger down her cheek. “That’s it, kiddo, open your eyes.”

Charlie’s eyes opened slowly, her vision blurry, and shifted against the mattress. Pain knifed through her and she cried out weakly. “Honey, lay still,” Rachel told her as she smoothed a cool hand over Charlie’s fevered brow. “It’s going to be OK.”

Looking slowly from Rachel to Gene, Charlie smiled weakly. “Hey, guys,” she whispered. “I guess you got it all, huh?”

“All of it,” Gene confirmed as he smiled down at her. “You were very brave.”

“Not really,” Charlie replied, smiling faintly. “If it hadn’t been for Miles and Bass –“ She broke off and looked around the room again, missing the way her mother froze at the sound of Bass’ name. “Where are they?” Charlie asked, oblivious to the turmoil raging through her mother. “Where’s Bass?”

Chapter Text

            The silence stretched around them as Charlie waited for an answer to her question. Rachel seemed to have frozen in place, her eyes wide and unseeing, while Gene was frowning at his daughter, confusion on his face. “Mom?” Charlie asked again. “Where are Miles and Bass?”

            When it became obvious that Rachel wasn’t gong to answer, Gene stepped in. “They’re out back, honey,” he told her soothingly. “Miles shot a deer on the way here and they’re butchering it. They’ll be in soon, OK?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie murmured as her eyes slid closed. “Grandpa, is there any water? I’m so thirsty.”

            “There is,” Gene told her, “but I’m not totally sure that it’s OK to drink. And if it weren’t for the alcohol and honey we were able to put on your burn, I wouldn’t have used the unboiled well water on your shoulder.”

            “Bass said it was OK,” Charlie assured him. “He gave some to me last night and I feel fine.”

            “Well, aren’t we fortunate that the great Sebastian Monroe doesn’t feel the need to worry about such unimportant things as killing you with filthy well water,” Rachel spat as she rose and began to pace in front of the mattress.

            “Mom, what are you talking about?” Charlie asked as she watched her mother pass back and forth next to her. “He had tried it himself the night before. Bass wouldn’t have given it to me if he had thought it was dangerous.”

            Rachel halted and peered down at her daughter’s fever-flushed face. “Since when have you moved from calling him ‘Monroe’ to calling him ‘Bass’, huh?” Rachel queried sharply. “And I don’t understand this sudden new level of trust in him, Charlie.” She knelt back down next to the bed and fixed her daughter with a hard look. “I feel like there’s something you need to tell me. Am I right?” Charlie remained silent and looked up at her mother, resignation in her face. “Charlie, just tell me.”

            “Rachel, Charlie doesn’t need to be grilled like this right now,” Gene said, finally compelled to jump into the conversation. “She’s tired and weak and completely worn down. Let it go.”

            Charlie looked up at her mother’s pale, set face and sighed inwardly. “No,” she told her grandfather. “It’s alright. I might as well get this over with.” She shifted slightly to more fully face her mother and sucked in a breath at the pain. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “The reason that Parker . . . pushed so hard in his questioning,” Charlie began slowly, “was because he wanted me to give him certain information. And I refused.”

            “What did he want you to tell him?” Rachel asked stiffly.

            Charlie shook her head, her eyes on her mother’s face. “You know what he wanted,” she replied softly. “You wouldn’t have asked the question if you didn’t.”

            “Maybe I’m hoping that I’m wrong,” Rachel said almost desperately. “Maybe I don’t want to believe that what I heard is the truth. Just tell me that he’s wrong, Charlie,” Rachel begged, tears burning her eyes. “Please.”

            Charlie shook her head, regret for her mother’s pain etched on her face. “I can’t.”

            “How could you, Charlie?” she asked in an agonized whisper. “How could you protect that murderous, lying, amoral son of a bitch?”

            “What the hell are you talking about, Rachel?” Gene asked, completely confused. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here but –“

            “You don’t know?” Rachel asked, her eyes wide in mock incredulity as she looked at him. “Well, let me fill you in, Dad.” She rose to her feet and backed slowly away from Charlie. “My daughter was tortured, almost died, and just underwent that barbaric excuse for surgery because she refused to hand Monroe over to the Patriots.” Gene sucked in a breath and his eyes dropped to rest, stunned, on his granddaughter’s face. “What I can’t understand,” Rachel continued, her voice rising with each word, “is why you would suffer like that for a man who has taken everything from us. My God, Charlie, have you forgotten what he’s done to our family? He deserved to be handed over!” she raged. “He is evil and yet you saved him! I cannot believe that you –“

            “That’s enough.”

            The voice was calm, quiet, but it cracked through the room like a whip. Rachel spun and faced the intruder, a sneer of hate on her face. Bass stood in the doorway with a joint of fresh venison in one hand and a bundle of dried willow bark in the other. He strode into the room and set the meat on top of the cooking pot, then turned to Gene and held out the bark. “I found this on your saddle horn,” Bass informed the other man. “Figured you’d need it for Charlotte.” He finally turned back to Rachel and moved forward until he was standing between the woman and her daughter.

            “You have a problem with me, fine,” he told her, coldly furious. “But if you think I’m going to stand here while you browbeat Charlotte, you’ve lost your mind.”

            “You arrogant bastard, my daughter needs protecting from you, not me!” Rachel hissed furiously.

            “Obviously,” Bass replied sardonically. He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie and his face softened. Gene’s eyes widened as he caught the look on the former dictator’s face before Bass turned to again face Rachel. “Look, Rachel, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said calmly. “I know it sounds trite, but neither of us can change the past. And you need to accept that I’m not going to just disappear. It would be better for all of us if there could be . . . some sort of truce.”

            “You think it’s that easy?” Rachel asked incredulously. “That I can just move past everything you’ve done and let it go?”

            “I did,” Charlie said quietly.

           “How?” Rachel cried despairingly. “After everything that’s happened, Charlie, how could you do that?”

           “Bass asked me the same thing,” Charlie informed her wryly. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. It’s because he’s not the same man that he was.” Rachel scoffed and Charlie shook her head. “He isn’t,” she insisted. “You only have to look at what he’s done for us and for me to see that. How many times has he saved me?” Charlie pressed. “Or you or Miles? Mom, you have to make peace with what happened, for yourself more than anything else.”

           “What are you talking about, Charlie?” Rachel asked wearily.

           “I think you can’t forgive Bass because . . . you can’t forgive yourself.”

           “Charlie!” Gene interjected sharply as he took in Rachel’s suddenly bone-white face. “Don’t.”

           Charlie ignored her grandfather and struggled to prop herself up on an elbow, urgency giving her a sudden brief burst of strength. “I know you, Mom,” she continued relentlessly, “better than you think. You blame yourself for everything, maybe even more than you blame Bass. The nanotech was your creation. The blackout, the collapse of everything we knew, all those people that died, even the Republic – you blame yourself for all of it. And you can’t forgive someone who was created by the blackout until you can forgive yourself.”

           Rachel stood in stunned silence, her eyes wide and haunted as she stared down at her daughter. Suddenly she uttered a terrible, choked cry and turned to sprint out the open cabin door. The three remaining inhabitants of the room remained frozen in place until Gene slowly rose to his feet and, avoiding looking at either Bass or Charlie, murmured something about “going to check on her” and followed Rachel out the door.

           Bass turned and looked down at Charlie. “You really don’t believe in doing anything halfway, do you?” he asked jokingly, though Charlie could see how moved he had been by her words. He sat down next to the mattress and wrapped a supporting arm around her shoulders as he helped her to lie back down.

           “Yeah,” Charlie agreed a bit breathlessly. “One of the dangers of being a Matheson, I guess.”

           Bass sat looking down at Charlie for a long moment and she smiled up at him. “What?” she asked, perplexed by the intensity of his attention.

           “Nothing,” he replied, smiling faintly back at her. Bass turned suddenly and moved towards the fireplace. “I’d better get this meat cooking,” he said briskly. “We need to get you feeling better and fast.” Bass quickly changed topics to something less serious and began regaling Charlie with stories of his exploits with Miles before the blackout.

           Charlie rested back against the pillow and closed her eyes, her head filled with the sound of Bass’ voice.

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            Rachel ran around the side of the house and collapsed against the sturdy log wall, her breath harsh in her throat as she finally yielded to the force of her sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she wept at the pain that Charlie’s words had brought her. The pain, she acknowledged dimly, and the realization that her daughter might be right. She had been able to ignore, at least partially, what Miles and Bass had said. But when it came from Charlie . . . So lost was she in her grief that she didn’t hear the footsteps that followed her.

            “Rachel,” Gene whispered as he placed gentle hands on her shoulders. Rachel leaned forward and rested her head in the middle of her father’s chest. “Honey, don’t do this to yourself,” he urged as he lowered his chin to the crown of her head. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

            “I’m already sick,” Rachel gulped as she forced herself to straighten and face her father, her eyes were and cheeks streaked with tears. “I’m sick with hate and fear and guilt.” She wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve and tried to get herself under control. “Charlie was right. I do blame myself for what’s happened. Ben and I . . . we couldn’t see how wrong it was. We thought what we were doing was right, that we were helping to make things better. We were so arrogant,” she said mournfully. “Arrogant and stupid. But by the time we realized what a mistake it all was, we didn’t know how to undo it. Maybe we didn’t try hard enough,” Rachel admitted. “I don’t know. But what we did . . . it ended up destroying everything we loved. Monroe, Miles, the Republic . . . it was our fault.”

            Before Gene could reply another voice chimed in. “Rachel, you can’t go from denying any responsibility to taking all of it,” Miles said as he walked towards her. Rachel turned her face away from him but he put a finger under her chin and forced her to face him. “I mean it, Rachel,” he insisted firmly. “Yes, some of it was your fault. You’ve always known that but I think it’s a pretty big thing that you’re finally admitting it. None of us are blameless in this whole mess. But,” Miles qualified, “the way that people reacted after the blackout . . . that was based on their own choices. The thing that tipped Bass over the edge –“ Miles paused, unwilling to share that painful memory without Bass’ permission. “OK, it probably wouldn’t have happened without the blackout,” he admitted. “But Bass was already on shaky ground after his family died, you know that. Even if the power hadn’t gone out, something could have easily happened that would have had the same result. As for me . . . Hell, Rachel, I’ve always had issues. There’s darkness in everyone,” Miles told her, unknowingly expressing the same thought as his niece. “We choose what we do with it.”

            “I just –“ Rachel paused and squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I can forgive him,” she said almost pleadingly. “Or me.”

            “Honey, that’s something that you’re going to have to work out on your own,” Gene told her. “But while you’re doing that, you have to stop torturing yourself. And,” he added grimly, “you can’t push Charlie on this Monroe thing.”

            “What are you talking about?” Miles snapped, almost afraid to hear what Gene would say.

            “Rachel confronted Charlie about what she did for Monroe,” Gene replied. “I still can’t quite believe it myself,” he admitted. “But Rachel,” Gene said as he turned back to his daughter. “It’s obvious that things have changed between those two. Now, I’m not sure how the relationship has changed,” he hastened to assure her. “But Rachel, you can’t attack Charlie over her decision.”

            “I just wanted to understand why –“

            “I know,” Gene interrupted calmly. “You might not have meant for it to seem like that. But it did. Our little world has changed. Again,” he added wryly. “We all need to realize that and figure out to deal with it. Can you do that?”

            Rachel nodded her head slowly. “I’m going to have to,” she said dully, her explosion of grief leaving her physically drained. “I won’t lose Charlie.”

            “Just keep thinking of her,” Gene told his daughter. He jerked his head towards the front of the cabin and slipped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go back in and see how Charlie’s doing.”

            The trio walked back around the house and through the front door. Bass glanced back over his shoulder from where he was crouched by the fireplace. They stared at each other until Bass finally broke the silence. “I’m cutting up the meat to make a broth,” he informed them as he gestured at the cooking pot with his knife. “Just about ready to put it on to cook.”

            “Thanks, Bass,” Miles said as he moved farther into the room. He glanced over at a sleeping Charlie. “How is she?”

            Bass continued to cut into the meat as he answered Miles. “Sleeping soundly,” he told him. Bass glanced at Gene and then nodded towards the older man’s saddlebags. “I put the willow bark on your bags,” he informed him. “And I got some fresh water. Figured she’d need some tea sooner rather than later.”

            “Yes,” Gene replied after a surprised silence. “Thanks. I’ll . . . get the coffee pot and get started on that.”

            Rachel sat next to Charlie and brushed her hair away from her fevered face. She almost jumped when she heard Bass addressing her. “Rachel,” he said, his voice low. “Are we . . . OK?”

            “No,” Rachel replied softly, taking care not to wake Charlie. “But we’re better than we were.” She looked over at him briefly before returning her attention to Charlie. “That might not be saying much but it’ll have to enough for now.”

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            Charlie slept deeply until Gene woke her with the willow bark tea several hours later. Miles sat behind her and propped her up as Gene held the cup to her lips and gently pressed her to drink more. “Come on, kiddo,” he prompted. “It’ll help with the pain and bring your fever down. That’s it,” he encouraged. “All of it.”

            Charlie grimaced but did as she was told, draining the cup and finally leaning back limply against Miles. “That tastes awful,” she said bluntly.

            Gene laughed. “I know,” he acknowledged readily. “You might as well get used to it. You’re going to be drinking it every five hours or so.”

            “Ugh,” Charlie shuddered at the thought. “I hate being sick.”

            “This is more than sick,” Gene warned, suddenly serious. “You could have died, Charlie. As it is, between the infection and the fever, you’re going to be out of commission for quite a while. Until your fever goes down, you stay in bed. No,” he interrupted when she would have spoken. “Don’t even think of trying to argue with me. Be a good girl, drink you medicine, and get plenty of rest. When your fever breaks, then we can revisit the issue. OK?”

             “OK,” Charlie agreed with false reluctance, somewhat relieved at the hard line Gene was taking. Truth be told, she felt utterly drained and woolen-headed. She doubted if she could have rolled over on her own, let alone get out of bed. But at least Gene’s orders gave her an excuse not to try and pretend.

             “Miles, grab the couch cushions, will you?” Bass asked as he used a cup to ladle some broth into a bowl. “She can rest against those while she eats.” Miles moved to comply and Bass brought the broth to Charlie, kneeling next to her. Miles brought the stacked cushions over and Bass set the bowl down, leaning forward to slide his arms around Charlie and gently lift her into a sitting position. Charlie’s head fell forward to rest on his shoulder and Bass could hear Rachel catch her breath. He stiffened in preparation for an attack but, to his surprise and relief, none came. When the makeshift pillows were in place, Bass eased Charlie against them and picked up the bowl of broth.

             “OK, Charlotte, open up.”

             Charlie looked at the bowl and grimaced. “I’m really not hungry,” she objected, the fever and the trauma of the surgery leaving her with no appetite.

             “Doctor’s orders,” Bass replied implacably as he dipped the spoon into the steaming liquid. He looked her and cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, Charlotte, don’t make me do ‘here comes the airplane’. That would be humiliating for both of us.”

             Charlie choked back a surprised laugh and shook her head as it rested against the pillows. “Fine,” she agreed. “But we stop when I say I’ve had enough. Deal?”

             “Deal.”

             Miles and Gene moved to sit by Rachel at the foot of the mattress and they sat talking quietly as they ate the boiled venison. Rachel, however, kept her eyes on her daughter and Sebastian Monroe. Her father had been right, she realized as she watched Monroe feed Charlie. And so, she reluctantly admitted, had Charlie. Their little world and Monroe had changed. If she didn’t want to be left behind, if she didn’t want to lose her daughter, she was going to have to learn to live with this strange new situation. After all, she told herself grimly, whatever faults she might have, at least she was good at adapting.

Chapter Text

            Bass sat on the bottom step of the cabin and leaned back, filling his lungs with the fresh Texas night air, his gun resting at his side. Who the hell would have thought that he and Charlie would . . . what? OK, they had opened up to each other. She had forgiven him, which he still couldn’t believe. He had told her about Shelley and his daughter. Hell, he had even promised her that he would be a better man. But what did all that mean? They really hadn’t had a chance to figure it out. One minute they had been holding each other, her breath softly washing over his neck and he feeling more peace in her arms than he had known in . . . so long.  And then the next she had practically collapsed right at his feet. Not really a good time to ask about a shift in their relationship, he thought ruefully. He ran his hand through his hair and rested his forehead on a clenched fist. Shit. He was being ridiculous, Bass told himself viciously. Just because she had protected him and told him she cared and trusted him and he had suddenly wanted to be everything she . . . No, damn it! She was a kid, for God’s sake! Well, he reluctantly admitted, not really a kid. But she was definitely Miles’ niece. And she had slept with Connor. And he was just . . . confused. Too much had happened and he just needed a chance to process everything. And then he could fully realize that while he cared about Charlotte it was as a . . . friend? Former best friend of her uncle? Dictator-turned-guardian angel? Bass squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. What a mess.

            “Problems?”

            Bass forced himself to suppress a groan and raised his head to stare straight ahead. “Just thinking.”

            Miles sat next to him and rested his forearms on his upraised knees. “Charlie’s sleeping,” he told Bass casually. “Gene’s gonna sleep on the couch. You, Rachel and I will take the watch in shifts. Any preference?”

            “No.”

            Neither of them spoke, just sat and stared out into the night, until Miles sighed. “Come on, Bass,” he said resignedly. “You might as well tell me.”

            “Tell you what?” Bass asked casually, though he felt a slight, involuntary tensing of his muscles as if he was subconsciously preparing himself to flee.

            “Gene told me about your little conversation with Rachel,” Miles informed him.

            “So?”

            “He also told me that he was a little concerned that you might . . .” Miles broke off, suddenly reluctant to actually repeat what Gene had said.

            “That I might what?” Bass asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. “Punch her?”

            “Be in love with Charlie.”

            Bass jerked as though an electric current had passed through his body but his steadfastly refused to face Miles. “He’s dreaming,” Bass said flatly.

            “Is he?” Miles asked seriously, his eyes fixed on Bass’ steely profile. “’Cause I gotta tell you, Bass, from what I’ve seen, I think Gene might be right. And that scares me to death. I know Charlie acts like a total badass and, in some ways, it’s true,” he admitted with a hint of pride in his voice. “But this thing with Jason . . . the kid feels deeply, Bass, and she doesn’t do things halfway. Now, I know you’ve said that Charlie has changed you. And I’m glad, really,” Miles assured him. “But Bass, when things go wrong, you tend to . . .”

            “Fall apart?” Bass supplied, his jaw clenched. “Go crazy? Hurt people?”

            There was a pregnant pause. “Yeah,” Miles finally replied. “I don’t want her to be caught up in that again.”

            “Miles, I care about her, OK?” Bass admitted stiffly.

            “Yeah, Bass, I know you care about her,” Miles said shortly. “That’s kind of implied in the whole ‘in love’ thing. What I want to know is how much?”

            “Enough to want more for her,” Bass replied, his voice rough. “Charlotte did something for me that I never could have expected and she kept me from turning back into someone that I hated. So yeah, I have feelings for her.” Bass turned to face Miles, his face calm in spite of the sadness, anger and frustration raging through him. “But don’t worry, Miles. She’s safe from me.”

            Miles stared hard at Bass, his eyes taking in every feature, searching for any hint of betraying emotion. Miles knew that Bass was lying. He could always tell. But . . . honest to God, he admitted to himself, he just wasn’t sure this time. “I’m glad to hear that,” he finally said quietly. “I don’t want either of you hurt. And that’s all that would happen if Gene had been right.”

            When it became clear that Bass wasn’t going to respond, Miles stood and turned to walk back up the steps. He halted at the sound of Bass’ voice.

            “I’ll take first watch tonight,” Bass said calmly.

            Miles frowned as he looked down at Bass, his brow creased in thought. “Yeah,” he finally said. He moved as though to say something but shook his head, his lips pressed tight together, and went back into the cabin.

            Bass listened to Miles’ retreating footsteps and tilted his head to look up at the night sky, the inky blackness broken by countless pinpricks of ethereal white light. Miles was . . . not wrong, Bass told himself. He wasn’t going to break his word to Charlotte. He wasn’t going to become President Monroe again. But, he admitted, even though Miles was wrong about why the idea of him with Charlotte was a bad idea, he was right when he said it shouldn’t happen. He was too old, he told himself, too damaged. And too damn scared. He didn’t think he could stand to lose someone again. Shelley and the baby dying had broken him. Then Emma. And Connor. Bass abruptly stood and grabbed up his gun, suddenly needing to move, to do something that would prevent him from thinking too much. He’d just keep his distance from her, Bass decided. At least until he didn’t feel so . . . raw. He just had to get his mind settled. And then everything would be alright.

Chapter Text

            Charlie shifted restlessly on the mattress, the pain in her shoulder having faded over the last week to a deep, dull throb. It still hurt like a bitch but, loath as she was to admit it, that disgusting willow bark tea Gene made her drink had helped with the discomfort. In fact, she thought as she grimaced, it might be time for another dose. She glanced around the room and found, to her surprise, that she was actually alone for the first time since they had arrived at the cabin. Gene, Rachel and Miles had pretty much been glued to her side but Bass . . . Charlie frowned at the thought of him. He had been so strange since the day after their big talk. One minute he was feeding her soup and the next, he couldn’t seem to put enough distance between them. He wasn’t closed off or surly or cold. None of the emotions she had learned to associate with General Monroe. Bass had been . . . civil. Pleasant but withdrawn. The fragile connection that had sprung up between them, the intimacy Charlie had felt every time he touched her, had seemed to disappear. She was confused. And pissed. OK, so maybe he had freaked out a little about what had happened between them. It had thrown her, too. But he should at least say something to her about it! Charlie closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Soft footsteps interrupted her reverie and Charlie’s eyes flew open to see Bass practically tip-toeing through the room.

            “I’m not asleep,” she informed him with a smile, touched in spite of herself that he was making such an effort not to disturb her.

            Bass stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. Charlie thought she saw panic flare in his eyes but she blinked and it was gone. “Sorry,” Bass apologized. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

            “Yeah, you’ve been real thoughtful that way for the last few days,” Charlie murmured.

            A muscle ticked in Bass’ jaw and he turned his head to look out one of the windows. “Just keeping an eye on things,” he responded lamely. “Everyone else was . . . pretty distracted.”

            “Well, Mom and Miles went looking for game. And now that my fever has broken, Grandpa feels like he can finally rest. He’s laying down in one of the bedrooms. I, on the other hand, will officially lose my mind if I don’t get out of this bed. Wanna help me with that?”

            Bass turned to fully face her and frowned. “You can’t get up,” he told her with certainty. “No way.”

            Charlie signed and tipped her head back against the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Grandpa promised that once I was over my fever, I could get some fresh air. Just for a few minutes, I promise. Please?” She turned to look up at him, her eyes pleading, and Bass felt his resolve melting. Damn it.

            “OK,” Bass agreed as he knelt to help her sit up. “But just for a couple of minutes.”

            “Thank you,” she said sincerely, slipping an arm around his neck as he brought an arm beneath her back. Bass raised her gently into a sitting position, giving her a minute to get used to it, then slowly stood up with her. Charlie abruptly felt as if all the blood in her body was rushing towards her feet and she swayed, letting her head drop to rest on Bass’ chest. She could hear him cursing under his breath and felt him shift to lay her back down. Charlie forced herself to straighten and lay a restraining hand on his arm. “No, I’m OK,” she whispered breathlessly. “Just haven’t been upright for a few days.”

            “You sure?” Bass asked gruffly, trying to ignore how incredible it felt – damn it all to hell – to have Charlie pressed against him.

            “Yeah,” she said in a stronger voice. “Let’s go to the back yard. I haven’t been there yet.”

            The two made their slowly way through the house and out the back door. By the time they reached the two small steps that led from the back porch to the yard, Charlie’s legs felt like they were made of rubber and she leaned heavily into Bass’ side. His arm tightened around her and smiled in spite of her fatigue. “Thanks, Bass,” she said as he helped her down the steps. “I couldn’t have handled another minute cooped up.”

            “No problem,” he replied and Charlie could have screamed when she heard the return of that non-committal tone of voice. Bass led her over to the well cover and helped her sit down. To her chagrin, he moved a few feet away and stood, hands on hips, as he studied the barn with unwarranted interest. Charlie shook her head and turned her face towards the wonderful warmth of the sun. If she only had a couple of minutes out here, she decided, she was going to enjoy it.

            Bass heard Charlie sigh and snuck a look over his shoulder to make sure she was OK. He saw her head tilted back to catch the sun’s rays, a small smile on her lips as she reveled in her few moments of freedom in the fresh air. An involuntary spasm of pain twisted his face. Get a grip, he told himself harshly. Friends. That’s all they were. That’s all he wanted to be. He scoffed silently. Yeah, right. He brushed a hand over his face and turned to walk back towards her. “I think that’s enough, Charlotte,” he told her as he stood over her. “Time to go back in.”

            “Nope.”

            “What do you mean, ‘nope’?” he asked, frowning down at her. “You’ve had your few minutes. Now you need to rest.”

            “I get to define how many minutes are in my ‘few minutes’,” Charlie shot back, her eyes still closed as she soaked up the sun. “And I still have some left.” One eye opened and she squinted up at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” she admonished cheerfully. “Have a seat. Enjoy this beautiful day and don’t be such a grump.”

            Bass stood staring down at her, torn between the competing desires to take her bodily back into the house or to spend a few precious minutes with her, relatively free from the possibility of interruption. In reality, it wasn’t much of a struggle. He slowly sat next to her, making sure to keep plenty of distance between them.

            “So what’s your problem?” Charlie asked conversationally. Bass’ eyes shot over to her to find she was looking right back at him.

            “I don’t have one,” Bass denied immediately. “Everything’s fine.”

            “Don’t do that,” Charlie insisted quietly, hurt evident in her eyes. “Don’t lie. I thought . . . I thought we were past that.”

            “Charlotte, I’m not lying,” he insisted.

            “Bass, you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me!” Charlie turned away and looked down at the pattern she was drawing in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “If you regret telling me about Shelley –“

            “No,” Bass said immediately, his voice harsh. “I don’t. I don’t regret anything I said that night. Just . . . please, Charlotte, leave it alone.”

            “I’m sorry, have we met?” Charlie asked acerbically. “I’ve never really been good at leaving things alone, especially when they bug the hell out of me.” She slowly shifted until she had closed the distance he had so purposefully left between them. His hands, which were resting on either side of his hips, gripped the well cover so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Charlie noticed and her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let it pass.

            “Bass,” she said softly, leaning down to try to catch his eye, but he resolutely refused to look up, his gaze remaining firmly on the lawn. Charlie reached out slowly and, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, forced him to face her. “Is it what Mom said? Because I thought we had worked all of that out before they got here. You know that I don’t blame you for what happened and –“

            “It wasn’t Rachel,” Bass insisted grittily. “I just . . . a lot has happened, alright? I need some time to process it. A little space. Is that too much to ask?”

            Charlie studied his face intently and her lips tightened in annoyance. “OK,” she allowed. “That’s part of it. But you’re still not telling me the whole truth.”

            Bass jerked away from her restraining hand and jumped up from the well cover, whirling to face her. “Enough, Charlotte,” he growled. “I don’t know why you feel like you’re suddenly an expert on me and my moods but –“

            “An expert?” Charlie exclaimed, rising slowly to face him, anger radiating from her with each word. “Bass, I won’t live long enough to know even half your moods! But here’s what I do know. Things changed between us. A lot. And, yes, it was confusing and we really didn’t have a chance to figure things out before everyone got here but –“ Charlie broke off and the fight seemed to drain out of her, leaving her looking tapped and exhausted. “I didn’t think we’d go back to just tolerating each other.”

            “Charlotte, for God’s sake,” Bass said almost desperately, “we’re not going back to anything! It was just . . .”

            “Just what?” Charlie asked wearily.

            “Too much!” Bass exploded, striding towards her and framing her shocked face in his hands. “I felt too much and it wasn’t right! It freaked everyone out – me, your mother, Miles, Gene and –“

            “Don’t you dare say my name, Bass,” Charlotte interrupted, her eyes intent on his. “You don’t get to speak for me. And just to let you know,” she said as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, “it definitely was right.”

            Bass slowly dropped his hands from her face, turning them so he gripped her hands in his. “Charlotte,” he said carefully, “I don’t think you realize what you’re talking about.”

            “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “That’s such a cop out. It’d be so easy to ignore your feelings if you thought I was just confused or had the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old. So let me make myself very clear.” Charlie tightened her grip on Bass’ hands and closed what little distance remained between them. “I know that this situation is . . . weird,” she conceded and smiled when he laughed, a quiet huff of breath at her massive understatement. “But,” she continued firmly, “I don’t care. I need you, Bass. For God’s sake, have the guts to admit that you need me, too.”

            Bass stared down at Charlie, his expression a mix of hope and deep apprehension. “Really think about this,” he cautioned her. “I mean, what does needing each other even mean? We have no idea what we’re getting into and your family –“

            “Will have to learn to deal with it,” Charlie finished. “As for what it means . . .” She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “I don’t know either. But that shouldn’t stop us from being there for each other, right? Let’s face it, we’re both pretty messed up. Issues with trust, intimacy, control –“

            “Wrap it up, Charlotte.”

            Charlie grinned up at him and tightened her grip on his hands. “But the great thing is that it doesn’t matter. Because we understand each other. And we make each other better. So suck it up, Bass,” she told him cheekily, though Bass could see what almost looked like fear in her eyes. “Tell me.”

            Bass sighed deeply and lowered his head to gently press his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he allowed himself to simply enjoy her nearness. “OK,” he finally rasped. “I need you, too.”

            Charlie laughed, a little hiccup of sound. “Good,” she replied, a tremor in her voice.

            Bass pulled back and frowned down at her, distressed to see a suspicious sheen in her eyes. “You alright?” he asked, concerned.

            “Yeah,” she assured him as she pulled her fingers from his grasp only to wrap her arms around his waist. “I’m good.”

            Bass felt his breath catch as he gently ran his fingers up her arms, careful to avoid her still-tender wound, and once again cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs skimming over her cheeks. “Charlotte,” he murmured as he began to lower his head, his eyes fixed on her slightly parted lips.

            Charlie allowed her eyes to slide closed, her breathing fast and shallow, as she waited to feel the press of his lips against hers. Some vague corner of her mind was working well enough to wonder how long she had wanted this but she completely ignored it. She felt his breath waft across her cheek and her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him even closer so they were tightly pressed together from chest to hip. Bass’ fingers tunneled into her hair and tilted her head as his lips just barely brushed the corner of her mouth. Charlie felt her skin prickle with goose bumps and she turned her head, her lips seeking his. So close, so close, so –

            “Bass!”

            Charlie was rudely jerked back into awareness and she blinked owlishly up at Bass, whose jaw looked to be carved from rock as he glared furiously at the cabin. He pulled his hands away from Charlie and ran them over his face. “Perfect,” he muttered. “Absolutely perfect.” He looked down at Charlie, an apology clear on his face, and answered Miles. “Just a minute!”

            “So what now?” Charlie asked quietly.

            Bass frowned as he noticed her sudden paleness, the slight tremor in her hand when she brushed her hair back over her shoulders. Shit, he thought harshly. She had just gotten over a fever and being operated on with a hunting knife, for God’s sake. He was an idiot. Bass stooped and lifted her into his arms, settling her comfortably against his chest. “Now we go inside,” Bass answered as he walked slowly towards the cabin. “We act normal. OK,” he grinned when she glared up at him. “We act new normal. But,” he said seriously, “we’re taking this slow. For us and,” he nodded towards the house, “for them. Agreed?”

            Charlie smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Agreed.” For the time being.

Chapter Text

            Charlie murmured her thanks to Rachel as she took her plate, the roasted rabbit fresh from the fire and steaming temptingly. She picked up a knife and fork and, turning, saw a space was open on the couch next to Bass. Smothering a smile, she made her way over to him and sat down, her hip brushing against his. Bass stiffened and shot a look over at Rachel to make sure she wasn’t going to fall apart at this admittedly innocent physical contact. She was still focusing on dishing up everyone’s dinner and hadn’t noticed but it was going to happen. It was only a matter of time. Bass felt sweat break out on his forehead.

            “Charlotte, what are you doing?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

            “What?” she whispered back innocently as she sliced into a tender piece of rabbit. “I’m eating dinner. Gotta build my strength up.”

            Bass dared to take his eyes off of Rachel and darted a glare at Charlie, only to find her smiling over at him, eyes wide in feigned innocence. “You did say we were going to try ‘new normal’,” she reminded him impishly. “Might as well start now.” Charlie caught movement out of the corner of her eye and Bass frowned when her smile widened. “Saddle up, Bass.”

            His head whipped around and he found himself looking into the wide, shocked eyes of Rachel Matheson. Bass cleared his throat and gestured at his food. “Great rabbit, Rachel,” he said with feigned enthusiasm.

            Rachel raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at his plate. “Thanks,” she said briskly. “Especially since you haven’t even tasted it yet.”

            “Well, it smells delicious.”

            Rachel stood, her eyes on Bass, and yelled, “Miles! Dad! Dinner!”

            Miles and Gene filed into the room and Bass felt his stomach drop at the look on Miles’ face when he saw how closely Charlie was sitting next to the former President of the Monroe Republic. Miles clenched his jaw and Bass knew that they would be having a conversation later. Probably a very loud conversation. Well, Bass thought, Miles was just gong to have to deal with it. He shifted closer to Charlie and returned Miles’ glare calmly. New normal, he reminded himself, and looked over at Charlie, a soft smile spreading over his face when he found that she had been looking at him, too.

            Gene, well aware of the tension and what had caused it, cleared his throat roughly. “Great rabbit, Rachel,” he said with forced joviality as he ate with unwarranted relish.

            “Yes,” Rachel replied grimly. “So I’ve been told.”

            A tense silence descended over the little group, broken only by the scraping of forks against the tin plates. Miles spent most of the meal glaring at Bass, Rachel watched Charlie, Bass and Charlie looked primarily at each other, and Gene was trying desperately to remember if he had enough valerian root to keep Miles and Rachel sedated for the next few days.

            When the last of the rabbit was eaten and the plates rinsed clean in the kitchen, Miles picked up his gun and stood in front of Bass. “I’m going to check the perimeter,” he said briskly. “Bass, why don’t you come along? Always useful to have an extra set of eyes.”

            Bass glanced over at Charlie and sighed. “Sure,” he replied as he rose to face his friend. “Let’s go.” He bent to grab his weapon and followed Miles out the door, casting one last resigned look at Charlie. She smiled encouragingly and gave him a thumbs up. Bass rolled his eyes and stepped onto the porch.

            As soon as the door was closed Miles turned on him. “What the fuck, Bass?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Did we or did we not have this discussion last week?”

            “Yeah, we did, Miles,” Bass answered calmly as he walked around Miles to reach the porch steps. “And I admit, I agreed with you. Not,” he quickly clarified as he began to walk around the cabin, “for the reasons you mentioned. I had some of my own. But things change. Things have changed.”

            “Well, change them back,” Miles demanded as he followed Bass. “I meant what I said. I don’t want her hurt!”

            “You think I do?” Bass exclaimed as he turned to face Miles, his eyes bright with anger. “I wouldn’t hurt Charlotte to save my own life! And I sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her.”

            “Shit, Bass, I’m not questioning whether or not you’d protect Charlie,” Miles allowed angrily. “And you wouldn’t mean to hurt her. But it would happen.”

            “You know what, you’re right,” Bass conceded and Miles blinked, surprised at the admission. “At some point, we’re going to fight. I’ll probably say something that’ll upset her, maybe hurt her feelings. Because, and here’s a news flash for you, Miles, Charlotte and I are human. And even when you care about someone, even when you need them more than your next breath, you can still say or do something to piss them off. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Bass asked sarcastically. “I mean, you and Rachel. Now, there’s a perfect relationship. Why don’t you tell me what that’s like, buddy?”

            “You’re a dick,” Miles hissed as he invaded Bass’ space. “And you know that the two situations are completely different.”

            “Yeah, I agree,” Bass replied calmly, though his eyes flashed with anger. “You’re sleeping with your dead brother’s wife and, somehow, his daughter hasn’t passed judgment on either of you.” Before Miles could respond, Bass stepped closer and roughly poked his finger in Miles’ chest. “You don’t get to say who people find happiness with, Miles. This thing with Charlotte and me, OK, it’s might not make sense to other people but it makes sense to us. And I’m not going to lose something amazing because you and Rachel don’t like it.”

            “Damn it, Bass-“

            “Hey, guys.”

            Miles and Bass whirled to find Charlie standing on the edge of the long end of the porch, her uninjured shoulder propped against the wall. “Kind of a slow perimeter check,” she observed calmly, though her eyes were hard as they rested on her uncle. “Might be better to split up, don’t you think?”

            Miles glared at Bass and then turned back to Charlie. “Yeah,” he agreed stiffly. “Sounds like a good idea.”

            “Great,” Charlie replied. “Bass, help me down, would you? I could use a walk.”

            Bass could feel the anger radiating off of Miles in waves but he walked over to the porch and put his hands on Charlie’s waist, gently lowering her to stand in front of him. She rested her hands on his shoulder and smiled up at him. “Thanks.” She looked over at Miles, her eyes daring him to say anything. He clenched his jaw, shifted his grip on his gun, and strode off in the opposite direction.

            Bass sighed heavily and looked down at Charlie. “I thought we were taking this slow.”

            Charlie raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Bass, this is slow,” she insisted as she moved to walk towards the back yard. “Uh oh, watch out!” she said sarcastically. “Sebastian Monroe helped me down from the porch!” Charlie smirked and glanced at him over her shoulder. “It’s not like I threw you to the ground and we started making out.”

            Bass jerked to a stop at the mental image. Shit. Forcing himself to snap out of the realm of fantasy, he jogged a bit to catch up with Charlie and then fell into step beside her. “Look, all I’m saying is that we need to be aware of the fact that this . . . development is not going to be met with a whole lot of excitement. Miles had an idea of what was going on a few days ago. We had a little . . . chat. He’s freaked out, Charlotte.”

            “Wait a minute,” Charlie said slowly as she stopped walking and turned to face him. “You and Miles had a chat? About us? And you didn’t mention it? What the hell, Bass?”

            “And when exactly was I going to bring it up?” Bass asked with exaggerated calm. “As I recall, we had just decided to give whatever this is a try,” he said, gesturing between them, “when Miles barged in. We haven’t had a moment to ourselves since. So when were we going to have that particular conversation?”

            “Fine,” Charlie conceded, still put out. “Let’s have it now. What did you two talk about?”

            “Miles is worried that I’m going to hurt you,” Bass told her bluntly. “He thinks that I’m going to fall apart again and drag you down with me. I . . . agreed to keep my distance.”

