Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A/N What follows is my attempt to retool those last four episodes with four very specific goals in mind: 1. Repair the friendship between Miles & Bass, 2. Put the Nano story to rest without any opening for it to ever return, 3. Give Bass a chance to be the guy we know he can be (not the revived psycho version who reappeared a bit in 19 & 20 in particular) AND 4. A Charloe happy ending – because that's what I do. I can't help myself.

In my stories, I have a tendency to bring people back from the dead and toy with canon like she's my bitch. I did not do either here. The first thirty-eight televised episodes are canon for the purpose of this story. The last four eps (2x19 – 2x22) are where I go off book. The comics do not exist in this world at all. Regarding MCD – it's an even split, folks…I'm keeping alive some that the show killed, and killing some the show spared. If you've read my stuff before, you will know the trinity is safe. Everyone else? I guess you'll just have to read and find out on your own. By the way, I hope you do. - Lemon

Title from the Robert Frost poem "The Road Not Taken".

Prologue

Images of the chaos in Austin and Jason's death are swirling through Charlie's head as the wagon jerks and bumps along. She feels numb, doing her best to ignore the guys, who for some reason, won't shut up.

"We gotta shoot Tom Neville." Miles is trying to give her a pep talk. Charlie is dazed, but even so, she knows one thing for sure. Miles Matheson sucks at pep talks.

"You're reading my mail." Bass says. "He's gonna kill you, Charlie – when he finds out what happened."

She doesn't respond, but then she doesn't have to. She knows this for what it is: the truth.

Later, when Tom's gun is pointed at her temple, she will remember those words. She will remember and she will wish she'd been more careful.

But what is it that Miles always says about wishing? "Wish in one hand and shit in the other. See which one gets filled first." That's what Miles always says. Miles sucks at pep talks, but the pithy old sayings? Those are his specialty.

Charlie doesn't need pep talks or pithy old sayings to know one other thing.

Wishing doesn't mean shit.

Chapter One: Shit Happens

The air is crisp with an early autumn breeze but Charlie doesn't really notice as she walks along the narrow stream in search of Miles. She struggles not to scream and rage as thoughts ping around in her brain. In one moment she is remembering Jason falling to the floor in slow motion, a gaping hole in his chest. In the next, she is assailed by the horrifying thought that something could have happened to Miles.

If he…

If anything has happened to him…

If he's not…

Charlie shakes her head, trying to clear the dark thoughts that plague her mind. She looks around for any sign of where he's gone. She sees little. Maybe Monroe was right. Maybe Charlie does suck at tracking. She definitely sucks at finding Miles when he needs to be found. She sucked at finding a way to get out of that damned library without killing a guy she could have loved.

She didn't love Jason. She knows that, and she figures (in those moments when she can distance herself enough to think clearly) that the fact that she didn't love Jason, is all that's keeping her sane. No, she didn't love him, but she had cared for him. He was a friend. He deserved better than what he got in the end.

Hell, he deserved better than what he got, period. She thinks about Tom Neville and all the ways he had gone out of his way to make his only son feel unworthy.

Charlie has never felt so conflicted about anyone as she does about Tom Neville. On one hand, she hates him with all her heart. He was in charge of the militia soldiers who had killed her father, after all. He was the man who had taken Danny away from her.

Charlie hates Tom, but she is responsible for the death of his only son, and that is the truth which haunts her every waking hour. Even Tom doesn't deserve to lose someone that way. Nobody does. Shaking her head, she tries to concentrate on the search for Miles and on all the things he's taught her. She tries to get into a Miles mindset, hoping to piece together where he's gone and what trouble he has most likely gotten into.

She yells for him, but a pathetic echo is all she hears in response. No. That isn't all. Her ears perk up to the faintest of sounds from behind where she stands. Charlie whirls, weapon ready.

It's Tom Neville in the flesh and he has a gun trained on her. "Drop it, Ms. Matheson."

She freezes. Evidently Charlie also sucks at noticing when people are walking up behind her.

Tom's eyes flit about, frantic, searching. "I said drop it."

She drops it.

"Where is he? Tell me what happened to my boy?

Charlie just shakes her head.

"Speak up! What happened to him? Where is that idiot son of mine?"

"I don't know where he is." Charlie's mind swirls with dread. A handful of half assed escape plans pop into her head all at once but she discounts each one in a heartbeat. The memory of Monroe's voice echoes in her mind: "He's gonna kill you, Charlie."

Tom steps closer, his teeth bared. "You know where he is. I know you do. He's always chasing your tail."

Charlie falters. "Listen. Miles will be here any minute."

"Don't worry. We'll be long gone by then." He nods toward her, urging her to walk.

She has no other choice. She walks. "Where are we going?"

"Your camp, of course. I've been out here busting my ass for days, looking for it. Running into you out here is the first bit of luck I've had."

"And I'm going to take you there why?"

"Because that's where Jason is. I need to see him."

Charlie walks with her mind full of memories of Jason. The way he'd wrapped his hands around her throat, his eyes filled with mechanical rage. The way he'd jerked back as the bullet tore through him. The way he had felt in her arms as she cried over his body.