“That’s why you were acting so strange,” Charlie said softly. She reached up and gently placed a hand on his rough cheek. Bass’ eyes slid closed as he instinctively leaned into her caress. “Bass, look at me,” she ordered quietly. He opened his eyes to find Charlie staring up at him, her face a mask of determination. “I heard a lot of what you said to Miles just now,” she informed him. “And you were right. About everything. But I’m not quite sure you actually believed what you were telling him about us.” Bass moved as if to say something and she shifted her hand to press her fingers against his lips. “No, you need to listen,” she insisted. “You have to really understand that, however worried Miles or my mom or my grandfather might be, I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of you or us or anything that may or may not happen somewhere down the road. I believe in you, OK? Promise that you won’t go all stupid again and think that what’s best for me isn’t you.”

            Bass reached up and grasped the fingers resting on his lips, pressing a kiss to them as he slid his other arm around her waist. “I promise,” he told her solemnly. “You’ll have a hard time getting rid of me now.”

            “Good,” Charlie said, smiling up at him. She slipped her arms around Bass’ waist and rested her cheek against his chest. “God, my family is exhausting,” she sighed as she cuddled up to him.

            “Not going to argue on that one,” Bass replied wryly as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “And you’re not exactly up to your fighting weight.” His hands caressed her back and he pressed a kiss into her hair. “You have to be careful that you’re not pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest, baby.”

            Charlie stiffened and slowly pulled back to look up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “What did you say?”

            Bass frowned, genuinely confused at her reaction. “That you need to rest.”

            “No,” Charlie told him, drawing out the word. “That wasn’t the only thing you said.” She watched him as he thought back, could actually see the wheels whirling in his head, and saw the exact moment he realized what had slipped out. His eyes widened and a faint blush rose in his cheeks as he struggled to respond.

            “Um, I . . . really didn’t mean to . . . you see, I was just –“

            “It’s OK,” Charlie said, grinning widely. “I kind of like it.”

            “Yeah?” Bass asked skeptically, his eyes uncertain as they searched her face.

            “Yeah,” she affirmed. “Though you might want to be careful when you say it. I don’t know if it’s physically possible for the top of Miles’ head to blow off, but that might do it.”

            Bass laughed and took Charlie’s hand, his fingers sliding between hers. “Wanna finish the perimeter check or do you need to go back in the cabin?”

            “Definitely finish the check,” Charlie declared as they began to walk. “I’ve been inside too long. And,” she added impishly, “this’ll give Miles a little more time to stew.”

            “You’re a devil-woman, Charlotte Matheson,” Bass said with mock severity. “God help me.”

            They finished their loop of the house in companionable silence, their fingers linked, though Bass could feel himself growing more agitated with every step. He knew that it might be too soon for this but his feelings for her ran too deep for him to ignore the question that had been pounding in his brain for weeks. He had to know and it was better to get it out of the way now, at the beginning, than try to ignore it and maybe wreck the whole thing. When they had determined that all was secure, Bass led Charlie, who was totally unaware of what was coming, back to the well and gestured for her to sit down.

            “What’s wrong?” she asked as she perched herself on the well cover. “You’re looking really serious again.”

            Bass sat next to her and took her hand in his, frowning down at their joined hands as he played with her fingers. “Charlotte,” he began slowly, “I have to ask you something and . . . I really don’t want to. It’s not going to be an easy question to ask. Or to answer. But I’ve been thinking about it for so long and, now that we’ve happened, I have to know.”

            Charlie stiffened, her spine going rigidly straight, as she realized what he was talking about. “Connor,” she said quietly and pulled her hand away when he nodded silently.

            “Why, Charlotte?” he asked, his voice a painful whisper. “Out of everyone you could have chosen, why my son?”

            Finding it impossible to stay still, Charlie pushed to her feet and began to pace, her hands shoved into her pockets as she studied the ground beneath her feet. The silence grew between them, neither of them able or willing to break it, until Charlie couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “Connor . . . pretty much asked me the same thing,” she admitted stiffly as she stopped to stand in front of him, her eyes still downcast. “And I told him that he was cute and I was bored. But,” she hastened to add, “we both knew that was a lie.”

            “Did you love him?”

            Charlie’s eyes widened and shot to Bass. He was still sitting on the well cover, his shoulders stiff with strain, his face set and expressionless, though Charlie could see the pain he was trying so hard to hide. How was she supposed to answer that? she wondered desperately. If she said yes, she could see him completely freaking out about being in a relationship with a woman who had been in love with his son. If she said no, would he think that she had merely used the son he had so recently lost? Charlie took a deep breath and decided to just answer him honestly.

            “No,” she whispered. “I didn’t.”

            A muscle ticked in Bass’ jaw, an indication of the emotions that were coursing through him, but he simply nodded. “So,” he finally said flatly, “it was just sex.”

            Charlie flinched, both at the tone and the words he had used. “It wasn’t ‘just’ anything,” she replied, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “Bass, you have to understand, I was angry and confused and hurting; I. . . needed to forget for a while. We both did.”

            “Charlotte, there were dozens of men in New Vegas who could have helped you scratch an itch,” Bass reminded her bluntly, crudely, and Charlie felt her temper slipping a bit. “There must have been more to it than that. You said you needed to forget,” he reminded her. “What was it? What reason could there have possibly been for you to choose my son over every other man in New Vegas?”

            Charlie shook her head and clenched her hands into fists to stop their trembling. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said hoarsely. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway.” She looked over at Bass, her eyes desperate and damp. “Talking about what happened . . . it won’t undo it.” Charlie walked towards him until she was standing between his legs and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Can’t we just forget it?”

            Bass leaned forward until his face was pressed against her stomach, his hands gripping her hips. “I can’t,” he told her desperately, his voice tortured. “I’d give my right arm if I could. But I can’t get the image of the two of you out of my head. Maybe if I understood why it happened, I could let it go.” He pulled back and looked up at her. “I swear to God, I’ll never bring it up again. Just talk to me, Charlotte.”

            Charlotte drew a trembling breath and released it slowly. “I’m afraid,” she admitted reluctantly.

            “Don’t be,” Bass insisted. “Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you.”

            “You can’t know that,” Charlie protested. “This is all still so new and . . . Connor was your son and –“

            “Charlotte,” Bass interrupted and rose to stand in front of her, his hands gripping hers tightly. “Whatever it is won’t matter to what’s between us. But please, you have to understand, I need to put this to rest. I have to let it go and I can’t do that unless you tell me why it happened.”

            Charlie stared up at him, her eyes searching his face and what she saw there must have reassured her. “I was . . . dealing with a lot in New Vegas,” she admitted slowly. “You were confusing me pretty much on a daily basis. And I was confusing me even more.” Charlie paused and Bass squeezed her hands in encouragement. “I didn’t like what I was feeling. About you. I wasn’t ready to admit that I was starting to care about you and it was really messing with my head. I just wanted it to stop and I thought –“ She broke off and took a deep breath, her eyes sliding closed as she steeled herself against what she had to say. “I thought if I did something that would pretty much end any possibility of . . . this happening . . . then those feelings would go away and I could go back to hating you in peace.”

            “And what better way of doing that then sleeping with my son,” Bass said, his voice low. He pulled his hands away to rake through his hair and Charlie felt her stomach drop. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, and turned her head to look anywhere but at him.

            “Bass, I’m –“

            “Don’t,” Bass interrupted roughly. Charlotte flinched and turned to move away but his hand shot out and gripped her arm. “If you were thinking of apologizing to me, please don’t.” She looked at him incredulously and found him watching her, his eyes intent.

            “What?” she finally asked, her voice reflecting her shock.

            “I’m not going to lie, Charlotte,” he told her slowly. “I . . . hate that you were with Connor. But,” he hastily added, “that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand why it happened.”

            “Bass, I don’t –“

            “Charlotte, just listen, please,” he said. “The last fifteen years of my life have been nothing but anger, confusion, and self-hatred. Those feelings mess with your mind and you find yourself doing things that make sense at the time but just end up haunting you. So yeah,” he told her, his voice gentle. “I get it. And I’m not going anywhere, OK?”

            Charlie peered intently at Bass, her eyes searching his face in the fading twilight, and what she saw in his face caused her shoulders to slump in relief. She slowly walked back towards him and he rose to face her. Charlie twined her arms around his waist and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat. Bass returned her embrace, lowering his head to rest alongside hers and murmuring wordless comfort into her ear.  Charlie pressed a kiss to the soft skin over his collarbone and tightened her arms around him.

            “Will you really be able to let it go?” she finally asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

            “Already have,” he whispered against the softness of her hair. “I’m grateful you trusted in us enough to tell me the truth, Charlotte. It’s been put to rest and there’s nothing else standing in our way. Well,” he added, the sudden amusement in his voice surprising Charlie. “Nothing except Miles and Rachel.”

            “Please,” Charlie scoffed as she nestled deeper into the warm strength of his body, tears of relief burning behind her closed eyelids, “child’s play.”

Chapter Text

            Bass shifted on his bedroll, wakefulness weaving its way through layers of sleep and forcing to open his eyes to the weak, creeping light of dawn. Stretching, he turned to his side to look across the room, his gaze going to the mattress to find . . . that it was empty. Bass rose quickly from the floor and moved rapidly through the front room into the kitchen, taking great care to tread lightly so as not to wake Gene, who had slept on the couch, or Miles and Rachel, who had taken one of the bedrooms down the hall. Not finding her in the kitchen, he peered through the windows into the back yard. Nothing. He hurried back into the living room and went to the front windows, quickly finding her sitting on the front steps. Sighing in relief, he slipped on his boots and went to join her.

            Charlie was lost in thought as she watched the first pink fingers of dawn thread their way through the deep indigo sky. The early morning air was surprisingly cool and she breathed deep, enjoying the bracing sensation as it filled her lungs. She barely registered the sound of footsteps crossing the porch before she felt a familiar presence behind her as Bass sat down, his legs resting on either side of her. Charlie leaned back against him and reached for his hands, threading her fingers through his as she brought his arms forward to wrap around her. She sighed contentedly, cocooned in his warmth. 

            “What are you doing out here?” Bass murmured as his lips caressed her hair. “You should be asleep.”

            “I’m fine,” Charlie replied. “I was just thinking.”

            “About me?”

            Charlie chucked quietly. “No,” she retorted. “Not everything is about you, Bass.”

            “Well, it should be,” Bass said teasingly as he lowered his head to trace the shell of her ear with his lips. He grinned in triumph when he felt her shiver in reaction.

            “We can’t stay here.”

            Bass sighed and pressed his cheek against hers. “No, we can’t,” he agreed. “As much as I’d love to, we‘ve been too lucky as it –“ He broke off abruptly and straightened, though he kept his arms around her.

            “Bass?” Charlie said questioningly as she turned her head to look up at him. “What is it?”

            “Smoke,” Bass said, his voice clipped and tense as his gaze stayed riveted on the horizon. Charlie’s eyes whipped around and, moments later, widened when she saw the pale wisps of smoke scarring the soft pink of the sky.

            “Patriots?”

            “I don’t know,” Bass replied calmly. “But I’m going to find out.” He stood and held his hand out, helping her to stand and leading her back into the cabin. He left her in the living room as he plunged into the shadowed hallway and threw open the door to Miles’ and Rachel’s bedroom. “Up and at ‘em, Miles,” Charlie heard him say grimly. “Smoke on the horizon. Looks like we’re going to have company.” Moments later Bass returned, Miles trailing behind him as he buttoned his pants, his gun strap slung over his shoulder.

            “Where is it?” Miles asked as he grabbed the binoculars from their resting place on the windowsill.

            “Couple of miles straight ahead,” Bass replied as he followed Miles to the porch. “We need to check it out.”

            Miles peered through the field glasses, straining to see beyond an inconveniently placed rise. “Shit,” he spat. “I can’t make anything out.”

            “No kidding,” Bass told him tersely. “We need to go see what’s going on. Charlotte,” he called quietly and turned to find her standing in the doorway. “You, Gene and Rachel start packing up. Even if it isn’t Patriots, we need to get moving. Might as well do it today.”

            Charlie turned wordlessly and disappeared into the cabin. Miles handed the binoculars to Bass, his eyes never leaving the smoke. “We’ll need to move fast if we’re going to get there before they strike camp,” he said grimly. “As it is, they may be on the move before we reach them.”

            “They might,” Bass agreed as he raised the glasses to his eyes. “It’s a chance we’re going to have to take. We can’t afford to take off without knowing who’s on our ass. If it’s just some schmuck hunting, fine, at least we’ll know. But if it’s Patriots, we need to make sure we’re prepared.”

            “I had hoped we could give Charlie another couple of days,” Miles murmured, his brow creased with worry as he glanced back at the cabin.

            “Yeah, I know,” Bass agreed. “But she told me this morning that we had to go. Charlotte’s about as tough as they come, Miles.”

            “You don’t need to tell me about my niece, Bass,” Miles snapped. “I think I know her pretty well.”

            “For God’s sake, Miles, take it easy,” Bass sighed. “We’ve had the ‘relationship’ conversation. You don’t like that Charlotte and I are together. Fine. Now is not the time to get into a pissing contest over who knows what about her. Can we at least agree on that?”

            Miles abruptly turned on his heel and marched back into the cabin. Bass rolled his eyes and followed him, muttering under his breath about stubborn, thickheaded bastards. Entering the living room, he found that his bedroll had already been squared away and Charlie was filling a couple of canteens from the water bucket. Gene glanced between the two of them and quietly excused himself, muttering something about checking on the horses.

            “You’re going on foot?” she asked as she handed him a replenished canteen.

            “It’s the safest way,” Bass said by way of reply as he hung the canteen strap across his chest. “Slower,” he admitted, “but the horses would be impossible to hide and if we picketed them and they whinnied, they’d give us away.” He grinned up at her as he sat on the couch to load his rifle and gun belt. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Miles and I might be getting up there but we can still run at a pretty decent pace.”

            “Yeah, two old codgers, the both of you,” Charlie told him sarcastically. Suddenly serious, she sat next to him and gripped his wrist tightly. “Promise you’ll be careful,” she demanded urgently.

            Bass’ eyes softened and he raised his free hand, trailing gentle fingertips down her cheek. “Always,” he assured her.

            Miles and Rachel chose just that moment to enter the living room from the hallway but other than a tightening of Rachel’s lips and Miles’ frown becoming more pronounced at the moment they had interrupted, there was no reaction. “Come on, Bass,” Miles said briskly as he walked towards the front door. Charlie reached out a hand to stop him and handed him a canteen. Miles smiled and chucked her under her chin. “Thanks, kid,” he told her and went through the open door, Rachel following after him. Bass rose and held out his hand to Charlie, who rose and linked her fingers with his, her free hand crossing over to wrap around his forearm. Together they walked out to join the others.

            “We’ll be back in a couple hours at the most,” Miles told them confidently. “We’ll get to the top of the next rise and hopefully have a pretty good view of what’s coming.”

            “Be ready to go when we get back,” Bass said, his eyes on Charlie. “No matter who it is, we’re going to need to move.”

            “We’ll be ready,” Charlie replied confidently. Bass squeezed her hand as he smiled down at her, then abruptly turned and walked down the steps. Miles embraced Rachel quickly and followed after him.

            “Come on,” Charlie said to her mother as they both watched the retreating figures grow smaller on the horizon. “They’ll be back before we know it. And God help us if we’re not ready when they get here.”

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            Charlie stood on the porch, her eyes riveted to the rise over which Bass and Miles had disappeared over three hours ago. Her arms were folded across her breasts and her hands were clenched as her tension seemed to mount with each passing minute. Gene had insisted that Rachel wait inside for him, concerned that her anxiety might get to be too much if she stayed outside with Charlie. That was just fine with her, Charlie thought as she paced. She loved her mother but she didn’t have the strength or patience to deal with Rachel right now, not when all she could think about was Bass. God, where was he? She pressed her fingers to her closed eyes, trying to keep from imagining what might be happening to Bass if they had run into Patriots. Was Parker with them? Had Bass and Miles been found? Was Parker torturing them at that very moment? Charlie’s stomach tightened and she felt nausea rise in her throat at the very thought. No, she assured herself harshly. They were fine. They’d be back before she – Charlie ran to the edge of the porch, her eyes straining. Had she seen something? Or was she just hoping that – no! Two figures – two men were moving quickly over the rise towards the cabin.

            “Mom!” Charlie called urgently. “I think it’s them!”

            Rachel rushed out onto the porch, her rifle in one hand and Charlie’s crossbow in the other. “Just in case,” Rachel said as she handed her daughter the weapon. Charlie nodded and gripped the stock firmly.

            Within moments the two men came clearly into view and Charlie gasped with relief. “It’s them.”

            “Thank God,” Rachel murmured, her shoulders slumping as the tension of the afternoon suddenly left her. “Now we just have to hope that they didn’t find any Patriots.”

            The two women made their way down the porch steps and walked quickly towards Miles and Bass, meeting them just beyond the old yard boundary. “Patriots?” Rachel asked urgently, her hand reaching out to grip Miles’.

            “No,” Bass gasped, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his breath.

            “Not sure who they were,” Miles managed as he gulped down air. “Small group. Not heavily armed. We followed them for about an hour to make sure they were heading in a different direction.”

            “And were they?” Charlie asked, her hand moving soothingly over Bass’ heaving shoulders.

            “Due South,” Bass responded as he finally straightened, his breathing evening out. “We’ll keep heading North as far as we can and then turn West. No way in hell are we going through the Plains Nations.”

            “Are the horses ready?” Miles asked as he uncapped his canteen.

            “We have them saddled,” Charlie assured him. “I’ll go get them.”

            “I’ll help you,” Bass volunteered, raising a hand to rest on her lower back as he followed her.

            The two walked in silence to the garage, Bass glancing at Charlotte as they walked. When they finally reached the cool dimness of the garage he reached out and gently grasped her arm, pulling her to a stop.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

            Charlie shook her head and folded her arms across her stomach, her hands gripping her elbows so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I . . . was worried,” she said slowly. “You were gone so long and I kept wondering if they were Patriots and if Parker had you and all I could think of was what he was doing and –“ She broke off abruptly and turned to him instinctively, her arms looping around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace. “I don’t like being afraid, Bass,” she whispered. “And usually I can do something about it. But this time . . . this time all I could do was wait and worry about the two of you.”

            Bass ran his hands gently up and down Charlie’s back, soothing as he returned her embrace. “It’s alright,” he assured her gently. “We’re back and everything is fine.”

            “No, it’s not,” Charlie insisted as she pressed herself closer. “And it won’t be as long as they’re looking for you. I . . . feel sick when I think about seeing Parker again,” she admitted reluctantly, hating herself for her weakness. “But he won’t stop, Bass.”

            “I know,” Bass said, staring blindly over her head. “Charlotte, it’s never going to be easy with me,” he told her softly. “Parker’s death won’t mean an end to trouble. There’s always going to be someone trying to find President Monroe.” He pulled back from her and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. “If that’s not something you can live with, you need to tell me now.”

            Charlie’s eyes searched his and she saw what his words cost him, the fear that the thought of her leaving brought him, the self-hatred he felt for putting her in harm’s way. The love. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt tears prick her eyes. “Idiot,” she said tenderly. “I’m not going anywhere, got it?” She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek and smiled at his look of relief.

            “Got it,” Bass murmured, his eyes dropping to her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to pull back if she wasn’t ready. But Charlie stepped closer to him, her arms tightening around his neck, and raised her lips to his. Her eyes slid closed and then – Oh, God, and then.

            Bass’ lips met hers and Charlie’s last coherent thought was she had never expected them to be so soft. Then his mouth parted over hers and she stopped thinking completely, lost in the incredible sensation of his lips moving, shaping hers. Charlie moaned and tried to deepen the kiss but Bass kept it gentle, his hands slipping under the hem of her tank top and his rough, calloused fingers traversing the soft skin of her back, finally shifting to rest on her waist, spreading so that his thumbs caressed the sides of her breasts. Charlie gasped into his mouth and rose up on her toes to press her hips against his, rolling them sinuously. He growled deep in his throat and suddenly they were moving, Bass pushing her backwards until her back slammed up against the wall of the garage. His fingers found hers and he gripped them tightly, raising their joined hands to bracket her head, pressing them into the wall as he leaned into her. He ravaged her mouth and Charlie reveled in the desperate urgency of his kiss, in the wet, sensuous slide of his tongue as it met hers. His lips left hers and pressed wetly against the overly-sensitized skin of her neck, his tongue darting out to touch the racing pulse of her throat and Charlie felt the strength seep out of her legs, only the press of Bass’ body against hers keeping her upright. “Bass,” she gasped as her neck arched, her head lolling to the side when he found where her neck met her shoulder, biting down gently. In that moment, Charlie would have sworn that stars exploded behind her closed eyelids. His lips glided over her skin, traveling across her cheek until they captured her lips once again. Bass’ hands released hers and tunneled into her hair, angling her head so that he could deepen the kiss and Charlie felt weak and empowered all at once. Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands fisting in his shirt as she moved to get as close to him as possible and yet it still wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

            Bass abruptly pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for breath, still clinging to each other as if they had been fused into one. “Baby, we can’t do this right now,” he whispered harshly, his fingers still buried in the thickness of her hair.

            “I know,” Charlie replied, shaken by what had just happened. “We have to go. But not yet.” She angled her head and pressed her lips to his, her tongue darting out to tangle with his and he groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest as his hands clenched against her scalp. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and she went wild, her hands sliding between them and fumbling at his belt. Bass pulled back and grasped her hands with his own, stopping their movements.

            “We definitely can’t do that,” he told her, his voice thick with passion and his eyes burning into hers.

            “Why not?” she asked breathlessly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes and pressing her breasts against his chest.

            Bass groaned and laughed, a choked sound torn from his throat, and pressed his forehead to the wall behind Charlie, his cheek brushing against hers. “In the first place,” he explained, “our first time is not going to be up against a garage wall.” He pulled back enough to look down into her face, a tender smile flickering across his face. “You deserve more than that.” Charlie bit her kiss-swollen lip and blinked back foolish tears. Bass brushed his nose against hers and dropped a kiss on its freckled tip, a devilish grin splitting his face. “And in the second place, I intend to take my time with you, Charlotte Matheson. And that definitely can’t happen with your family waiting for us to bring the horses out front.”

            “Well,” Charlie drawled as her hands crept beneath his shirt to smooth over the skin just above his waistband, “I guess those are good enough reasons.” She rose up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “At least for now.” Charlie moved around him and gathered up the reins to two of the mounts and began to walk out of the garage. She stopped and looked back to see if Bass was following her. He was standing where she had left him, his back to her, one hand pressed against the wall and the other clenched around the back of his neck. “You know, I can’t take all of these horses by myself,” she reminded him.

            Bass glanced over his shoulder at her and grimaced. “Yeah, I’ll be along in a minute.”

            It took her a minute to understand his predicament. When Charlie finally realized what was wrong, she grinned impishly. “Problem?” she asked sweetly.

            “For the moment.”

            “Want some help?”

            “You stay right there!” Bass almost shouted, twisting at the waist to hold out a restraining hand.

            “I was just going to suggest thinking of something . . . unromantic,” Charlotte told him guilelessly.

            “What did you have in mind?” Bass asked warily, his eyes narrowed as they moved over her deceptively innocent face.

            “My mother. Walking in on us. With a butcher knife.”

            Bass’ eyes widened and he shuddered. “Yep,” he said grimly. “That’ll do it.”

            Charlie’s laughter trailed behind her as she led the horses out of the garage.

Chapter Text

            Bass had been sent to ride point while the rest of the group dismounted and walked their horses, the weary animals desperately needing a respite from the breakneck speed their riders had demanded of them since their departure from the cabin. Charlie found herself constantly scanning the horizon in search of Bass and trying not to think of the last time she had ridden point, when she had fallen into the hands of the Patriots and their sadistic interrogator. So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Rachel moving to walk next to her until her mother spoke.

            “Charlie.”

            She started slightly and looked over to find Rachel walking abreast of her, a troubled expression on her face. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Charlie asked, concerned.

            Rachel studied her for a moment longer, her brow slightly furrowed in thought. “I couldn’t help but notice,” she finally said, “that you and Monroe looked a bit . . . disheveled when you came out of the garage.”

            Charlie raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, calmly returning her mother’s gaze and waiting for her to continue.

            “What happened in there, Charlie?”

            “OK, first of all, that’s between Bass and me,” Charlie replied firmly. “And secondly, you don’t need me to tell you any more than I need you to tell me what’s going on with you and Miles.”

            Rachel flinched and at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed, though she held stubbornly to her original point. “Charlie, whatever is between Miles and me, Bass is a different story. I don’t want you involved with someone who –“

            “Who what, Mom?” Charlie interjected harshly. “Cares for me? Makes me feel safe and happy and needed? And who makes me what to do the same for him? Because that’s what he does for me. I’m not going to give that up and please, don’t do the whole ‘I’m your mother and know best’ thing or ask me to choose because I promise you won’t like what happens.”

            Rachel stared at her daughter, her eyes wide and dark in her suddenly pale face. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You think you’re in love with him.”

            Charlie paled and turned away from her mother’s incredulous gaze. “You’re being ridiculous.”

            “Oh, honey, I’d give just about anything in the world if I thought that was true,” Rachel told her resignedly. “But I don’t think it is.”

            “Mom, I care about him, OK? But this thing between us is really new and, yeah, we both know it’s kind of messed up. We need each other but . . . I don’t think that’s love.”

            “How would you know?” Rachel asked quietly as she took in her daughter’s profile. “Charlie, in spite of everything you’ve seen and done since your dad was killed, you’re still so inexperienced.” Charlie’s head whipped around and her mouth opened to retort but Rachel cut her off. “No, listen to me,” she insisted. “You know how to fight and hunt, how to kill. You’ve learned how to survive in this awful world that your father and I helped to create.” Rachel’s voice broke and she shook her head, blinking back tears as she fought to control the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm her. “There’s more to living than just survival,” she finally continued. “I’m not naïve enough to think that you’ve never . . . been with anyone.” Charlie surprised herself by blushing but she kept her eyes on her mother, shocked at what she was hearing. “But sex and love don’t always go together. There’s more to love than that. There’s tenderness, selflessness, compassion, understanding. Wanting more for that person than you want for yourself. Even when you’re fighting or you feel like you can’t be in the same room with them, those things never go away.” Rachel’s eyes drifted to Miles and he, as if feeling her gaze on his back, turned and smiled at her over his shoulder, the look that passed between them conveying an intimacy that struck Charlotte to the core. Rachel turned back to Charlie and she was surprised to see tears in her mother’s eyes. “If you have that with Bass –“ Rachel stopped and shrugged helplessly. “All I’ve ever wanted for you is that you’re safe and happy. I don’t know if any of us will ever be safe again. But Charlie, if he makes you happy . . . I won’t do anything to get in the way. I’ll kill him if he hurts you,” she added swiftly, her voice taking on a diamond-hard edge. “I mean that. But this is your choice. I’ll respect whatever decision you make.”

            Charlie swallowed thickly and struggled through her shock to try to think of something to say. Finally she simply nodded and lowered her head to watch the ground as it passed under her feet. Rachel moved a little closer and reached a hand out to gently brush it over Charlie’s hair. “It’s going to be OK, Charlie,” she assured her quietly.

            Charlie turned to look at her mother and suddenly she was hugging her, arms wrapped tight around her. Charlie felt Rachel’s jerk of surprise and then she was hugging her daughter back, their embrace conveying love, understanding, comfort and, most importantly, forgiveness. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered hoarsely.

            Rachel stepped back and gently cupped Charlie’s cheek in her hand. “I love you, Charlie,” she told her.

            “Love you, too.”

            Rachel smiled, her fingers brushing softly over her daughter’s cheek, and stepped away, allowing Charlie to walk ahead of her. Gene moved up to stand next to Rachel, his eyes studying Charlie before they moved to his daughter. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. “That can’t have been easy for you,” he murmured.

            Rachel released a shuddering breath and leaned into her father. “It wasn’t,” she admitted. “But it would have been harder to have lost her. I’m nowhere near happy about this,” she added quietly, not wanting Charlie to catch their conversation. “Out of all the men left on earth, I would have never chosen Sebastian Monroe to be with my daughter. I still have to fight the impulse to murder him in his sleep. But everything all of you have said over the past few days . . . “ She paused and shrugged. “Damn it, you’re not wrong. It’s going to take me a while to get used to this new reality of ours.”

            Gene smiled down at his daughter and tightened his arm around her. “I know, honey,” he acknowledged. “I’m proud of you.”

             “Thanks, Dad,” Rachel smiled, turning to look up at him. “I know I don’t say this enough but I’m so glad you’re here.”

            Gene dropped a light kiss on Rachel’s brow. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

            “Rider’s coming!” Miles shouted and the tiny column immediately halted, weapons at the ready. A voice drifted across the distance and Charlie slumped in relief. It was Bass.

            “What did you find?” Miles asked as Bass drew near the group.

            Bass reined in and dismounted, wiping his forearm across his damp brow. Charlie handed him her canteen and he smiled his thanks before raising it to his lips. He took long, deep gulps of water before lowering it and sighing in relief. “I actually found an old state highway sign,” he told them. “Damndest thing. I was just riding alone and suddenly there it was – state highway 20. We’re about seven miles from Sweetwater.”

            “That’s great!” Gene exclaimed. “We can get actual supplies! We need more honey and if we can find a doctor in town I can try to get –“

            “Hold up there, Gene,” Miles interjected. “Towns mean people and that can mean Patriots. We don’t want to risk running into one of their patrols.” He turned back to Bass and jerked his head towards Sweetwater. “Did you see any patrols while you were out?”

            “Nothing,” Bass answered immediately. “No traffic on the road, either. That doesn’t mean anything,” he admitted, “but if they had a camp near the town, you’d expect to see something.”

            “Should we risk it?” Miles asked.

            Bass glanced at the other three, his eyes lingering on Charlie, before he turned back to Miles. “I say we keep riding, try to get within five miles of town, find a place to camp tonight, and do some scouting as soon as it gets dark. If we see anything we don’t like, we can cut off and go another way. Five miles isn’t much but it’ll give us enough of a cushion if we see Patriots.”

             “Sounds good to me,” Miles agreed. He glanced at the sky and found the sun was well into its evening descent. “We’d better get moving if we want to cover two miles before dark and find a place to spend the night.” He looked over at Charlie and his eyes narrowed in concern. “You OK for this, kid?” he asked.

             “I’m fine, Miles,” she assured him as she swung up into the saddle, affectionate exasperation in her voice. “I promise I’m not going to break.”

            Bass settled into his saddle and nudged his horse to stand next to Charlie’s. She glanced over at him and smiled but Bass saw a hint of uncertainty in her eyes and frowned. Before he could say anything, they were moving and the opportunity was lost.

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            Charlie reached to drag the saddle from her horse’s back and suddenly other hands were there to take care of it for her. She looked over her shoulder and found Bass behind her, the saddle resting on one of his forearms.

            “What are you doing?” she asked, a little surprised at his sudden appearance.

            “Your wound is still healing,” he replied simply, shifting the saddle to rest on his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to strain it by trying to deal with the saddle on your own.”

            “Bass, I could have done –“

            He stepped close to her and wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin under her jaw. “Baby, a little over a week ago I had to help hold you down while Gene cut away part of your shoulder and then burned it shut with a hunting knife so you didn’t bleed to death. I know that you can take care of yourself but . . . let me do this, OK?”

            Charlie smiled up at him and rested a hand against his chest. “OK,” she murmured, her eyes soft as they gazed into his. Bass nudged her chin up and lowered his head to press his lips gently against hers. Unlike their passionate embrace in the garage, this was a tender exploration, lips meeting lightly, clinging, and Charlie sighed as she moved closer, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

             Bass pulled back slightly and raised his hand to brush his thumb across her damp lips. “Was everything alright earlier?” he asked abruptly, his eyes intent on her face. “When I got back from scouting I thought you were acting like something was bothering you.”

            Charlie dropped her eyes from his and focused on one of the buttons of his collar. “Everything was fine,” she replied as her fingers moved to fiddle with the button. “Mom and I just had a little talk and –“ She shrugged, suddenly unsure as to how to proceed.

             “Did Rachel upset you?” Bass asked tersely, a hint of ire in his voice.

             “No,” Charlie insisted immediately, her eyes snapping back to his. “I was just surprised by what she said.”

             “Which was?” Bass promoted when Charlie didn’t elaborate.

             “She . . . she said that she wasn’t going to interfere with us,” Charlie said, forcing herself not to break eye contact as she told him the half-truth. “That she was going to respect my choice. It just threw me a little.”

             “While I’m real glad to hear that, are you sure that was all it was?” Bass asked as he peered down at her.

             “Bass, considering the way she reacted to this whole thing, I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

             “Oh, that’s plenty,” Bass admitted wryly. “But I’ve noticed you haven’t actually answered my question.”

             “Anything else was just between Mom and me,” Charlie insisted, gentling her reproach by rising on her tiptoes to press a quick peck against his lips.

             “Alright,” Bass agreed, though Charlie could tell he was a bit reluctant to leave the subject behind. “Miles and I are going to head out as soon as it gets dark,” he told her, casting an eye at the rapidly setting sun. “Don’t light a fire. If there are Patriots around, we don’t want to risk drawing their attention.”

             “How will you find us?” Charlie asked, her brows creased in concern.

             “There’ll be a full moon tonight,” Bass assured her as he combed his fingers through her hair. “Plenty of light to see by.”

             “Bass!”

             He turned to find Miles standing a few feet away, holding the reins of both of their horses. Miles jerked his head at Bass. “Come on, man, we need to get going.”

             “Gimme a second,” he called back and grinned when Miles rolled his eyes as he shook his head. Bass looked down at Charlie and tightened his fingers in her hair, bringing her lips up to his for a quick but intense kiss. “We’ll be back soon,” he assured her as he walked away, stopping to drop her saddle next to Rachel’s and then joined Miles. Charlie watched, her heart in her eyes, as he mounted his horse and rode away.

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            Charlie sat propped up against her saddle, her crossbow across her lap as she took her turn at keeping watch. The full moon had risen hours ago and spilled its gentle light across the open terrain. She glanced at her two companions, the stillness of their forms and their even breathing indicating that they were deeply asleep. Charlie shifted and adjusted her grip on the stock of her weapon as she tried not to dwell on all of the trouble Miles and Bass could have encountered on their way to and from Sweetwater. The problem was that, if she wasn’t thinking about them, she was thinking about what Rachel had said – that she was in love with Bass. Charlie sighed as her head fell back and she stared blindly up at the stars. Rachel had been right about one thing, she admitted to herself. She hadn’t exactly been emotionally invested in any of her past “relationships”, if they could even be called that. Except for Jason. Charlie’s eyes darkened with pain as she allowed her thoughts to drift to the boy she had cared about and been forced to kill. Had she loved Jason? Had she felt for him everything her mother had described? She had cared for him, had wanted to be with him and fight alongside him. But had it been love or the need to make a connection with another human being in a terrible situation? Charlie honestly didn’t know. And they really hadn’t had the opportunity to see how much deeper the relationship could go. With Bass, though . . . in spite of all the reasons she should hate him, in spite of everything that should keep them apart and how quickly they had come together, he dominated her thoughts. In the space of just a few months, the way she saw him and the way she felt about him had completely changed. And, Charlie thought wryly, the physical attraction was beyond anything she had experienced before. She had damn near gone up in flames in that garage. She was willing to admit that she needed him and cared about him. She could admit that she wanted him. Could she take the next step and admit that she was in love with Sebastian Monroe? The sound of rapidly approaching horses snapped her from her reverie and she leapt to her feet, crossbow at the ready.

            “Mom!” she hissed, keeping her eyes trained on the darkness. She heard Rachel throw off her blanket and suddenly she was next to her, a rifle in her hands. The moonlight soon revealed two familiar figures and Charlie released a sigh of relief. Miles and Bass rode into camp and dismounted, immediately leading the horses over to where the other mounts were picketed and started to unhitch the saddles.

            “What did you find?” Charlie asked as she and Rachel walked over to the two men.

            “No sign of any Patriots,” Miles replied wearily as he slid the saddle from his horse’s back. “Good size population in town from what we could see. Maybe a couple hundred people. We can try to resupply but Bass and I want to get in and out as quickly as possible.”

            “It makes me nervous to think about staying in a town that size for too long,” Bass interjected has he hefted his saddle to his shoulder, gripping it by the horn. “The Patriots are bound to find it eventually and we don’t want to be there when they do. We can head in tomorrow morning. Not too early. We don’t want to look suspicious.”

            “Come on,” Rachel said as she reached out and wrapped her hand around Miles’ bicep. “We can figure the details out in the morning. You have to be beat.” She led Miles towards the camp and Charlie looked over at Bass, holding her hand out towards him. He linked their fingers and fell into step beside her. He jerked to a stop when he saw his blanket spread out next to hers.

            “Um . . . I don’t know if this is such a great idea,” Bass said quietly, glancing over at Miles and Rachel.

            “Bass, it’s fine,” Charlie insisted as she sat down and forced him to follow her. “Mom is taking the next watch, I’m tired, you’re exhausted. Not exactly the most romantic situation. I think we’ll be OK. As long as you can control yourself,” she added with a cheeky grin as she lay down on the bedroll.

            Bass knelt on his blanket and grinned back as he set his saddle at the top of his bedroll. “I make no promises,” he replied seriously. He settled himself on the bedroll and spread the blankets over himself and Charlie, reaching out and snagged her around the waist. Charlie moved willingly into his embrace, her back pressed tightly against his chest as his arms wrapped around her. Bass buried his face in her hair and sighed contentedly. Before either of them realized it, they had drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

            Charlie stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled as she took in her present situation. Sometime during the night, she and Bass had rearranged themselves until Charlie’s head was pillowed on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. One of Bass’ legs had slipped between hers and she tightened the grip of her knee where it rested across his hip. All in all, not a bad way to start the day, she thought dreamily. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the curve of his neck; Bass’ arms tightened around her and he sighed. “Morning,” he murmured, his lips moving against her cheek.

            “Hmmm,” Charlie replied, unwilling to disrupt the warm, blissful cocoon she found herself in. She felt Bass move and glanced up to find him craning his neck to look around the camp.

            “Who else is up?” Charlie whispered.

            “Gene’s awake,” came the quite reply. “Looks like he took over the watch from Rachel. But,” he added mischievously, “it also looks like he’s going to make another sweep of the perimeter.” Bass turned back to Charlie, and grinned. “Wanna make the most of it?”

            Charlie chuckled and slid her fingers into Bass’ blond curls, bringing his mouth down to her and she felt herself melt at the first touch of his lips. Forget the blackout; she felt jolts of electricity shooting through her body straight down to her toes and she moaned softly. Their lips moved together languorously, mouths fused as their tongues met and retreated in a sensuous dance. Bass ran his hand along Charlie’s leg, pulling it higher over his hip and she gasped, taking advance of the brief separation to nip at his lower lip, soothing the brief sting with the soft brush of her tongue. Bass groaned and shifted until he was laying half on top of her and Charlie reveled in the press of his weight as his lips reclaimed hers. Charlie felt engulfed in heat as the kiss turned forceful, Bass’ fingers digging into her hips as he leaned more fully into the cradle of her body. Charlie’s hands trailed down Bass’ sides and inched under his shirt, her nails lightly scoring his back, taught skin stretched over flexing muscle. Bass grunted and moved a hand to gently cup her jaw, his thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth wider to the penetration of his tongue. Just as Charlie was wondering how she was going to tear Bass’ clothes off without breaking contact with him, their passionate little bubble was pierced by the loud, almost theatrical coughing of her grandfather.

Bass groaned and rolled off of Charlie, coming to rest on his back as he flung an arm across his eyes. “Damn it,” he muttered.

Charlie surprised herself by giggling as she shifted to rest against Bass’ side and nestled her head against his shoulder, her lips gently caressing his throat.

“Sun’ll be up any minute,” Gene called with overblown geniality. “Miles, Rachel, let’s go! Charlie and . . . everyone, time to get moving!”

Bass chuckled in spite of himself and tunneled his fingers into Charlie’s hair, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and sat them both up. “Back to reality,” he murmured. Charlie smiled up at him and stood, putting a little extra swing in her hips as she walked towards her grandfather. She heard Bass chuckle behind her and she grinned. Nope, she thought to herself. Not a bad way at all.

Chapter Text

            Bass reined in just within sight of Sweetwater and the rest of the group caught up with him. “Alright, don’t forget to keep it tight while we’re in town. Don’t give any unnecessary details. But,” he added, “they shouldn’t ask too many questions. People have gotten used to playing things pretty close to the vest since the blackout. Stick to the main street or as close to it as you can – you’re not there for recon. Find a boardinghouse and I’ll meet you on the other side of town tomorrow.”

            “Wait a minute!” Charlie declared hotly, nudging her horse to turn so that she could fully face Bass. “What do you mean ‘you’ll meet us’? Aren’t you going to come with us?”

            “No way,” Bass replied immediately. “I don’t care if there are Patriots there or not. I’m not running the risk that someone might recognize me and then we’d all be sunk.”

            “Don’t be an idiot,” Charlie snapped. “What are you going to do, stay awake and keep watch all night? That’d be just great. You’d be exhausted tomorrow and then what good would you be? And how would anyone recognize you? We’re so far outside your old borders, the likelihood of anyone knowing you is –“

            “Charlotte, this isn’t up for discussion,” Bass told her calmly.

            “Wanna bet?” she shot back, her cheeks flushed with anger. “You’re not the President anymore, Bass, you don’t get to just make these decisions on your own.”

            “Charlie, Bass and I discussed this last night and –“ Miles began but Charlie cut him off.

            “Oh, really?” she interjected, her voice going cold as she glared at Bass. “You and Miles made this decision? That’s just great.”

            Bass dismounted and tossed his reign to Miles, his face stony. “Charlotte, a word?” He didn’t wait for her but walked several yards away from the group, his angry strides eating up the distance. Charlie was tempted to just stay on her horse but dismounted, her movements still a bit slow and stiff because of the wound in her leg, and made her way over to Bass.

            “What the hell, Charlotte?” Bass asked tensely, his voice pitched low to keep the conversation just between the two of them.

            “I could ask you the same thing,” she hissed back, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts.

            “Because I decided not to stay in town?” he asked incredulously. “Charlotte, it would be too dangerous for me to go in with all of you.”

            “So you’d rather put yourself in danger by camping by yourself, no one to watch your back, on the outside chance that someone thousands of miles from the old Republic might recognize you?” Charlie shook her head, shoulders hunched. “No.”

            “Charlotte, Miles and I decided –“

            “And that’s another thing!” Charlie interjected hotly as she glared at him. “You talked to Miles about this but not to me? What’s that all about?”

            “Of course I talked to Miles!” Bass exclaimed, forgetting to keep his voice down. “We’ve relied on each other pretty much all our lives! How is it such a shock that we discussed this?”

            “Bass, as strange as it might seem to other people, we’re supposed to be together,” Charlie replied, allowing some of the hurt she felt to show in her eyes. “So what do you expect me to think when I find out you’ve decided to break off from us – from me – and didn’t feel the need to speak to me about it first?”

            Bass stood silently for a moment, his shoulders rigid, before the tension left him and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “I’m just . . .” He paused and spread his hands in a shrug. “I’m not used to there being anyone else to go to about this stuff.” Bass walked over to Charlie and gently ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I guess I’m going to have to change the way I do things, huh?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie replied as she reached up to link her fingers with his. “You really are.”

            “OK,” Bass murmured as he leaned forward to press his lips to her brow. “But let’s make this quick, huh?”

            “Fine,” Charlie shot back. “You’re not staying out on your own.”

            “If anyone recognizes me, Charlotte, you’re all going to pay for it,” he replied immediately, his eyes tormented. “Baby, you’ve suffered enough because of me.” His gaze dropped to her shoulder and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “I’m not going to run any unnecessary risks with your safety.”

            “Then I’m staying out with you.”

            “You are not,” Bass said firmly. “You’ll be safer and more comfortable in town.”

            “You can’t stop me,” Charlie retorted as she shook her blonde curls over her shoulder. “Go ahead,” she encouraged smartly. “Stay outside of town. I’ll find you.” She gripped the front of his shirt and peered up at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “You’re talking about how much my safety means to you,” Charlie said urgently. “Why would you think that yours is any less important to me? I couldn’t stand thinking of you out there by yourself. What if the Patriots found you? Or a war clan? What if something happens and we can’t find each other?” She shook her head, never taking her eyes from his. “No,” she insisted. “We’re all sticking together.”

            “What would you suggest?” Bass asked as his arms twined around her, hands linking at the small of her back.

            “Stay here until dark,” Charlie told him. “I’ll meet you at the edge of town and take you wherever we’re staying. We’ll sneak in a back way and you’ll be in our room before anyone knows we’re there.”

            “Our room?” Bass repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

            “Oh, please,” Charlie scoffed, her fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt to lightly brush his chest. Bass’ arms tightened around her and she grinned. “You think if we find a boarding house with beds, pillows, clean sheets, and locks on the door that I’m going to be sleeping alone?”

            “Why, Charlotte Matheson,” he murmured, his voice low, “I’m shocked.”

            “No, you’re not,” Charlie replied, her voice taking on some sass as she extricated herself from his grasp. “But you will be.” She started back towards the group and glanced over her shoulder to find Bass standing exactly where she had left him. “The sooner we get there –“ she called and broke off when he jogged to join her.

            “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, his voice low and rough with arousal. He slid an arm across her back and his hand found its way into her back pocket, cupping the curve of her butt and massaging it firmly.

            “Mmmmm,” Charlie sighed, leaning heavily into his side. “Not if we do it right.”

            “Bass, would you do me a favor and get your hand off of my niece’s ass?” Miles growled as they neared the others. Charlie bit her lip to keep from smiling and slowly stepped away from Bass as he raised both hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

            “I assume the plans have changed?” Gene asked, anxious to change the topic as quickly as possible.

            “I’ll be waiting outside of town until dark,” Bass informed them as he took his reins from a still-glowering Miles. “Charlotte will come to meet me and sneak me into wherever it is you’re staying.”

            Miles frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Charlie spoke up first. “It’ll be fine, Miles,” she assured him as she prepared to mount her horse. Bass moved to her side and set his hands at her waist, lifting her until her foot caught the stirrup so she didn’t strain her wounded leg. Charlie settled into the saddle and smiled her thanks at him.

            “Charlie, I don’t think it will be as simple or straightforward as you think,” Miles warned, concern evident in his voice. “If he’s recognized –“

            “What if you’re recognized, Miles?” Charlie asked calmly. “You were as much as part of the Republic as he was. And probably almost as popular.”

            “The Patriots didn’t torture you to get to Miles,” Rachel said harshly.

            “Don’t, Rachel,” Bass snapped as he maneuvered his horse to the side of the group. “There’s nothing more important to me than Charlotte’s safety,” he assured her in a calmer tone. “If I didn’t think this could work, I wouldn’t have agreed to it no matter what she said to me.” Bass leaned closer to Rachel and lowered his voice. “So relax before you say something you can’t take back.”

            Rachel pressed her lips together, her face flushed with annoyance, but she nodded tightly and turned away. Miles looked as though he might say something but merely shook his head and lightly kicked his horse’s sides. The little convoy began to move towards Sweetwater while Charlie lingered for a moment with Bass.

            “I’ll meet you just after dark,” Charlie told him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “And not a second later.”

            “Oh, I’ll be here,” Bass assured her as he reached out to grip the back of her neck, pulling her towards him. “You can count on that.” He pressed his lips to hers in a brief, heated kiss and then released her, grinning as she cantered off to join her family. Sunset couldn’t come fast enough.

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            Charlie rode next to Gene as they followed Rachel and Miles down the main street in Sweetwater. In spite of the fact that the old blacktop was cracked and buckled, the broad avenue was actually quite charming. Turn of the 20th century brick storefronts lined the street and, in spite of the blackout, it seemed as though the remaining residents had done their best to maintain their town. Most of the buildings still had glass in their windows and Charlie was shocked into doing a double take when she saw an actual café sandwiched between a bar and what looked to be a dry goods store.

            Miles directed his horse towards the far side of the street and pulled up in front of a makeshift hitching post. Dismounting, he waited for the others to join him before he turned to enter the store. Charlie followed him, stepping into the cool, sun-dappled interior of the building. Large barrels lined one side of the room and a row of shelves bisected the remaining space, small burlap bags neatly lining each shelf. While Miles chatted with the storeowner, Charlie wandered along the aisle, eyes drifting from one section to the next. A couple of loaves of fresh bread, oatmeal, salt, flour, sorghum. She picked up a thick round disc, about twice the width of her hand, which was covered tightly in waxed cotton and turned it over experimentally. Was it . . . She blinked in surprise. It was! Cheese! And next to that were several small bags labeled as beef jerky! Charlie felt her mouth begin to water. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten any meat other than venison or wild boar. She set the waxed disc down regretfully and sighed as she took a last look at the beef jerky. They must cost the earth, she thought mournfully.

            “Find anything?”

            Charlie turned to find Miles standing behind her, a knowing smile on his face.

            “They have cheese, Miles!” she told him, excitement leaching into her voice in spite of herself. “And beef jerky! When was the last time we saw anything like that?”

            “Been a while,” Miles replied thoughtfully. “Might be nice to treat ourselves, don’t you think?”

            “It wouldn’t be very practical,” Charlie said reluctantly. “The cheese would go bad so quickly.”

            “That’s assuming there would be anything left,” Miles replied. “As I recall, your mother loves cheese. And so did you, when you were little.”

            “I can’t believe you remember that,” Charlie said, her eyes wide with surprise.

            “Of course I remember,” Miles said, teasingly indignant. “You were my little buddy whenever I came home on leave. I did everything I could to spoil you rotten. And since I have a chance to spoil you a little now, I think I will.” Miles reached past her and picked up one of the wheels of cheese and two bags of beef jerky. “I think that’ll do it, don’t you?”

            Charlie linked her arm with his and butted her shoulder against his. “Thanks, Miles,” she said gruffly.

            Miles nudged her back and walked with her towards the counter. “Any time, kid.”

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            By the time they left the store, they had purchased flour, salt, sorghum, oatmeal, salt pork, bacon, candles, a precious little bottle of kerosene, a small bag of pecans, dried fruit, and honey. There were even some fresh carrots and potatoes. The supplies were loaded into burlap sacks and tied to the saddle of their extra horse. And, to everyone’s relief, the shopkeeper had given them directions to a boarding house – a sprawling red brick Victorian house – just a couple of blocks away. When they arrived they found that, not only were there rooms available, but the landlady was thrilled to have tenants, even if it was only for one night. Though it came as no surprise to Charlie, apparently Sweetwater wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with visitors at the moment.

            Charlie stood in the doorway to her room and allowed her gaze to wander. Though the house had seen better days – and really, what or who hadn’t? – the old hardwood floors gleamed in the fading sunlight and the colorful hand-braided rugs were swept clean. The high ceilings were bordered by intricate crown molding, the walls had been whitewashed somewhat recently as they were still brightly white, and there was even a marble-trimmed fireplace with a mirror hanging above it. The glass was slightly cracked but it was intact enough for Charlie to see that she desperately needed to ask for some water to clean off the dust. And then there was the bed – the big, old-fashioned iron bedstead had been pushed up against a wall opposite the fireplace and looked so comfortable that Charlie couldn’t help herself. She flopped onto the mattress and sighed as her head sank into the soft down pillows. OK, so the mattress sagged a bit in the middle and the linens were a little threadbare, but the room was clean, comfortable . . . and private.

            Charlie glanced over at one of the two large windows and pushed herself off the bed to inspect them. The first one looked out over the slightly bedraggled front yard. It was a nice enough view, but certainly not her favorite because the other window faced the alley, which worked out perfectly. As Charlie tried to open it, her foot caught in something and she stumbled. Swallowing a curse, she glanced down and grinned. It was a very basic fire escape – a rope with evenly placed knots tied along its length that could be lowered out of the window to allow the room’s occupant to escape the flames. It couldn’t have been better – a rear facing window AND a rope! Now all she had to do was wait for dark. Well, that and have a bath.

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            Freshly bathed and wearing her cleanest set of clothes, Charlie knocked on her mother’s room and was unsurprised when Miles answered the door.

            “Hey, kid,” he greeted her. “Getting ready to . . . go for your walk?”

            “Yeah, I wanted to let you know before I left,” Charlie replied casually. “I shouldn’t be gone long. Is Mom awake?”

            “I’m here,” Rachel replied as she came up behind Miles. He stepped to the side and Rachel moved forward, leaning against the doorjamb. “Heading out?”

            “I’ll be back soon,” Charlie told her in response. “Don’t worry, OK?”

            “Charlie, both you and I know that isn’t going to happen,” Rachel told her drily. “I’m  your mother. I’ll always worry. Maybe someday – in a very, very long time – you’ll understand what I mean.” She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Charlie’s ear in a somewhat uncharacteristically maternal gesture. “Be safe, honey. And let me know the minute you get back. I’ll tell Grandpa to expect company.”

            “Mom, you don’t need to do that.”

            “Grandpa has to know when Bass is going to –“

            “No, Mom, listen to me. Bass isn’t going to be with Grandpa, OK?”

            Rachel’s jaw clenched as she allowed herself to realize what Charlie was telling her. “Charlie, no,” she whispered tightly. “You can’t commit yourself like that to Sebastian Monroe. Honey, I don’t think you’re anywhere near ready to –“

            “No, Mom, you’re the one who isn’t ready,” Charlie interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. “And this isn’t a debate. I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t mentioned telling Grandpa, but that kind of forced it out of me. You’ve been so great the last couple of days,” she told her mother almost imploringly. “Please, just trust that I know what I’m doing.” Charlie made a point to look over Rachel’s shoulder at Miles, who was sitting on the bed, reclining against the headboard. “Kind of like I trust you.”

            Rachel pressed a hand against her forehead and closed her eyes. “Charlie, it’s not about trust,” she insisted. “At least, about trusting you. It’s him that . . . I’m not ready to trust him like that with you.”

            “Well, I am,” Charlie replied, a hint of steel in her voice. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll stop by when I get back.” Without waiting for an answer, she whirled on her heel and strode down the hallway, Rachel gazing after her with tears in her eyes.

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            Charlie held the horse down to a walk until she passed the edge of town and then urged him into a trot. As much as she wanted to gallop to Bass, she didn’t want to miss him in the barely-illuminated darkness. Her eyes continually swept the flat landscape as her mount’s long legs ate up the ground. Suddenly a shape emerged from the blackness and Charlie reined her mount in.

            “Bass!”

            “The sun never took so long to set,” Bass said sincerely as he rode up next to her. “You found a boarding house?”

            “Just a couple of blocks past Main Street,” Charlie answered. “And my room has a window facing the alley. There’s a rope fire escape, so we don’t have to try sneaking you through the house. It’s perfect.”

            “That’s great,” Bass replied. “Any chance for something to eat when we get there?”

            “More than a chance,” Charlie replied a little smugly. “I had the landlady send some food up before I left. And,” she said, drawing the word out tantalizingly, “I had her refill the bath.”

            “Are you serious?” Bass exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

            “Yep,” Charlie told him, grinning. “I told her I wanted to do some laundry after my ‘walk’.” It should be ready and waiting when we get back.”

            “Have I ever told you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” Bass asked reverently.

            “I always just thought it went without saying,” Charlie replied, her tone mockingly serious. “But you can tell me if it would make you feel better.”

            “I can think of a couple other things that would make me feel better,” Bass murmured, his gaze intent on hers.

            “Well, let’s see what we can do about that,” Charlie replied, a little breathless at the heat in his eyes, and tapped her horse into a canter, Bass right beside her.

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            Charlie walked briskly up the front steps of the boarding house and slipped through the front door. “Hello, Mrs. Walsh,” she said as she walked past the landlady and headed for the stairs.

            “Miss King!”

            Charlie turned to face the woman and raised her brows in silent inquiry.

            Mrs. Walsh, who with her perfect profile and intricate twist of snow white hair resembled nothing so much as an aged cameo, approached her, a smile brightening her lined face. “I wanted to let you know that my grandson just finished refilling the tub for your laundry,” she said cheerfully. “I left a roast beef sandwich and some cookies next to the bed.”

            “A beef sandwhich?” Charlie asked, amazed. “I saw some jerky at the store but you have it fresh?”

            “Oh, honey, this is cattle country,” Mrs. Walsh chuckled. “Beef’s not quite as common as it used to be but there are a few ranchers around here that still have a good amount of stock.”

            “Who could we go to for some fresh beef before we leave?” Charlie asked, her mouth almost watering at the thought. “It’d be a nice change from living off what we find.”

            “Merle Jacobson is coming in tomorrow with a delivery,” Mrs. Walsh told her brightly. “I’ll sell you some of what he brings me.”

            “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Walsh, thank you,” Charlie said sincerely. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

            “Not a bit,” the landlady told her. “Now you go on up and enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Charlie bolted up the stairs, sure that by now Bass must have snuck into the stable and taken care of his horse. She entered her room and went immediately to the rear-facing window, opened it, and leaned out, her eyes searching the darkness for Bass.

            “Bass!” she whispered. “Bass!”

            “Shhh!” he responded, creeping around the corner of the house to stand beneath the window. “I’m here! Drop the rope.”

            Charlie unfurled the rope and sent it down to him. Moments later it stretched taut and she watched as Bass made his way with impressive ease up the side of the house before hoisting himself through the window.

            “Not bad,” Charlie said admiringly as he dusted off his hands.

            “Damn right,” Bass retorted, taking in the room. “Hey, this is nice.” He sauntered over to the bed and sat down, bouncing experimentally. “Yes, very nice,” he said, grinning, and shot her a flirtatious wink.

            “Smooth, Bass,” Charlie drawled, a slight blush staining her cheeks. “I’m going to go let Mom know I’m back. The bath,” she said, jerking her head towards a closed door, “is through there. I left the candles lit and there’s a dry towel. Your sandwich is by the bed.” Charlie moved towards the door and glanced back at him. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

            Charlie walked into the hallway, pulled the door shut behind her and leaned against it when her legs suddenly went boneless. She exhaled deeply and pressed a hand to her stomach, where a flock of butterflies had suddenly taken up residence. It was going to happen, Charlie thought dimly. She was going to sleep with Bass tonight. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. It wasn’t like it was her first time. But, she admitted to herself, she somehow knew that being with Bass was going to be different. Better. And, if the kisses they had shared was anything to go by, a hell of a lot hotter. Suddenly the butterflies were gone and a wonderful tension took their place, her abdomen clenching in anticipation of his touch. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Charlie quickly locked the door, just in case Mrs. Walsh or her grandson tried to get in, and walked the few steps to her mother and Miles’ room. She knocked briskly and the door opened almost immediately.

            “Thank God,” Rachel breathed. “I was getting worried.”

            “I’m fine,” Charlie assured her quietly. “Sorry it took so long. Mrs. Walsh stopped me downstairs and offered to sell us some fresh beef when she gets hers delivered tomorrow.”

            “I hope you told her we’d take some!” Rachel declared. “My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

            “Don’t worry, I did,” Charlie said, smiling.

            Rachel reached out and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, pulling her towards the doorway. “Come on in,” she told her. “We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation in the hallway.”

            Charlie walked past her mother and smiled over at Miles, who was looking incongruously content in an old rocking chair by their window.

            “Settling in, Grandpa?” Charlie asked cheekily.

            “Hey, don’t knock it, kid,” Miles replied good-naturedly. “Rocking chairs are one of the greatest inventions of western civilization.”

            “Anything going on out there?” Charlie asked, nodding towards the window.

            “No,” Miles told her, his eyes drifting back to the street outside. “Seems pretty quiet. A few people have walked by, but nothing that would make me suspicious. And the sections of Main Street that I can see are no different.” He glanced over at her. “Did Bass make it in?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie replied calmly. “He’s just getting cleaned up.”

            “I understand he won’t be staying with Gene tonight.”

            “No,” Charlie answered, tilting her chin defiantly. “He won’t.”

            “Well, I’m gonna be honest with you, kid,” Miles told her. “I’m not real happy about this situation.”

            “You don’t have to be,” Charlie told him. “I’m a grown woman and I can make –“

            “Charlie, I know all that,” Miles insisted. “And you’re right. You are a grown woman. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be your mother’s child. And I’ll always remember you as the little girl with the tangled pigtails who would tackle me as soon as I walked through the door, getting melted Popsicle all over my face. Never mind the fact that Bass has enough issues to keep a psychiatrist occupied for a lifetime. I do, too. But I don’t want you hurt. And I don’t want you disrespected.”

            “Miles,” Charlie sighed. “That’s very sweet. And I understand what you’re saying but –“ She broke off and looked from Miles to her mother and back. “How is your situation much different from mine? And please,” she added before he could speak, “don’t say it’s because I’m so much younger.”

            Miles clenched his jaw and stared out the window, a frown marring his face. “Alright,” he ground out. “Maybe you have a point. Damn it.”

            “We trust you, Charlie,” Rachel intoned quietly. “OK?”

            “OK,” Charlie replied and turned towards the door. “I’m gonna go. See you in the morning.”

            Rachel watched her daughter leave, gently closing the door behind her, and looked over at Miles. “I hate this.”

            “I know,” he replied grimly. “For what it’s worth, though, he really does care about her. He’s not going to hurt her.”

            “I hope you’re right.”

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            Charlie unlocked the door and quietly entered the bedroom, glancing around to look for Bass only to find an empty room. She closed the door behind her, relocking it, and walked towards the closed bathroom door. “Bass?” she called quietly. “Are you still in there?”

            “Be right out,” he answered. Charlie moved to make sure that the faded drapes were fully closed and to blow out all but two of the candles, throwing the room into flickering half-light. She knew that candlelight was supposed to be romantic, but, she thought to herself, only if it didn’t look like a mini-forest fire had erupted. She heard the click of the bathroom door opening and turned to find Bass walking towards her, pants only partially done up and slung low on his hips, a towel draped over his shoulders to fall across his sinfully impressive torso.

            “Hey,” he said softly, solemnly, as he stopped in front of her, barely a handbreadth of space between them.

            “Hey,” she murmured back, reaching up to lightly grip the trailing ends of his towel. Bass slid his hands around her waist and skimmed under her top, smoothing up her back and snagging on her bra strap. Charlie leaned forward and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, breathing in the scent of soap and man, that scent that was quintessentially Bass.

            “You tired?” he asked as his hands trailed around her waist until the backs of his fingers brushed across her stomach. Her muscles tightened in reaction and she wound her arms around his neck.

            “Nope,” she whispered as she placed moist kisses down his throat and across his chest. Charlie felt his breath hitch and he slid a hand up her body, letting it trail between her breasts, up her throat and into her hair. Weaving his fingers in amongst the soft, curling strands, he gripped and pulled her head back, his lips sweeping down to claim hers in a burning kiss.

            Charlie strained up against him, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue darting out to duel with his. In spite of her best efforts, however, Bass kept the kiss slow, languorous, even teasing. It was the kiss in the garage all over again, Charlie thought as she tried to press him harder.

            “Slow down,” Bass whispered, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her throat. He nipped at her collarbone, his tongue darting out to soothe across her skin, and Charlie moaned as her head fell backwards, her long hair trailing down her back and brushing over his arm. “We’ve got all night.”

            Charlie cupped Bass’ face in her hands and raised his head, hers lifting to return his lips to hers. The kiss was hungry, hot, and Charlie pushed herself up against him, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She pushed the towel from his shoulders and allowed her hands to wander down his chest, following the line of muscle along his sides until she felt the ridged muscles of his abdomen. Her fingers traced over them slowly, teasingly, and she felt a surge of triumph when they clenched in reaction. Bass stepped back just far enough to grip the hem of her shirt and slowly raised it until she emerged, now clad only in her pants and bra. When Charlie would have moved back into his arms, Bass’ hands tightened on her waist and she looked up at him in confusion. What she saw took her breath away.

            Bass’ face was tight with agony as his eyes moved from one wound to the next, puckered cigarette burns scattered across her breasts and stomach, interspersed with thin, pink scars from Parker’s knife. He raised trembling fingers to brush across them and Charlie could have wept at the pain she saw in his eyes. “Bass,” she murmured as she raised a hand to his cheek. “Don’t.”

            Bass tore his eyes from the evidence of her torment and looked at her with such anguish she almost cried out. “I . . . had almost forgotten how bad it was,” he whispered hoarsely. “I haven’t let myself think about it. But now-“ He bent and Charlie felt his lips, light as a butterfly wing, touch each scar, both an apology and a benediction. She caressed his hair and bent to press a kiss to the crown of his head, but otherwise let him alone. She knew he needed this.

            Bass straightened and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close until her nearly- naked flesh met his. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice low.

            “Bass, listen to me,” Charlie murmured. “It wasn’t your fault.” She drew back just enough to look up into his face and shook her head when he would have spoken. “No,” she insisted. “It isn’t. And I refuse to let Parker ruin something as beautiful as tonight. This is just us – just you and me.”

            Bass didn’t speak, just studied her intently for a long moment, and then suddenly smiled softly. He began walking, pushing her gently backwards until her legs hit the bed. Bass hooked his arms under her bottom and pressed her back into the mattress, her legs lifting to cradle him as he settled his weight onto her. “Just you and me,” he repeated quietly as he reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face. He leaned down slowly, his chest pressing heavily against her breasts, and kissed her.

Chapter Text

            Charlie’s breath came in harsh gasps as her legs slid from around Bass’ waist to fall limply to the mattress. Bass moved slowly, shifting his weight from her, and settled, completely spent, next to her, his hand reaching out to grip hers tightly. A fine sheen of perspiration covered Charlie’s body and she shivered from a combination of a sudden chill and the lingering tremors of absolute physical repletion. She had been right, she thought dimly. It was different with Bass. All of the “encounters” she had experienced in the past had been just that – quick couplings that were totally lacking in emotion and had been completely impersonal. They were just two bodies coming together for quick bang, she and the guy she had hooked up with moving on as quickly as possible with barely a backwards glance. This time, though . . .

Bass turned to lie on his side and reached out, pulling Charlie flush against him, the heat pouring from his body warming her in seconds. She sighed and tucked her hands up between them, allowing her fingers to gently play with the hair sprinkled across his chest, one leg sliding up to rest across his hip. Bass lowered his head and buried his lips against her breasts and Charlie shivered again as the scruff on his cheeks and chin abraded her sensitized flesh in the most delicious way.

“I know you said you were going shock me, Charlotte, but did you have to almost kill me?”

Charlie chuckled as she nuzzled even closer to him. “It was only fair,” she murmured as she lowered her head to press her lips against his damp hair. “You just about drove me out of my mind. I had to do something to even things out.”

“Hmmmm,” he murmured and Charlie felt his lips shift into a smile as he moved up to press them against her throat. “Told you I was going to take my time.”

“Then I guess we both got what we wanted,” Charlie said, her kiss-swollen lips curving into a smile.

Bass caressed her cheek softly, his eyes moving over her face with aching tenderness. “Yeah,” he whispered. “And a hell of a lot more.”

Charlie gazed up at Bass, her smile disappearing as she slowly stretched to gently press her lips against his. Bass’ hand slid into her hair, shifting the angle of her head to deepen the kiss as his tongue darted past her teeth to explore the moist heat of her mouth. Charlie groaned, a low, drugged sound, and brought her hands to his shoulders, pushing him to his back as she moved to straddle him, her thighs gripping his hips as she reached to link her fingers with his, pressing their joined hands to the mattress on either side of his head. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a fragrant blonde curtain spilling around them to dance bewitchingly against Bass’ shoulders. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw, his breath harsh in his throat as he tried to regain some level of control. “God, Charlotte, you make me crazy,” he whispered as he nibbled down the side of her neck.

Charlie laughed breathlessly and leaned down to rest her head against his shoulder, his hands slipping from hers as he moved to trail his fingers up and down her back. “Why do you do that?” she asked drowsily.

“Do what?”

“Call me ‘Charlotte’. You didn’t used to.”

“Probably for the same reason you stopped calling me ‘Monroe’,” he replied slowly. “’Charlie’ was rough, hard, closed off and, to be completely honest, a total pain in my ass.” He yelped when she pinched the skin over his ribs and he retaliated by gently digging his fingers into a fascinatingly ticklish spot over her hip that he had so pleasantly discovered earlier in the evening. Charlie squirmed, laughing helplessly until Bass took pity on her and went back to simply holding her. “Charlotte, on the other hand,” he continued as if there had been no interruption, “is strong, resilient, stubborn, and incredibly sexy. And is a person I don’t want to imagine my life without.”

Charlie slowly raised herself to look down at him, her eyes moving rapidly, taking in every feature, every shift of expression. “Bass,” she murmured, her voice hitching with emotion.

“You deserve to hear this,” he said simply. “You’ve changed me, Charlotte. Knowing you, being with you, makes me want to be . . . more. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Charlie rasped, her arms tightening around him. “We’re going to get the hell out of Texas and go someplace where no one will know you or Miles or even care about the Monroe Republic.”

“I know we are, baby,” Bass said soothingly, lifting his head from the pillow to press a quick peck against her lips. “But,” he added, steel creeping into his voice, “only after I’ve taken care of Parker and Mason.”

Charlie paled and shook her head frantically. “No,” she said harshly, hating herself for the tremble she heard in her voice. “I don’t want you anywhere near them!”

“Charlotte, there is no way that I’m leaving Texas without dealing with those two fuckers,” Bass told her, his eyes hard. “Do you honestly think that after what they did to you, after . . . Connor,” his voice faltered for a moment, eyes closing briefly in an intense flash of pain, “that I could just leave without getting some justice?”

The silence stretched between them, Charlie pale and tense, Bass resolute, both understanding what the other was saying but neither willing to concede the point. Finally, Charlie spoke. “No,” she murmured in answer to his question. “You couldn’t. And neither could I. But I can’t forget what they did to me and why they did it. Please,” she added quickly, “do not apologize again.”

Bass’ lips had gone tight when she had mentioned how she had suffered at the Patriots’ hands but he forced himself to relax at her gentle admonition. “Wasn’t going to,” he replied. When Charlie’s eyebrows rose in a combination of surprise and doubt, he did his best to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. “What happened to you . . . it’s on them. Not me.”

“You really believe that?” Charlie asked doubtfully. “Promise?”

“I promise I’m getting there,” Bass replied honestly. “There’s never going to be a time when I don’t feel responsible for your safety, baby, and, yes,” he added immediately when he saw the beginnings of a frown, “I know that you can take care of yourself. What the Patriots did”, he continued, “they were trying to get to me not for what I’d done as President but for the lies they wanted to pin on me.”

“I’m glad you’ve realized that,” Charlie said fervently as she played with the curls at his temple. “And when we find them –“

“We?” Bass asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing up at her.

“Oh, please, let’s not have this discussion again,” Charlie insisted with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“I just didn’t think you’d want to be anywhere near those sons of bitches,” Bass replied soothingly. “That’s all.”

“I don’t,” she told him, her voice tight with remembered pain. “But I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hiding, either. When we find them, I want them to see that they didn’t break me.” Her eyes were unseeing as she turned inwards and Bass saw her lose herself in the past.

“Hey,” he murmured as his hands moved softly up her back to hook around her shoulders. He shook her lightly and her eyes shot down to his, pupils blown wide as she tried to rid herself of the terrible memories that gripped her. “They can’t get at you now, Charlotte,” he promised her. “They’ll never touch you again, I swear.”

Charlie nodded and gave a slight shrug. “It’s just not easy to get rid of those memories, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he answered gently.

Charlie stared down at him before lowering her head to nestle it on his shoulder as his arms tightened around her. Bass shifted them back to their sides and pulled her close against him, their bodies melded from their shoulders to their knees. Charlie felt his legs moving and then he reached down, snagging the blanket and pulling it over their cooling bodies. “Try to sleep, baby,” he whispered as they snuggled together under the light cover. “I’ll wake you before I leave.”

Charlie’s eyes snapped open and she leaned back to study him in the darkness. “How long do we have?” she asked.

“Days are getting shorter,” Bass mused as he occupied himself by playing with the lock of her hair that had curled itself around his wrist. “I’d say we have six, maybe seven hours before the sun starts to come up. Which means I have to get out of here in five.”

“In that case,” Charlie murmured as her hand started to drift down his body, “I can think of better things to do with our time.”

Bass’ chuckle quickly turned into a groan and soon all thoughts of time, of Patriots, of anything that existed outside of that room were rapidly forgotten.

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

            Bass stirred, his eyelids flickering as he woke from a surprisingly deep sleep. He wrapped his arms more securely around a slumbering Charlotte and glanced about the still-dark room, confident that he still had enough time to clean himself up and get out of town before the sun rose. Suddenly he jerked up onto an elbow, eyes wide with incredulity. “Shit!” he hissed, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with his forearm. The movement woke Charlie and she stirred against him.

            “Bass?” she murmured in a sleep-rough voice. “What’s wrong?”

            “We slept in,” he groaned. “I can see the sun under the bottom of the curtains.”

            “What?” Charlie gasped and shot upright. “How are we going to get you out?”

            Bass dropped his arm from across his eyes and was met with the sight of the naked smoothness of Charlie’s back before him. “Don’t worry,” he assured her as he swept his fingers up and down the ridge of her spine. “We’ll figure something out. It’ll be more difficult to sneak out in broad daylight but it’s not impossible.”

            Charlie looked back at him, her chin dropping to rest on her shoulder, and smiled mischievously. “Guess we shouldn’t have gone for round three,” she said with false remorse.

            Before Bass could formulate a proper response, a soft, rapid knock sounded on the door and they both went deathly still.

            “Miss King!” a disembodied voice whispered loudly from the other side of the door.

            “It’s Mrs. Walsh, the landlady,” Charlie murmured as she hurriedly threw on her clothes. “Quick, hide in the bathroom and I’ll get rid of her.” Bass grabbed his clothes and made his way quickly to the bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Charlie took a deep, calming breath, unlocked the door, and partially opened it, her face a mask of mild surprise and inquiry.

            “Mrs. Walsh, hello,” she said brightly as she maneuvered her body to block . “It’s awfully early, is everything alright?”

            “Miss King,” Mrs. Walsh said urgently as she pushed past an astonished Charlie into the bedroom. “Please, I must speak with you.” The woman’s gentle face was pale and her hands twisted together in agitation. “Do you remember the man I mentioned last night, Merle Jacobson?”

            “Yes,” Charlie replied slowly as she closed the door and walked towards Mrs. Walsh. “What about him?”

            “He made his delivery this morning. The way he was talking, it’ll be the last one for a while. A group of military types rode onto his land yesterday and said they were ‘requisitioning’ his cattle. A couple of them rode with him into town this morning, handing out bounty papers.” Charlie felt herself go cold as she watched Mrs. Walsh seemingly move in slow motion, her hand dipping into one her apron pockets and emerging with a folded piece of thick paper. She unfolded it and handed it over to Charlie. “They’re looking for several people, Miss King,” she said quietly. “One of them looks remarkably like you.”

            Charlie slowly lowered her eyes to the paper that she held and her breath rushed out of her as she looked at a very accurate drawing of her own face. “Yes,” she finally said with forced nonchalance. “It’s a remarkable coincidence, isn’t it?”

            “I would have thought that, too, but the other wanted posters were for the others, your family.” Mrs. Walsh walked towards Charlie, her eyes intent on the younger girl. “I don’t hold with criminals, Miss King or Miss Matheson or whatever you name is. But,” she hastened to add when Charlie would have spoken, “Merle was as shaken as I’ve ever seen him. These soldiers – Patriots, they call themselves – they’ve got him good and scared. Cold as ice, he said, and always muttering amongst themselves. Paranoid. Talking about being the U.S. government,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Marching in, acting like the world is theirs for the taking, stealing the livelihood that a man’s spent most of his life holding onto by the tips of his fingers. That kind of thing doesn’t fly in Texas. So I figured that anyone they’re after has to be on the side of the angels.”

            “Maybe not the angels,” Charlie replied wryly, finding herself able to joke now that she knew that Mrs. Walsh wasn’t going to turn them in. “But as close as we can get.” She glanced back down at the wanted poster and absently chewed her lip. “Is Merle still here?” she asked, glancing up to see Mrs. Walsh shake her head.

            “No, he had to take a delivery to the café but I can send my grandson Peter to flag him down.”

            “I’d really appreciate it,” Charlie told her. “Maybe just say that you need to see him about the delivery. Something’s wrong with it. Would that get him back here?”

            “It should,” Mrs. Walsh replied stoutly. “Merle prides himself on his beef. But what do you want him for?”

            “We need information, Mrs. Walsh, and it sounds like Merle is the best person to give it to us.”

            “I’ll send Peter now,” the old woman said as she moved towards the door and turned to look at Charlotte before she left. “You’d better stay out of sight. I’ll bring some food up for you . . . and your guest.” She smiled widely at the look of astonishment on Charlie’s face and quietly closed the door behind her.

            Charlie shook her head, shocked and more than a little disconcerted at the woman’s perceptiveness, and turned when she heard the bathroom door open and watched as Bass padded towards her on bare feet. “How much did you hear?” she asked, holding out the wanted poster for his inspection.

            “Enough,” Bass replied coolly as he plucked the paper from her grasp. “Bastards are efficient, I’ll give them that,” he said as he studied the picture. He looked over at her, his expression grim. “Two weeks and they’ve already got posters out for us.” He huffed out a breath and gestured towards the door. “Time to wake up the troops.”

            “I’ll get them and bring them back here,” Charlie volunteered. “Now that we know the Patriots are nearby, you need to keep completely out of sight.”

            “So do you,” he retorted, holding up the poster as a reminder. “We all need to lay low until we find out what the hell is going on.”

            “I’ll be quick,” Charlie promised as she stepped partially into the hallway. “Be back in a second.” She closed the door behind her and Bass looked back down at the poster, rage that he had so far concealed darkening his face. He was going to keep his promise to Charlie. The Patriots weren’t going to get anywhere near her. And if he had to bring back a little bit of President Monroe to make sure of it, he had no problem with that.