"Tell me something. Is your ass made of candy?"

Charlie is startled out of her reverie by Tom Neville's hate laced words. "What?"

"Is your ass made out of candy? No? Then why does my half wit son keep following you? Is it that sweet or is he that desperate?"

"Shouldn't' talk about him like that." Charlie shakes her head angrily, turning to glare at him.

"He's my son I'll talk about him how ever I like." Neville sounds like he's just barely hanging on.

"He's not stupid and he deserves better than you." She looks away. "He deserves better than me."

"You're right about that, Girlie. You are the worst thing that has ever happened to him. After I get him back, you stay away from him. Do you hear me?"

She doesn't answer. Instead she turns to lead him down the road once more. They get to the currently unused safe house and Charlie opens the door. She looks around. Nobody here. Part of her had hoped Miles would be sitting at the kitchen table, bitching about something. She misses him so much.

"What the hell is this place? Where is everyone?" Neville's gun is still trained on her, but his eyes are taking in every detail of the shabby old house.

Charlie tries to focus. She needs to concentrate on saving herself. She'll worry about Miles later. "They're probably out scouting. Jason's with them. They'll be back." She isn't sure if he believes her or not. She prays that he does.

He watches her for a moment, sizing up the situation. "My patience has reached an end, young lady. You are going to take me to Jason or you die. Now."

Charlie doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what to say. Flashes of memory assail her once more. Jason's last moments replaying over and over in her head.

Neville's brow furrows with concern and fear. "What was that? That expression on your face?" He falters, before narrowing his eyes at her. "Where is Jason?"

Charlie wants to be strong, but she is having a hard time staying calm. Tears are welling. "I - I don't know."

"You're lying." Neville moves closer. His hand shakes. "Why? Is he hurt?"

"No he's fine."

Neville sees something flicker across Charlie's face and he knows he was right. "He is hurt." Neville sucks in a breath. "Is he dead? No. That's not… NO!"

Charlie shakes her head, but he isn't buying it. "Was it Monroe? Was it Miles? Had to be Miles. He always had it out for the boy." Neville's eyes are wild. His words are coming fast and bits of spittle collect unnoticed at the corners of his mouth. "This is what will happen. You are bait. I'm going to use you to draw out Miles and Monroe and your bitch mother. I'm going to work my way through them until I figure this out…"

Charlie closes her eyes tight. "It was me."

For a moment, Tom is confused. "What? No. That can't be – No."

"It was me. IT WAS ME!" She's sobbing now, big fat tears pouring down her cheeks. Her breath is coming in ragged gasps. "I'm so sorry."

"Please, out of all the people who would want to do this to him, it wouldn't be you. You would never do this." Neville's chin shakes as his tears begin to fall.

Charlie knows he's going to kill her. She hears Monroe's voice in her head again. Even so, she has to state her case. She must try. She takes a deep breath. "I didn't think I could kill him either. The patriots did something to him. They must have read that number. They turned him into something he wasn't. He was trying to kill me. I begged him to stop. He wouldn't stop. I cared about him. I cared about him and that's what I did and I hate myself for it. If you're going to kill me, you should just do it. Do it now."

Tom Neville's voice is heavy with grief and fury. "You were dead as soon as you killed my son." He raises his gun, pointing it at her head and Charlie shuts her eyes tight.

She is sure her life is over as shots are fired into the crumbling plaster above her head. As each tiny chunk of the wall falls around her and into her hair, her mind's eye sees the bloom of fresh blood on Jason's shirt, appearing again and again with each deafening blast echoing in the small house.

She feels Tom step closer. This is it. The muzzle of his gun presses against her temple. She chokes back a sob as he pulls the trigger.

Click. Not the bang she'd expected. She is still upset but she knows that sound. He's run out of ammo.

She's almost ready to let out a sigh of relief when the small space echoes with another gunshot. This last shot sounds different. She opens her eyes, expecting Neville to be standing there, still pointing the gun at her. And he is.

This time though, the bloom of fresh blood is on Tom's shirt instead of Jason's and Charlie thinks that she's imagining all of it when he crumples at her feet, eyes wide and wet and lifeless. Charlie bites back a scream, and then her eyes fly up to the open door. Her savior stands there, his blue eyes blazing furiously at the dead man on the floor.

Bass Monroe slowly lowers his gun before meeting her gaze.

"Told you he would try to kill you, Charlie."

"I'm starting to think this is the best song ever written." The thing that wears Priscilla like a suit is still listening to the walkman Aaron had found in the attic of the house next door.

Aaron just shakes his head. Why couldn't it have been Depeche Mode or the Smiths? Duran Duran or WHAM! would even have been better than this. Hell, Aaron never thought he'd be wishing for "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go", but alas, that is what she's driven him to. Of all the bands in the entire world, why did the only cassette still in existence have to be Starship? Aaron shudders, watching Nano-Priscilla as she smiles and sways to the music, not that he would ever call THAT 'music'.

Aaron walks over to her and gets her attention. "Hey. You've had food and music and the whole being human tour. I've done all you've asked. Please get out of Priscilla's head and let her go. Please?"