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBBBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

            Charlie hurried down the hallway and knocked rapidly on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing a concerned Miles. “Charlie, what is it?” he asked as she brushed past him. Rachel was standing in front of a small mirror, tying her hair into a ponytail. She turned to watch her daughter, brows lowered in consternation. “What’s wrong?”

            “Mrs. Walsh just came to see me. She said Merle Jacobson, the guy who brought her beef order this morning, told her about a group of soldiers that rode onto his place yesterday and requisitioned his cattle. They were also handing out wanted posters. For us.”

            “And she warned you?” Rachel asked incredulously. “Why didn’t she turn us in?”

            “Apparently the way the Patriots are acting doesn’t go over too well with Mrs. Walsh or her friends,” Charlie told him, a ghost of a smile flashing across her face. “The idea is that if the Patriots are hunting us down, we must be in the right.”

            “Well,” Miles said pensively as he scratched the side of his nose, “not the best logic I’ve ever heard but I’ll take it.” He walked over to the bedside table, grabbing his bag along the way, and starting shoving things back into it.

            “Mrs. Walsh sent her grandson to bring Jacobson back here so we can ask him a few questions. She’ll be bringing him up to my room, so we should head back over there.”

            “I’ll get Dad,” Rachel said as she grabbed her jacket. “Miles, you should take our things to Charlie’s room. If this goes bad, we need to be ready to go.”

            “Already on it,” Miles told her, shouldering their bags. “C'mon, kid.”

            Charlie quickly led Miles down the hallway and unlocked the door to her room, ushering him inside. Her eyes swept the room for Bass and she smothered a smile when she noticed that he had returned the bed to its former pristine condition. Say what you will about Sebastian Monroe, she thought wryly, but he never missed a detail.

            Bass turned from where he was standing by the back window, the curtain pulled back slightly to allow early morning light to stream through and illuminate the wanted poster he had continued to study. “Looks like we’re in deep shit again, brother,” he said as he crossed the room to show Miles the paper.

Miles took the paper and cursed when he saw his niece’s likeness peering back up at him. “How the hell’d they get these out so fast?” he mused rhetorically. “They sure don’t waste time.”

A soft knock echoed, prompting Miles and Bass to take up position on either side of the doorway, guns at the ready. Bass gave Charlie a nod and she cracked open the door to see her mother and grandfather standing in the hall. She nodded at Bass and Miles, who immediately stood down, and quickly swung the door open all the way, gesturing for Rachel and Gene to come inside.

“When are we getting out of here?” Gene asked urgently. “I mean, if they’re handing out posters we certainly can’t stay. So what’s the plan?”

“The plan,” Bass said calmly, “is to wait for the landlady to bring her cowboy friend to see us so that he can tell us a little bit about his unexpected guests.”

“You mean we’re just going to wait here? Someone’s going to recognize us from those posters! Maybe they have already and the Patriots are on their way!”

“Gene, for God’s sake, don’t panic!” Miles snapped. “We don’t know shit yet; we’re not going to go out there blind. And it’s not exactly easy to slip out of town unnoticed when it’s broad daylight. So just relax and don’t borrow trouble.”

“Don’t borrow –“ Gene broke off, incredulous, and turned to his daughter. “Rachel, do you agree with this?”

Rachel paused for a moment and then nodded. “I do, Dad,” she said quietly. “We have to see what we can find out and not take any unnecessary risks. Trying to make a run for it now would be too dangerous.” Rachel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’ll be alright, Dad.”

Gene just shook his head and began pacing the length of the room. Miles and Bass exchanged exasperated looks but, for the sake of their own sanity, remained silent. Charlie stepped up to Bass’ side, her shoulder brushing his, and his arm wrapped across her back, his hand resting low on her hip. She leaned into his side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, uncaring if their display of affection upset the others. Rachel turned away from the couple and moved to the front-facing window, peeling back the curtain to peer outside. Her sharp eyes caught sight of two figures approaching the house in a horse-drawn wagon – a teenaged boy and an older man. It was difficult to determine his age as his skin was weather-beaten from years in the sun and it was obvious from the way he handled his team that he was as comfortable handling the horses as he was walking. “I think they’re here,” she announced to the room as the wagon stopped in front of the house. She lost sight of them as they entered the house and turned, pulling her sidearm as she did. Miles, Bass, and Charlie followed suit and arranged themselves around the doorway, every angle covered, though they kept their weapons lowered.

When the knock finally came, Miles nodded at Charlie to open the door; Mrs. Walsh and the older man from the wagon stepped into the room and Charlie closed it immediately behind them.

“Shit, you’re the people from the posters!” Jacobson exclaimed, his shock evident. “Emmaline, what the hell is going on?” he asked as he turned to Mrs. Walsh.

“They need some answers about the people out at your ranch, Merle,” she replied calmly. “And I needed to get you here without the whole town knowing something dodgy was going on.”

“Damn it, woman, you made me think something was wrong with my beef!” he groused, genuinely insulted. “And now that blabbermouth over at the café thinks I cheated you out of what you paid for! If you’d just told me –“

“I’m sorry, but can we get back on track here?” Bass interjected, amused in spite of himself.

Jacobson turned to face him and his eyes widened. “You’re . . . you’re Sebastian Monroe,” he gasped. “I saw you in one of their posters.” Mrs. Walsh gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at Bass.

“Sebastian Monroe was executed in Willoughby months ago,” Gene immediately replied.

“Then how did that man’s face show up on their wanted poster with the name ‘Sebastian Monroe’ printed under it, big as life?” Jacobson asked as he edged towards the door.

“Look, I don’t know,” Gene replied wearily. “But Monroe is dead, I assure you. I was the one who gave him the lethal injection.” Jacobson blinked in obvious astonishment and his eyes darted between Gene and Monroe, the latter of whom was taking in this little drama quite calmly, a look of bored amusement on his face.

“Mr. Jacobson,” Bass drawled, “you’re an intelligent man. Certainly intelligent enough to be suspicious of the Patriots and you’ve only been around them less than twenty-four hours. This isn’t our first run-in with them. In fact, we were the leaders of a little underground movement against them in Willoughby. It’s why they’re looking for us and they probably think the fastest way to get hold of us is to claim that one of us is Sebastian Monroe, everyone’s favorite boogeyman. The Patriots are liars and manipulators. You’ve seen that first hand on your ranch. You already know that you can’t trust a damn thing they say.”

“If you aren’t Monroe,” Mrs. Walsh said slowly, “then why didn’t you check in with the rest of them last night? Why sneak in as if you didn’t want anyone to know you were here?”

“I was hunting away from the group yesterday,” Bass said immediately, his demeanor completely relaxed. “I got turned around and didn’t find my way into town until very late last night. I knew that they’d find the closest boarding house they could so I checked every stable and garage within two blocks of Main Street until I found their horses. I saw Charlotte standing in her window and didn’t want to wake the whole house by banging on the front door so I tossed a couple pebbles at the glass until I caught her attention and she lowered the rope for me. Simple as that.”

“So if you don’t answer to Sebastian Monroe, what’s your name?” the older woman asked, her tone slightly less suspicious.

“James King.”

Mrs. Walsh’s eyes narrowed on his face and Charlotte felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “That’s the name she gave when they arrived,” the landlady said, nodding at Charlie. “The fake name. How do you explain that?”

“Easily enough,” Bass said, smiling, and walked to stand next to Charlie. “The Patriots used her maiden name, which was Matheson. They didn’t know she’s my wife.” The floor seemed to shift under Charlie's feet and blinked in astonishment, but otherwise gave no outward indication of her shock at Bass’ unexpected announcement of their fictional marriage.

Fortunately Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh were watching Charlie and Bass intently or they would have seen the various looks of horror, incredulity, and grudging amusement – the last, of course, belonging to Miles – that flickered over the faces of Charlie’s family before they were able to school their features.

Mrs. Walsh was still watching Bass as if he were a snake waiting to strike and Rachel decided that she’d had enough. “Mrs. Walsh,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you’ve realized that we are not Mr. and Mrs. Meeks or Mr. Jeffers.”

“That did cross my mind when I saw the wanted posters,” the woman admitted sardonically.

Rachel nodded, conceding the somewhat obvious nature of her question. “So you know that I’m Rachel Matheson. Is that name familiar to either one of you?”

“Seems I’ve heard it before,” Jacobson said, scratching his chin. “You were married to, well, hell, to your brother,” he exclaimed, gesturing at Miles, who grimaced slightly in acknowledgement. “General Miles Matheson,” Jacoboen said pensively. “You tried to kill Monroe, didn’t you?”

“Couple of times,” Miles answered blandly. “We had a bit of a falling out.”

“Yeah,” Jacobson hooted, “I guess you could call it that. And I recall hearing that General Matheson’s nephew was killed by Militia. That right?”

Charlie felt Bass’ fingers clench convulsively around hers at the mention of her brother and she gently squeezed back, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as she fought against her own sadness and, even more, a growing sense of panic that things might not work out as well as they had hoped.

“Daniel was my son,” Rachel replied, her voice tinged with quiet sadness. “I also lost my husband. And I was held captive in Philadelphia by Monroe for almost ten years. So why,” she asked simply, “would a woman who has so many reason to hate Sebastian Monroe allow her daughter to marry him?”

Silence filled the room at Rachel’s last question, Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh exchanging glances riddled with uncertainty.

“I hope we’ve answered your questions to your satisfaction, Mr. Jacobson, Mrs. Walsh,” Bass finally said, his tone carefully cordial. “And now, if you don’t mind, we have a few questions for you.”

Jacobson frowned at Monroe and Charlie could practically see the cogs whirling in his head. “Aw, hell,” he finally said, “why not? I’ve heard stranger stories and this one actually makes sense. No way would this lady let her girl marry Monroe. Just doesn't add up, Emmaline. Quite frankly, I’m glad to get any help I can. Those Patriots are a bunch of creepy fucks – begging your pardon, Emmaline – and I want them off my land. Alright, mister, what do you want to know.”

Charlie felt the tension bleed out of her body and she was finally able to take a deep breath. She looked up at Bass and saw the same relief in his eyes, though his expression remained the same. “How many are there?” he asked immediately.

“There were fifteen when they rode in yesterday,” Jacobson readily replied. “But they sent five off this morning with most of my herd. Damn greenhorns,” he muttered darkly. “It’ll be a miracle straight from God if those fuckers – begging your pardon, Emmaline – get my cattle to wherever it is they’re going alive.” He glared at Bass and Miles, his bushy brows almost meeting in the middle with the intensity of his frown. “You’ll help me get them back, right? Since I’m helping you?”

Miles and Bass traded resigned glances and Miles sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll help you get them back. If your information is helpful.”

“So there are ten left at your ranch,” Bass said. “Any officers?”

“Two,” Jacobson told them. “One of ‘em is creepy as all get out. Real polite but makes you feel like he’d as soon stick a knife in your ribs as look at you. He's the kind of guy that has someone tied up in the root cellar, you know what I mean?”

Every muscle in Charlie's body went rigid and her breath started to feel labored as her vision tunneled and narrowed to focus just on Merle Jacobson’s face. “Their names,” she rasped. “What are the officers’ names?”

Jacobson scratched his chin again, eyes narrowed in thought. “First one’s . . . Miller? No. Martin? Mason! His name is Mason. And the root cellar guy, he’s . . . damn it, what did he say his name was?”

“Parker.”

“That’s it!” Jacobson declared jubilantly, turning towards Bass. His excitement faded as he glanced from face to face, a chill running down his spine at the looks of pure murder that he saw on the faces of Miles Matheson and James King. “You know these guys?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Bass growled, feeling bursts of pure rage pulse through his body. “We know them.”

Chapter Text

            Charlie reeled at the realization that Parker and Mason were so close, that she and those she loved could be in their power with absolutely no warning. Though her emotions were churning, she forced herself to remain calm but she could tell that she wasn’t fooling anyone, especially Bass. He kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze raking over her almost-unnaturally white face. Charlie forced herself to squeeze his hand, a weak gesture of reassurance to be sure, but it was all she could trust herself to do.

            “We need to talk to those two officers, Mr. Jacobson,” Miles was saying as Charlie managed to refocus on the conversation. “Is there any way to get to your ranch that doesn’t put us right out in the open?”

            Jacobson scratched his head, brow furrowed in thought. “Nope,” he finally replied regretfully. “Open range as far as they eye can see.”

            “What about the church, Merle?” Mrs. Walsh interjected, her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s within sight of your ranch. They could use the bell tower to get a lay of the land and hide out there until dark. They could get to the ranch on foot. Wouldn’t have to worry about their horses giving them away as they came in.”

            Jacobson looked down at Mrs. Walsh in amazement. “Well, damn it all, Emmaline, that’s bordering on genius right there!” He laughed and slapped a broad hand against his thigh. “Why the hell didn’t I think of that? And the best part is that Father Velez is out on the circuit. Shouldn’t be back until next week.” Jacobson turned to Bass and Miles, a devilish grin on his face. “We could have run into some trouble with the good padre,” he admitted. “Being a priest and all, he don’t hold too much with violence. He’d’a welcomed you for prayer, no doubt, but staking out my ranch would have been a different thing all together.”

            “Perfect timing makes me nervous,” Bass replied. “But for these two, I’m willing to take the risk. I’ll want to get to the church as soon as possible so we can see what we’re dealing with. How do you suggest we get there, Mr. Jacobson? Or maybe I should be asking Mrs. Walsh.”

            “Cocky bastard, aren’t ya?” Jacobson asked good-naturedly. “I gotta go back to the ranch and pick up the milk order. Couldn’t fit everything into the wagon on this run. Usually cover the milk containers with tarp, try to keep some of the heat out. I’ll hide you under them on my way back home.”

            “Will we all fit?” Charlie asked unexpectedly, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice.

            “Nope,” Jacobson answered immediately. “Two, maybe three at a time is all the wagon will hold.”

            “Miles and I are going tonight,” Bass said immediately. “The rest of you can sit tight here.”

            “Like hell,” Charlie interjected. “Mr. Jacobson said the wagon will hold three. I’m going with you.”

            Miles, Bass and Gene exchanged worried glances while Bass turned slightly to look at Charlie, a slight frown of concern marring his brow. She looked back at him in silence, her back ramrod straight in spite of the deathly pallor of her face.

            “Charlie,” Rachel said softly, “maybe it would be better if Miles and James –“

            “She’ll be fine,” Bass interrupted, his eyes never leaving Charlie’s face. “And if anyone should be there, it’s Charlotte.” Charlie held his gaze, a slight smile curving her lips.

            “Charlie, you’re still recovering,” Gene warned, his concern evident. “Physically and mentally. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to put yourself in this situation.”

            “Maybe we should leave you folks to talk in private,” Mrs. Walsh volunteered, hooking a hand around Merle Jacobson’s arm.

            “Damn it, Emmalie,” he groused in a harsh whisper as he tried to shake her off. “They’ll let us know if they want us to leave. ‘Sides, it sounds like they’re getting to the good stuff.”

            Miles swiveled his head to glare at the two. “Stay put,” he barked and, suddenly remembering what his family owed to these people, added a much gentler, “please.”  Mrs. Walsh and Jacobson fell silent, retreating a few steps from the group to give them a little privacy.

            Charlie finally turned from Bass and looked at her family, finding it impossible to be angry at them when they were obviously so worried about her. OK, not angry but definitely a little annoyed.

            “Guys, I love you for caring but I’m going. This is something I have to do. So please don’t try to stop me.”

            Bass glanced over at Miles, who immediately rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Fine,” he barked. “You’re coming. Shit.”

            “When should we be ready for you, Mr. Jacobson?” Bass asked as he turned towards Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh, gesturing for the two to join them.

            “Take me about an hour to get home, then I gotta load up the milk cans, get back to town, make my deliveries. I’ll make sure this is the last stop. I’d say you got a good five hours.”

            Miles nodded briskly. “Fine. So how do we get into the wagon without anyone seeing us?”

            “Merle makes the deliveries around back at the old root cellar,” Mrs. Walsh informed them. “It’s right under the house, stays cool in the summer. You should be able to get to the wagon from the cellar without being noticed.”

            “Make sure you bring food and water,” Merle warned as he started towards the door. “You’ll be up there for a while. Come on, Emmaline, let’s leave these folks to make their plans.”

            Mrs. Walsh turned back at the door and looked them over. “I’ll bring you folks something to eat while you wait,” she promised. “You have to be starving.”

            “Thank you,” Charlie said sincerely. “Thank you both for everything.”

            Mrs. Walsh moved as though to speak but was cut off by Merle, who chortled and waved off her thanks. “Hell, ma’am, this is shapin’ up to be the most fun I’ve had in years. Let’s go, Emmaline.” Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Walsh followed him into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind them.

            Charlie turned away and went to stand by the rear-facing window, propping her shoulder against the window frame and staring down at the alley through the sheer curtains. Bass watched her for a moment and then looked at Miles, silently jerking his head towards the door. Miles glowered at him, glancing over at his niece, then nodded stiffly. Placing a firm hand on Rachel’s shoulder, he steered her towards the door, Gene following close behind. Bass waited until he heard the quiet click of the door closing behind them before he joined Charlie at the window.

            “You OK?” he asked as he stood on the other side of the window.

            “I will be,” Charlie told him. “It’s just . . . going to be hard to see them again. Especially him.”

            “I know. But I promised you that he’d never touch you again and I meant it,” Bass assured her.

            “I’m not worried about that,” Charlie told him as she turned to face him. “I’m afraid of what I’ll do to Parker when I’m finally face to face with him.”

            Bass cocked an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. “And what’s that?”

            “I want him dead,” Charlie replied flatly. “Him and Mason both. For what they did to me. For Connor. And for what they want to do to you.”

            “Charlotte, that’s a pretty natural way to feel,” Bass assured her. “And believe me, it’s going to happen.”

            Charlie shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself, turning from Bass to stare out the window again. “It is natural to want them to suffer? Is it natural to want them to scream the way they made me scream? I don’t know how to deal with this, Bass,” she said almost desperately. “I have no problem killing to defend myself or my family. But this need I have to –“

            Bass crossed over to Charlie and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. He felt his heart clench at the tears he saw glistening in her eyes, tears that she stubbornly managed to keep in check. “You don’t have to deal with it, baby,” he said roughly. “Those feelings are completely normal and understandable. But I don’t want you to worry about them because they will fade. Once those two sons of bitches are dead, you can start really putting what they did behind you. And anything that happens to Parker and Mason, Miles and I are going to do it. None of this will be on you.”

            “I want to be there when you talk to them,” Charlie insisted, her hands coming up to grip his wrists. “I want them to see me and know that they don’t have any power over me anymore. “

            “Fine,” Bass immediately agreed, knowing how important it was to her. “But,” he added, “when Miles and I tell you to leave, you go. There are some things that . . . you just don’t need to see.”

            Charlie’s eyes widened and her hands tightened on his wrists. “I hate that I’m asking you to do this,” she murmured as she looked up at him. “This is a part of yourself that . . . you had put away.”

            Bass smiled grimly and shook his head as his thumbs gently brushed across her cheeks. “Charlotte, I wasn’t lying when I told you that you’ve changed me. But there is nothing that I’m not willing to do to make sure you’re safe. If I have to resurrect President Monroe for a little while, that’s just fine with me because I know you’re here to bring me back to reality.”

            “Always,” Charlie assured him quietly.

            Bass leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, pulling away to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get some stuff together for tonight, we’ll have a bite to eat when Mrs. Walsh brings our food up, and then we’ll catch some sleep. It’s going to be a long night tonight. And not,” he added mischievously, “in a fun way.”

            Charlie chuckled as she leaned into his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You better get all those comments out now,” she warned him. “If Miles hears you talking like that, you might not make it out of the church alive.”

            “Oh, I’m shaking,” Bass teased as he bent to grab one of his bags. “Better go through your bag and get out what you’ll need. Just the bare essentials, alright?”

            “Bass, I’ve been traveling across the country with a backpack. I don’t think the essentials get more bare than that.”

            Bass rolled his eyes and grinned over at her. “Don’t be such a girl, Charlotte,” he scoffed and dodged when she threw a pillow at his face. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” he declared cheekily. “Weapon, ammo, food, water. I’ll clear out this bag and we’ll combine everything in here, OK?”

            “OK,” Charlie agreed. “We can put your extra stuff in my bag.”

            Bass nodded distractedly as he pawed through his rucksack and cursed under his breath. “Charlotte, would you do me a favor and go look in my other bag? I must have left the spare clip for my .45 in there.”

            Charlie crossed back to the window and knelt to rifle through the bag. She pulled out a shirt and went to set it aside when something dropped out and landed with a soft “ping” on the floor. She bent to pick it up and started when she saw two thin, silver rectangles hanging from a chain, accompanied by three gold bands, one of which was set with a diamond. “Bass,” she said hesitantly. He turned and went still when he saw what she was holding.

            “These . . . just fell out,” Charlie hastened to explain, feeling as though she had stumbled upon something deeply private. “I didn’t –“

            “It’s alright,” Bass hastened to assure her as he crossed to kneel next to her. He reached out and lightly touched the dog tags and the rings that rested against them. “I’ve kept them hidden since the Republic fell,” he said quietly. “I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of my old dogtags. They reminded me of . . . who I used to be, I guess.”

            “And the rings?” Charlie asked almost reluctantly.

            “My parents’,” Bass answered immediately, a shadow of remembered pain briefly darkening his face. “They’re all I have left that belonged to them.”

            “They’re beautiful,” Charlie murmured.

            “Yeah,” Bass agreed quietly. “Having them made me feel like I still had a little piece of them with me, you know?”

            “I’m glad you have them,” Charlie told him as she reached out to grasp his hand in hers.

            “Me, too,” Bass replied, returning the pressure of her hand on his. “In more ways than one.”

            Charlie’s hand jerked in his and she stared at him, her eyes huge in her face, as she struggled to understand just exactly what it was he had just said. Bass merely stared back at her before reaching out and taking the dogtags and rings from her suddenly limp fingers to tuck them back into the safety of his bag.

            “I think I hear Mrs. Walsh coming up the stairs,” he said casually as he pulled Charlie to her feet. “We’ll eat, finish sorting our things, and then catch a bit of sleep.”

            Charlie watched Bass cross the room to open the door for Mrs. Walsh and wondered, in all honestly, how she could possibly sleep after what he had just said.

Chapter Text

            Charlie’s eyes shot open as she gasped for breath, her eyes wide and unseeing as she tried to push the last remnants of the nightmare from her consciousness. As her vision cleared, she saw Bass’ face hovering over hers, his brow creased with concern. He gently brushed her sweat-dampened hair from her forehead and trailed his fingers across her cheek.

            “You haven’t had one of those for a while,” he murmured softly. “Wanna talk about it?”

            Charlie shook her head as she sat up, unheeding of the sheet as it pooled at her waist and revealed her nakedness. Resting her forehead against her up-drawn knees, she tried to regulate her breathing. “It was nothing new,” she finally told Bass as he shifted to sit behind her, his arms wrapping around her and his lips pressing comfortingly against her hunched, bare shoulders.

            “Charlotte, you know I’ll support whatever decision you make but maybe you going along with us –“

            “Don’t,” Charlie said harshly as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It was just a dream.”

            Bass nodded slowly, unsuccessfully trying to mask his concern. “I just hate seeing you hurt, baby,” he murmured, his arms tightening around Charlie to pull her back against his chest. She rested against him, her fingers linking with his and she turned her face into the warmth of his neck.

            “I know,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the side of his throat. Charlie felt a shudder ripple under his skin and, in spite of the lingering effects of her nightmare, she smiled at this sign of her power over him. One of Bass’s hands disentangled from hers and his fingers brushed against the soft flesh low on her abdomen; Charlie shivered in reaction. And, she added wryly, his power over her.

            Charlie tilted her head back against Bass’ shoulder and he lowered his lips to hers. In spite of the passion that always flared between them, in spite of the intensity of their lovemaking, this kiss wasn’t meant to arouse or inflame. Rather, it was about comforting each other, a guarantee that they would face whatever came together, and a gentle reassurance to both of them that what they had was more than just physical. The words hadn’t been said but this kiss was about commitment, friendship and, even though they weren’t quite able to admit it to each other, love. Charlie felt tears sting her eyes as she lifted a hand to caress the back of Bass’ neck, her fingers gently sliding into his surprisingly soft curls.  Bass pulled back and frowned when he saw the telltale sheen in Charlie’s eyes.

            “Charlotte, what is it?” he asked, his hand cupping her cheek.

            “Nothing,” Charlie replied softly, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m just . . . happy.”

            One of Bass’ eyebrows quirked up and he stared down at her. “Happy,” he repeated, his tone slightly disbelieving. “We’re on the run from the Patriots, I’m still pretty sure your mother is going to try to kill me at some point, we find ourselves trapped in some backwater in Texas by the two men whose mission in life is to kill us, and you’re happy.”

            “Yeah,” Charlie told him, her eyes laughing up at him. “I really am.”

            Bass stared down at Charlie and felt his heart clench in his chest when he saw the truth of her words. “You know something,” he said to her as his fingers tunneled into her hair, “I am, too.” They smiled at each other for a long moment and then, suddenly, the smiles faded as Bass tightened his fingers in Charlie’s hair and she gripped Bass’ neck to pull him down towards her.

            Lips met and clung, tongues dueled, and Charlie felt her heart begin to race as she turned in Bass’ arms to wrap herself around him. Bass tore at the sheet that had become entangled around them, frantic to remove any barrier between their rapidly heating bodies, but a sudden knock on the door brought him to his feet by the bed, his sword in his hand before Charlie even realized what was going on.

            “Who is it?” he rasped, his knuckles white on the sword’s grip.

            “Miles.”

            Bass’ shoulders slumped in relief as he allowed the sudden tension to leave him and he glanced at Charlie over his shoulder, his eyes taking in every detail with resigned regret. “Just a minute,” he called out to Miles. He turned back to the bed and gently pulled the blanket up over Charlie, covering her nakedness. “I knew I should have killed Miles when I had the chance,” he told her ruefully as he pulled his pants on over muscular thighs and slim, bare hips.

            “If he makes a habit of this, I may just let you,” Charlie replied darkly as she watched him saunter over to the door.

            Bass muffled a laugh, turning back one more time to make sure Charlie was fully covered, and cracked the door. “Miles.”

            Miles eyes darkened as he took in Bass’ shirtless state and a dark flush stained his cheeks. Bass couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment but, either way, he did his best to ignore it. To Miles’ credit, he pushed on as though he wasn’t talking to the man who had just . . . Nope, he chided himself harshly, not even going to go there.

            “Mrs. Walsh is waiting to take us down to the old root cellar. Jacobson should be here within the hour. Get your things together and come to our room. We’ll go down together.”

            “We’re pretty much ready. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

            “Make sure it doesn’t,” Miles growled as he stared pointedly at Bass’ bare chest.

            Bass grinned and shut the door on Miles’ deepening frown. “I think I shocked your uncle,” he said to Charlie almost gleefully as he crossed the bedroom to sit next to her on the bed.

            Charlie propped her head up on her hand and rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, you two are about ten years old.”

            Bass twisted and swung himself to loom over Charlie, his hands resting on either side of her head as pressed her flat underneath him. “Oh, I’m way past ten,” he promised as he rested his full weight against her. Charlie sucked in a sharp breath and her legs lifted, bent knees gripping his hips, but she shook her head and pursed her lips disapprovingly.

            “I heard what he said,” Charlie told him sternly, though the mask of authority slipped a bit when one of his hands crept under the sheet. She grabbed the hand and brought it up to rest between her breasts. Her fingers tightened on his and he sighed as he looked down at her.

            “We can’t put this off,” Charlie told him gently. “As much as I would love to stay here with you, we have to do this.”

            Bass closed his eyes and lowered his head to rest against hers. “I know,” he murmured roughly. “I just hate what this is going to do to you.”

            Charlie’s stomach twisted at the torment she heard in his voice and her arms tightened around him. “To you, too,” she added quietly. Bass pulled back a bit, frowning, and started to speak but Charlie interrupted him. “Don’t pretend that what’s coming isn’t going to be ugly,” she told him. “Or that you don’t hate what you’re going to have to . . . set loose for it to happen.” Bass began to push himself away from Charlie but she gripped his shoulders and refused to let him move. “Don’t pull away from me,” she practically begged. “Not now and not . . . after. I mean it, Bass. If I thought that taking care of Mason and Parker would end us, I’d say to hell with them and drag you to Canada. So I want you to tell me right now that we’re both going to be OK when all of this is over. Promise me.”

            Bass stared down at her, his eyes moving over her face as though he was committing every last feature to memory, and he bent to kiss her softly. “I promise,” he murmured against her lips. Charlie sighed in relief and slowly smoothed her hands up and down his bare back.

            “Good,” she whispered as she smiled up at him. “Now we’d better get moving.”

            Bass rose from the bed and snagged his shirt and shrugged it on, his movements uncharacteristically jerky. Charlie watched him closely as she began to dress and a frown marred her features as he silently collected his gear, their bag slung over his shoulder and his shoes dangling from his fingers. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she buttoned her shirt.

            “I need you to know something,” Bass told her urgently. “And I need you not to interrupt, OK?”

            Charlie nodded slowly in agreement and Bass squared his shoulders as he restlessly shifted his weight from side to side. “I know that things between us haven’t always been easy and that what we are now is really new. But I’ve cared about you for a long time, longer than I’d probably like to admit, so I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck with me. And I know that you have your mom and Miles and Gene to rely on, but now you have me, too. I’m never not going to be around for you, Charlotte, even when it might seem easier to call it quits. And no matter what happens at Jacobson’s ranch, no matter what they say to you or I do to them, you should know that . . . I love you.”

            Charlie’s eyes widened and her pupils dilated to the point that her eyes were almost black. Feeling her knees turn to water, she lowered herself to the edge of the mattress and stared dumbly over at Bass. Now that he had actually said the words, his fidgetiness had disappeared and he stood before her, completely vulnerable and yet calm at the same time. 

            “I don’t want you to say anything,” he told her. “You don’t need to feel like you have to say it back. I just thought you should know before things started getting bad. Maybe it might help you to remember when you’re facing them again that I’m with you and that’s never going to change.” He turned, opened the door, and closed it quietly behind him while Charlie sat on the bed and tried to keep the world from spinning around her.

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            Charlie, Bass and Miles sat on the packed dirt floor of the root cellar, their backs resting against the rough wood slats that held row upon row of jarred fruits and vegetables. The air was damp and cool, heavy with the fragrance of dried peppers, garlic, and the faint mustiness of root vegetables. Charlie jumped as a boot thumped against the outer doors – two knocks close together, three a few seconds apart. Jacobson’s signal. Miles moved quickly to slide the thick, flat plank of wood from its slats and the doors swung open, Jacobson’s ruddy face popping through to grin at them.

            “All aboard,” he whispered cheerfully. As the trio climbed the steep steps, Jacobson threw back the tarps that had been covering the milk cans and revealed a little hiding place he had created using the empty crates. The tarp would cover them, resting on the crates, and give no indication that anyone was concealed beneath. Charlie, who had been slightly unsure as to the safety of traveling in Jacobson’s wagon, sighed in relief and hoisted herself up into the bed of the wagon, slipping beneath the concealing tarps. Miles and Bass quickly followed, taking up the space on either side of her to give her a little protection from the crates. As Jacobson tied the tarps down with ropes attached to the sides of the bed, Charlie managed to reach down and catch Bass’ hand, her fingers twining with his. Bass turned his head, his eyes finding Charlie’s in the dim light, and he bent his head just enough to press his lips against her forehead. She sighed and leaned into him, her hand tightening on his.

            “Will you two knock it off?” Miles whispered angrily as the wagon began to move, Jacobson managing to find every rut and pothole in the road as they jostled roughly against each other. “This ride is going to be uncomfortable enough without that going on.”

            “Get used to it,” Bass said uncompromisingly and though he shifted away from Charlie, it was only so he could manage to slide his arm under her head to keep it from thumping against the wagon with every jolt. Charlie smiled gratefully at Bass and settled in for the long trip to Jacobson’s ranch.

            It seemed to the three hidden passengers that an hour had never passed so slowly. By the time the wagon finally stopped, it felt as if every bone had been jostled lose from its moorings. In spite of the cushioning Bass had provided and the barrier he and Miles had given her from the shifting and bumping of the crates, Charlie felt like one big bruise. She could only imagine how much worse it had been for Miles and Bass. They could hear Jacobson untying the ropes that held the tarps down and soon the bottom edge was thrown back and a rush of fresh air washed over them.

            “Hurry up,” Jacobson whispered urgently. “We’re right in front of the church doors. Get in there as fast as you can.”

            Miless, Charlie and Bass slid from the wagon bed, their legs tingling as the blood began to rush through them. Miles stumbled as the feeling returned and Bass grabbed his arm, hustling him through the doors as Charlie followed. Jacobson followed them into the dim interior and gestured at a rickety staircase that hugged the vestibule wall. “Bell tower’s up there. You’ll have a three-sixty view and my ranch is straight East. I’ll make sure those two Patriot officers are out and about so you can get a look at them. Come nightfall, make your way over and hide in the main barn’s loft. Soon as it gets too dark to do chores, we have dinner and I’ll make sure that the route in is clear. No one’ll bother you in the loft until chore time tomorrow morning.”

            “And what do we do then?” Bass asked briskly. “We can’t very well say ‘hi, how ya’ doin’’ to some guy who finds us hiding in your barn.”

            “’Course not,” Jacobson replied indignantly. “I thought of that. I’m going to have to tell my foreman about you. I’ll make sure he goes up there in the morning.”

            “Can he be trusted?” Miles asked harshly. “We’ve got too much to lose to risk someone blabbing.”

            “Bobby Lee’s been with me twenty years,” Jacobson told him angrily, his bushy brows lowered to meet over the bridge of his nose. “I’d trust him with my life. And yours. Which is exactly what I’m doing.”

            “He didn’t mean to insult you, Mr. Jacobson,” Charlie hastened to assure him. “You have to understand, we’ve needed to be careful for a long time. We would’ve been dead by now if we trusted too easily.”

            “Bobby Lee’d cut off his own arm if I asked him to,” Jacobson responded immediately. “’Sides, those Patriots roughed him and two of his sons up pretty good when they took my cattle. He’s got a score to settle with them, so don’t worry about him or his boys talking. Hell, they’ll probably want to get a few licks in, too.”

            Miles and Bass traded glances and Bass turned to nod at Jacobson. “Good enough,” he said. “And thank you.”

            “Thank me when it’s done,” Jacobson replied. “And I’ll return the favor when my cattle are back. See you folks just after dark.” He walked back through the church doors and moments later they heard the wagon rattling away.

            Bass secured the doors, then looked over at the staircase and grimaced. “Nothing like being crammed into the back of a wagon and then climbing up a bell tower before your legs are functioning again.”

            “Don’t be such an old man, Bass,” Miles chastised lightly as he began climbing up the stairs. He grimaced as a spasm radiated down his leg and cleared his throat to try to hide his reaction to the pain. “But, just for you, we’ll take it slow.”

            “Gee, thanks, Miles,” Bass replied sardonically as he began to follow Miles up the stairs. “Such a selfless friend.”

            Charlie rolled her eyes and brought up the rear, wondering how Bass and Miles had ever gotten along without each other.

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            Having been motionless for so long, it was almost torture to sit again but, with the four sides of the bell tower open, they couldn’t very well walk around and risk anyone at the ranch seeing movement. So, while one person was on watch, peering at the ranch through field glasses, the other two contented themselves with doing push-ups, sit-ups, anything that they could think of that would allow them to move while not being seen.

            After finally working out all of the kinks, they settled down, resting against the walls. Charlie was just drifting into a light doze when an urgent hand shook her fully awake.

            “Charlie!” Miles hissed as he peered through the field glasses. “Get up here.” She crawled across the floor until she reached his side and knelt next to him, keeping her head low.

            “What is it?” she whispered back.

            Miles lowered the field glasses and handed them to her. “Jacobson’s leading two men towards a paddock. They’re officers. I need you to tell me if they’re Mason and Parker.”

            Charlie gripped the binoculars tightly in her suddenly sweaty hands and lifted herself slightly to look across at the ranch. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the field glasses and she sucked in a breath when she saw two terribly familiar faces. “Yes,” she said immediately, grateful that her voice sounded strong instead of thin and frightened. “That’s them.”

            “You’re sure?” Bass asked intently as he moved to her side. “Absolutely positive?”

            “They’re not faces that I’m likely to forget,” Charlie snapped, and immediately lowered the binoculars to look over at Bass, an apology on her face. “Bass –“

            “Don’t worry about it,” he hastened to assure her. “I know you haven’t forgotten them. I just wanted to be sure that we’re going after the right guys, that’s all.”

            “Definitely Mason and Parker,” Charlie confirmed as she handed him the field glasses. If Bass noticed the slight trembling in her fingers, he didn’t mention it. He simply took the glasses and watched the men until Jacobson led them back into the house.

            “It’ll be dark soon,” Bass finally said with astonishing calm and Charlie felt a slight tremor pass through her when she saw the stark coldness of his eyes as he turned to gesture at the backpacks resting in a corner. “Charlie, break out the food. We should eat while we can since we won’t be getting much of a chance tonight. I’ll take watch and eat when you two are finished.” Without another word he turned to watch the ranch again. Charlie watched him for a moment, debating whether or not she should try to speak to him, but Miles touched her gently on the arm and jerked his head towards the backpacks.

            “He’s becoming President Monroe again,” Charlie whispered as she pulled out a bag of jerky, a wedge of cheese, and a small loaf of bread.

            “He told you he would, Charlie,” Miles reminded her grimly. “It has to be this way.”

            “I know,” Charlie acknowledged. “I guess I’m surprised it happened,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that. One minute he’s Bass and the next . . .”

            “It was seeing Parker and Mason,” Miles replied. “He always got like this when the anger became overwhelming. Seeing those two just flipped the switch.” He reached out and plucked a strip of jerky from the bag, his eyes intent on his niece. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

            “No,” Charlie said immediately. “Of course not. Bass would never hurt me, no matter what. You, either. I guess I just wasn’t completely prepared for what seeing him like that again would mean. It’s like when Connor died and he just closed himself off.”

            “He’ll break out of it,” Miles assured her. “But, Charlie, that part of his personality will always be there. It’s something you have to understand if you really want to be with him. Can you do that?”

            Charlie stared over at Bass and Miles was astonished at the emotion he saw in her face as she watched him. “Yes,” she finally replied. “I can. Because that’s not all he is anymore. And it’ll never be the most important part of him again.”

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            Three figures sped across the open ground between the church and the Jacobson ranch, their forms barely visible in the inky darkness that had descended just minutes before. Stopping every so often to make sure they hadn’t yet been spotted, they made their way across almost half a mile of open ground before they finally slipped into the big barn and disappeared from sight. Merle Jacobson sighed in relief, then picked up one of his last bottles of Tennessee whiskey and returned to the kitchen table. “Now, as I was saying . . .”

            Charlie scurried up the ladder after Miles and, closely followed by Bass, flopped into the warm, scratchy hay. “Alright, Charlie?” Miles asked as he took in their surroundings.

            “I’m fine,” Charlie gasped. “Haven’t had to run since I got hurt. Just take me a minute to get my breath back.”

            “It takes some time to come back from something like that,” Miles assured her. “You’ll be back to a hundred percent before you know it.”

            “I’ll take the first watch,” Bass announced as he tossed his bag onto a nearby bale of hay. “You two bed down back there. It’s pretty well out of sight and there are plenty of bales to hide behind if someone gets curious.”

            “Bass, why don’t I –“

            “I said that I’ll take the first watch,” Bass interrupted Miles sharply. “I’m not asking. Miles, I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn.”

            “Fine,” he replied calmly. “Charlie, let’s go.”

            “Give me a minute,” Charlie said and frowned when he hesitated. “Go on,” she insisted, nodding towards the shadowy back corner of the loft. “I’ll be right there.”

            “Walk light around him when he’s like this, Charlie,” Miles warned as he turned, quickly disappearing behind the high-stacked bales of hay.

            Charlie sat next to Bass and simply smiled over at him when he turned to glare at her.

            “I thought I told you to get some sleep,” he snapped, his brows lowered over cold, hard eyes.

            “You did,” Charlie replied equably. “And I’m going. I just wanted to say goodnight. And,” she suddenly became serious, “to remind you that I’m here. I know this is how you have to be for this to work and that’s OK. But you need to remember that I’m not going to let you get lost again. Understand?”

            As Charlie met his gaze, she saw a slight softening in his eyes only to be quickly reined in, his eyes once again flat and emotionless. “Understood,” he told her, his voice clipped as he turned away.

            “Good,” Charlie said and went to bed down for the night.

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            Miles and Charlie were awakened by the sounds of a scuffle and both bolted for the front of the loft, weapons at the ready, to find Bass pinning a man to the ground, a knife poised at his throat.

            “Bass, what’s going on?” Miles hissed, lowering his weapon.

            “We were just getting to that,” Bass replied coolly. “Name?”

            “Bobby . . . Bobby Lee,” the man gasped, his face pale beneath his tan and the bruises that mottled his skin. “Merle sent me up.” Bass didn’t move, the knife still pressed menacingly against his throat. “I swear to God! You’re King,” he said, gesturing weakly at Bass with a pinned hand. “You’re Matheson,” he continued, his eyes traveling to Miles. “And you’re Mrs. King,” he told Charlie. “How would I know that if Merle hadn’t told me?”

            Bass slowly withdrew the knife and rose, leaving Jacobson’s foreman gasping on the floor as color returned to his face.

            “Sorry about that,” Miles said quickly as he reached down to help the other man to his feet. “But you can understand how we’d be a bit jumpy.” He gestured at Bobby Lee’s two black eyes and the bruise that followed the line of his jaw. “Patriots do that?”

            “Fuckin’ bastards,” the foreman spat by way of affirmation, then immediately looked at Charlie in contrition. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”

            Charlie grinned up at Miles. “Yep, he’s definitely been with Mr. Jacobson for twenty years.”

            “Where are the Patriots?” Bass asked, interrupting the moment of levity. “Officers and grunts. We need to know what the layout is.”

            “Those prick officers aren’t up yet. They have four soldiers at a time on perimeter guard. They’ll be switching in an hour. The ones coming off watch’ll be bedding down in the bunkhouse while me and my men take care of the chores. The officers do a check of the perimeter about twenty minutes later. There’s a blind spot between the stable and the paddock where you can grab ‘em.”

            “What about the others?” Charlie asked. “Won’t they notice if their officers are missing?”

            “Got that covered, ma’am. We’ve laced their breakfast with jimson weed. Those going out on patrol’ll eat before they leave and the ones coming off will eat before they go to bed. Bastards’ll feel like the fires of hell are ripping through their guts. Believe me, they won’t care if you string the officers up right in front of them. While they’re praying for death, we’ll tie ‘em up and stash ‘em in the root cellar. You can do whatever you want with ‘em.”

            “We need someplace to talk to the officers. It has to be secure and as out of the way as possible,” Bass told the foreman briskly. “Anything like that around here?”

            “The stable I mentioned is a good distance from the house. And the old shower stalls are in there. You could use those.”

            “Shower stalls?” Bass repeated, mildly interested. “Tile, drains, the whole thing?”

            “Well, sure,” Bobby Lee replied, confused. “It’s where we used to wash the horses down. No sense in having anything else in there.”

            Bass looked over at Miles, baring his teeth in a shark-like grin. “Sounds perfect.”

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            “All I know is that they can’t have gone past Sweetwater,” Mason was saying as the men strolled between perimeter checkpoints. “We have patrols every twenty miles between us and Mexico. They’re not slipping through.”

            “You also never thought they’d get in and out of our camp without us knowing about it. Sir,” Parker replied sardonically, seemingly remembering Mason’s superior rank and the last moment.

            “Regardless,” Mason pressed on, ignoring Parker’s obvious lack of respect, “we are going to find Monroe and I will personally deliver his head to the President.”

            “Well, you were right about one thing,” a disembodied voice said. Mason and Parker whirled to confront the stranger and both gasped at what they found.

            Sebastian Monroe and Miles Matheson stood before them, thick planks of wood in their hands, their eyes almost feral with the depth of their anger. “Although,” Bass continued with forced nonchalance, “does it still count if I found you?”

Before Parker or Mason could call out for help, Miles and Bass swung, the boards whistling through the air. Pain exploded in the Patriot officers’ heads and they were lost to darkness.

Chapter Text

            Bass and Miles were just finishing knotting the ropes that secured Parker and Mason to the deeply embedded hooks in the shower stall walls when Charlie burst in. She jerked to a halt at the sight of the unconscious men and the color fled from her face. When Miles moved to go to her, Charlie shook her head briskly and forced herself to tear her gaze from her tormentors, turning instead to Miles and Bass.

            “I just wanted to let you know that Bobby Lee and his men have finished tying the Patriot soldiers up. They’re in the root cellar. And,” she added with almost horrified glee, “they’re in no condition to try and escape. That jimson weed definitely did the trick.” She shuddered eloquently and Miles couldn’t help the grim smile that split his face. Charlie glanced over at Bass and was not surprised to find him as stoic as ever. She signed quietly, anxious for this nightmare to be over so they could put all this Patriot business behind them and she could have her Bass back.

            “How long do you think they’ll be out?” Charlie asked, gesturing at the two crumpled figures, their heads bowed against their chests and their arms tied above their heads.

            “Not long,” Bass said flatly and gestured to two water-filled buckets sitting in the far corner of the stall. “We were just getting read to wake them up when you came in.”

            “Don’t let me stop you,” Charlie responded instantly. “Go ahead.”

            Miles ran a hand through his hair and looked between Bass and Charlie. “It might be a better idea if you weren’t here when they come around. It could be –“ Miles broke off as he searched for an appropriate word, then shrugged and settled for the hopelessly banal. “Unpleasant.”

            “Miles, I’m counting on ‘unpleasant’,” Charlie retorted. “Go ahead.”

            “Charlie –“

            “Let her stay, Miles,” Bass interjected. “It might shake them to see her as soon as they wake up. But,” he added as he turned to Charlie, his eyes cold as they rested on her, “you leave as soon as we tell you to. No arguing or bargaining. Got it?”

            “Fine,” Charlie replied, unsure whether the churning in her stomach was from the prospect of finally facing her fears or the incredible change in Bass. Temporary change, she reminded herself harshly.

            Miles and Bass both picked up a bucket and each stood in front of a captive. Bass nodded at Miles and they emptied their buckets at the same time, stepping clear of the splash of water and allowing Charlie move forward, placing herself directly in the prisoners’ line of sight. Coughing, sputtering and groaning, Parker and Mason came to, blinking frantically to clear their eyes of water. Charlie saw the exact moment when each realized who was standing in front of them. Mason’s face flushed red with anger, his fingers twisting into fists as he struggled against his bonds to reach her. Parker, however, merely looked her up and down, a slight smirk on his face as he rested back against the stall wall. “Well,” he drawled, his nonchalance minimized by the blood that continued to trickle down his face from where Bass had hit him, “looks like we’re back together again.” Bass and Miles moved to stand next to Charlie and Parker quirked an eyebrow. “And with members of the criminal element. Really, Charlotte,” he chided, “I had thought better of you.”

            “You have got to be Parker,” Miles said stonily before Charlie could respond. “Smarmy little bastard, aren’t you? Although I’ve always found the calm ones to be the most fun to break.”

            “Oh, please,” Parker sighed. “You really think that this bullshit is going to work on me? Now, it’ll probably work on Mason,” he admitted as he nodded over at the other man, who jerked and paled at the mention of his name. “Man’s an absolute pussy. But interrogations happen to be my livelihood so this verbal buildup isn’t doing anything for me.”

            “Uh oh,” Miles said sarcastically. “Looks like we have a real hard ass on our hands, Bass. What will we do?”

            “I’ve heard about the great Sebastian Monroe,” Parker told them conversationally. “Apparently torture really isn’t really your thing. You left all the dirty work to your boyfriend here. Sad when a man can’t find the stones to do things himself.”

            “I know what you’re doing,” Bass told him coldly. “And it isn’t going to work. Nothing you say is going to make us kill you outright. If that was going to happen, you’d already be dead.”

            “Really?” Parker asked slowly, his eyes traveling from Bass to Charlie to Miles and back again, taking in every flicker that crossed their features. “I expected the animosity from Matheson and Charlotte. But this seems personal for you, Monroe. I wonder why that might be?”

            “Enough,” Charlie interjected, stepping forward and meeting Parker’s gaze calmly. “You’re not in charge here, Parker,” she told him coolly. “And you won’t ever be again. But I’m willing to be more merciful than you were. Just tell us what we want to know about the Patriots and I’ll do my best to make sure you and Mason are killed quickly.” Charlie heard Mason moan quietly but kept her eyes firmly on Parker.

            Parker chuckled under his breath as he settled more comfortably against the wall. “Lady Bountiful, in the flesh,” he murmured snidely. “No, Charlotte, we both know that’s not going to happen. You and your uncle want to get your pound of flesh for what happened during our . . . brief acquaintance.” Charlie’s hands clenched into fists and Parker smirked. “It’s only been a few weeks,” Parker remarked pensively. “Still get a few twinges when you move too quickly, Charlotte? Do the scars pull a bit when you’re getting dressed? I’ve always wondered how much more you could have taken before –“

            Bass moved swiftly, quietly, and his fist was a blur as he struck Parker, the thud of bone on bone echoing through the shower stall. Parker’s head snapped to the side and he shook it sharply before slowly turning to face his trio of captors. Miles looked as though it was taking everything he had to keep from lunging at Parker and picking up where Bass had left off.

But it was the other two that held Parker’s attention. Charlie had stepped forward to place a restraining hand on Bass’ arm, her face ashen though surprisingly calm as she started up at his set white face. Parker could see Bass’ arm trembling from the strength of his anger but he didn’t make a move. Parker ‘s eyes widened and an exaggerated grimace twisted his face.

            “Oh, for God’s sake,” he groaned. “Have the two of you . . . You’ve had her, haven’t you?” Parker asked Bass, his voice taunting as he did his best to push the former dictator beyond all restraint. The most he could hope for was a quick death and he thought he had finally found the way to achieve it. “Charlotte, I know that you’re confused and slightly masochistic, but this is just going too far.”

             Miles growled deep in his throat and stepped forward but, surprisingly, Bass extended his arm and blocked Miles’ path. “Let him talk,” Bass said tonelessly. Miles glanced at his friend and felt a combination of dread and unholy glee erupt within himself as he saw a tide of icy cold fury rising within the former President. Parker couldn’t know it but in trying to save himself from torture, he was ensuring that his agony would be more and more unimaginable with every word he spoke.

             “Tell me,” Parker said to Bass conspiratorially. “Does she taste as good as she looks? You got her out of camp before I could sample –“

             The filth spewing from his mouth was abruptly cut off by a shout of agony. Charlie stood before him, her shoulders heaving with fury, as she started down at Parker. The kick she had aimed at his groin had hit home and had forced him to curl into a fetal position as he wretched and heaved against the crippling pain. Charlie knelt beside him and fisted a hand in his hair, jerking his head up to force his eyes to meet hers.

             “You’re pathetic,” she spat. “Did you really think that you’d push us far enough that we’d just get so lost in anger and kill you? You have no power anymore, Parker,” Charlie told him harshly. “We are going to decide how and when you die. Nothing you do will change that. You’re helpless, impotent, completely in someone else’s control. I, for one, am going to enjoy every minute.”

              Parker choked down the bile that rose in his throat and glared at Charlie, his hatred naked in his eyes. “You think when I’m gone that you’ll be free?” he taunted. “Every time you get undressed, every time he touches you, you’ll both see the marks that I left on you. Every time you close your eyes to sleep, I’ll be in your dreams. You’ll feel my knife on your skin, my cigarette searing your flesh. You’ll feel my breath on your neck. I will haunt you, Charlotte Matheson. I’ll haunt both of you. You’ll never stop thinking of me.”

              “From the moment you touched me, I’ve thought of you as dead,” Charlie replied, her voice strong and unwavering. “As soon as Miles and Bass make that a reality, I’ll never think of you again.” She shoved him away and stood, walking swiftly over to Miles and Bass. “I want to stay,” she told them, her voice low.

             “No,” Bass answered immediately, his voice hard. “Go back to the house, have Bobby Lee send one of his ranch hands go into town and fetch your mother and Gene. Now that we have all the Patriots rounded up, they don’t have to worry about hiding. They should bring everything. As soon as this is done, we’ll head out.”

             Charlie glanced over at Miles, who nodded in agreement. “Fine,” she replied reluctantly as she turned back to Bass. “But, no matter what, I want to be here at the end. Promise me.”

            Bass shifted his gaze from Charlie to their two prisoners – Mason, his false bravado long gone, was hunched over as far as the ropes would allow and shuddering with every gasping breath; Parker, ashen at the knowledge of what was to come, simply sat staring into space, his eyes unseeing as he contemplated every possible scenario of what was to come. “I can promise that we’ll send for you,” Bass allowed, his eyes never straying from the two crumpled figures. “I can’t promise that they’ll still be alive by the time you get here.”

            “Good enough,” Charlie answered shortly. Without another glance at Parker and Mason, she spun on her heel and walked out of the stable.

            When it was clear that Charlie was gone and well out of earshot, Miles turned to Bass and asked, quite nonchalantly, “So how do you want to start this one? Slow and steady or do we go right for the big ticket spots?”

            “I want this one to be slow,” Bass replied immediately, his icy blue eyes shifting from Mason to Parker and back again. “But I’m not quite sure how we should go about it. Our bag of tricks is pretty empty.”

            “Bass, you should have more faith in me,” Miles admonished as he turned and picked up his discarded backpack. “After all, before I was a Marine I was a Boy Scout and our motto was ‘always be prepared’.” He rummaged around in the depths of his bag before his questing fingers found what he had been looking for. An unholy grin split his face as he turned to Bass. “I didn’t know we’d need this for quite this purpose but . . . here.” Miles whipped his hand out of the bag with a flourish and ostentatiously presented Bass with a small glass bottle filled with a clear liquid.

            “And this is?” Bass inquired.

            “Kerosene.”

            Bass’ eyes narrowed as he stared at the little bottle and a chilling half-smile barely curved his lips. “Anything else we might need in that little bag of tricks?”

           “It just so happens that I requisitioned one of Gene’s syringes,” Miles answered, immediately holding out the instrument for Bass’ inspection.

          “Miles, it’s like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.” Bass held the kerosene and syringe in one hand as he turned back to his prisoners. “Tell me, Parker, Mason,” he began as he paced back and forth between the two. “You boys are such fans of torture, I’m sure you know what these are for.” When no answer was forthcoming, Bass halted, glancing between the two men with raised eyebrows. “No? I’m surprised. And disappointed, Parker, seeing as this was your livelihood. See, Miles and I have the same basic philosophy about interrogations that you do. Keep it simple, right? But we like to be a little more sophisticated about it. Cuts and cigarette burns are -” Bass broke off for a moment and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he battled for control, “so unimaginative, don’t you think?”

            Bass held up the bottle of kerosene and uncorked it, tossing the stopper to Miles, and inserted the slender needle into the bottleneck. He slowly raised the plunger and the kerosene bubbled into the syringe. “Way back in the 19^th and very early 20^th centuries, people used to think kerosene was medicine. They’d swab throats with it, take a teaspoon of it at bedtime, things like that. Damn stupid, but they didn’t know any better and, over time, they’d usually end up poisoned. Then some idiot decided that he was going to inject himself with kerosene. Last mistake that moron ever made but, boy, let me tell you, what a discovery. You see, kerosene injected into the human body does amazing things. Painful things.”

            Bass knelt next to Mason and, ever so gently, ran the blunt side of the needle back and forth along the bare skin of his forearm, from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. The man turned a sickly shade of yellow and gulped frantically to keep from throwing up. Bass smiled grimly and held the kerosene-filled syringe up before Mason’s eyes. “Skin turns black and blisters,” he said slowly, grimly. “Incredible pain shoots through the body and you pretty much lose the function of whatever limb it’s injected into. I’m told that it’s intolerable agony.” Bass glanced over at Miles, who was watching the performance with no small amount of amusement. “Of course, I could be wrong,” Bass allowed reluctantly as he turned back to the two Patriots. “It’s been a while since we’ve tried it on anyone. What do you say, Miles?” he asked as he turned his gaze back to the other man. “I think we need to refresh our memories.”

            Before Miles could respond, Mason broke, his breath erupting in shuddering gasps. “Please,” he begged frantically, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! Ask anything you want and I’ll answer. Please, just don’t do this. Anything you want, I swear!”

           “Shit, you really are a fucking pathetic human being,” Parker growled. “They haven’t even done anything yet!”

           “Now, now, don’t be so hard on him,” Miles chastened as he strolled over to join Bass. “Just listening to Bass had me shaking in my boots and I knew I wasn’t in the line of fire. Poor old Mason here,” he said as he clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed, drawing a yelp of pain, “could be forgiven for getting a touch worked up.”

           “But here’s what Mason doesn’t realize,” Bass said as he crossed to stand in front of Parker. “You were right when you said this was personal. Because it wasn’t just what you did to Charlotte, though that would have been more than enough. When we took her from your camp, you Patriot fucks killed my son.” Parker’s eyes shot to Bass’ face and, in spite of himself, he felt a shudder pass through him at the absolute deadly calm that was on the former dictator’s face. No emotion, not one twitch of expression betrayed what Sebastian Monroe was thinking or feeling. He was like ice, blank and cold. Parker felt some of that chill start to seep into his body and little beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

            “Yes,” Bass murmured, grim satisfaction in his voice. “Now you understand, don’t you, Parker? Miles and I owe you to for a lot and we’re going to collect in spades. And you’re right,” he admitted easily. “I did leave most of the interrogations to Miles when we were running the Republic. But the world has changed in the last year, Parker, and you’re about to realize how much.” Bass tapped the needle against Parker’s cheek and chuckled humorlessly when the man trembled. “You wanted to fine President Monroe, pal. You got more than you bargained for. So, Mason,” he turned to direct his frigid gaze at the trembling man, “you hold on to your secrets for a little while. I don’t want you to talk yet and it wouldn’t matter if you did because nothing you tell us is going to change the course of events that Miles and I already have planned.” He stood and walked back to stand next to Miles. “You boys are going to suffer,” Bass informed them equably. “You’re going to scream and beg and curse your parents for having met. You’re going to tell us everything you know while you pray for death. And maybe, a long time from now, we might just let you die.” Bass glanced at Miles, jerked his head towards the stable door, and walked away. Miles spared one more look for the two prisoners, noticing that Mason was now sitting in a growing puddle of his own urine, and turned to follow Bass into the much-needed fresh air.

              “Holy shit, Bass,” Miles muttered as he stood next to him. “That was a whole new level of intense. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” When Bass remained silent, Miles looked over at him and was surprised to see that Bass was pale, his lips pressed together in a grim line while the hand that he ran through his tangled curls trembled slightly. “Bass?” Miles asked, concern evident in his voice.

               “I want to kill them,” Bass said hoarsely. “I want them screaming and out of their minds with pain while I slowly gut them.” He looked over at Miles, his gaze icy cold and yet tormented at the same time. “I remember what it was like to feel this way every day, Miles. It’s like a drug – the power over other people’s lives. I don’t want it to control me again.”

            “It won’t,” Miles insisted firmly as he placed a steadying hand on Bass’ shoulder. “The fact that you’re worried about it is proof that you won’t be that man again. And Charlie would kick your ass if you even thought about going back to being President Monroe.”

             Bass huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Yeah,” he murmured. “No question about that.”

            “I won’t let it happen either, Bass,” Miles assured him. “I . . . gave up too easy on you last time and –“ He broke off and shrugged, suddenly finding a thicket of weeds near the barn extremely interesting. “I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can tolerate you again. Sure don’t want to lose that.”

          “Shit, Miles, you’re not going to try and kiss me or anything, are you?”

           Miles eyes shot to find Bass grinning, gratitude plain on his face, and Miles glowered at him. “You’re such a dick, Bass,” he groused as he tried to keep himself from grinning back.

          “Thanks, Miles,” Bass said, suddenly serious as he turned his attention back to the barn. “I mean it.”

          “Yeah, I know,” Miles replied. “You read to get this done?”

         “Absolutely.”

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            Charlie sat on the front steps of the Jacobson ranch house and leaned back against the slightly warped wooden handrail. Bobby Lee and his men had set out for town over an hour ago, which meant that her mother and grandfather would arrive at the ranch in an hour, maybe less. She knew that she had promised Bass and Miles that she’d leave them when they told her. But, Charlie reasoned with herself, she hadn’t said how far she would go. She was sorely tempted to sneak back to the stable and find out what was happening. She had noticed, during the brief time she was in the shower stall, that each stall in the stable was fitted with a window placed high on the back walls. The glass had been broken years before and would provide her with a perfect opportunity to listen and observe without being seen. The big question, Charlie acknowledged to herself, was if she wanted to see the two most important men in her life doing things that she wouldn’t be able to forget.

            “Stewin’ ain’t gonna fix the problem.”

            Charlie whirled to find Merle Jacobson standing behind her on the top step, his shoulder resting against one of the porch roof supports.

            “What?” Charlie asked, still surprised at his sudden appearance.

            “Whatever it is that’s botherin’ you,” Jacobson replied. “I got a pretty good idea what those two are doing down in the stable. Got a pretty good idea of why, too.” Charlie started at this piece of information and looked up at him in silent, shocked inquiry. Jacobson rubbed the side of his nose and peered off into the distance. “The reaction y’all had when I first mentioned them tipped me off that they weren’t exactly strangers to ya. Then, when you were getting into the wagon, your shirt hitched up a bit and I saw the scars. Pretty new, from the looks of ‘em. Doesn’t take much to put two and two together.” He looked down at Charlie and she was shocked at the hardness in his eyes. “Never could stand a man who’d raise his hand against a woman. So anything they’re doing to those two worthless sons of bitches is just fine by me.”

            The not-uncomfortable silence stretched between them until Charlie had sufficiently recovered from the shock of Mr. Jacobson’s observations. “I . . . I promised to stay away,” she murmured, squinting as the brightness of the setting sun burst over the landscape. “But I want to know what’s happening. I feel like I deserve to be there to see them go through –“ Charlie broke off, overwhelmed by a surge of anger, helplessness, and, surprisingly, sadness.

            “No doubt you do deserve it,” Jacobson agreed immediately. “But ya made your man a promise and that has to count for an awful lot. ‘Sides, ya sure ya want to see him like that? Probably why he asked ya to stay away in the first place. In spite of everything he’s done, he doesn’t wantcha to see him at his very worst.”

            Charlie’s shoulders stiffened imperceptibly and she turned slowly to face the older man, her face a blank mask. “What do you mean, ‘everything he’s done’?” she asked calmly. “James hasn’t done anything.”

            Jacobson looked down at her with a mixture of fond amusement and pity. “Child, did ya really think I bought that story back at the boarding house? If he’s James King, I’m John Wayne. And,” he added immediately at the look of confusion that crossed Charlie’s face, “before the blackout, that would have made sense to ya. Nope,” he continued, “I knew he was Sebastian Monroe from the minute I seen him. No doubt about it. But it ain’t none of my business if a man wants to change his name and start over. Hell, I did it myself once. And I didn’t want Emmaline getting her unmentionables in a twist, so I played along. Saw how you looked at each other, too.” Jacobson eyes grew soft and a wistful smile crossed his face. “Used to look at my Sarah like that, before she was taken from me,” he said quietly, temporarily lost in his memories. “Can’t fake it. So,” he said briskly, snapping back to the present, “I figured if you could forgive everything he had done to you and yours, it was none of my nevermind to take away a man’s second chance at redemption.”

            Charlie stood slowly, her tear-glazed eyes resting on the strong, compassionate man standing before her. “Mr. Jacobson,” she almost whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Well, for starters, you can start calling me Merle,” he said with gentle joviality. “I think we’ve moved past formalities, don’t you?”

            Charlie chuckled wetly as a few stray tears trailed down her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently and nodded. “Definitely, Merle,” she replied.

            “As for your goin’ to the stable, if you’d’a decided to break your promise, you’d be sneakin’ down there already.” Merle turned to walk back towards the door and glanced over his shoulder at Charlie. “Let him do this his way, Charlie,” he advised her. “The man must feel like he has a lot to make up for. Maybe this’ll help him feel like he’s on his way.”

            The battered, heavily patched screen door closed quietly behind Merle as he disappeared into the house and Charlie sat where he had left her, staring after him, finally acknowledging the decision she had already made.

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            A scream rent the still, heavy air as Bass stepped away from the writhing figure, the empty syringe held loosely in his hand. Parker’s stoicism had only lasted until the second injection of kerosene and then he could take no more. The radiating burning pain, the quickly-erupting blisters, the rapid, skin-splitting swelling that resulted from the intravenous kerosene was more than he could take. His arms were three times their normal size, black streaks radiating towards his shoulders and wrists from the injection site. Blisters peppered his marred flesh, bursting under the growing pressure and leaving open wounds that were individual sites of torment.

Bass had just injected another dose into Parker’s left leg and the man was rapidly descending into the madness of pain. Mason had barely lasted through the second injection before succumbing to delirium and semi-consciousness. Miles had suggested leaving him to recover for a few minutes before resuming his “treatment”.

            “You know, Miles,” Bass remarked casually as he refilled the syringe, “I was wrong to leave this kind of thing to you when we were running the Republic. It’s amazing how satisfying it can feel to administer a little one-on-one justice.” He gently flicked the syringe to force any air bubbles to the top and smiled grimly at Parker, who was straining impotently at his bonds in a futile attempt to escape his agony. “Downright cathartic, don’t you think, Parker?” Bass knelt by the struggling man and fisted a hand in Parker’s sweat-soaked hair, jerking his head back and forcing the man’s eyes to meet his. “How did you feel when you were cutting into Charlotte Matheson?” Bass asked, his eyes glacially cold. “Or when you pressed your cigarette between her breasts?”

            Parker’s eyes were wide and wild as he looked at Monroe and he dug deep for the force of his hatred. “Stupid bitch deserved everything I did,” he rasped in a last desperate attempt to end his suffering. “What kind of whore betrays her family by fucking the man who destroyed them?”

            Swiftly, silently, Miles was there, his blade pressed against Parker’s throat. “You miserable, stupid son of a bitch,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

            “Don’t, Miles,” Bass ordered sharply. “It’s what he wants. And Parker doesn’t get what he wants anymore, do you, Lieutenant?” The man in question simply moaned as his eyes slid shut and his head thumped back against the wall.

            Miles slowly lowered the knife and glared over at Bass. “Let’s get on with this, damn it,” he demanded. “I can’t stand to breathe the same air as these fuckers.”

           “You’ve lost your touch, Miles,” Bass remonstrated, shaking his head in disappointment. “You used to be able to go on like this for days.”

           “Yeah, well, I wasn’t interrogating the man who had tortured my niece,” Miles shot back.

            “Or two of the men who were responsible for killing my son.”

            Miles’ face fell and he nodded curtly. “It’ll go however you want,” he agreed. “But let’s end this sooner rather than later. All of a sudden I feel like we need to get the hell out of here.”

            “You must be psychic,” a fain voice rasped up at them. Miles and Bass turned to face Mason, who had finally regained consciousness and was twisting weakly under the lash of the pain streaking through his body.

            Miles walked over to stand in front of him, looking down at the suffering creature dispassionately. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

           “You two think you have the upper hand,” Mason gasped. “Maybe you do right now. But that’s all going to end soon.”

           “Shut your fucking mouth, Mason!” Parker choked, his wrists starting to bleed as he tore more forcefully against his bonds.

           “Shut up,” Bass said offhandedly as he joined Miles to stand before Mason. “Keep talking, Mason.”

           “Will you kill me if I tell you?”

           “Now, why should we do that?” Bass asked, almost amused. “You’ll tell us no matter what because you’re this close to losing your grip and you know it.” He held up his hand, his thumb and pointer finger practically touching. “You’re going to break, Mason. Everyone does, even Parker. He might take longer, but it’s going to happen eventually and Miles and I are patient men. Why should we end it before we’re ready?”

            “You’re pathetic,” Miles added derisively as he sneered down at Mason. “There’s no way we’re giving you the easy way out when you have so much to answer for.”

            “Parker’s the one who tortured her,” Mason said desperately. “And I wasn’t even anywhere near the front gate when the fighting broke out. I had nothing to do with the girl or your son!”

             Bass spat in disgust and leveled a kick at one of Mason’s swollen, painful arms. Mason howled in agony and wretched at the fire coursing through his limb. “You played your part, you miserable coward,” Bass snarled. “You think she didn’t tell us what you did to her before Parker got his hands on her? And I don’t give a shit whether you were front and center for my son’s death or hiding in the latrine. You were there. That’s enough. Besides, if our capture is just a few hours away, why would you want us to kill you?”

            “Because I’m dead anyway,” Mason gasped as another wave of pain swept through his body. “Nothing can undo what you’ve done to me. But at least this way, it’ll be quick. I won’t have to feel myself dying by inches.” He looked frantically between Bass and Miles, his throat working frantically as he tried to think of a way to persuade them. “Think of the girl,” he said desperately. “It’s her life at stake, too, right? Are you willing to put her at risk just to make me suffer for another few hours?”

            “Damn you to hell, Mason, you fucking coward!” Parker howled. “Don’t you say one Goddamned –“ Miles crossed over to Parker and shoved a rag in his mouth, cutting off his tirade, before returning to Mason.

            “You tell us what you know, Mason,” Miles ordered grimly. “Everything. Right now.”

            “Do I have your word that you’ll kill me once I’ve given you what you want?”

            Miles raised an inquiring eyebrow at Bass, who nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling. Miles smiled grimly and turned back to their prisoner, waiting in agonized expectation for their answer. “Fine,” Miles replied. “You have our word. Tell us everything.”

Chapter Text

            Mason slumped back against the wall, his eyes sliding closed in relief, and swallowed thickly to try to ease his parched throat. A hard boot to his hip jolted him from his brief moment of relief and he forced himself to return his focus to his two captors.

            “Spit it out, Mason,” Bass ordered coolly. “If it’s that urgent, and you’re so eager to end all this, you don’t have time to take a little nap.”

            Mason’s tongue darted out, trying to dampen his dry lips, and he looked up at Bass and Miles almost beseechingly. “Could I have a drink of water?” he rasped.

            “Nope,” Miles replied easily. “We promised to kill you, not make you comfortable first. Now tell us what you know or we start refilling the syringe.”

            Shrinking back against the wall, Mason shook his head frantically. “No, please,” he gasped. “I’ll tell you everything. But no more kerosene.”

            “Depends on what you tell us,” Bass said, glancing over his shoulder at Parker as the man struggled to shout epithets through the rag stuffed in his mouth.

            “The Patriots,” Mason gasped. “They’re on their way to this ranch as we speak. And they’re not coming alone.”

            “What the hell are you talking about, Mason?” Miles scoffed. “How could they even know where you are, let alone be headed in our direction?”

            “Do you honestly think we’re the only ones out looking for you?” Mason asked them, a hint of derision creeping into his voice. “Your little group is Priority One for the Patriot organization. And after the shit you pulled in Willoughby, the Texan government is out for blood, too. They’re coming after you together.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Bass snapped, his narrowed eyes focusing entirely on Mason. “Texas and the Patriots have been at each others’ throats for months.”

            “Not anymore,” Mason assured them, an involuntary spasm of pain twisting his face. “They agreed to an alliance right after you snatched your girlfriend and disappeared. Both sides have been keeping it quiet until they’re able to produce the great President Monroe and his twisted little entourage.”

            “OK, let’s just assume for a minute you’re telling the truth,” Miles allowed. “Maybe the Texas government has completely lost their minds and they’ve joined up with the Patriots. That still doesn’t explain how they know we’re here or how you know that they’re on their way.”

            “Relay posts,” Mason answered, and both Bass and Miles swore under their breaths.

            “How often?” Bass asked briskly, his eyes shooting from Mason to the doorway as if he was already looking for the Patriots to be creeping towards them.

            “Every morning,” Mason told them. “And they’re damned efficient. They know where we are and they know when to expect our updates. We should have checked in at mid-day. They don’t hear from any of their groups on time, they immediately send out a company to investigate and provide backup. You can be sure that they’re already on their way.”

            “A full company?” Bass asked intently.

            “Yes.”

            “How far are they from us?”

            “Now that we have an alliance with Texas, we’re able to use their military and Ranger bases. Our troops moved in right away. There’s a fully manned post that we’ve been checking in with about four miles west of here.”

            “And they just want me?” At Bass’ question, Miles scowled and started to say something but he was cut off by Mason’s response.

            “You’re kidding, right?” In spite of the pain shooting through his body, Mason almost managed to scoff. “After the stunt you guys pulled to get the girl out of our camp, you’re all on their list. When she refused to turn you over, it became very clear that your alliance wasn’t just a temporary convenience. They’re coming for the whole group. It will be perfect. They can blame everything on a resurgence of the Monroe Republic. Once you’re all executed, the Patriots will be seen as the saviors of the continent and we’ll be unstoppable.”

            “Dream on, dipshit,” Miles barked. “Even if all of that happens – and that’s a big fuckin’ ‘if’, pal – you won’t be around to see it. So I wouldn’t get all worked up over the whole thing.”

            “Damn it, I didn’t want to turn North yet,” Bass swore, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’ll take us deeper into the Plains Nation than I’d like but we have to put some distance between us as these bastards.”

            “Don’t kid yourselves,” Mason rasped, his pathetic attempt at laughter disintegrating into a hacking, painful cough. “It won’t matter how far you go. They’re never going to stop looking for you. Not until they can parade your dead bodies through the streets. And if that means following you into that messed up shit-hole, they’ll do it. So yeah, maybe I’ll be dead, Matheson,” he spat at Miles. “But you and your bizarre little family will be, too.”

            Steel flashed, crimson spurted, and Mason’s body toppled to the side, twotching spasmodically. Bass looked from the corpse to Miles, his eyebrows raised in silent inquiry.

            “Shit, Bass, he told us what we needed to know,” Miles growled as he wiped the bloody blade on Mason’s sleeve. “I didn’t need to listen to him spewing garbage.”

            “Well, so much for a long, lingering death,” Bass replied calmly as he glanced briefly at the now-still body. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do to get everyone out of here before the Patriots show up.”

            “That everyone includes you, too, right, Bass?” Miles asked, his eyes intent on Monroe’s almost-unnaturally calm face.

            “You heard what he said, Miles,” Bass responded. “They’re not going to stop until they have bodies. And I’ll be fucked and damned if one of them is Charlotte’s.”

            “No, Bass, damn it!” Miles exploded, his hand gripping Monroe’s shoulder. “This is not the time to start thinking about throwing yourself on your sword! Let’s just pack up and get the hell out of here. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

            “I’m not willing to take that risk, Miles.”

            Miles started pacing the length of the shower stall, barely sparing a glance for Parker, who was still struggling against his bonds and trying to force the rag out of his mouth. He stopped abruptly and looked over his shoulder at Bass, who had been watching him with oddly detached amusement. “They need bodies, we give them bodies,” Miles told him bluntly.

            “Where exactly are we going to find those, Miles?” Bass asked, glancing around the stall. “We have one – soon to be two – but that doesn’t take care of everyone.”

            “Burn bodies long enough and you can’t tell who the hell they were,” Miles replied bluntly. “Those Patriots in the cellar –“ Miles paused and passed a hand across his mouth. “We can’t let them go, you know that. They’re dead, anyway. Might as well make them useful.”

            “And you don’t think the Patriots are going to be wondering where twelve of their men went?”

            “We figure out a story for Jacobson to tell the Patriots when they get here. We’ll think of something, Bass!”

            Bass dropped his head forward and rested his hands on his hips. Slowly he began to shake his head and looked up at Miles. “The Patriots’ll realize that Jacobson lied to them quickly enough and he’ll pay for it, Miles. He’ll pay dearly. I know that I went off the rails near the end of the Republic, but up to that point I hadn’t been willing to betray someone who helped me just to save my own neck. I’m not going to do it now.”

            “Well, let me tell you what I’m not going to do,” Miles rasped. “I’m not going to turn tail and run and leave you here to die out of some misguided notion of nobility or some shit like that. I’m not going to face Charlie and tell her that you’re leaving her alone.” Bass half-turned from Miles but he saw a muscle in Bass’ cheek twitch at the mention Charlie’s name and pressed his advantage. “So my plan’s not perfect. I don’t care. All we need is to delay the Patriots while we make a run for it. After everything we’ve been through, this is not how it’s going to end. Damn it, Bass, we just need a little time! Think!”

            Silence stretched between them as Miles waited for Bass’ response. Finally, Bass turned to face Miles, his eyes hard. “I want Charlotte gone when this happens,” he said stonily. “She’s not going to be anywhere near this place when those Patriot foot soldiers die.”

            “Bass, she isn’t going to just up and leave you,” Miles protested. “She’s going to want a reason.”

            “And you’ll give her one,” Bass replied immediately. “You, Charlotte, Rachel, Gene, Jacobson and his men are going to ride after that cattle and get them back. While you’re gone, I’ll deal with the bastards in the cellar. That way, Jacobson will be able to answer honestly when he’s asked about what happened.”

            “But he’ll have the cattle that we’ll have taken back from the Patriots. That’ll certainly piss them off.”

            “They won’t have any idea that Mason’s men took the cattle,” Bass told him calmly. “He can just saw he was rounding up his herd and bringing them back for market or some shit like that. Hell, Miles, I’m not a rancher. He’ll come up with something.”

            “Fine, but I’m staying here,” Miles informed him, but Bass had started shaking his head before the sentence was even finished.

            “No, you’re not,” Bass told him firmly. “I need you to be with Charlotte to watch her back. You’re the only one I trust to do it so, please, do this for me.”