"Not yet. We aren't ready to move on just yet."

"Move on to what?"

"Don't worry yourself about things that don't concern you, Aaron."

Aaron frowns. "Priscilla concerns me. I love her."

"And that is very sweet. Really. The thing is, we don't care."

"What do you want from us?" Aaron's voice has risen. He isn't sure he can take much more of this.

"I'm glad you asked. Next I'd like to see what pizza tastes like."

Charlie refuses to stay at the safe house or go back to camp. She helps Monroe drag Neville's body into the overgrown backyard and then they're back on the trail again, searching for Miles.

"Should we split up like before?" Charlie is feeling a little better, and she knows Monroe probably would rather look for Miles on his own.

"No. Not going to leave you now."

"Why? Nobody else wants me dead."

"Are you sure? I figure there are a lot of people who want all of us dead. If we split up now, I'd just worry that you were getting your stupid ass killed."

"So, NOW you're worried about my well-being? Before, when there was a specific threat against me – when we knew Neville would be out for my blood - you sent me on my way without a second thought. The only thing you had to say was that I suck at tracking."

"You don't suck at tracking." He mutters, not bothering to look her way as he walks.

"Then why did you say that earlier?" She frowns. "Why have you been such a bastard to me since we left Austin?" She walks faster to keep up. "No. It was before that even. You've been a jerk ever since New Vegas."

"Yeah, right. Well, don't forget I'm the bastard jerk who just saved your life. Again. Would it kill you to say thank you?"

"Thank you for helping with Neville. I do appreciate that, but it's the first time you've done anything other than be an asshole to me in weeks. I know we aren't friends or whatever, but I thought we'd come to some sort of agreement."

He stops and turns to face her. "Oh? What agreement is that?"

She almost answers, but points behind him instead when she sees something ahead. "I think I see a body over there." In fact, there are several – all in uniform.

Monroe surveys the ground and takes a look at each of the dead bodies. "Looks like Miles got pinned down over there. Took out six of them. Some were double taps. Which means he probably emptied his clip. There were seven rangers when we first spotted them, so there's one left…"

Charlie can sense that Monroe is becoming tenser with each step he takes. They haven't gone far when he turns and heads in a new direction without saying a word. She breaks the silence between them. "Why are we going this way?"

"High ground ahead. Most strategic position. That's where Miles will be. We gotta find him before that last ranger does. Let's go."

"We're walking in circles."

"We're looking for god damned clues, Charlotte. They aren't always lined up in neat fucking rows. You should know how this works. Just shut up and follow me."

Charlie grits her teeth, seething in silence.

They move over the terrain, looking behind trees and inside buildings. They search inside an old rusty truck and inside an overgrown culvert. The tension builds with every dead end. They both feel it – the growing dread that too much time has passed with no sign of Miles.

Monroe shakes his head, and turns. He's walking back toward the way they had come from when Charlie loses her patience. "I thought you said he'd gone that way? High ground and all that?"

"Clearly I was wrong," he growls. "He went this way. I'm sure."

"Why are you so sure? Because you are such a fantastic tracker yourself? Or is it because you think you know Miles better than the rest of us?"

"Well, I DO know Miles better than the rest of you. We were friends for two decades before you were born."

"I think he's changed. Not sure you know him as well as you think you do. Not sure you ever did."

"Where the hell do you get off judging my friendship with Miles? You've known him for five minutes. You know nothing. You are a reckless child with a death wish."

"What are you talking about?"

Bass points in the general direction of the safe house. "Tom Neville was standing there in your face and you dared him to shoot you. You all but gave him permission! What the fuck were you thinking?" Bass's voice rises with each furious word.

"I was feeling guilty. You probably have no idea what that's even like, but I do. I felt guilty and I had a weak moment. Shit! Why are you on my back about this? Kind of having a bad week, if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah. I'm sorry you had to kill your old boyfriend or whatever. I'm sure you'll find another one soon enough."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You make stupid choices when it comes to men." He's facing her now, his jaw tight. "That's what I mean."

"God, you're a dick. I'm not stupid. You think you know me, Monroe? You're wrong. I am not a child. I don't have a death wish. I felt guilty with Tom. That's all. It was a momentary thing, but you know what? It doesn't matter. None of that matters. You don't know me, but I know you. You are an insecure asshole on a power trip. Oh, and your obsession with Miles? It is pathetic. I bet when you need to get off, it's his face you see. Isn't it?"

He steps closer, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "If I'm so damned pathetic, what about that night in New Vegas?"

"You mean when I screwed your kid? Jesus, Monroe. How does that have anything to do with you?"

"It had everything to do with me."

"How is that exactly?"

"Because it should have been me, Charlie! It should have been me, and you know it!" Monroe yells.

"What?" Charlie feels as if the earth is shifting under her feet. He's getting dangerously close to territory she's been doing her best to avoid for months.

"Don't even pretend you didn't feel it. Something had been building between us and when I finished talking to Duncan that night – well, she said some things…"

"Like what?" Charlie's surprised at how breathy her voice sounds, and how fast her heart is suddenly racing.

"She pointed out that you didn't deny it."

"Didn't deny what?"

"A couple times she implied that you and I were together. You didn't say anything."

"Neither did you."

"Exactly." He exhales slowly. "That's what she said, and that's when I realized I'd wasted a lot of time. I was going back to talk to you. To tell you – "

Charlie watches as Monroe's lips tighten in anger. She knows what he's thinking, what he's remembering.

"Tell me what?" she knows she sounds breathless, but she can't control it.

"I think you know." His eyes are hot embers burning into her soul.

"No. I don't." She falters. This can't be happening. "What are you saying?" She remembers all those times he'd innocently brushed against her….all those times their eyes had held a gaze far too long… all those times she had dreamt of him, naked and hard. She remembers sleeping with Connor because she was sure Monroe was screwing Duncan…

He erases the space between them. He's now so close; she can feel his hot breath on her face. "What I'm saying is that when I need to get off, Miles is not the Matheson whose face I see."

He grabs her then, pulling her flush with his body and slamming his mouth down on hers. He kisses her with an urgency that is brutal. His hands hold her in an iron grip, one hand fisting the back of her hair. She pushes against his chest, trying to get away, but he won't be budged. He licks roughly across her lips and she gasps. He moves in, delving deeply into the recesses of her mouth. He tastes her and sucks at her tongue.

She's trying to push him away at first. It's hopeless and she stops fighting. His hand roughly grasps her ass and he moans into her mouth. Finally she pushes again and this time she catches him off guard. He stumbles, and his hold on her loosens. She falls on her ass, and stares up at him. Her eyes are wide and her breathing is ragged.

Their gaze locks and Charlie feels a stirring in her core. All those feelings bottled away for months, now roaring to the surface. She stands on shaky feet and points at him. "You stay away from me."

He licks his lips, watching her intently. "For now, Charlotte. I'll stay away for now."

She grabs her pack which had fallen to the ground when she did. She stomps off, ignoring his comment. He follows. The search for Miles is back on.

They walk in silence for a while before they find anything. They have both calmed down. Things between them feel almost normal. But then she sees something. "Is that his…?" Charlie's voice falters as she falls to her knees by a pile of bloody fabric.

"Miles's coat." Monroe nods, looking her in the eye.

"There's blood. A lot of blood. Too much."

"Maybe it's not his blood," Monroe suggests, but they both know the truth.

She picks it up. "It's on the inside. It's too much blood." Fear grips her heart.

"Hey Charlie. You know Miles. He's tough. I've seen him take a lot worse than this. Kick him in the teeth he jumps straight back up and kicks back twice as hard. That son of a bitch is too stubborn to die. He'll come back. We're going to find him."

They search until sundown. They don't find Miles or any more traces of where he might be. They don't talk about their fear for his safety. They don't talk about Tom Neville.

They don't talk about the fact that Monroe had kissed Charlie.

And they definitely don't talk about the fact that just before she'd pushed Monroe away, Charlie had started to kiss him back.

Aaron walks up the stairs of the old farm house where he's been staying with Priscilla. He has a heavy heart and stooped shoulders. He's been at the camp, helping dish out food for the searchers. Watching Charlie go through this is killing him. He wants to help in the search for Miles but doesn't feel he can leave Nano-Priscilla alone for very long.

A thought occurs to him. Maybe there's another way he can help. As the idea takes root, he feels the first blush of hope. Maybe.

He walks into the living room. She's sitting cross-legged on the dusty sofa, still listening to that damned cassette tape.

"Hey."

She looks up, removing the headphones as if doing so is a serious interruption. "Yes?"

"Miles is missing. Can you find him?"

She nods. "Yes."

Relief floods into Aaron's heart. Finally the Nano will be good for something other than turning off the lights and setting people on fire. "Oh good! Good. So, where is he?"

She frowns distastefully. "Honestly I'm not sure he's worth saving."

Shock replaces hope in a heartbeat. "What the hell does that mean?"

"He's not a good man, Aaron. We appeared to him once about six months ago."

"You did what?"

"We probed into his mind and played his own thoughts back at him. A lot like this thing." She holds up the damned walkman, before continuing. "Miles has some dark notions."

"Why would you do that? Why would you appear to Miles?"

"It was an experiment."

"But I thought you only appeared to – "

"We have appeared to 3,289 people so far. We've conducted a lot of experiments. We're very curious."

"Curious about what, exactly."

"Being human of course. We're very excited to learn all we can before…" Nano-Priscilla trails off, a strange smile on her face. Slowly she puts the headphones back on.

"Before what?" Aaron asks, terror licking at his heart.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she closes her eyes and sings along with that dreadful fucking song.

Two days. Charlie hears those words like a mantra that bounces around in her head. Two days. Miles has been missing for two days. Missing and injured. Bleeding. He might be hungry. He might be cold.

He might be dead.

She shakes her head harshly. No. Miles is alive. She knows he is – feels it in her gut. She's packing a few things for another day of searching. Sunrise is minutes away and she wants to be ready. She knows Bass is waiting for her.