            “Damn you, Bass, you don’t ask for much, do you?” Miles raged as he violently thrust his hands into his pants pockets and briefly turned away. “You can’t do this on your own,” he said more calmly. “There are ten men in that cellar.”

            “Please, Miles,” Bass said with almost unnatural calm. “Killing people is what I used to do best, especially after you left. It’ll be like . . . falling off a log.”

            “No, damn you, it won’t!” Miles ground out. “You may have allowed President Monroe to come back for this but you’re not him any more, Bass. This is going to weigh on you and you know it. How can you ask me to let you deal with this alone? I don’t know if I can. Even for Charlie.”

            “You’re going to do it, Miles,” Bass insisted quietly. “Or else I’ll bring Rachel into this and we both know how that will go.”

            “You son of a bitch,” Miles breathed, his face hot with anger.

            “Like it’s a surprise,” Bass retorted. “Don’t tell Rachel or Gene what’s happening, just get them out.”

            “What about Charlie? Do you want me to lie to her, too?”

            “No,” Bass murmured. “Tell her everything, but, for God’s sake, make sure she goes with you. She likes Jacobson, she’ll want to make sure that we keep our promise to him.” Miles scoffed but Bass pressed on. “Explain the basics to Jacobson so he can come up with a believable story but otherwise keep them in the dark until you get back

            “And where will you be?” Miles asked bitterly. “Or should we just keep going without you?”

            “Don’t be an ass, Miles,” Bass retorted. “Jacobson said the priest won’t be back at the church for a few weeks. After I . . . take care of the others and set everything up, I’ll head for the bell tower. I'll be able to keep an eye on out for when the Patriots get there and just wait them out. As soon as the they've left, I’ll sneak away and meet you on the other side of the town where Charlotte found me the other night.”

            “And what do we do with our little friend here?” Miles asked, his lip curling in disgust as he looked down at Parker.

            Bass looked down at Parker, a look almost of surprise flitting across his face as if he had momentarily forgotten the other man’s presence. He almost sauntered over to Parker and stood before him, staring down at him in serious contemplation. “How much kerosene do we have left?” he asked casually.

            Miles picked up the little bottle and held it up, studying it with a critical eye. “A little over half.”

            “Will the syringe hold all of it?”

            Parker’s eyes grew wide as he glanced between Miles and Bass and, in spite of the pain it must have caused in his swollen, blistered arms, he began to pull weakly at the ropes that bound him to the shower stall wall.

            “Yeah, it should,” Miles replied confidently.

            “Fill it up.”

            Miles inserted the slender needle into the narrow neck of the kerosene bottle and slowly raised the plunger. The three men watched as the viscous fluid bubbled sluggishly into the syringe. When the bottle was empty, Miles held it up in front of him and lightly tapped the clear plastic to force any air bubbles to the top. He slightly depressed the plunger to expel the bubbles and silently handed it over to Bass.

            Holding it lightly between his thumb and index finger, Bass allowed the syringe to bob almost playfully – back and forth, back and forth – as he walked over to Parker and dropped to one knee beside him. Parker’s wide eyes were fixed on the syringe and sweat ran freely down his face. Any pretense of bravado had long disappeared and he trembled visibly as Monroe simply started at him.

            “Well, Parker,” he finally said, “I didn’t get to have as much fun with you as I would have liked. But I think that this will help do away with any lingering disappointment I might have.” He held the syringe up in front of Parker’s eyes and leaned in close to whisper in the man’s ear. “This is about five times the amount of kerosene we’ve already put into you. And now I’m going to inject it all at once – right into your carotid. The pain is going to be absolutely incredible. You’ll be begging for death, Parker. And it’ll come, I can promise you that. But you’ll probably lose your mind before your heart stops beating. And yet that still doesn’t seem to be payment enough for what you did to Charlotte. If I had the time, you miserable piece of shit, I’d skin you by inches, peeling the flesh from you a bit at a time until you were totally unrecognizable as a human being. But either way, I get what I want – you, dead and buried in some unmarked grave, unmourned and forgotten.”

             He plunged the needle into Parker’s neck, finding the artery with uncanny accuracy. “This is for Charlotte and Connor, you bastard,” he rasped as he depressed the plunger. Parker writhed as the kerosene flowed into his bloodstream, horrible, mewling sounds erupting from behind the rag stuffed into his mouth. Monroe roughly pulled the rag away and stood next to the convulsing man, staring down at him dispassionately. “I want her to hear you scream, Parker,” he said. Tossing the rag aside, he turned to Miles. “Let’s go.”

              As the two men walked out of the stable, Parker’s first tormented cries followed them and pierced the stillness.

              Charlie was waiting for them on the back porch, her face pale in the strong Texas sunlight. Her eyes immediately found Bass as they approached and she hurried down the steps to meet them. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, her hand rising as if to touch him but almost immediately dropping back to her side.

              “Fine,” Bass answered briskly, afraid that if he allowed himself a single moment of real emotion with Charlie he wouldn’t be able to do what needed so desperately to be done. “You, Rachel, Gene and Miles are going with Jacobson and his men to get the cattle back. I’m staying here to look after things. Grab my bag for me, will you?”

              Before Charlie could even begin to formulate an answer to Bass’ incredible statement, increasingly frantic screams rent the air and, in spite of herself, Charlie felt a frisson of fear ripple down her spine. “Is that . . . “ she began to ask, her voice dwindling to silence.

             “Parker,” Bass confirmed, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stable. He turned back to look at Charlie, his eyes intent on hers. “He won’t last much longer,” he told her. “But what time he does have left will be hell on earth, I promise you that.”

              “Bass, I –“ Charlie began but Bass cut her off.

              “The bag, Charlotte. Bring it down, would you? And Miles,” he said abruptly, turning to the other man. “I’m going to need your dog tags.” Before either Charlie or Miles could answer him, Bass spun on his heel and headed towards the bunkhouse.

               “Miles,” Charlie said slowly. “What the hell is going on?”

               “Let’s grab that bag, Charlie,” Miles said wearily as he started to walk to the house. “I’ll fill you in as we go.”

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            Bass was rifling through the Patriot soldiers’ rucksacks when the bunkhouse door exploded inwards and banged against the wall. He spun, drawing his sword, ready to face his advancing enemy only to find Charlie standing inside the doorway, every inch of her radiating fury.

            “What is this bullshit, Bass?” Charlie managed to ask through gritted teeth as she marched into the bunkhouse. “Miles told me your brilliant plan,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, as she threw his backpack at his feet. “We go haring off after some damn cattle and you stay here to face down a fresh company of Patriots? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, buddy, so you can just get that idea right out of your head!”

            Bass bent to pick up their pack and set it on a table. He began to painstakingly remove their belongings, searching carefully for what he needed, and avoided looking at Charlie.

            “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he finally told her, his outer calm belying his inner turmoil. “And I’ll meet up with you after everything’s over.”

            “Don’t you dare try to lie to me, Bass,” Charlie warned as she watched him empty their pack. “You think I don’t know that this is some kind of damn suicide mission? And didn’t we have a really similar discussion about making decisions together before we got to Sweetwater or was that just my imagination?” When no answer was forthcoming, she grabbed hold of his sleeve and jerked him around to face her. “What happened to ‘no matter what’, Bass?” she asked, her breath hitching as she posed the question. “You promised me at the hotel that no matter what you did today, that you loved me and that we would be OK.”

            “That has nothing to do with this,” Bass informed her coolly.

            “The hell it doesn’t!” Charlie exclaimed, anger once again surging to the fore. “I don’t know about you, but my idea of love doesn’t include running out on the other person, Bass! So either you were lying this morning or you’re lying now. So tell me which one I shouldn’t believe – that you love me or that everything is going to be just fine.”

            “Charlotte, I don’t have time for this,” Bass said dismissively, not even bothering to look up at her.

            “Oh, you bastard,” Charlie breathed, her eyes so intent on his profile that she was vaguely surprised that Bass couldn’t feel the heat of her glare. “Is that the route you want to take? Fine, go ahead and try, but I’m not going to let you just dismiss me!” She reached out and shoved at his shoulder, forcing him to turn and fully face her. Bass looked mildly annoyed but simply stood there, eyebrows raised as he gestured for her to speak her piece.

            Fire flared in Charlie’s eyes at his seemingly indifferent attitude, but she tamped it down, knowing that she needed to bank her temper in order to get out what needed to be said. “I know what you’re doing,” she told him, her voice carefully even. “And I know why. But you made promises to me in Sweetwater, Bass, and I’m not going to let you back out of them. You – “ Charlie swallowed and wiped her suddenly-damp palms on the back pockets of her jeans. “You told me that you love me and I chose to believe you. So you can choose whether or not you believe me.” She took a step closer to him, the intensity of her gaze forcing his eyes to meet hers. “I know you, Bass,” Charlie told him confidently. “I know who you were and who you are. I know the terrible things you’ve done because I’ve lived them. I know that while you can be stubborn, hard, selfish, ruthless, unforgiving, and dictatorial, that’s not everything that you are. You’re also an incredibly loyal, brave, caring man who has made me feel happy and safe and cherished for the first time in a very long while. I want you to know that I see all of you, Bass. The good and the bad. And I love what I see.”

            Bass was stone still, his face still reflecting his earlier attitude of disinterest, but Charlie heard his breath hitch when she paused. For some reason, that gave her the courage she needed to keep going. “I love you, Sebastian Monroe,” Charlie murmured as she slowly closed the distance between them, not stopping until she was almost flush against him, her hands lifting to rest lightly on his hips. “Nothing will ever change that. So don’t do this macho, protective garbage where you try to push me away for my own good. You’re it for me and I’m staying with you no matter what.”

            The silence stretched between them, Charlie staring up at Bass, sincerity and determination radiating from her face, while Bass looked down at her, his face betraying none of the emotion that was raging within in him. Then, suddenly, Charlie saw his façade crumble; suddenly, his arms were tight around her, his forehead pressed to hers, and he was almost gasping for breath and he held her close, almost as if was trying to meld them into one flesh.

            “Oh, God, Charlotte, be sure,” he almost whispered, his voice and arms desperate. “Because once I know you really mean it, I won’t let you take it back. In spite of all the reasons I should push you away, I’m too much of a selfish bastard to do it.”

            Charlie didn’t even attempt to break the hold his steel-like arms had on her. She merely leaned back in his embrace until she could look into his face. His eyes – hot, intense, desperately hopeful – bored into hers and she felt tears sting her own eyes as she fearlessly returned his gaze. Tightening her arms around his waist, she smiled softly and allowed her hands to gently caress his back. “I’m very sure, Bass,” she murmured gently. “You’re so worried about what you did as President Monroe that you haven’t realized what you’ve done since then. I’m not going to tell you that the past doesn’t matter. It does, for both of us. But what’s more important to me is what is going to happen tomorrow and next week and next year. There are so many days stretched out in front of us, Bass, and I want us to fill them together. Good or bad, whatever happens from now on, they are ours.”

            “You have no idea how much I want that, baby,” Bass told her as he raised one hand to gently cradle her cheek. “But if the past couple of days has taught me anything, it’s that the . . . darkness . . . in me hasn’t gone away. It was so easy to become President Monroe again, to feel that rush when I was holding another person’s life in my hands. What if I can’t control it? What if I go back to who I was? I’d hurt you, Charlotte, and I’d rather let you go now than run the risk of doing that again. I’d never get over it.”

            “Bass, the very fact that you’re worried about becoming what you were is proof that you won’t,” Charlie insisted, her hands fisting in his shirt. “You lost yourself in grief after Shelley and the baby died,” she continued gently, hating that she had to mention that painful period in his life and potentially reopen an old wound. “You were sad and afraid and, even though you had Miles, you thought you were alone. But you’re not alone anymore. Remember what I said at the cabin? We make each other better. You might think you’d be saving me by leaving or pushing me away or letting me go. It wouldn’t save me, Bass. It would . . .” Charlie paused, her throat tight, as she contemplated what she was about to admit. To tell him would offer him such power over her. To hold it back would be a betrayal of the relationship she believed they had. Taking a deep breath, she slid her hands around to chest and raised them to frame his face. “Bass,” she admitted softly, her voice heavy with emotion, “it would break me to lose you.”

              She felt him jerk under her hands, his brows lowered over incredulous eyes, as he struggled to take in what she had just said. “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Charlie added grimly. “I’d still get up every morning, I’d keep going with Miles and Mom and Grandpa. I’d fight the Patriots and whoever else happened to piss me off. Maybe somewhere down the line I’d meet another man who would be happy with who and what I had become. I would have a life, Bass, but it would be one without you. And I wouldn’t be happy. Don’t ask me to give up something amazing just because you don’t think you can trust yourself. You trust me, don’t you?” Bass nodded immediately and Charlie smiled up at him. “Good. Well, I trust you. So we’re fine. Right?”

              Bass was silent, his eyes roaming her face, taking in each feature as if he was committing everything to memory. “Say it again,” he rasped suddenly, his voice tight with something that almost sounded like desperation.

              Charlie wound her arms around his neck and raised herself on her tiptoes, her breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest. “I love you, Bass,” she told him softly. “Always.”

              She felt the tension practically melt out of him and his head slowly fell forward to rest on her shoulder, his face pressed into the gentle slope of her neck.

            “Thank God,” Bass murmured unsteadily. “Charlotte, I love you so much,” he whispered into her skin, the heat of his breath raising goose bumps along her spine. “I know that I don’t deserve you, but –“

            “Bass, you do deserve me,” Charlie insisted as she gently wove her fingers through his blond curls. “Maybe the man you were before didn’t, but you do now. And more importantly, you deserve to be happy. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure that you are.”

            “You want to make me happy?”

            “Of course.”

            “Then will you do something for me?”

            “Anything,” Charlie promised rashly, still swept up in the mad, wonderful haze of her declaration.

            Bass pulled back from her embrace just enough to look down at Charlie, her face glowing with happiness, and steeled himself for her reaction. “Go with the others to get the cattle.”

            The light immediately fled from Charlie’s face and her jaw clenched stubbornly. “That’s a low blow, Bass,” she ground out as she tried to extricate herself from his arms. He immediately released her and Charlie began pacing in front of him, furious.

            “Charlotte, just hear me out, please,” Bass said calmly, though a thread of desperation could be heard in his voice. “Do you realize what I’m going to have to do here?”

            “Yes,” Charlie replied immediately. “You’re going to execute those Patriots assholes and use them to fool the others into thinking we’re dead.”

            “No,” Bass contradicted. “That’s not what I’m going to do. Your words are a little too sanitary for the reality of what will happen. I’m going to go down to that root cellar and kill ten men who have been drugged, bound, and gagged. I’m going to strip them and drag their naked bodies someplace; I’m still not quite sure where. I’m going to choose the five that are closest to our heights and douse them in whatever flammable chemicals I can find and I’m gong to set them on fire, let them burn until they’re almost beyond recognition. The others, I’m going to bury. It’ll have to be quick so that the Patriots don’t find them. The graves will be shallow. That means that when night rolls in, the animals will get to them.” Charlie’s face had gone a little pale during Bass’ speech and he nodded grimly. “As terrible as it is to hear a very general description of it, it’ll be a hundred times worse to see it. And to see me do it. I’m begging you, Charlotte, don’t make me do that to you. Don’t do it to us. Because no matter what you say now, no matter how much you might think they deserve it, if you stay here and see me doing those things, that’s all you’ll see when you look at me from now on.”

            “I don’t want you to face this alone,” Charlie protested. “Not with how worried you’ve been about becoming President Monroe again..”

            “I’ll be fine,” Bass promised confidently. “I’ll take no pleasure from killing those men but I know why I’m doing it. It’s not for power or money or reputation. I’m doing it to protect my future with you, for something good and pure. Knowing that makes all the difference. Please, Charlotte. Do this for me, for us.”

            Charlie stared up at him silently, her gaze raking his face, and she finally nodded in agreement. “OK,” she murmured and his eyes slid shut in relief.

            “Thank you,” he whispered as he raised his hands to gently bracket her neck.

            Charlie’s arms twined around his waist and she leaned into him, pressing her face into the solid warmth of his chest as her fingers grasped his shirt in a desperate grip. Bass returned the embrace, his arms sliding around her shoulders as he pulled her even closer and rested his chin on the crown of her head.

            “We’re going to be alright, baby,” he murmured reassuringly as one of his hands brushed soothingly between her shoulder blades and the other slid under the heavy weight of her hair to cup her head. “We’re going to have all those days you talked about and they’re going to be good ones. I promise.”

            Charlie gave a shuddering sigh and forced herself to step back, her hands sliding forward to rest on Bass’ hips. Her eyes were suspiciously bright but she refused to give in to the fear that was threatening to undo all of her good intentions. “As soon as we get the cattle from the Patriots, I’m breaking off and meeting you at the church. This is not up for discussion,” she added immediately when she saw he was about to object. “Everything will be done by then, right?”

             Bass, knowing very well that the answer was obvious, nodded but swiftly cut her off when she was going to continue. “I don’t want to run the risk of the Patriots getting their hands on you again,” he objected, reaching out to take both her hands in his, his fingers slipping between Charlie’s until they were tightly linked.

             “Same goes,” Charlie retorted. “Look, if it were me, would you just sit in camp and wait to see if I rode into camp with Miles? No,” she answered preemptively and Bass couldn’t argue with her. “I’ve already agreed to help Jacobson get his cattle back. I’m not agreeing to anything else. I am going to be at the church and that’s it.”

              Bass sighed resignedly, and released one of Charlie’s hands to trail his fingers down the side of her face in a gentle caress. “Alright,” he agreed. “But if things so south, promise me that you and Miles will head out with Rachel and Gene.”

              “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer, Bass,” Charlie said sharply. “You want Miles and me safe, then keep yourself safe. Then we’ll all be happy. Deal?”

               Bass smiled reluctantly and brushed his thumb across her lips. “Deal,” he murmured before lowering his head to graze her mouth with his. Before he could pull back, Charlie’s hands lifted to grip his jaw as she deepened the kiss, her movements almost frantic as she twined her arms around Bass’ neck. Bass immediately pulled her tight against him, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and plunging inside when they parted. Their embrace was almost frantic, fingers digging into flesh as they strained to get as close to each other as possible.

              Charlie pulled back first, gasping as she pressed her swollen lips to the side of Bass’ neck while his lips caressed the smooth curve of her shoulder. “We’ll be alright,” he whispered against her skin and Charlie nodded, her eyes tightly shut against the threat of tears.

               “I know,” she told him and Bass chose to ignore the tremble in her voice.

               “Do me a favor?” he asked gently as he stepped away to reach back into the backpack.

               “I’m not going to answer that until you tell me what it is,” Charlie said wryly. “Not after what you just pulled.”

               Bass smiled fleetingly and pulled his hand from the bag, his dog tags gleaming dully in the light filtering into the cabin. He unhooked them and slid the tags off, gripping them tightly. “I’m going to have to put these on one of the bodies,” he told her. “But only you and Miles know about the rings, so I can keep those. Will you –“ He broke off and finally looked over at her, something that looked suspiciously like fear in his eyes. “Will you hold onto these for me?” He extended his hand and there, next to the two battered strips of metal, gleamed three rings – two simple platinum bands and one set with a gleaming diamond.

               Charlie’s gaze seemed to be frozen to the tiny objects and she forced herself to look up at Bass. “Of course,” she replied slowly. “I’ll keep them until you get back.”

               “Thank you,” Bass said as he handed them to her. He moved to repack the bag and hesitated, turning to half-face Charlie. “Maybe . . . maybe you might want to keep a couple of them . . . longer?”

                Charlie smiled up at him as her fingers closed gently around the rings and she raised her closed fist to rest it between her breasts. “Yes,” she replied softly. “Maybe I might.”

Chapter Text

Charlie walked quickly from the bunkhouse, one of her hands tightly clenched and resting low on her abdomen. Her breath rasped in her throat as she blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to keep her tears from falling. Leaving Bass behind, knowing what he was going to be facing, was probably the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but she had promised. In spite of her fear and her aching sadness, Charlie felt her lips twist into a reluctant smile. He had tricked her, the bastard, she reminded herself with grim humor. But she had given her word and he knew that she wouldn’t go back on it.

            Miles was standing next to Bass’ horse, a rope trailing from the animal’s halter and looping over Miles’ saddle horn. It had been decided that they would leave Bass’ horse at the church and that Bass would make his way to the church on foot. It would take him longer to get there but it would be easier for Bass to conceal himself if he wasn’t worried about hiding a horse as well. At the sound of Charlie’s approach, Miles turned and watched her walk towards him. His eyes raked over Charlie’s face, taking in the tightness of her mouth and the telling sheen in her eyes. Miles’ jaw tightened as he walked around the horse, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

            “You OK, kid?” he asked gruffly as Charlie came to a halt in front of him.

            Charlie shook her head, a quick, jerky movement. “No,” she said tightly. “I’m not. But I promised him that I’d go with you, so . . .” Her voice trailed off and she gave a one-shouldered shrug, her hand clenching tighter against her stomach almost involuntarily. Miles noticed the movement and he frowned, his brows lowering.

            “Something wrong with your hand?” he asked, nodding down at her fist when Charlie looked up at him, confused. She followed the direction of his gaze and flushed slightly when she realized what he was looking at.

            Slowly, almost reluctantly, Charlie opened her fingers to show her uncle what had been hidden within their tight clasp. The three rings rested against each other on her palm, the diamond winking up at them cheerfully in the bright, beating sunlight.

            Miles blinked, his eyes traveling from the rings in his niece’s palm to her face and back again. “Oh,” he finally said softly, and Charlie blinked rapidly at the weight of that word, at the knowledge of what her holding those rings meant, and angrily fought back a fresh rush of tears.

            “Yeah, ‘oh’,” she replied, her thumb gently brushing over the rings.

            Miles turned and walked over to his mount, his back to Charlie, and rummaged through one of his saddlebags. Charlie watched him, perplexed at his actions, until he had moved back to her side. Miles held out his hand, something that looked like a leather shoelace dangling from it. Charlie looked up at him, her eyebrows raised in silent inquiry, and Miles shrugged stiffly. “Thought you’d want to make sure you didn’t lose them. You can, I don’t know, make a necklace or something.”

            Charlie reached out slowly and took the slender strip of leather. “Thanks, Miles,” she said softly. “That’s really –“ She cleared her throat and smiled up at her uncle. “Thank you.”

            “Yeah, well,” Miles said gruffly, fidgeting uncomfortably under her gaze. He turned abruptly and started walking towards the bunkhouse. “I better go give Bass the dog tags,” he said over his shoulder. Charlie watched as he walked away, the desire to follow him and see Bass one more time so strong she almost couldn’t breathe. She forced herself to turn away and returned her attention to the rings. Holding them in one hand, she folded the leather strip in half and fed the loop through the three rings. Pulling the two ends through the loop, she held up the makeshift necklace and watched the rings sway back and forth in the sunlight. After looking around furtively to make sure that no one else was in sight, she cupped the rings in one hand and brought them to her lips, pressing a kiss against them before tying the loose ends of the leather around her neck. Charlie tucked the rings beneath her top and sighed when she felt their slight weight come to rest between her breasts.

            “Honey, are you alright?”

            Charlie jumped slightly and turned to find her mother, grandfather, and Merle standing just past the hitching line, her mother regarding her with a look of concern.

            “I’m fine,” Charlie told her as she nonchalantly brought her hair over her shoulders to conceal the leather necklace, not quite ready to tell anyone else about the rings yet. “Looking forward to getting the cattle back for you, Merle.”

            “Not gonna lie, I’m pretty happy about it myself,” Merle replied. “My guys are just getting saddled and then we can be on our way.”

            “Where’s Miles?” Rachel asked as her eyes swept over the little group. “He was out here a minute ago.”

            “He had to talk to Bass about something,” Charlie replied in a remarkable even voice. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

            “Yeah, why isn’t Monroe coming with us?” Gene asked. “I thought this cowboy stuff would be right up his alley.”

            Remembering Miles’ strict admonition that the others couldn’t know what Bass was going do to, Charlie quickly thought up a lie. “Someone has to stay behind and make sure the prisoners don’t escape,” she explained calmly. “And he knew that you and Mom would probably prefer Miles to be with you.”

            Gene’s brows rose, surprise evident on his face. “That was . . . thoughtful,” he said slowly.

            “Bass can be funny that way sometimes,” Charlie shot back as she narrowed her eyes at her grandfather. He had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself and suddenly found the stony dirt beneath his feet to be extremely interesting.

            Charlie and the others stood in silence as, one by one, the ranch hands began joining their little group, swiftly swelling the ranks. Glancing over her shoulder, Charlie saw her uncle leave the bunkhouse and begin to make his way over to them. Biting her lip, she forced herself to accept that it was time to leave. Swinging up into the saddle, she tried to focus on checking her saddlebags, her stirrups, her reins, anything that was going to keep her from thinking about Bass, alone in the bunkhouse and dreading what was going to happen after they left.

            Miles brought his horse to stand next to Charlie’s and when he mounted he leaned as though to check his stirrup. “He’ll be fine, kid,” he murmured as he fiddled with the leather strap. “He’s come through worse.”

            “And what did that do to him?” Charlie asked, her voice thick with anger. “I don’t like leaving him to face this alone.”

            “Charlie, it would be worse if you were here to see it,” Miles assured her. “Just remember that before – and I can’t believe I’m going to say this – he didn’t have you.”

            Before Charlie could even begin to formulate a response to her uncle’s surprisingly touching comment, Merle had called for everyone to move out and the horses were soon kicking up a storm of dust as they headed for open range. Charlie turned her horse to get one last look at the bunkhouse and felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw Bass standing in the open doorway, his eyes meeting hers across the distance. She raised her hand, her movements deliberately slow, and clutched the rings beneath her shirt, making sure he saw and understood. Wheeling her horse around and digging her heels into his sides, Charlie shot after the other riders into the whirling clouds of earth and was lost to his sight.

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            Bass watched Charlie ride away, his eyes dry, his posture rigid. Even after she had disappeared from sight, he continued to stare in the direction in which she had ridden, trying to catch one last glimpse. When he could no longer even hear the pound of hoof beats on the dry earth, he shook himself from his reverie and walked back into the bunkhouse. He didn’t have time to regret sending her away. The Patriots were coming and he didn’t know when they’d get to the ranch – he had to move. Bass stared down at the table – at the dog tags, the two swords, the dagger, the gun with its extra clips.

            Closing his eyes, Bass forced himself to remember the rage he felt at Connor’s death, at Charlie’s torture, at the deaths and deceptions that could be laid at the feet of the Patriots. Of the bomb that fell on Philadelphia, his city and his people. He felt the anger, the murderous, bloodthirsty rage, roll over him like a vengeful tide until it was all he knew. His eyes shot open and they were no longer tormented. They were flat, dead, and chillingly dangerous. Monroe reached out and ran his hands over the hilts of his swords, his touch almost caressing, before sliding them sharply into the sheaths hanging from his belt. The gun was tucked into his waistband, the knife slipped into his boot. He palmed the dog tags and slipped them in his pocket, neither his eyes or his face betraying a flicker of emotion at these treasured reminders of a simpler, happier time.

            Monroe turned and walked out of the bunkhouse, his stride purposeful as he made his way to the storm cellar doors. Flinging them open, he marched down the stairs and allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the comparative darkness. Glancing around the confined space, he saw ten men, bound wrist and ankle, slumped against the packed dirt walls, their faces ghostly pale. Every so often, a moan broke the silence as the jimson weed continued to make its effects felt within their guts.

            Moving to the first two crumpled figures, Monroe nudged them roughly with his boot. “Wake up,” he barked, fetching one Patriot a kick to the ribs when he didn’t move quickly enough.

            “Can’t you leave us to die in peace?” one of the men gritted out. “You poisoned us, you son of a bitch.”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone soon enough,” Monroe told them grimly. “But first we’re going to take a little walk. Get moving or you won’t like what happens.”

            “Kiss my ass, Monroe,” another one shouted weakly. “We can barely move to fall over. We sure as hell can’t move to walk.”

            The swords rasped loudly, ominously, in the cool cellar as Monroe drew them from their sheaths. “How about this?” he asked, steel in his voice. “You et your asses off this floor and up those stairs or I start swinging. And if you think jimson weed is painful, just wait until you’re guts are spilling onto the floor. You don’t die quick from a belly wound.”

            The Patriot foot soldiers slowly dragged themselves to their feet, their eyes dark with hate as they glared at the hated former President of the Monroe Republic. “Whatever you have planned, Monroe, it isn’t going to work,” one of them said as he shuffled past, a short, stocky man with a broad face and the close, deep set eyes one usually associates with pigs. “You’re not getting out of this one.”

            “Is that so?” Monroe asked casually. “Tell me, dipshit, have you ever heard of a place called Scranton? Let me tell you how I didn’t get out of that one, either.” He planted his foot on the man’s somewhat broad posterior and shoved, slowly following the line of straggling Patriots out into the Texas sunshine.

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            Monroe wiped his forearm across his sweaty brow, his breath rasping in his throat, and looked grimly at the ten bodies that lay before him. He didn’t allow himself to feel regret at their deaths or self-loathing at the remarkably cold, efficient way in which he has dispatched them to their Maker. Rather, he cleaned his dripping blades on the clothes of the Patriot nearest to him and returned the swords to their sheaths. He had already decided which five men were going to be used to fool the Patriots and he quickly loaded their bodies into the wagon bed, covering them carefully with a tarp to keep them separate from the other bodies that would soon join them. After loading the rest of the corpses, he drove over the killing field several times until enough dirt had been disturbed to dissipate or cover the slashes of blood that indicated where each man had fallen. As Monroe headed out past the paddocks, he stopped along the way to retrieve Parker and Mason’s bodies as well. Keeping a keen eye on the position of the sun in an attempt to determine how much time he had left, Monroe urged the horse to greater speed as he looked for a sufficiently remote spot for a hastily-dug mass grave.

Finally finding a place that was comfortably removed from the ranch, Monroe halted the wagon and leapt down with a shovel. He knew he couldn’t make it deep but he also knew that he had had to make it big enough to hide seven bodies. Setting to work with the shovel like a man possessed, dirt flying as he dug, Monroe moved as quickly as possible to dig a trench that would hold the seven corpses.

Monroe had no idea how long he dug. Time was measured in sweat as it dripped from his brow, in blisters as they formed over old calluses on his palms and fingers, in the grit that lined his mouth no matter how many times he spat to clear it out, in the endless, blistering heat of the sun as it beat down on his head. Finally, he stopped, leaning heavily against the shovel handle as he cast a critical eye over the trench he had hewn from the earth. Perhaps ten feet long, two feet wide, and two feet deep, it would be a tight squeeze to get all of the bodies in it but, as he observed humorlessly to himself, they were in no position to protest. Not overly deep, the animals would no doubt find them quickly but it would suffice to keep the bodies hidden while the Patriots searched the property.

Glancing up at the sun, the position of which indicated that it was just past midday, Monroe hustled to drag the seven bodies from the wagon, tossing them unceremoniously into the trench. As soon as the last body had been committed to its final resting place, he began filling the grave in, taking the time to tamp down the dirt as he went. All of his effort would be for nothing if the Patriots saw something that looked like a grave and dug it up. He even went to far as to drive the wagon over it a few times, making everything as level as he could.

Clucking to the horses, Monroe turned the wagon back towards the ranch house, scanning the outbuildings as he went in search of some place he could take care of the last part of his plan. As he passed the first paddock, he eye was caught by a long, windowless structure that he and Miles had not yet gotten around to inspecting. Pulling the team to a halt, he leapt down from the wagon seat and crossed to the doors. They slid open easily enough and Monroe found himself standing in a room, half of which was piled high with barrels. Stepping closer to inspect them, Monroe found the drums to be labeled “FERTILIZER – HIGHLY FLAMMABLE.” Exhaling deeply, he wiped his suddenly-damn palms down the legs of his pants. As crazy as his plan had seemed to Miles and, quite honestly, to himself, it was really starting to look like it could work.

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            Monroe finished stripping the bodies of anything that might not burn – rings, ID tags, emblems indicating rank. He placed his and Miles’ dog tags around the necks of two of the bodies, ruthlessly forcing any pangs of regret out of his mind. He cast an eye around the shower stall, making sure he had collected anything he and Miles might have left behind during their interrogation of Parker and Mason. Having determined that everything was ready, he went out and began to slowly, carefully roll two fertilizer drums into the tile-lined space.

            The shower stall was actually perfect for what he had in mind. Not only would it keep the fire somewhat contained, sparing the other outbuildings, but the tiled concrete walls would ensure that the fire burned as hot and as hard as possible. That would not only ensure that the bodies would be rendered unrecognizable as Patriots, but wipe away all identifiable trace of who these men had been.

            After positioning the barrels right next to the bodies, Monroe removed his shirt and wrapped it around his face to ensure that he didn’t inhale the fertilizer’s powerful fumes. Pulling out his knife, he pried the tightly-fitted lid from the barrel and gently nudged it until it tipped onto its side, the potent liquid sloshing over the rim and pouring over the bodies. The fertilizer immediately began to eat through the flesh of the corpses and Monroe gagged as he struggled to empty the second barrel. Taking great care not to get any of the corrosive substance on himself, Monroe backed out of the shower stall.

            He reached into the wagon bed and pulled up a loose board, quickly wrapping one end in a rag from his backpack. Kneeling on the ground, he retrieved his flint rock from his pocket and began to rub it energetically against the blade of his knife. Sparks leapt from the stone, landing on the cloth and Monroe blew gently to encourage the tiny flames to take root. As soon as his torch was sporting a healthy flame, he walked swiftly to the doorway of the shower stall and tossed it in.

            The conflagration was immediate and overpowering, the explosion of heat almost knocking Monroe to his knees. The horses were almost insane with fright and Monroe leapt onto the wagon seat to grab the reins, making no effort to check them as they charged away from the makeshift funeral byre. Pulling firmly on the lines, Monroe managed to direct them to the stable and, using all of his strength, pulled them to a shuddering stop. Standing with their heads lowered and sides heaving, he was reasonable sure that the horses weren’t going to bolt on him as he opened the stable doors and led them into the cool darkness.

            Monroe hastily unhitched the horses and led them into empty stalls, quickly starting to rub them down so that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that they had been recently used for heavy work. As he swept one of the horse’s back with a twist of hay, he noticed that his hand was trembling. He clenched his fingers tighter around the hay and focused on the repetitive motion – back and forth, back and forth. If he tried hard enough, he told himself, he could block out the hell of the last hours, of the stench of smoke and burning flesh. He couldn’t afford to allow cracks in the armor of his fury, not yet. He had to stay clear and cold just a little back longer. When he was back with Charlotte – No. He shook his head and mentally chastised himself as he moved to the second horse. He couldn’t think about her, either, or the way she had looked at him before she had ridden away. Of the way she clutched his parents’ wedding rings to her heard.

            “Damn it,” he rasped as he angrily flung the handful of hay to the ground. The horse turned his head to look at him, and Monroe almost thought that the large, dark eyes were chastising him for his outburst. Almost against his will, he reached out and smoothed his hand down the animal’s soft cheek, his hand brushing over the soft nose and lips. “I think it’s about time I got out of here,” he murmured, exhaustion suddenly crashing down on him. The mile between the ranch and the church suddenly seemed to be a thousand. Shaking off his fatigue, he retrieved his pack from under the wagon seat and slipped out of the stable, his attention immediately drawn to the billowing black smoke that seemed to pulse from the shower stalls. Monroe’s head whipped around at the sound of approaching hoof beats and his eyes narrowed when he saw the approaching cadre of horsemen in khaki. Patriots.

            “Fuck.”

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            Charlie wiped her forearm across her damp forehead as she watched Merle and his men drive their herd back towards his ranch, the cattle lowing as the ranch hands urged them on. It had been surprisingly easy to take the herd back from the Patriots who had been attempting to move them to the nearest Patriot encampment. Not only had they been raw recruits but they had absolutely no idea how to deal with cattle, who could be surprisingly contrary when they put their minds to it. The Patriots’ bodies had been unceremoniously dumped down a ravine, the two ranch hands who had been wounded had been patched up, Merle had assured her and Miles that he had a plausible story ready for when the Patriots arrived at his ranch, and, as soon as they were in sight of the church, he, his men, and his herd had ridden off with endless expressions of gratitude and friendship.

            A sudden eruption of black smoke from the ranch jolted Charlie from her reverie and her hands tightened on her mount’s reins. She glanced over at Miles and was surprised – though she really shouldn’t have been – by the grin she saw on his face.  

            “Shit, I wonder what he found that could burn like that?” he asked almost reverently.

            “You can ask him when we get to the church,” Charlie replied briskly as she urged her mount into a canter. She glanced over at her uncle, who had sped up to ride beside her, and almost bit her tongue to keep from asking him to reassure her that Bass would be alright. She wasn’t a child, Charlie reminded herself angrily, and Bass was more than capable of taking care of himself. But, for some reason, her self-reassurance did little to undo the knots that were suddenly twisting her stomach. She could not shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. It took every ounce of control she had to keep from wheeling her horse around and riding hell for leather to the ranch and to Bass.

            “Relax, kid,” her uncle said calmly. “The fire’s set. That was the last step. He’ll be heading to the church by now and we’ll be there in less than five minutes. Take a deep breath, Charlie. It’s almost over.”

            Charlie shook her head, her eyes drawn once again to the column of black smoke that rose like a scar against the blue Texas sky. “No,” she said slowly, a frisson of fear creeping up her spine. “I don’t think it is.”

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            Bass slowly crept back to the stable, never taking his eyes off of the advancing troop of horsemen. “Shit,” he muttered as he slid through a gap in the doors. The bastards were early. From the way they were spreading out to form a perimeter, there was no way he was getting out of there before nightfall. Miles and, son of a bitch, Charlie would be waiting for him at the church. They were probably there now. Please, God, let Miles keep Charlie from trying to come find him, Bass thought desperately.

            He glanced quickly around the stable, searching for a place to hide and his eyes fell on the ladder up to the hayloft. He scrambled to the top and quickly plunged into the dry, sweet-smelling hay, burrowing deeply and pulling the hay in behind him to fill in his little tunnel. Hopefully he’d be able to remain concealed there until nightfall and then find some way to sneak past their sentries to make it to the church.

            Bass stilled when he heard the muffled sounds of the stable doors being slid open. Hardly daring to breathe, he strained to hear what they were doing. The horses directly beneath him moved restlessly in their stalls, their shrill whinnies and the resounding thuds of their flanks against the stall walls indicating that their stalls were being searched. Bass could hear the Patriots talking to each other as they moved from stall to stall but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

            Suddenly, Bass heard boots thump on the hayloft floor. Rigid with tension, Bass gripped the hilt of his sword with numb fingers, ready to burst from his frail sanctuary at the first sign of discovery.

            “Shit, it’s gonna take us forever to search through all this stuff,” one of the Patriots griped. “It goes the whole length of the barn.”

            “Captain only said to secure the stable. Didn’t say how we were supposed to do that,” came the reply. “Just shot into the hay. Anything that’s not supposed to be in there will either die or jump out.”