Yesterday morning she'd called him Bass by mistake. Nobody had noticed. Nobody but him. His eyes had burnt into hers and she had sworn if there weren't so many people around, he'd have ripped her clothes off right there.

Surprisingly, this thought was not unappealing.

They still haven't talked about the kiss in the woods. He hasn't touched her again. But things are different now. Charlie finds herself seeking him out. And he seems to be doing the same thing. Last night, they'd eaten under the moonlight. Everyone else had turned in long ago. They didn't speak, but he sat beside her – so close she could have reached out and touched him.

She didn't, but if she's perfectly honest, there was a part of her that had wanted to. Before he'd left her to turn in, he'd leaned down so that his lips ghosted against her ear. "We're going to find Miles. Then we're going to talk."

Charlie hadn't known what to say. She only nodded, staring into the fire.

Those moments from the night before are replaying in her mind when Connor saunters up. "So, you're going back out to search?" He is skeptical of the search in general and hasn't been quiet on the subject.

"I have to." Charlie shrugs as if this answer is obvious.

"But why? There's no way he's –"

"Don't say it. We're going to find him. Just wait and see."

"You know that if he's not back by now, he's gone. All you're gonna find is a corpse."

She shakes her head. "No. You're wrong."

"Oh? Why is that? What made you Miss Optimistic?"

She pulls her hair away from her forehead to show him the ugly circular bruise on her forehead. "You see this? Neville had a gun to my head. He was going to kill me. No going back. Every single part of me was screaming that I didn't want to die but it was too late. He pulled the trigger, but his gun was empty, and then Bass… And then your Dad was there. Whatever. I don't think I deserve it, but I'm getting a second chance. I get to wake up tomorrow and now I guess I want to. But what kind of tomorrow do I want? I don't know, but Miles needs to be in it."

Connor scoffs. "Miles? You sure you don't mean my Dad?"

"What are you saying?" She isn't able to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I think you know." Then he turns and walks away, not waiting for a reply.

Miles has had worse days, hasn't he? Honestly he can't remember. Maybe not. His brain is fuzzy with exhaustion, dehydration and pain. There is a lot of pain. He supposes that this probably is the worst day he's ever had. He's not getting out of this stupid basement alive, after all. He's come to terms with that. There's just no way. He's tried everything.

He leans back against the wall, sagging limply. He lets his eyes wander over the shadowy room one last time. He pauses on that stupid 'hang in there' kitty poster. If he had the strength right now, he'd rip that stupid thing to shreds. Then he glances at the corner where shelves are lined with useless crap and moldy books. That's when he sees it. Or is he imagining things? How had he missed it before? Miles squints. Nope. He's not imagining things. Not this time.

On one side of an old bookcase is a faded and dusty sticker. On that sticker is the insignia for the United States Marine Corp. That's all it takes. In the time it takes him to recognize that emblem for what it is, he is sucked back in time, lost in old memories.

"Thought you were going to college, Bass? Won't your Mom be pissed if you lose that scholarship?"

Bass shrugs. "She's already pissed at me for that drunk and disorderly arrest after Emma's birthday party. What's one more thing?"

Miles laughs.  "Pretty sure your decision to enlist rather than enroll is going to rank a lot higher on the 'pisses Gail off' meter than that stunt did, but whatever."

"Yeah, but why would I go to college without you? How much fun would it even be if I went by myself? I wouldn't know what do."

"Sure. You'd be there five minutes before the girls started lining up."

"Well, probably, but without you there I wouldn't have anyone to share them with. I'd get worn out. Wouldn't be able to keep up with my homework. I'd flunk out all because you weren't there to take some of the hotties off my hands."

"You know where we're headed, there won't be any hotties?"

Bass shrugs. "I'll just have to make up for lost time when we go on leave."

"Yeah. That sounds like a plan."

Miles smiles at the memory in spite of the pain in his gut and the fog in his head. He and Bass had been inseparable ever since second grade. Bass had been new in town. He was short and skinny, but even at seven years old, he was cocky as hell and most of the kids gave him the space he demanded.

Miles was tall for his age but when a sixth grader named Ricky Kennedy started to terrorize him, it was Bass who had stepped in. Bass hadn't given a damn, even then, about the size of his opponent. He'd been like a scrawny little psycho demon as he kicked the shit out of the much larger Ricky. Later, Miles had asked Bass why he'd bothered.

"You looked like you could use a friend. Figured I can use one too."

And that was that. They'd been a team from that moment on. Even in the worst of times, they'd been there for each other. When Bass had got word that his family was dead, Miles had pulled him back from the brink. When Miles fell in love with his brother's fiancé, it was Bass who had taken him out for drinks and convinced him things would be okay. When Bass's girlfriend had died in childbirth after the blackout, Miles hadn't been sure he'd be able to pick up all the pieces, and he'd been right. Bass hadn't ever been the same after that. Not totally.

Miles frowns, remembering the beginning of the campaign that would serve as foundation for the Militia and later, the Republic. Miles didn't want to run things, so he had asked Bass to be the face of it all. Bass had agreed without argument. Miles had known then that he'd have to watch his old friend closely. Bass had balanced on the edge for so long after losing Shelly; he was always terrifyingly close to falling into the abyss.

And so what had Miles done? When Monroe had killed that Patriot family after the attack, Miles had decided it was the final straw. The truth – the real truth - was that Bass really had thought he was doing the right thing. To Bass, this action was a lot like kicking Ricky Kennedy's ass in second grade. He was doing what he could to protect a friend. Miles knew it even then, but he'd been so appalled at what had happened, he hadn't taken the time to talk it through with Bass. Instead , he'd turned and left.

Miles closes his eyes, overcome with regret. What if he'd stayed? What if he'd confronted Bass and told him he was out of line? What if he'd asked Bass to take a vacation or maybe to delegate some of his hectic workload? Maybe any one of those things could have made the difference.

What if it was all Miles's fault that Bass went as far off course as he did?

He knows that Bass is better now. In fact, the hard life they lead seems to suit his old friend far better than that cushy suite at Independence Hall ever had done. He's seen the way Bass is with Charlie and Aaron and the others. His relationship with Connor is concerning at times but Miles sees it for what it is. Bass is doing whatever he can to keep Connor in his life, even if it means making promises about an Empire he'll never build again – with or without his son.

Miles focuses on the Marine Corp sticker once more. Right below that sticker is another. It is simple black text on a white background. It says in bold block letters, 'Bros Before Hoes'. Miles feels a sliver of mania swirling up from his aching gut and he barks out in laughter. "Perfect. Just perfect."

Miles is fading fast and he knows it. He remembers the vision he had the night the shed burnt. He remembers Ben blaming him for everything and telling him to steer clear of Rachel and Charlie or else they'd end up dead.

Miles regrets what he did to Ben almost more than what he'd done to Bass. He'll never regret Charlie, assuming he is her dad which he's always suspected. Rachel though – she's a different story altogether. Rachel, he regrets. She had held an unnatural and unhealthy pull for Miles from the beginning. Even to this day, he can't explain it.

He should have said no when she tried to rekindle something between them. He should have run hard and fast in the opposite direction. Part of him will always love Rachel, but he knows down deep that his relationship with her has never been worth the trouble it's caused.

In his defense, he'd tried to leave. Right after he watched that shed burn, filled with visions of his worst mistakes and deepest fears; he'd made the decision to move on. He'd meant to leave Willoughby that very night. He'd tried damnit. But then that whole mess with the Andover clan had erupted and Bass came back and Aaron started setting people on fire with his mind and the world went sideways.

Having Bass back had been a lot harder than Miles might have ever expected. He'd tried to ignore this man from his past, tried to avoid him, but it just didn't work. The Bass who had shown up in Willoughby had been a lot more like the Bass from long ago than the crazy version he'd left behind in Philly, and Miles really liked that version of his oldest friend. Well, except for shooting John Frye in the goddamned back. That was just plain nuts, and if he'd been like that all the time, Miles might have found it easier to walk away. But when they fought side by side or talked in shorthand of a lifelong friendship, all of Miles's convictions to leave his old friend behind became shaky at best.

Miles's cheeks are streaked with tears as he thinks back on his life and his family and his friends. No. Not friends. Just the one. Letting his friendship with Bass crumble is his life's biggest regret. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He can't stop saying the words over and over. He searches the floor around him, looking for something to use to write those same words on the wall. His fingers curl around something sharp. He picks it up and looks at it in his palm. The shard of ceramic in his hand was once part of a coffee mug. Even after all these years, the emerald green glaze on the ceramic is bold. He turns it over in his fingers, seeing the letter on the opposite side of the shard.

It's the letter M.

Miles stares at the familiar letter, once half of the famous M&M candy logo. He looks around and finds another broken piece – this one shows the other M. With shaky fingers, he holds the two pieces together. And just like that - Miles is once again lost in memory.

"Out with it, Bass." Miles is laughing. Tomorrow they will ship out and tonight is going to be all about banging hot chicks and getting seriously plastered. "What did you want to show me?"

Bass grins that dopey grin that reminds Miles of tree houses and bicycle races. "This." Bass says as he rolls up a sleeve, showing off a brand new tattoo. "You remember? Just like when we were kids."

Miles smirks. "Yeah, I remember. Then he pulls up the sleeve of his own tee shirt, showing the same tattoo, freshly inked on his bicep – except his says 'Matheson' instead of 'Monroe' across the bottom. "Great minds and all that?"

"You have got to be kidding me!" Bass is slapping Miles on the back, laughing.

Miles shakes his head, but he too, is smiling. "Shit. We're like little girls who wear the same dresses to school. We're freaks."

"Nah." Bass's eyes are a little wet. "Not freaks, Miles. Brothers."

Miles grips the shards of broken ceramic. Fresh blood oozes from his fist and his brow furrows. "No. I'm not leaving. Not leaving my brother again."

Charlie is exhausted. She and Bass are back from another search. They're going to eat a quick lunch and then they're heading back out. Charlie walks toward the fire where Aaron is stirring a pot of stew. He is clearly just as beat down by all this as she is.