            “Fine with me,” said the first voice and Bass’ breath caught in his throat when he heard the sound of automatic weapons being prepared to fire. Suddenly, the stable was filled with an explosion of sound as bullets ore into the hay and ricocheted off the walls. Bass threw himself flat on the floor, knowing even as he pressed himself against the rough boards that it was no good. The last thought that ran through his mind just before the searing pain ripped through his body and blackness overcame him was Charlie and all those days he had promised her.

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            Charlie sat against the baked wall of the church bell tower, knees drawn up to her chest and hands gripped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. She stared, unseeing, into the moonlight-illuminated darkness as Miles crept incessantly between the windows, careful to keep himself concealed, as he continued to keep watch for Bass. Miles glanced over at his niece, his brow furrowed in concern for both his friend and his niece.

            “He’ll be here, Charlie.”

            “He was supposed to be here hours ago,” Charlie replied hoarsely through stiff lips. “You should have let me go after him.”

            “No, I shouldn’t,” Miles answered immediately. “I promised Bass that I’d keep you safe and that’s what I’m doing. So get the idea of going back to the ranch right out of your head, Charlie, because if I have to hogtie you to keep you here, by God I’m gonna do it.”

            “If anything happens –“ Charlie’s voice broke and she swallowed thickly. “If anything happens to Bass,” she continued, her voice hard, “and I could have helped him, I’ll never forgive you, Miles.”

            “And I can live with that,” Miles replied quietly. “They won’t get their hands on you again, kid. I gave my word and –“ He lunged at a window, kneeling up to peer through his field glasses. “Charlie,” he whispered urgently. “I think I see someone.”

            Charlie was by his side before he could even finish saying the words, her fingers gripping the window sill like claws as her eyes searched frantically for any sign of movement.  The moonlight illuminated something crawling slowly across the open plain. Miles had almost decided that it was an animal on the prowl when Charlie gasped and lunged for the ladder, her feet barely touching the rungs as she almost flew to the bottom. Before Miles could catch up with her, she had unbarred the church door and run out into the night.

            Charlie sprinted across the ground, her breath coming in harsh gasps and her heart pounding in her chest, and she saw that whoever it was had stopped moving. Finally reaching him, she fell to her knees and choked back a sob as she rolled him over. The weak moonlight revealed dirty blond curls, a beloved blood-streaked face. Bass. With trembling hands, Charlie gently smoothed her fingers across his cheeks as tears fell from her eyes to mingle with the blood marring his features.

            Miles was suddenly by her side, swearing steadily under his breath when he saw the state of his friend. “Charlie, we gotta get him inside,” he said urgently as he looped his arms around Bass’ torso. “Get his feet, c’mon, help me carry him.”

            Grabbing his legs, Charlie rose to her feet and hustled to keep up with Miles as he hurried to get the three of them under cover. As soon as they were inside the church, Miles gently lowered Bass to the floor and ran to bar the double doors, peering through the slender crack between them to make sure that no one had been following Bass. Leaning over his still form, Charlie immediately saw what had escaped her notice before. The blood wasn’t just on his face. His shirt and the top of his jeans were soaked with it. Choking back tears, Charlie started checking Bass frantically for the source of the blood. She lifted the hem of his shirt and bit out a curse when she saw the bullet wound near his right hip. Her fingers gently explored his back and found the exit wound almost directly behind where the bullet had entered his body.

            “Miles, he’s been shot,” she said tightly. Miles hurried over and knelt next to Bass, gently shoving Charlie out of the way so that he could inspect the wound.

            “Through and through,” he pronounced grimly. “Shit, he’s lost a lot of blood. No way we can get him up the ladder. I’m gonna go get the packs and we’ll get him patched up.” Miles gripped Charlie’s shoulder and gave her a little shake. “He’s going to be alright, kid,” he promised gruffly. “Keep yourself together, OK?”

            “I’m fine,” Charlie assured him. “Go. Hurry.”

            Miles disappeared up the ladder and Charlie softly smoothed her hand over Bass’ sweat-and-blood dampened curls. “Come on, Bass, wake up,” she murmured, her eyes intent on his face. “Please. I just need you to talk to me.”

            Bass’ eyes flew open, wide and unseeing, and he tried to scramble away, convinced that he was still running for his life. Charlie gripped his shoulders and pressed her weight against him, careful to avoid his wound.

            “Bass!” she said frantically. “Bass, it’s me! Please, Bass, stop!”

            Bass stopped struggling and looked up at her with wide, frantic eyes. “Charlotte,” he gasped, his head falling back to rest on the floor. “Thank God.” He tried to sit up but hissed as pain shot through his side.

            “Lay still, Bass,” Charlie told him sharply. “Miles is getting the first aid kit, OK? I just need you to be still.”

            “Those ass holes shot me,” Bass ground out.

            “Yeah, we can see that,” Miles replied as he jumped from the ladder, packs in hand. “Did you forget the most important part of hide and seek?”

            “Kiss my ass, Miles,” Bass shot back, though without the force with which he would have usually said it.

            Charlie grabbed several rolls of bandages, a canteen, and the ever-ready bottle of honey out of one of the packs and glared at her uncle. “Do you think we could hold off on irritating him until we’ve made sure he’s not going to bleed to death?”

            “I’ll be fine,” Bass assured her. “It stopped bleeding . . . I’m not sure when, but it hasn’t been bleeding for a while.”

            “I don’t find that really reassuring, Bass,” Charlie snapped as she dampened one of the bandages with water from the canteen and began to gently clean the blood from around the wound. “You have two holes in you and your clothes are soaked in blood. Forgive me if I’m a little concerned.”

            Miles took in his niece’s paleness and the way her fingers trembled as she cleaned the wound and shook his head. “Here, kid,” he said as he reached across Bass’ prone form. “I’ll do it. You just keep him company and make sure he doesn’t cry like a little baby.”

            Charlie silently handed the bandage over to Miles and grasped Bass’ hand, scooting up to give her uncle room to tend his friend. Bass hissed as Miles dabbed honey on the entry and exit wounds and Charlie squeezed his hand.

            Within minutes, Bass was tightly bandaged, his face pinched and white. Charlie lifted the canteen to his lips and he gratefully gulped down the cool water.

            “OK?” Charlie asked when Bass had had his fill.

            “Much better now,” Bass assured her as he moved to sit up. Miles and Charlie immediately slid their arms behind his shoulders and helped lift him upright.

            “What happened, man?” Miles asked grimly. “You were supposed to be here hours ago. Charlie was about losing her mind.”

            “Patriots showed up early,” Bass said succinctly as he reached again for Charlie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I hid in the hayloft but they shot through the stacks and I caught a ricochet. No way I would have survived a direct hit. I had to wait until it was dark to get out and then –“ He shrugged and gestured to his clothes. “The blood loss kind of slowed me down. Took me a while to get here.” He looked at Charlie and smiled weakly. “Sorry if I worried you.”

            Charlie leaned in and gently pressed her lips to Bass’, then rested her forehead against his. “I’m just really glad that you’re here now.”

            “Yeah, we’re all thrilled,” Miles added, still more than a bit uncomfortable with seeing his niece kissing his best friend. “I’m betting you left a blood trail while you were getting here, Bass. I’m gonna go make sure it’s covered. Charlie, get him settled. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

            Miles opened one of the doors just enough to slip through and gently closed it behind them. Charlie turned to Bass and smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “Feel like you could stand?” she asked.

            “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Really, Charlie, I’m fine.”

            “Don’t tell me that,” Charlie snapped. “Don’t try to pretend that you’re OK when Miles and I had to carry you in here and it looks like most of your blood is now outside of your body and on your clothes.”

            “Alright,” Bath replied soothingly. “It hurts like hell. Happy?”

            “Thrilled,” Charlie replied shortly as she wedged her shoulder under Bass’ arm and helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly and leaned heavily on Charlie, his head falling to rest against hers. Charlie wrapped her free arm around his torso, careful to avoid his side. She led him slowly over to one of the sturdier looking pews and helped him to sit down.

            “We’re not going to get you up the ladder tonight,” Charlie told him. “You rest for a minute and I’ll get a bed set up for you.”

            “Make sure it’s big enough for both of us.”

            Charlie glared at him over her shoulder as she started spreading blankets on the floor. “Forget it, Romeo. You’re resting tonight and that’s it.”

            “No kidding,” Bass replied, chuckling. “I’ve just gotten kind of used to having you close by, ya know? I just . . . sleep better when you’re with me.”

            Charlie abandoned the blankets and swiftly crossed to stand in front of him, her hands cupping his face. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me, too.”

            Bass slid his hand around the back of her neck and drew her down to him, his lips gently caressing hers then, suddenly, the kiss became more urgent, deeper, needier, as both of them allowed themselves to think of what they could have lost if the Patriots had found him. Bass ran his tongue across the seam of Charlie’s lips and she immediately opened to him, their tongues sliding wetly against each other and Charlie moaned, one of her hands moving to caress the curls at the nape of his neck.

            Bass pulled away first, gasping, and trailed his lips across her cheek. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get here,” he whispered as Charlie pressed wet kisses against his jaw. “All I could think about was the promise I made to you in the bunkhouse and how I was going to break it. God, Charlotte,” he moaned as his arms wound tight around her slender waist, his face pressed against the warmth and softness of her stomach. “I love you so much.”

            “I love you, too,” Charlie replied, finally allowing herself the luxury of tears. She bent to press her face into that perfect spot where his shoulder met his neck and Bass tightened his arms around her when he felt her tears on his skin.

            “I’m here, baby,” he murmured as his fingers caressed the strip of skin between the bottom of her tank top and her jeans. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

            Charlie pulled back and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “I know,” she said confidently, her eyes still wet. “I’ll finish setting up the bed and we’ll get you settled. You must be exhausted.”

            “Are you sure this place is secure? I’d feel better if we were up in the tower. At least we’re wouldn’t be in plain sight up there.”

            “The windows are all shuttered and there’s a heavy bar across the doors. There was a back door but it’s been blocked off. There’s an old crypt downstairs that we can hide in if we need to but staying here makes the most sense. We just have to wait until the Patriots leave. If they believe that we’re all dead, hopefully they’ll head out tomorrow.”

            The doors creaked and Charlie spun to face them, grabbing a gun from her pack as she moved. Miles stepped into the church and Charlie lowered her weapon, sighing in relief.

            “You scared the shit out of me, Miles,” she told him.

            “Good reflexes, kid,” Miles told her casually as he re-barred the door. He reached into his own bag and retrieved his bedroll. Spreading it out across the floor in front of the doors, he set his bag down to use for a pillow.

            “OK, guys, let’s get some sleep,” he told them as he and Charlie moved to help Bass get to his bedroll. “I have the feeling that tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Chapter Text

            Charlie had set up the bed – if two blankets piled on top of each other in place of a mattress and two saddles instead of pillows could be elevated to such a name – in a corner at the back of the church, the walls behind and next to it giving some semblance of security. Bass was finally settled on the blankets, his lips white and beads of perspiration dotting his forehead at the shafts of pain that had rioted through his body as he had lowered himself to his meager bed. Charlie knelt next to him, her hand gently combing through his tangled curls as her eyes raked over his pale face. Bass could feel her worry radiating from her like waves of heat and forced himself to open his eyes. “I’m alright, Charlotte,” he murmured as he raised his hand to caress her cheek. Charlie captured his hand with hers and turned her face to press her lips to his palm. “I know,” she answered immediately and tightened her fingers around his. “It’ll just take me a little while to wrap my head around it.”

            Bass brushed his thumb across her lips and Charlie leaned into his caress before lowering their joined hands to rest on his chest. “Close your eyes, Bass,” she said gently. “You need to rest.”

            “Only if you rest with me.”

            The rough harrumph of a throat being cleared broke the moment and Bass rolled his eyes as he looked over Charlie’s shoulder to find Miles standing behind her, arms crossed over his chest as he frowned down at them, one eyebrow crooked sardonically. “Sorry, Casanova, but I’m going to have to borrow Charlie for a minute. Be a good boy and get started on naptime on your own.”

            “Dick.”

            “Whatever. Charlie?” Miles shifted his gaze to her and jerked his head towards the bell tower ladder. “A word?”

            Charlie quickly squeezed Bass’ hand before releasing him and stood, moving to join her uncle at the bottom of the ladder. “What’s up, Miles?”

            “I’m going to take the first watch up in the bell tower,” he informed her quietly. “The moon’s bright tonight and I’ll have a three-sixty view of the area. No one’s getting anywhere near us without our knowing about it.”

            “OK,” Charlie said slowly, a bit confused. “Miles, why are you telling me something I already know?”

            “Because I know you, kid,” Miles replied bluntly. “You’re worried. About Bass, about the Patriots, about whether they’re going to find us. What they’ll do to us if they do stumble across our little hidey-hole. You’re so keyed up right now that I’m surprised you’re not bouncing off the walls. But you’re also wiped out. The last thing I need is for you to spend all night checking every window and door and worrying yourself sick. I want you to hear from me that you’re safe. And so is Bass. So I want you to sleep. No,” he cut her off when she would have spoken. “You’re going to –“ He broke off and shook his head in mock disgust. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re going to go lay down with Bass and you’re both going to get some rest, damn it, because I’m not hauling two patients across the country. Got it?”

            “Miles, I’m not leaving you to take watch all night,” Charlie objected, brows lowered over her flashing eyes as she frowned at him.

            “Damn right you’re not,” Miles retorted. “I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn.” Which could come when the sun was well up, Miles said to himself as he forced himself not to grimace at his niece’s obvious exhaustion. “Go on,” he insisted as he turned to the ladder. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

            “Thanks, Miles,” Charlie called quietly as he clambered up the ladder.

            “Sure, kid.”

            Charlie made her way back over to Bass and a reluctant smile curved her lips. He had scooted over so that Charlie would have to lay between the wall and him and so that he would be between her and the door. Even wounded, weakened from blood loss, and exhausted, he was still trying to protect her. Charlie dimmed the lamp until only the tiniest ember remained and lay down, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders and resting her head on her saddle, fidgeting as she tried to find a comfortable position.

            “I can pretty much guarantee that I’m better than a saddle.”

            Charlie’s eyes snapped open and she turned to her side to find Bass regarding her solemnly. She sighed and smiled over at him. “Bass, honey, you’re hurt. You need to rest, not to be my pillow. And if I moved and hit your wound –“ She broke off when she realized that Bass, in spite of the pain he must be in, was grinning at her like a loon. Charlie could feel the heat flooding her face when she realized what she had said but she decided to try to bluff it out. “What?” she asked with feigned innocence.

            “Nothing,” he replied, his eyes soft as he reached over to gently skim his fingers down her cheek. “Just thinking that it was worth getting shot to hear that.”

            “It was worth this –“ Charlie said as she gestured to him from head to toe, “to hear me call you ‘honey’?”

            Bass chuckled at her incredulity and lightly pinched her chin. “OK, almost worth it,” he qualified. His hand slid down to grip her hand and he gave a little tug. “You’re on my good side so you won’t hurt me. Come on, slide over.” Charlie looked over at him doubtfully and he ran his thumb caressingly over her knuckles. “I need to feel you next to me, baby,” he admitted softly. “And I think you need it, too. I promise, I’ll tell you if I’m in pain.”

Charlie sighed and her fingers tightened on his convulsively. “OK,” she finally agreed as she started to scoot towards him.

Dropping her hand, Bass slid his arm around her back and drew her next to him, her head nestling onto his shoulder and her arm coming to rest across his chest. Bass’ fingers tunneled into the thick curls at the nape of her neck and he breathed deeply as his lips gently brushed across her forehead. “Much better,” he whispered.

Charlie’s hand slid up his chest and cupped his cheek, shifting until her face was pressed into the side of his throat. She pressed her lips to the reassuring pulsing she found there. “I know this is going to sound repetitive,” she admitted, laughing shakily, “but you scared the hell out of me, Bass.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “Scared myself for a little bit, too. But it’s over and we’re fine. The Patriots’ll more than likely be gone tomorrow and then we can get out of Texas, find some place where no one knows the names Monroe and Matheson, and try to be normal. Or whatever normal is these days.”

“I want you to promise me something.”

“If I can.”

Charlie tipped her head back and gently turned his face towards her, barely able to make out his features in the darkness of the church. “Promise me that, from now on, we don’t split up. No more going off on your own.”

She could feel the muscle in his jaw clench at her request and she pressed closer to his side. “Bass?”

            “Charlotte, you know I’d do anything for you but –“

            “No, Bass, no ‘buts’,” Charlie insisted. “We’re better together, you said so yourself.”

            “And I meant it,” Bass replied immediately. “But this isn’t a promise I can make. No, listen,” he insisted when she moved as though to pull away. “What if something happened to one of us and the other had to get help? Or the best option we have to get away from the Patriots – or anyone else tailing us – is to split up? What if –“ he swallowed convulsively and his voice was hoarse when he continued. “What if you get pregnant, Charlotte?” Charlie sucked in a sharp breath at his words, at the fear in his voice, and her fingers spasmed against the roughness of his cheek. “I’d still have to hunt or go scouting and, eventually, you wouldn’t be able to come with me. So, no, I can’t make that promise, baby. I’d separate us in a heartbeat if it gave you your best chance.”

            “I know,” Charlie finally murmured. “And I’ve never been like this, so . . . clingy,” she admitted, her tone conveying her dismay.

            “Honestly, I kinda like it,” Bass chuckled, which turned into weak laughter when Charlie gently thumped him on the chest.

            “You would,” she muttered darkly, though Bass could hear the smile in her voice.

            “I don’t like the thought of being away from you, either,” Bass told her grimly. “Especially when I allow myself to think of what happened to you.” Charlie felt his hand drift over her collarbone to rest between her breasts, as if he was searching for the scars concealed by her clothes. “It just about drives me out of my mind. But no matter what, even if we do have to split up again, we’ll just keep telling ourselves that it’s only temporary. Nothing will keep me away from you, baby, I swear.” His fingers brushed across the leather thong around her neck and his breath caught in his throat.

            “What?” Charlie asked as she felt him tense up. “Are you in pain?” She moved to sit up but Bass’ hand kept her firmly in place against him.

            “No,” he said quickly, “I’m OK. I just . . . had a thought.”

            “I know it’s always a big deal when that happens, Bass, but –“

            “Smart ass,” Bass muttered and he craned his neck to gently nip at her ear.

            “I hate to criticize but that’s not really a new thought, hot stuff. And you’re in no shape for it, anyway.”

            “You have a one track mind, you know that?”

            “OK, well, if it wasn’t that, then what were you thinking about?”

            Bass cleared his throat and began to play with the ends of her hair that had fallen across her shoulder. “Well,” he began and Charlie was shocked to hear what she thought might be nervousness in his voice. “I was thinking that . . . We’ve known each other for a while, right?”

            “Since I’m not counting when I was a kid, ‘cause that might just be a little weird, I’d say we’ve known each other pretty well for about a year,” Charlie replied slowly. “Why?”

            Ignoring her question, Bass pressed on. “We’ve seen each other at our worst. I mean, really our worst, but that hasn’t scared us off.”

            “I don’t know if we’ve quite passed that milestone yet. I make it a rule to see how a man reacts to a cold. If he doesn’t make me want to kill him, I figure we’ve got staying power.”

            Bass rolled his eyes and tugged gently on her hair. “In spite of everything we’ve come through, all the ugliness and loss and blood, we love each other. Even though us being together like this is still pretty new, the feelings have been there for a while, at least for me.” Bass hesitated and then, gruffly, asked, “Was it the same for you?”

            “Yes, of course it was,” Charlie replied, suddenly serious, and pushed up to lean over him, her eyes searching for his in the darkness. “Bass, what are you getting at?”

            Bass moved slowly, carefully shifting himself to his side. His breath hissed between his teeth as the skin around his wound pulled and Charlie made a sound of distress, reaching out to grip his shoulders and try to push him back.

            “It’s OK, Charlotte,” Bass assured her. “Just a little pinch.” When they were finally lying facing each other, Bass wrapped his arm around Charlie’s waist and brought her flush up against him. Charlie looped her arms around his neck, careful to avoid getting anywhere near his bandage.

            “Charlotte, for a long time, I never expected to be doing this again. But with you, everything seems possible and I want to hold on to that feeling. I want to hold on to you. Maybe it doesn’t matter as much to people now as it did before the whole world went to hell, but it would to me. And, I think, to you.” He took a deep breath and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Charlotte, let’s use my parents’ rings. Will you marry me?”

            “Wh- what?” Charlie gasped as her arms slid, boneless, from his neck. “You want to marry me?”

            Bass heard the incredulity in her voice and the sudden lump in his throat made him feel as though he had just swallowed a lemon. “Yes,” he forced himself to reply and then immediately tried to do damage control. “But I guess . . . well, I know this kind of came out of nowhere for you and you’re probably not ready so if you want to just forget that I ever asked, that would be –“

            “Yes.”

            “Completely fine and we’ll just . . . What?”

            Charlie found herself laughing as tears slid down her cheeks. “Yes.”

            Bass laughed, a short, gasping chuckle before leaning forward and pressing his mouth to hers. Charlie’s lips nibbled at Bass’, light, teasing kisses that were guaranteed to drive him crazy. Sliding a hand up to grip the nape of her neck, Bass held her still as his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue softly tracing her lips before gently slipping between them. Their tongues met, sliding sensuously against each other and Charlie moaned low in her throat as she melted against him. Forgetting his injury, Bass moved to roll on top of her and the sudden stab of pain in his side caused him to rear away from Charlie, a sharp gasp escaping him as he fell onto his back.

            “Oh, God,” Charlie cried softly as she levered herself up to lean over him. “Bass, are you alright? Let me make sure you’re not bleeding again,” she insisted as she reached to raise the hem of his shirt. Bass’ hand gripped hers and he shook his head, his eyes closed as he calmed his breathing.

            “No, I just moved too quickly. C’mere, lay back down. If all I can do tonight is hold you, I want to enjoy every minute before Miles comes back down and ruins the mood.”

            Charlie gazed down at him, still concerned, but Bass’ gentle tug on her arm brought her back down against his side and she nuzzled her face into the warm, comforting nook between his shoulder and neck.

            “So, how do we do this?” Charlie asked. “Do we just put on the rings and that’s it?”

            “It can be that simple,” Bass replied softly.

            “What did –“ Charlie hesitated, uncertain as to if she should bring it up, not wanting to break the peacefulness of the moment of cause Bass a moment of anguish. The silence stretched between them until Bass sighed lightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

            “What did Shelley and I do?”

            “I shouldn’t have asked,” Charlie said immediately. “I’m sorry, Bass, I know you don’t like talking about what happened.”

            “No, it’s alright,” Bass assured her immediately. “It doesn’t hurt like it used to, not anymore. I miss Shelley but the emptiness is gone. It’s like we said before – you’re it for me, Charlotte. So don’t feel like you can’t ask me anything you want. OK?”

            Charlie nodded silently into his neck, not trusting herself to speak and Bass tightened his arm around her shoulders, the warmth of his body, the lean strength of him both stirring and comforting at the same time.

            “Shelley and I had a kind of wedding,” Bass said. “There wasn’t a judge or a priest anywhere. Everything was so chaotic and we were barely keeping things together; we didn’t have a chance to go out and find someone official. So we stood up in front of our friends and said our vows and . . . that was it. We were married.”

            “Did you use your parents’ rings?”

            “No,” Bass replied. “Having the wedding was actually my idea. Shelley said that the whole thing didn’t matter to her, that we were married if we wanted to be. She didn’t believe in ‘symbols of ownership’.” Bass chuckled at the memory and Charlie felt tears sting her eyes at the knowledge that he could find joy in his memories of his first wife rather than crippling pain.

            “We could do something really simple with Miles, Mom and Grandpa,” Charlie suggested. “Do you want to wait until we find someplace safe to get settled?”

            “It’s going to take us quite a while to get where I’m thinking of, so I’d want to do it sooner rather than later.”

            “Alright,” Charlie agreed immediately, unable to help the grin that spread across her face. “As soon as we meet up with the others, we get married.”

            “I can suggest a different option,” a disembodied voice offered.

            Charlie gasped and rolled away from Bass, grabbing her gun as she moved, rising up swiftly on her knees and sweeping her weapon around the darkened room. Bass quickly lengthened the wick in the lamp and lunged to his feet, his jaw clenched against the stabbing pain in his side as he turned to face the intruder with his swords gripped tightly in his clenched fists. In spite of the lamp, one flame could not illuminate the vast space and much of it was still either in shadow or complete darkness. Bass flexed his fingers around the grips of his swords as his eyes attempted to find the source of the voice.

            “Step into the light, asshole,” he growled. “And you so much as fucking twitch, I’ll gut you.”

            “I was merely going to offer to perform your marriage ceremony, Bass” the voice explained calmly. Charlie gasped and Bass tensed even more, his jaw like granite.

            “Step into the light,” Bass rasped and the blood drained from his face when he saw who had spoken. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered, his voice sounding unnaturally loud as it drifted between the three still figures.

            “Not if I can help it,” the man replied solemnly. “Though, just out of curiosity, how long has it been seen you’ve gone to confession?”

            Bass slowly lowered his weapons, his eyes wide and, slowly, he grinned, though Charlie could see a suspicious brightness in his eyes. Twin thumps resounded as Bass’ swords dropped to the ground and he walked towards the newcomer. Without another word, the two men embraced and Charlie finally lowered her sidearm, wondering what in the hell had just happened.

Chapter Text

I'm sorry that this isn't a new chapter, everyone, but I wanted to let you know what has been going on as an explanation for my absence. Work on my dissertation is not going well and I'm dreadfully frustrated and worried. It has, of course, been dominating my time to an extreme extent these past few months and I just haven't had a chance to think of anything else. I've tried to write during my free time but they are so few and far between that anything I've put down has felt disjointed and really unsatisfactory. In addition to the pressure of my dissertation, my grandfather passed away a couple of weeks ago and it has been hard to get past that. Everything has made me feel so disconnected. You've all be so kind, patient, and understanding. I promise that I am going to finish this story. I WILL NOT leave you all wondering at a resolution. Please continue to be patient with me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your interest, support, and comments. And even though I haven't been writing, I have been reading your fics. They've helped me escape reality for a little while and I am so grateful for all of the amazing talent in our fandom. Don't give up on me, Charloe fam. XOXOXOXO

Chapter Text

            Charlie stood there, her weapon gripped tightly in her hand, unwilling to relax completely until she found out exactly what had just happened and who, exactly, her newly-minted fiancé was embracing. “Uh, Bass,” she finally piped up. “A little help? I’m kinda in the dark here.”

            The two men laughed and broke apart, though Charlie noticed that Bass kept a hand on the stranger’s shoulder as if reassuring himself that the guy was still standing next to him. “Sorry, Charlotte,” Bass apologized, running his free hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “I just . . . the shock kind of knocked me for a loop.” He turned again to the newcomer and squeezed his shoulder. “What the hell, man?” he said incredulously. “How are you here?”

            “Charlie, I thought I told you to get some –“

            Charlie turned to see her uncle almost sliding down the ladder, rifle slung across his back, and turn to face the trio illuminated in the circle of flickering lamplight. At the sight of their surprise visitor, he jerked to a stop like he had just run into a wall, his mouth working as though trying to form words but nothing was coming out.

            “So you and Miles are still making each other miserable, huh?” the man asked, grinning, and Bass laughed at Miles’ befuddlement.

            “I’m sorry, but could someone please tell me what is going on?” Charlie exclaimed loudly, her exasperation finally boiling over.

            “Charlie, this is Sergeant Robert Velez, the meanest, toughest son of a bitch to come out of the Corps and a former officer of the Monroe Republic,” Miles explained as a grin started to spread across his face. “Bobby, my niece, Charlie Matheson. OK, so now that the introductions are over, I just have to ask, Bobby, what the fuck are you doing here, man?”

            “Yeah, um, it’s now Father Velez, Miles, so you might want to watch the language,” Bobby replied wryly, trying desperately not to laugh at the expressions of horror, shock, and disbelief that he saw race across his friends’ faces.

            Bass and Miles stood in stunned silence, their eyes moving from the priest to each other and back again. As if it was all suddenly too much, Bass backed up slowly and lowered himself to one of the few remaining pews. “Bobby,” he began hesitantly. “What . . . what do you mean you’re a priest?”

            “Did you miss what I said about performing your wedding ceremony?” Father Velez asked, chuckling. “You used to be quicker than that.”

            “Wait, wedding ceremony?” Miles roared, his face draining of all color as he glared furiously at both his niece and his best friend. “Are there any other bombs you people want to drop on me? Anything? Son of a bitch!” He started to pace restlessly, hands jammed into his pockets as he ranted. “Bobby not only drops out of the fucking sky but he claims to be a priest,  and now you’re talking about a wedding?” Miles whirled on his niece, his eyes boring into hers. “Shit, Charlie, all I said was to get some sleep, not make a major life decision! And you!” Miles rounded on Bass, yanking his hands out of his pockets as they clenched into fists. “Are you out of your mind? We don’t know how the hell we’re getting past the town limits, let alone out of Texas, and you’re proposing to my niece? Has blood loss made you lose all sense of –“

            “Personally, I think it’s a great idea.”

            Miles halted mid-tirade and turned slowly to Bobby, who was taking in the situation quite calmly, a placid smile on his lips as he cheerfully rocked back and forth, heel to toe. Charlie found herself nervously nibbling on her lower lip as she watched her uncle’s face flush a worrying shade of crimson as he glared as his former comrade.

            “You think it’s a great idea?” Miles repeated, his voice low and deceptively calm. “Well, excuse me for asking, Father Velez, but,” and here is voice rose to a bellow, “who the hell asked you?”

            “Miles, settle before you give yourself a heart attack,” Bobby ordered him calmly as Miles sputtered incoherently. “And you might want to keep in mind that you’re in hiding. Don’t want to risk the Patriots finding you because you can’t keep your voice down.”

            “How did you know we’re in hiding from the Patriots?” Bass asked, his eyes narrowed on his friend’s face.

            “I heard your conversation,” came the cool reply.

            “Wait a minute, that’s another thing. How did you get in here? I double-checked every door, every window,” Charlie interjected, her brows drawn together in confusion. “There was no way you could get in without us knowing about it.”

            “You missed one,” Father Velez replied lightly.

            “It had to be a door or one of the windows,” Bass objected. “The only other option is –“ He stopped and rubbed a hand across his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “A bug out.”

            “Yep.”

            “The back entrance isn’t blocked, is it?” Bass sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

            “Nope,” Velez answered cheerfully. “I may be a priest, Bass, but I haven’t forgotten everything we learned in the Corps. Or,” a shadow passed over his face as he paused, “in the Republic. Always leave yourself a way out that only you can find. Unfortunately, the world hasn’t changed enough to make that an unnecessary precaution.”

            “I really need to hear this story,” Charlie said. “How did you go from a soldier in the Republic to a priest in the middle of nowhere?”

            The silence that met her request was almost stifling in its thickness and Velez finally cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Miles and Bass. “That,” he said gently, “is perhaps a story best left for another time. Maybe when Bass hasn’t been bleeding all over Texas and Miles doesn’t need to go keep watch.”

            “Yeah,” Miles readily agreed as he backed up towards the ladder. “Yeah, I’ll . . . see you guys in a bit.” He turned and shimmied up the ladder before Charlie could respond.

            “I have a spot set up in the sacristy,” Velez told Charlie and Bass as he gestured to the little room behind the altar. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you early tomorrow morning. We have to figure out a way to get you three to safety.”

            “Bobby, we don’t want to get you involved,” Bass told him firmly. “It’d be best if you just woke up and we were gone.”

            “No,” Bobby replied firmly, shaking his head as he turned to walk towards the sacristy. “That’s not an option. It’s the least I can do for old friends.”

            Charlie saw a grimace of what looked to be pain flicker across Bass’s face and wondered if it was from his wound or from what Robert Velez had said.

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

            Miles heard someone climbing the ladder and twisted from his spot at a window to call out a quiet greeting.

            “Charlie, I told you I’d come –“

            “It’s me, Miles.”

            “Bobby, what the he-,” Miles forced himself to bit off the curse. “What are you doing up here?” Miles asked shortly as he turned back to watch the dark prairie.

            “Charlie and Bass are asleep. I thought this would give us a chance to figure things out,” Bobby replied as he sat down next to Miles, his back resting comfortably against the tower wall. “The odds of you three just riding out of here tomorrow are pretty slim. You have to know that.”

            “Of course I know that,” Miles snapped. “I haven’t completely gone to seed. I figured I could try to come up with something while they were sleeping. God knows they both need the rest.”

            “I noticed that you’re not too keen on the idea of Bass marrying your niece.”

            “Picked up on that, did you?” Miles asked sarcastically, his sharp gazing never wavering from the darkness outside.

            “Any reason I should know about besides the obvious?”

            “Why should you know about any of my reasons?”

            “Miles, I’ve offered to perform the ceremony. If you have a legitimate reason to object to their marriage, you have to tell me. If it could be an obstacle in the eyes of the Church, I can’t marry them,” Bobby explained, his voice firm.

            “Shit, Bobby,” Miles sighed. “Fine, if we’re going to play the sharing game, you need to tell me how the whole priest thing happened.”

            Bobby shrugged and tilted his head back to rest against the cool tower wall. “After I . . . left –“ He paused when he saw Miles flinch and kept going as if nothing had interrupted him. “There was only one place I wanted to go. So, I made my way home.”

            “You got all the way back to Illinois?” Miles asked incredulously, finally turning to look at his friend. “My God, that must have been hell.”

            Bobby shrugged, a slight frown appearing between his eyes. “It wasn’t pleasant,” he admitted and Miles scoffed at the obvious understatement. “But it was nothing compared to what I had left behind. Or what I found when I got there.” The priest stopped and forced himself to breathe, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. Miles watched him as he forced himself to relax.

            “How could you be sure they were still there?” Miles asked. “They could have been anywhere at that point.”

            “Mom and Dad would never have left the old homestead,” Bobby replied immediately. “And Dad had always been a prepper. I used to laugh about it but when the power went off, I thanked God every day that he had stored damn near everything but a nuclear reactor just in case something happened. It’s the reason I decided to stay with you and Bass, at least at first. Everything back East was such a wreck, you guys were trying to keep our little group together, and then things just seemed to snowball. A month turned into a year and then two and then five. Dear God, Miles, I’ll do penance every day for the rest of my life for making that choice. I should have gone back the first day. I was so stupid. I was convinced that they were living in a safe little bubble out in the middle of a cornfield in Illinois. No one was going to bother them and I could help bring the country back together. My arrogance –“

            “You don’t have a monopoly on arrogance, Bobby,” Miles interrupted, his tone harsh. “I didn’t exactly high-tail it back to Ben. We thought we were saving the world and we just . . . ended up making things worse.”

            They both sat in silence, castigating themselves and getting lost in wave upon wave of regret. The priest finally forced himself out of his own head and released a deep breath.

            “I finally got to my hometown. You remember how small it was.” Bobby chuckled, a forced, rough sound, and shook his head. “Libertyville, Illinois. Blink and you’d miss the one traffic light in the center of town. Cutest little shops along Main Street. And my parents’ store front and center.” He brushed a hand across his mouth and Miles had to stop himself from reaching out to put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. He knew that Bobby had to get through the story and any sign of compassion might prove to be too much.

            “I knew as soon as I got there that . . . Oh, God, Miles the smell,” he whispered harshly, his eyes unfocused as he relived horrors that Miles couldn’t see. “It couldn’t have happened more than four, five days before. I knew that everyone was dead. But,” Bobby shrugged helplessly and turned haunted eyes to his friend. “I had to make sure, you know?”

            “I know,” Miles replied firmly. “You couldn’t have lived with yourself if you hadn’t.”

            “I got to my parents’ place. Dad and Jack – you remember my brother, right? Skinny kid, hair sticking straight up from his head, used to follow us everywhere when we were home on leave?”

            “Yeah, I remember him.”

            “Anyway, they kept the place looking great, not that Mom would have let them get away with anything else. But the door was wide open and there was broken furniture all over the front yard. All over all the yards. I got inside and . . . I buried them in the back yard between the oak trees Dad planted when Jack and I were born.” Tears were sliding silently, unheeded down his cheeks and Bobby reached under his shirt collar to pull out a silver chain, a Cross swinging from the end. “I took Dad’s Crucifix. The clan that wiped them out must not have thought it was worth much. They took my parents’ wedding rings, my dad’s military medals, they even took the silver baby cups that Mom had kept from when Jack and I were kids. But they left this.” His fingers clenched around it and he raised his fist to his lips, pressing a kiss against it.

            “So I buried them and found a couple pictures that hadn’t been destroyed and just . . . left. For a long time I didn’t care what happened to me. I couldn’t go back to the Republic, to you and Bass. My family was dead. I had no one left. I did . . . terrible things, Miles. Trying to lose myself, lose the pain and guilt. Maybe even trying to get myself killed. Wandered around the Plains Nations until I almost forgot my own name. I don’t remember much of that. What I do remember is waking up in a bed – the first honest-to-God bed I’d been in since I left Philly – and there was this little old man sitting in a chair next to it. Turns out he was the Bishop. I had tried to bust down his door in the middle of the night, drunk out of my mind, hoping to find more booze. He managed to calm me down, get me inside, get some water in me, and put me in his own bed. He sat up all night with me to make sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit. When he saw that I was lucid and wasn’t on death’s doorstep anymore, he lit into me like that drill sergeant we hated so much in basic. I mean, man, he tore a strip from my hide that hasn’t grown back yet.”

            “And that made you want to be a priest?” Miles asked incredulously.

            “Are you kidding?” Bobby shot back, a grin splitting his face. “If I hadn’t been just this side of dead, I would have crawled over broken glass to get away from Bishop Harlan. You remember the priest from that old movie, Going My Way? You know, with Bing Crosby where the old priest is little and sweet and a real firecracker but that just made you love him more? Yeah, he was nothing like that. I mean, he was old, but that’s where the resemblance ended. He got me dried out and put me to work. Every time I thought about leaving, there he was, standing in the doorway, glaring at me like he’d caught me sneaking into a brothel. I just . . . couldn’t get past him. Thank God. It took months, Miles. I don’t even know how many. But finally, without the booze and the women and the fighting, I was forced to face what had happened. I remember it so clearly. It was after a storm and the Bishop had sent me to the cemetery next to the church to clean up fallen limbs. I was going at this one branch with an ax and just . . . lost it. Started screaming and crying and cursing God. Finally, I was just crying. And the Bishop sat with me in the mud and just held me while I bawled like a baby. And that’s when I started to realize that everything that had happened, as terrible and heartbreaking and unimaginable as it had all been, had brought me to that place for a reason. The Bishop started instructing me the next day.”

            “That’s . . . something else,” Miles said quietly, taking in the look of peace that had settled on his friend’s face.