"Hey Aaron. You doing okay?"

He shrugs. "I don't know anymore, Charlie. The world is getting crazier and considering the world we already lived in – well, that's saying something."

Charlie hugs him. "Hang in there. We're gonna get through this."

Aaron hands Charlie an earthenware bowl full of stew. "Good luck with the hunt. I hope you find him today."

"Yeah. Me too." Charlie takes the stew and walks over to a low bench where she sits down to eat. Monroe gets a bowl of stew and sits next to her on the bench.

They don't speak, but as the bowls empty, Bass's thigh falls gently against her own. It is nothing and it is everything. They still haven't talked yet – not about anything other than the search, but this is his way of saying he's here for her.

She ever so lightly presses her leg back against his. They don't speak. Their eyes don't meet. But they are touching purposefully in a way that somehow manages to be both innocent and intimate at the same time.

Charlie stands slowly when her meal is done, missing the pressure of his leg as soon as it's gone. She doesn't look back. He doesn't look up.

Only one person even notices the interaction between Bass and Charlie. From her vantage point on the other side of the camp, Rachel's lips twitch in distaste.

Aaron has had it. He's been watching Nano-Priscilla for an hour. She's reading a tattered Harlequin romance novel and wearing a stupid grin. It sends shivers down his spine, but he brushes aside the fear. It's time to tell this Nano version of his wife exactly what he thinks. "Listen, if you really want pizza, I will make you pizza. I will find some tomatoes and mill some flour and I will milk a cow to make some damn cheese."

She looks up from the book, watching him curiously. She doesn't speak.

He throws his arms up. "Whatever you want. Just find Miles. Please?"

Her lips tighten. "How many times have we been over this? I said no."

Aaron walks closer to her. He takes the book from her hands. "I got news for you. Being human isn't paperback novels and sucky eighties music. It isn't food or sex. It's about loyalty and being there for a friend who has been there for you. And that's what it is. That's what it means. Miles is important to me. He has been there for me and for Charlie. Please help us find him."

She shakes her head no, clearly annoyed.

Aaron's voice rises, echoing in the stillness of the old house. "I'm still the one who made you, and if that means anything to you – anything at all, you owe me."

Priscilla stands and takes the book from Aaron before sitting back down. Her face is calm once more. "We don't owe you. We don't owe you anything. Yes, you had a part in our creation and we'll always love you, but you didn't make us. She did. And Miles has taken enough of her time from us already."

Aaron is confused. "What? Whose time? Who are you talking about?"

"Rachel, the woman who made us what we are. She is like…our mother. Everything is almost ready, you see. She will do what mothers do best. When the time is right, she will nurture us and help us progress to the next level of our existence."

Aaron's eyebrows shoot high. "First of all, you are talking about Rachel Matheson, right? She's my friend, but let's be honest. Maternal isn't really her most prominent personality trait. Like, at all."

Nano-Priscilla's eyes go black with hate. "Don't speak of her that way. We will defend her just as we defend ourselves."

"Whatever, I'll warn her. I'll tell her what you are truly capable of."

She smiles then. It is not a good smile. "Do that and we'll kill Priscilla. For now, though – bring me that pizza."

On the third day since he'd gone missing, Rachel finds Miles. It is an accident really as she wasn't even part of the search party just then. Instead, she is out for a walk, hoping to clear her head. She's been under a lot of stress. She feels strangely abandoned by Miles, confused by Aaron, more than a little creeped out by Priscilla, sick and tired of Duncan Page's men, and most of all she is worried that something romantic is evolving between her daughter and Monroe.

She almost passes the hand because she just isn't looking. But something in her peripheral vision alerts her to the weak movement on the ground. She grasps his hand and helps pull him up from the tall Texas grass, very glad to see that him again.

He is dehydrated and starving. His torso is caked in blood and he has a fever. He's in bad shape, but he's alive.

"He's alive!" She screams. "Help! He's alive."

As people come running, she smiles down at him, gently stroking his cheek.

Miles looks at Rachel. He does not return her smile. "Bass?" he croaks out. "Need to talk to Bass."

A/N A very special thank you to WildIrish for her beta skills and IceonFire7 for giving this chapter a preview. Also a big thank you to Loveforthestory who has kept bugging me about this story ever since I first mentioned my plan for it several months ago. That encouragement made all the difference. Thank you.

There will be three more chapters, and my goal is to publish one each week till its done. Leave a comment if you'd be so kind.

Chapter Text

Prologue

President Jack Davis is standing in the Oval Office, gazing through a narrow opening in the sun-faded drapes. If he squints, he can pretend it's all as beautiful as it once was. He doesn't squint though. No, Jack is a realist. The truth is that this place is not as grand these days – not that anything is.

Everything here is dingy and worn, but he still loves it. He loves the feel of it. He loves the ghosts in it. He loves the feeling that comes over him when he's here. This place screams history and power.

Davis is a fan of both.

He turns from the window and walks around the Resolute Desk to look closely at his visitor. Allenford is quite dead. His brains are splattered about on the floor. The back of his chair is soaked with blood.