            “I realized something else that day, Miles,” Bobby admitted. “Everything I said to Bass before I left, the way I blamed him for everything we had become. I understood, then, what I hadn’t been able to grasp before. Losing everything and everyone . . . it can make you someone that you don’t recognize anymore. You wake up one day to find that you’ve said and done things that would have been unimaginable in your life before everything changed. That’s certainly what happened to me. I know that’s what happened to Bass. I’m so grateful to see you both again because now I can make up for the pain I caused before I left Philly. I can ask for his forgiveness.”

            “I’m the last person who should be asked for forgiveness, Bobby.”

            Miles and Bobby both jumped as they spun to find Bass’ head poking through the ladder hole, his face pale with the strain of his climb.

            “Shit, Bass,” Miles exclaimed as he rushed to wrap a hand around Bass’ arm, pulling him into the belfry. “What the hell were you thinking, coming up here? Charlie’s gonna kick your ass. And then I’m going to kick it for leaving her down there alone, asleep with no one watching her back.”

            “No, she’s not,” Bass gasped as he slumped against the wall, his eyes closed as he pressed his hand against the wound in his side. “She’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder to make sure I didn’t fall and break my neck. Charlotte understood why I needed to come up here.”

            “How much did you hear?” Bobby asked quietly.

            Bass opened his eyes and looked over at his friend, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “All of it.”

            “You’ve been standing on that ladder for damn near fifteen minutes?” Miles asked in a low, furious voice. “I swear to God, Bass, are you trying to kill yourself?”

            “Didn’t seem to be the right time to interrupt,” Bass replied easily. “And it seemed like a story that needed to be told.” He turned back to Bobby and his mouth twisted, regret radiating from him in waves. “Bobby, I’m so sorry-“

            “It’s not your fault, Bass,” Bobby said immediately. “At least, not all of it. After your parents and your sister, to lose Shelley and the baby, it was just too much. And I couldn’t see that until everything had been taken away from me. I know that I hadn’t been with my family since the power went out but I had fooled myself into thinking that they were fine and that I had all the time in the world to get back to them. The guilt and regret that I felt was . . . absolutely crushing. And if you heard everything, you know what it did to me.”

             Bobby moved to sit next to Bass, their shoulders touching, both of them looking straight ahead. “What I said to you when I left, after Baltimore . . . I wasn’t wrong, Bass, and I think that you know that now. But I was so arrogant, so self-righteous in how I went about it. I had no concept of how deeply a person could be changed when they feel that there’s nothing left to lose. I’m so sorry, Bass. Not for what I said, but how I said it. I should have been a friend to you rather than a judge. I should have tried to help you long before Baltimore happened. I’m just as at fault for how things happened with the Republic while I was there as you are because I kept my mouth shut when I saw things that I knew were wrong. Maybe if I had been braver, I could have saved all three of us a lot of pain and regret.”

            Bass reached over and clasped his hand around Bobby’s wrist and the three men sat together, the healing silence stretching between them until Miles felt that he had to say something or he might burst into tears.

           “So,” he said gruffly as he turned once again to keep watch. “Seeing as how I’m Charlie’s oldest male relative, I guess you have a question to ask me, Bass.”

            Bass smiled slightly, knowing exactly what Miles was doing but choosing to play along, anyway. “Yeah, what’s that?”

           “You have to ask my permission to marry her, of course.”

           “I really don’t think that’s going to happen, Miles.”

          “Bobby, help me out here. Isn’t it true that Charlie needs my permission to get married? I mean, isn’t that a rule or something?”

          “Not my rule,” Bobby replied easily. “All we need are a couple of witnesses and a bride and groom that are of legal age. I know for a fact that Bass passed that particular milestone about two decades ago.”

          “Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Bobby,” Bass growled.

          “And, of course, in good standing with the Church.”

          “Shit,” Bass muttered as Miles struggled to keep from roaring with laughter, choking sounds erupting from his tightly-compressed lips.

          “I imagine it’s been a while since you’ve been to Confession, Bass,” Bobby observed, the lightness of his tone belied by the seriousness that Bass could see in his eyes. “How about we get that taken care of before the wedding.”

          “I really don’t think –“ Bass began but Bobby cut him off.

          “I’m serious, buddy,” he insisted. “I can’t marry you two, otherwise.”

          “You have got to be kidding!” Bass exclaimed incredulously, his wide eyes darting between Bass and Miles.

          “Nope,” Bobby told him firmly. “So why don’t I help you down the ladder and we’ll just . . . have a talk.”

          Bass looked to Miles from help but found no assistance in that quarter, as his former friend just shrugged helplessly and tried to hide his grin by staring intently out the window.

          “Fine,” Bass ground out. “Let’s get this over with, damn it.”

          “That’s the spirit,” Bobby said encouragingly as they made their way to the ladder, Bass grumbling under his breath. “We’ll be done before you know it.”

          “I wouldn’t count on it!” Miles called quietly after them, unable to keep his laughter contained at Bass’s less than holy response.

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            Charlie had long-since succumbed to sleep by the time Bass lay down next to her, his muffled groan rousing her from slumber.

            “Bass?” she murmured as he settled next to her.

            “Yeah, it’s me,” he whispered back. “Sorry I woke you, baby. Go back to sleep.”

            “Everything OK?” she asked as her eyes drifted closed.

            “Fine,” Bass replied, his tone slightly bemused. “Everything is . . . just fine.”

            “Father Velez wasn’t too hard on you?” Charlie asked.

            “No,” Bass told her. “Which should make you happy.”

            “Happy?” Charlie repeated, lifting her head to look down into Bass’s smiling eyes. “Why?”

            “Because he told me it’s your turn tomorrow morning.”

Chapter Text

Bass sat quietly on the floor, his back propped against the cool adobe wall of the church, and gently caressed the rings in his hand. The sun had just started rising above the horizon and the gentle streams of light sneaking through the cracked wooden window shutters made the diamond in his mother’s – in Charlotte’s – engagement ring gleam with the soft pink light of dawn. “You would have loved her, Mom and Dad,” he murmured, his throat tight as he felt a bone-deep longing for what could never be.

            “You OK, man?”

            Bass cleared his throat and nodded, looking up at Miles and not bothering to hide the telltale brightness of his eyes. “Seems I miss them more than usual today.”

            Miles slowly sat down beside him, an involuntary grunt escaping as he settled next to his friend. “Shit, I’m getting old,” he muttered and Bass managed a smile, shaking his head. “Look, Bass, I know . . . that I haven’t been the biggest fan of whatever is going on with you two. Shut up,” Miles snapped before Bass could respond and he suddenly found the opposite wall to be of immense interest. “But I want you to know that . . . I’m happy for you. And for Charlie. I can see how you’ve helped each other heal and become . . . who you both should be. I’m proud to be here for you today, Bass. Even though your parents aren’t here, you’ve still got family to stand up with you.” Eyes still fixed firmly on the opposing wall, Miles reached out and clasped Bass’ forearm, his fingers tightening comfortingly as he felt the muscles beneath his hand tremble.

            “Thanks, Miles,” Bass rasped, squinting as he tried to keep the tears from falling.

            Miles cleared his throat and rested his wrists on up-drawn knees. “Shit, where is Charlie?” he griped in a blatant – and welcome – attempt to change the subject. “How long has Bobby had her back there?”

            “Came and got her before the sun was up. Maybe twenty minutes ago. She’ll be alright.” 

“She better be,” Miles griped. “Charlie comes out of there crying or feeling bad, I’ll –“

“You won’t do anything,” Bass interjected firmly. “Charlotte comes out of there crying, it’ll be because she feels relieved, nothing more. Bobby won’t say one thing to her that would upset her and you of all people should know that.”

“I guess,” Miles finally allowed. “I just want to make sure that –“

He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and two intense gazes swung to see Charlie walking through the doorway leading to the old Sacristy, Father Velez following closely behind. Charlie’s red-rimmed eyes and the drying dampness on her cheeks belied the radiant smile on her face and Bass breathed a sigh of relief. In spite of what he had said to Miles, he, too, had been worried about what might transpire between Charlie and the priest. Not because he didn’t trust Bobby to be kind to her – far from it – but having to face everything she had done was bound to be a draining, painful experience.

Bass struggled to stand and Miles discreetly gripped his elbow to help him up. “Doing OK, Charlotte?” Bass asked softly as she made her way over to stand next to him, her arm winding gingerly around his waist.

“I’m good, babe,” she murmured as she pressed her forehead into the warmth of his neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to get married.”

Charlie laughed as she shifted her head to glance up at Bass, her cheek nestled on his shoulder. “Father Velez said he might be able to fit us in this morning.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Charlie,” the priest intoned with a grin. “Though are you sure you don’t need a little longer to maybe have an opportunity to rethink this decision? He’s looking a little rough this morning.”

            “Hey!”

            “He’s looked worse,” Charlie replied cheerfully over Bass’ exclaimed protest. “I think I’ll stick with him, thanks.”

            “Well, as long as you’re sure, we should do this sooner rather than later,” Father Velez advised, suddenly solemn. “I kept an eye on Merle’s ranch last night and the Patriots started massing on the place just before dawn. As soon as you have a chance, you need to move and do it fast.”

            “Come with us,” Charlie exclaimed, taking an involuntary step towards the priest. “Please. If they find out you’ve helped us – “

            “Thank you, Charlie,” Father Velez interrupted gently. “I’m grateful for the invitation. But I can’t abandon my church or the people who rely on me. Besides, the Patriots can’t do anything to hurt me. Not really.” He could see that Charlie was preparing to argue and reached out to gently envelop one of her hand in both of his. “Just have a little faith, eh?” She smiled shakily and nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “Besides,” he continued jovially, “nothing says that your leaving will mean goodbye. We may run into each other again. You never know.”

            “Shit, we can’t even leave the building to take a piss and everyone’s already saying goodbye,” Miles griped as he ran a hand through his tangled hair. “We have to figure out how the hell we’re getting to wherever we’re going before we can start bawling all over each other.”

            “Miles, as ever, is the voice of reason,” Father Velez stated drily as Bass rolled his eyes and Charlie glared over at her uncle. “I’m going to go in the back and get a few things that I’ll need to get you two married. Bass, you’re welcome to come with me and clean up a bit. Maybe put on a clean shirt,” he added, eyeing the rusty bloodstains on the tattered remains of his friend’s shirt. “Charlie, I brought in some fresh water this morning for you. I put it in one of the old Confessionals so you’ll have some privacy.”

            “And where am I going to get all prettied up?”

            “Didn’t bother, Miles,” the priest replied over his shoulder as he walked towards the Sacristy. “Even I can recognize a lost cause when I see it.”

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            Charlie carried the gently glowing candle into the Confessional and stopped dead when the pale circle of light it cast illuminated what was waiting for her. She felt her eyes sting with tears as she took in the evidence of Father Velez’s thoughtfulness. In addition to a small bowl of fresh water, he had provided a clean, soft cloth and – most touching of all – a small bunch of wildflowers. Charlie had never given much thought to her wedding – for a long time she had never actually believed that she’d live long enough to have one – but even she knew that every bride should have flowers on her wedding day. In that moment, Charlie felt a powerful and totally unexpected longing for her mother, to have her there to help her get ready, to talk to her about this massive step and just to . . . hold her hand. Charlie shook herself out of her musings and began to splash her face with the cool, clear water. Everything she needed was right here, she reminded herself. She was marrying Bass. Nothing else mattered.

            Charlie was just dragging a comb through her hair when she heard a soft knock on the door. “Yes?” she called.

            “Hey, Charlie, uh . . . all set?” She could hear Miles clearing his throat nervously on the other side of the door as he waited for her answer and she grinned.

            “Just about,” she replied. “One second.” Charlie made as sure as she could that her hair did not resemble a bird’s nest and ran her hands over the worn but clean shirt and jeans she had changed into. Not exactly white silk and orange blossoms but somehow it seemed completely . . . perfect. She gently clasped the bouquet of wildflowers and pushed open the door.

            Miles stepped back quickly and cleared his throat again as he took in his niece – jeans, white tank top, plaid shirt, an incongruous bunch of flowers and the most radiantly happy face he had ever seen. He blinked rapidly and jerked his head towards the altar. “Alright, if we’re going to do this, let’s go.” Miles paused for a moment and then held out a bent elbow towards Charlie. She started at him blankly for a moment before he took her hand and gently wrapped her arm around his. Charlie glanced up at him and found his eyes soft, a gentle smile tilting the ends of his mouth.

            “You’re a beautiful bride, Charlie.”

            Charlie bit her lip and squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Miles,” she whispered, her eyes smiling up into his.

            Miles covered her hand with his. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

            Charlie never could remember exactly how she had gotten from the Confessional to Bass. Logically, she knew that she and Miles had walked from the back of the church to their altar, making their way down the aisle towards Father Velez and Bass but it seemed to her as if they had just blinked and they were suddenly at the altar. And she knew that the dilapidated church wasn’t the thing of young girls’ dreams but the vague impression she had of that short walk was of absolute beauty – the intense streams of sunlight piercing the shadows to illuminate the dust in the air like fairy lights, the delicate scent of her wildflowers intensifying in the still-gentle heat of the morning until all she could smell was their sweet perfume, and the magnetic, diamond-bright blue of Bass’ eyes as she moved to stand beside him.

            Father Velez stood before them, a faded but still beautiful embroidered stole draped around his neck, and smiled broadly as he began the ceremony. “Sebastian and Charlotte, since it is your intention to enter into the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and His Church.”

            Bass and Charlie grasped each other’s hands, Bass’ thumb gently sweeping over her knuckles.

            “Sebastian, do you take Charlotte for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

            “I do,” Bass replied, his voice quiet, reverent, and infinitely tender. Charlie gazed up at him and took a deep breath as she felt the solemnity of his promise to her.

            “Charlotte, do you take Sebastian for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

            “I do,” Charlie answered gently, struggling to keep her chin from trembling at the sudden wave of emotion that swept through her. Bass squeezed her hand and she smiled as she squeezed his back.

            “May the Lord in His kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church, and graciously bring to fulfillment His blessing within you. What God joins together, let no one put asunder.” Father Velez turned to Miles and gestured for the rings. Miles placed the rings on the priest’s open missal and stepped back, roughly scratching his nose to try to keep himself in check.

            “May the Lord bless these rings, which you will give to each other as a sign of love and fidelity.” He handed the smaller of the platinum circles to Bass and turned the missal so that Bass could read what came next. Bass glanced down, read quickly, and turned his attention back to his bride.

            “Charlotte, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He slowly slid the ring onto her finger, his breath catching when he finally saw his mother’s ring resting on Charlie’s hand, and bent his head to softly press his lips to the symbol of his commitment and his future.

            Father Velez held out the second ring to Charlie and she quickly brushed away a stray tear before taking it and sliding it onto Bass’ finger as she said: “Sebastian, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

            The priest raised his hands in blessing and said, “May you be blessed in your children, have solace in your friends and enjoy true peace with everyone. And may almighty God bless all of you who are gathered here, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Sebastian, you may kiss your bride.”

            Charlie laughed wetly as she finally allowed her tears to fall and Bass reached out to gently cup her cheeks, his thumbs brushing the dampness away. Bass lowered his lips to hers – to his wife’s – and their lips met sweetly. Charlie gripped his wrists and leaned into him, feeling as if she didn’t hold on to him, she might float away.

            “You guys just went to Confession, right? And you’re in a church. Break it up,” Miles grumbled as he surreptitiously swiped beneath his eyes. Charlie and Bass broke apart laughing and Miles and Father Velez stepped forward to embrace the bride and groom in turn.

            “Congratulations, you two,” Miles said sincerely. “Now let’s come up with a way to get the hell out of here.”

Chapter Text

            She knew she should be listening, she really did, but for some reason the way the sun hit her new ring and seemed to run along the bright, smooth gold had her completely transfixed. Charlie vaguely heard her uncle and husband – husband! – talking with Father Velez and she acknowledged in the back of her mind that she probably had a dopey smile on her face, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care. Until Miles learned in close and shouted in her ear. Then Charlie cared plenty.

            “Shit, Miles!” she raged as she rubbed her ringing ear. “Sorry, Father,” Charlie muttered and immediately turned back to her uncle. “But seriously, what is wrong with you?”

            “I get that you’re happy, kid, and that you have a new, shiny piece of jewelry to admire but we have to figure not only how to get out of here and back to your mother and Gene but where the hell we’re going to go after that. Even if the Patriots buy Bass’ setup, there’s no way we can show our faces in their territory again. So your contribution to our survival would be just . . . super.”

            “Take it easy, Miles,” Bass warned as he slipped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

            “You’re not on your honeymoon yet, Bass,” Miles reminded him. “In the first place, I want to be about a thousand miles away when that happens. In the second, we have to survive the day before you two even think about setting up house in a rose-covered cottage, so –“

            “It seems that everyone is just a little on edge,” Father Velez interjected, his voice calm though a smile threatened to spread across his face. “If you’ll allow me, I think I can help.”

            Charlie turned from glaring at Miles just long enough to smile gratefully at the priest. “That would be wonderful, Father, thanks.”

            “I have family up just past the Canadian border in the Pembina Valley, about twenty miles south of Minnedosa. Cousins on my mom’s side. I haven’t heard from them in years, of course, but I can’t imagine even the end of the world would force them off their land. If you can make it up there, they’ll help you get settled. You’ll be safe with them, I promise.”

            “That’s a nice thought, Bobby, but these days people aren’t exactly eager to help strangers who just happen to wander into their front yard,” Miles remarked drily. “Even if we could get up to Canada – and that’s a bigass if – why would they bother?”

            “Because you’ll give them this,” Father Velez replied as he pulled a slim chain from around his neck. Charlie saw a small object dangling from it and felt tears well in her eyes as she realized what it was.

            “Father, no,” she choked. “I know what that is. We can’t –“

            “My parents always stressed how important it was to help people, no matter what,” Father Velez interrupted. “If this will help you to get a fresh start, start your lives together in peace, it is well worth it. Please. Take it.” He reached over and pressed the slim Crucifix into Charlie’s hand. “My mother gave it to my father just after they were engaged. If you find my family, they’ll definitely recognize it. Their last name is Jaeger. Sunrise Ranch. Anyone in the area will be able to tell you how to get there.”

            “Bobby, really, it’s too much. It’s all you have left of them and there may never be a way to get it back to you,” Bass protested, his fingers absently rubbing over the smoothness of his own father’s wedding ring.

            “As much as my father’s Crucifix means to me, Bass, my parents are with me every moment of my life whether I have it or not. I think they’d be pleased that they could still help people. Please take it. And who knows,” Father Velez added cheerfully. “Maybe one day I’ll feel the need to visit Canada and drop in for a visit. It can get awfully hot down here.”

            Charlie and Bass exchanged a long look and Bass finally shrugged almost helplessly. “There’s nothing we can ever do to repay you for this,” he said hoarsely as Charlie gently placed the chain around her neck and reverently tucked the Crucifix beneath her shirt. Its slight, cool weight against her skin was oddly comforting.

            “There is,” Bobby insisted as he smiled over at them. “Be happy. Make your lives examples of kindness and generosity. Love each other no matter what. If you can do those things, I’ll be well repaid.”

            Charlie pressed her trembling lips together and moved towards Father Velez, taking his hand in both of hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, her tear-damp eyes locked to his. “Thank you so much.”

            Father Velez gently squeezed her hands before releasing them and smiled down at her. “Charlie, it is absolutely my pleasure.”

            Miles cleared his throat loudly and ran his hand through his hair. “So now we have a place to go. How do we get there?”

            “Mr. Jacobson is taking care of that,” came the easy reply. “Don’t ask me how because I made it very clear I didn’t want to know how he went about it – I’m pretty sure my dear friend has a bit of an unsavory past – but he told me he could get word to an associate of his about twenty miles from here. They’re locating your mother and grandfather, Charlie, and they should be at his friend’s homestead by the time Mr. Jacobson gets you there. You’ll be given fresh horses and supplies as payment for helping get the herd back. From there, you’re on your own. Though I think that’s familiar territory for all of you, right?”

            “That’s . . . unbelievable,” Miles stammered. “I mean, why?”

            “People help each other out here,” Father Velez replied as he smiled over at his old friend. “Especially when they see it’s for a good cause. Helping folks escape from the Patriots is about as good as it gets.”

            “When is all this supposed to happen?” Bass asked, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders and leaning on her a bit as he felt the excitement of the day start to catch up with him.

            “That’s the one problem with the whole thing,” Father Velez informed them reluctantly. “If it was at all possible, you’d have at least a week to rest up and get your strength up, Bass, but we’ve agreed that the sooner you’re all on your way, the better. Mr. Jacobson is coming tomorrow morning. And that’s the other thing . . .” He hesitated for a moment before pressing on, scratching distractedly behind his ear as he looked at Bass and Miles from the corner of his eyes. “You’re all going to have to travel the twenty miles in the milk cart.”

            “Motherfu-“

            “Miles!” Charlie exclaimed, her eyes narrow as she glared at her uncle. “We’re in a church. In front of a priest.”

            Father Velez grinned at chastened, though still fuming, Miles but then frowned as he nodded. “I know it isn’t ideal,” he agreed, “but it’s more important to put some miles between you and the Patriots than anything else. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible. Especially you, Bass,” he promised, placing a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.

            “We’re so grateful, Father,” Charlie told him sincerely, with one more stern glance over at her uncle. “We’ll be ready.”

            “Good. Now,” the priest said briskly, clapping his hands together, “it isn’t much but I dipped into my provisions and managed to put together a little wedding brunch. I have it set up in the sacristy. Shall we?”

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            It had to be well after midnight and, exhausted as she was, Charlie found that she couldn’t sleep. They had gone over the plan over and over throughout the day until she felt that it was imprinted on her brain. The problem now was that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it – of every step they needed to take, of everything that could go wrong. There was nothing to distract her since Father Velez was up in the tower keeping watch with Miles and, other than the chirp of the crickets outside, everything was still. She sat up slowly, taking care not to wake her sleeping husband as she moved the arm he had draped across her middle. She inched out from under their shared blanket and took a moment to make sure he was well covered before standing and making her way over to one of the windows. Though the shutters were snugly closed, both to capture what little warmth there was in the church and for privacy, fresh air managed to make its way through the brown wooden slats. Charlie breathed it in deeply as she pressed her forehead against the smooth adobe walls. So much could go wrong tomorrow. Hell, so much could go wrong for however long it took them to get to Canada. But they had to get there, Charlie thought fiercely as she reached up to clutch the chain resting around her neck. They had all been through so much and, dear God, they needed this fresh start. If anything happened now . . .

            Charlie started slightly as two arms wrapped themselves around her waist and Bass buried his face in her neck. “Baby, you need to get some sleep,” he whispered. “Tomorrow’s going to be exhausting.”

            “I know,” she murmured as she reached back to run a hand through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I just . . . can’t shut my brain off.”

            “We’re going to be fine, Charlotte,” Bass assured her as he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. “We’re going to get to Canada, find Bobby’s family, and . . . shit, I can’t believe this, but we’re going to be cattle ranchers. I don’t know what it’s going to be like for us but I do know that our life is going to be absolutely everything I’ve ever wished for because it will be with you. And I’m going to drain myself dry to make sure that you get whatever it takes to make you happy. That’s all you should be thinking about.”

            They stood in silence for long, silent moments until Charlie released a shuddering sigh as she shifted her head to find Bass’ lips with hers. Breaking the kiss, she turned slightly and rested her forehead against his neck. “I love you,” she said quietly. “So much. And I know you’re right. Everything is going to be amazing. But I can’t help but worry that this is all going to be taken away. That now that we’re together and happy and thinking about our future that there won’t be one.”

            Bass moved his hands to the sides of her waist and gently turned her until they were pressed together, breast-to-chest and hip-to-hip. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and Charlie’s eyes slide closed as she leaned into his touch. “Charlotte, look at me,” he demanded gently and she raised her eyes to meet his, the beautiful blue that she loved so much shining in spite of the darkness around them. “No matter what happens,” Bass told her, his voice deep with emotion, with certainty, “we’re going to face it together. We have to have faith in each other and believe that we can deal with whatever comes. If we can do that, we’ll be in Canada before we know it. Have an actual home of our own and nothing but time ahead of us. Right?”

            “Right,” Charlie replied immediately, reaching up to twine her fingers with his. Bass leaned in slowly and pressed his lips to hers. Charlie inhaled sharply and pressed even closer, almost convinced that she would climb inside him if she could. Her arms wrapped around his slim waist and slid up his back, caressing the finely-honed muscles that she could feel bunching and moving beneath his shirt as he enveloped her in his arms. But then her fingers encountered the edge of one of his bandages and she stiffened, pulling back despite Bass’ grunt of protest.

            “I’m not the only one who needs to rest up for tomorrow,” Charlie reminded him as she ran her fingertips down his arms before taking his hands in hers. “We should both try to get some sleep.”

            Bass’ lips twisted, and he nodded reluctantly. “Not much of a wedding night,” he muttered as they made their way back to their bed, his arm around her shoulders and her head resting in that sweetspot where shoulder and neck meet. “Between being shot and those two wet blankets,” he said, jerking his head at the ladder leading up to the bell tower, “this isn’t exactly how I saw tonight going.”

            Charlie muffled her laughter as they slipped back under the blanket. “You can make it up to me, babe,” she promised. “When we get home.”

Chapter Text

     Bass settled comfortably back into the rocking chair – his birthday gift from Miles who still maintained that these were one of the great achievements of Western civilization – and took in all that lay before him. A broad, deeply green lawn swept away from where he sat on his – their – front porch, the land gently undulating for a little over half a mile until it settled into a broad field where their cattle ambled peacefully on the other side of a split-rain fence. His eyes – still a startling cerulean blue – wandered over the expanse of the wraparound porch that he and Miles had built and settled contentedly on the group of people making their way across the lawn to join him.

     Thirty years. Thirty years since he and Charlie and the others had settled here, had started to rebuild their lives and themselves. Bass smiled and closed his eyes, raised his face to the gentle warmth of the sun, and remembered.

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     “Bass, I swear to God, you try to make me ride in that wagon one more time, you’ll be walking funny for a month!”

     “Well, I wouldn’t be the only one, now, would I?” he asked tersely, his eyes raking over Charlie’s form as he gauged the distance between his wife and the wagon in question. Maybe if he moved quickly . . .

     “You did not just make a joke about how I walk,” Charlie said, her eyes narrowed to slits as she planted her balled fists on either side of her thickened waist.

     “Uh, Bass, you might want to –“

     “Keep out of this, Miles,” Bass commanded, his voice rough with concern and tinged with more than a bit of impatience.

     “Miles, Rachel, I see a copse of trees just over yonder,” Gene interjected swiftly. “Probably means fresh water. Let’s go fill up and let these two talk for a bit.”

     Rachel, torn between wanting to support her daughter and her desire to remove herself from a marital spat, glanced between the two combatants and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. She reined her horse around to follow her father and, after a moment of hesitation, was followed by Miles. Charlie and Bass continued to glare at each other until the others were out of earshot and then Charlie let loose.

     “I cannot believe that you would –“

     “What?” Bass interjected angrily, thrusting a hand through his wind-blown curls. “Care? Want to make sure that you’re comfortable? That I’d worry?” His voice broke on that last word, and he swallowed convulsively. “Because I do. All of it.”

     Charlie’s shoulders dropped at the obvious anguish in her husband’s eyes, and she signed deeply as her hands moved to massage her lower back. “I know, babe,” she replied softly. “But I need to walk. I need to move. I’m so uncomfortable in that wagon. Every bounce makes my bladder a misery and my back . . . How about this?” she proposed as she moved to take one his hands. “We’re almost ready to camp for the night, right?” She glanced at the sun, which had long ago begun its descent in the west. “I walk until we find a place to camp. It won’t be more than an hour. And I’ll start in the wagon tomorrow morning. OK?”

     Bass moved his free hand to caress the mound of her belly and his face gentled when he felt the flips and bumps of his child as he – she? – moved within. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes on his hand as it traced the baby’s movements. “I’m just . . .”

     “What?”

     “I’m scared to death,” he admitted in a harsh whisper, his eyes sliding closed as he pulled Charlie into a tight embrace. “I know everything is going to be OK,” he said, resting his check against her hair and sighing as her hands moved soothingly on his back. “I know we have Gene and Rachel and you’re healthy . . . but I just can’t stop being scared. I want to be somewhere safe when you have the baby. I don't want you going into labor in the middle of nowhere and giving birth in the back of that fucking wagon. I want to not be looking over our shoulders every two minutes. I want to be somewhere where you can have a bed, where Gene can have the resources he needs. I want the baby to sleep in a Goddamn crib and not an empty box filled with old blankets. We've been trying to get to the valley for seven months and it just seems like we're never going to reach it.”

     “I know you're scared. But . . . happy, too, right?” Charlie asked in a small voice, her fingers clenching in his shirt.

     Bass pulled back immediately and reached up to cradle her face in his hands. “Yes,” he told her emphatically, his gaze tracing her beloved features. His heart twisted at the sheen of tears that he saw in her eyes. “God, Charlotte, don’t ever doubt that. I am so happy about the baby. It’s more than could have ever hoped for, making a family with you. It’s more than I deserve.”

     Charlotte reached up to grip his wrists and gave her head a slight shake, causing her tears to fall to her cheeks. “You have to stop that, Bass,” she told him firmly, though her chin quivered. “You have to stop thinking that the baby and I will be taken away as some sort of punishment.”

     Bass sucked in a sharp breath, and he stepped back, his hands dropping away from her to clench at his sides. “I never said –“

     “You didn’t have to,” his wife told him gently as she stepped forward to close the gap between them. “And I know that’s not all of it. I know you’re worried that what happened with Shelly . . .” Her voice trailed off and she wiped her damp cheeks with her sleeve. “It worries me, too,” she admitted, almost in a whisper. Charlie heard Bass’ sharp inhalation at her confession, and she raised her eyes to his. “Of course, it does,” she told him softly. “I’ve seen myself what can happen. But I’ve also seen what happens when everything turns out right. And I want that, Bass,” she told him, her voice gentle and determined at the same time. “I want that with you. I want to see you with our children – yes, we’re having more than one,” she interjected swiftly when she saw he was about to interrupt. “I want to grow old with you with our family around us and know that we built something amazing, something beautiful. And I want you to tell me that you believe you can be part of something like that.”

     “God, Charlotte,” he murmured brokenly as he rested his forehead against hers. There was silence between them for long moments broken only by the gentle breeze rustling the long grass that surrounded them. “All I know,” Bass finally said, raising his head to look down into Charlie’s clear blue eyes, “is that you’ve taught me that we can do anything if we have each other. So yes,” he said, “I believe that we can have that life. And I’m just so damn grateful that you want it with me.”
Charlie’s arms slipped around his neck and exerted gentle pressure, bringing his lips down to meet hers. They reveled in each other, in touch, in taste, until they heard the jangle of a harness and turned to see the rest of their group – their family – riding towards them. Bass reached down to link his fingers with his wife’s as they moved to meet them.

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     They had reached the Pembina Valley with what seemed like minutes to spare before Charlie had gone into labor and any hesitation Father Velez’s family might have had about the weary, ragged little band of strangers that turned up on their doorstep had been eliminated not only with Bobby’s Crucifix but also at the absolute frantic concern that had radiated from Bass at every twinge his wife felt. Bobby’s cousin Marta – a no-nonsense woman in her early 60s with steel-grey hair - had taken charge, bustled Charlie into a shockingly comfortable bedroom in the main house on the ranch and proved to be a more than capable midwife in aiding Gene.

     Bass had been frankly astonished that he hadn’t had a heart attack during Charlotte’s seemingly endless labor. Finally, though, he had been instructed to sit behind Charlie to provide her support when it was time to push. He had slipped behind her and rested his legs on either side of her weary, straining body. Her hands had immediately reached for his and she turned her head to press her face into his neck as she struggled to bring their child into the world. Bass murmured encouragement, words of love, pleas into her sweat-dampened hair and prayed as he had never prayed before. Finally, startlingly, a baby’s cry echoed through the room and Bass dropped his head in relief, his tears mingling with those of his wife.

     “It’s a boy!” Gene announced, grinning widely as he handed the baby to Marta to be cleaned and wrapped. “Great set of lungs,” he informed the new parents – a bit unnecessarily, Bass thought dazedly as his son continued to wail - as he tended to Charlie and watched for the afterbirth to present itself.

     Charlie raised herself slightly from Bass’s chest to look over at Marta. “Is he ok?” she asked, her breath still coming in gasps.

     “He’s grand,” Marta assured her as she gently ran a warm, damp cloth over the baby’s squirming body. “A bit on the small side but all his fingers and toes and the bluest eyes –“

     Her words were cut off when Charlie cried out and her body arched against Bass. “What’s wrong?” Bass cried frantically, his eyes wide with terror.

     Gene’s hands were running over Charlie’s still-distended belly and he grabbed for his stethoscope. He listened intently for long minutes before his eyes – wide with shock – moved to his granddaughter and her husband. “Um, Charlie, seems I missed something,” he admitted hoarsely. “Looks like you’re having twins.”

     Their daughter entered the world with much less fuss than her brother, taking only a couple of pushes to slide free of her mother. Gene and Marta tended to Charlie, got the babies cleaned up, placed the babies in their mother’s arms, and left the new little family to get acquainted with each other. Bass sat, his chair off to the side, and gazed in astonishment at the two little bundles resting that had so quickly changed . . . everything. Now that they were finally here, now that he knew that Charlie was safe, he almost couldn’t take it in. He had been a father since Shelly had told him about their baby but had never had a chance to be one. Bass felt his heart accelerate as he struggled to take it in. God, how was he going to do this?

     “Bass.”

     He immediately stood at Charlie’s quiet call and moved to her side. “You doing ok?” he whispered, running the backs of his fingers over her soft cheek.

     “I’m great,” she whispered back as she grinned up at him. “But I think the babies need some ‘Daddy time’, don’t you?”

     Bass straightened abruptly and ran his suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of his pants. “Is it ok?” he whispered uncertainly, his eyes locked on the sleeping babies.

     “Bass,” Charlie laughed quietly even as her eyes burned with tears. “They’re yours, too, you know.”

     He swallowed thickly and reached tentatively to take the closest baby – their daughter. As Charlie gently transferred the baby into his arms, her eyes opened and looked blearily into his. Bass felt his heart stop as he gazed into eyes so remarkably like his own.

     “One more,” Charlotte reminded him gently and Bass stooped to take his son. Once had had them safely in his arms, he sat gingerly on the edge of his wife’s bed and stared down at their children in wonder.

     “God, Charlotte,” he choked in a voice thick with emotion. “They’re . . . everything I dreamed of.”

     “And a bit more than expected,” Charlie added wryly, wincing as she shifted to move closer to her family.

     Bass’ eyes shot to her and his brow creased in concern. “Are you OK?” he asked urgently. “Should I call Gene back?”

     “I’m fine,” she soothed, placing a caressing hand on the back of his neck. “Just sore. But happier than I ever thought I could be.”

     Bass leaned over gently and touched his lips – oh, so softly – to hers. “Me, too,” he agreed. “Everything with you is better than I could have imagined.”

     Charlie smiled against his lips and hummed in agreement. “And that’s how it’s going to stay,” she promised.

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     None of it had been easy, but Charlotte had been right. In spite of the inevitable difficulties that came their way – or maybe because of them – life with Charlotte and their family had been more than he could have ever hoped for. The years passed, more children came – God help them, but either he or Charlie seemed to carry the gene for multiples – and the family he had dreamed of grew into a big, noisy, chaotic, wonderful reality. After spending their first year with the Jaegers – who had been generosity itself – Bass, Charlie, the twins, Miles, Rachael, and Gene had settled into a pristine valley a few miles distant and started to build their ranch. It had prospered in a way that Bass never could have predicted and soon the cattle and horses raised in King Valley were in demand across Canada and the northern part of the old United States. Despite the pain of losing Gene just five years ago, their lives had been everything Father Velez had wished for them – they were happy. They had made their lives examples of kindness and generosity. And they had loved each other no matter what. Bass' lips curved slightly as he focused on the slight weight of Bobby's Crucifix around his neck. Just one more reminder of the promise he and Charlotte had made to each other all those years ago.

     “You can’t sleep through your birthday, babe.”

     Brought abruptly back to the present, Bass opened his eyes to see Charlotte walking towards him. Thirty years, he reflected, and she was as beautiful today as the first time he saw her. Her hair – still long, still a mass of culrs and waves but tucked out of the way in a long, lose braid – was now liberally streaked with grey, there were a few lines on her face that hadn’t been there before, but time had not diminished her courage, her intelligence, her stubbornness, her fire, or the love in her eyes that he saw every time he looked at her. She was – and always would be – glorious. His wife, the mother of his children, his redemption.

     “I wasn’t sleeping,” he contradicted as he stood and wrapped his arms around her still-trim waist. “I was just remembering.”

     “Mmmm,” Charlie murmured as she ran her fingers through the curls - now silvered with the passing years - that still sprang back from his forehead. “Well, a lot of those memories are waiting for you in the summer kitchen. They want to tell their dad and grandpa ‘Happy Birthday’. You ready?”

     Before Bass could answer the sound of boots echoed on the wooden floor of the porch. “Shit, thirty years and I still walk in on this,” Miles said disgustedly, his form as straight as it had ever been even if, like Bass, his hair had now gone almost completely grey. “Thirty years,” he repeated, “and eight kids. Think of the rest of us and give us a break.”

     “Miles,” Rachel sighed, just a few steps behind him. “Quit being such a grump. Happy birthday, Bass,” she said fondly and, as Charlie moved out of the way, gave him a brief but affectionate hug.

     “Thanks, Rachel,” Bass said, smiling down at her before he turned to Miles. “And if you don’t like it,” he said to his lifelong friend, “you can go home. It’s my birthday and I can kiss my wife if I want.”
“Your birthday, hell,” Miles retorted grimly. “Your birthday, Fourth of July, Christmas, Tuesday – it’s all the same to you. Any excuse.”

     “I, for one,” Charlie interjected as she moved back into Bass’ arms, “don’t need an excuse.” And she rose on her toes to press her lips to her husband’s laughing mouth.

     “Are you two tormenting Uncle Miles again?” a deep voice asked from across the porch. Bass and Charlie separated to see their oldest son standing there, the serious look on his face belied by the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Come on, Dad, the kids want to see their grandpa and have cake. And not necessarily in that order.”

     Bass smiled over at his boy – still a boy to Bass even though he now had children of his own – and felt his heart swell with pride and gratitude. He and Charlie had agreed that they would tell their children about Bass’ – and Miles’ – past when they were old enough. Bass had been terrified to lay his sins before the children he loved more than his own life. And while the kids had struggled to reconcile the terrible stories of Bass Monroe with the father whom they adored and respected, they had managed it. Their love for their parents and their understanding of what had gone in to building the home and family they had taken for granted their entire lives only deepened when they truly comprehended the demons that both their mother and father had had to overcome.

     Bass linked his hand with Charlie’s as they walked towards the stairs and the chatter of dozens of voices filtered up to them from the summer kitchen. Bass put an arm around his son’s shoulders as they walked down the stairs and into the sunlight together.