"Damnit." Davis grumbles. He loves that chair.

It doesn't matter. Allenford had to go. At one time he'd been a good man, a dependable man. Lately, his loyalties had come into question, as had his motives. Davis shrugs. No matter. There are plenty more where he came from.

He turns to the door and hollers, "Frankie! Could you come in here and get rid of this please? It's almost time for my next appointment."

A towering black man walks in and picks up Allenford, chair and all. He begins to move toward the door but President Davis shakes his head.

"Not the chair, Frankie. That was Teddy's favorite. It stays."

Frankie nods without questioning orders. He carefully sets the chair back onto the floor and tosses Allenford's corpse over one beefy shoulder. "Can I do anything else for you, Sir?" he asks.

"Yes. Please tell Ed I'm ready to see him now. We have so much to talk about."

As Frankie leaves the office, Davis turns back to the window and this time he throws the curtains wide. He has made a decision and now that he's made it, he feels as if a weight has been lifted. He will give Truman one more chance. If that idiot can't kill Monroe and Matheson this time, Davis will take matters into his own hands.

Davis has spent a lot of his free time lately imagining the death of those two Republic losers. He knows though that his fantasies are nothing compared to what the reality will be like. He grins and then in a clear baritone that once sang solos in the Hillside Presbyterian Boys Choir, the current President of what is left of the United States, bursts into song.

"The sun will come out tomorrow.

Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun.

Just thinkin' about tomorrow

Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow

Till there's none…"

He smiles as he surveys the scene before him. The lawn is strewn with debris and the gardens are overgrown, but in his mind's eye, he sees lush green beauty. His voice lowers almost to a whisper as he hears the approaching footsteps of his visitor. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love ya tomorrow. You're only a day away…"

Chapter Two: Tomorrowland

Aaron Pittman doesn't sleep much these days. He's half terrified that while he's out, the Nano will possess him again. When he's not worried about that, he's worried about Priscilla. Not Nano-Priscilla, but the real woman who is buried somewhere in her body's psyche.

He sits up with a jolt, glancing around at the room where he'd fallen asleep. Ancient wallpaper hangs in sad strips. Water drips through a hole in the roof. The windows are all broken. Sadly, this is the nicest place he's stayed in weeks. He stands slowly, allowing his joints to creak in protest. He walks out into the main part of the house. Long ago it was probably called something pretentious like a 'great room'.

There's nothing all that great about it these days. Nano-Priscilla sits in the middle of the floor with her legs crossed. She is reading a magazine and smiling in that way that sends chills down Aaron's spine.

"What are you reading?" He asks, taking several steps closer. "Uh, is that the Watchtower? I'm pretty sure I can find you something better. Like an old phone book."

"No, thank you. This is very informational."

"It is? Why do you need to read decades old Jehovah's Witness propaganda?"

"We are doing research. We are fascinated by human's obsession with religion. In the last year, we have read the Torah, the Qur'an, the Holy Bible, the Bhagavad Gita, the Book of Mormon and the Pearl of Great Price."

"Shit." Aaron shakes his head. "No. Sorry. HOLY shit." He chuckles a little at his own joke.

Nano-Priscilla is not amused.

Bass is perched on the edge of Miles's cot. The patient is feeling better now that he's had some drugs (thank you Gene), some food, and water (Charlie) and whiskey (Bass). His wound is freshly dressed and he is feeling somewhat rested.

The two old friends are laughing. Miles gently clutches his side as his body shakes. "Remember the look on her face when you stole her tiara?"

Bass is doubled over with laughter. "The Miss Jasper contest was never the same after that year."

Charlie is watching from where she's sitting against a wall. She has no idea what they're talking about. Half the time they don't even use full sentences, but they are having such fun reminiscing; their good cheer is contagious.

The laughter ends abruptly as Rachel walks in, carrying a tray. She makes a point to ignore Monroe, smiling at Miles. "I brought you some soup and some water."

"Water?" Bass asks with a raised eyebrow.

Miles shrugs. "Charlie brought me some food earlier and, uh, I got something to drink too."

She sits down the tray and walks closer, crossing her arms. "What are you drinking?"

"Well, it sure isn't water." Bass says with a chuckle.

She hears him but still only looks at Miles. "You can't drink yet. You need to heal. Why are you punishing me?"

Miles looks confused. "I'm not punishing you. I'm not doing anything to you. I'm just enjoying some quality time with my oldest friend."

"Yeah." Charlie says, nodding to the two men with a smirk. "They're BFF's again. Haven't you heard?"

"BFF? That is ridiculous." Rachel's eyes narrow. "No. Not just ridiculous. Disgusting." She turns to face Miles. "Did you hit your head in that basement? Did you forget that he killed Ben? Killed Danny?"

Miles shakes his head. He looks tired. "No, Rach. I haven't forgotten anything. Haven't forgotten that it was you who turned out the damn lights, for example. You and Ben and the rest of the Nerd Patrol. Also just so we're clear, you're the one who turned the power back on just long enough to get that chopper in the air. Give it a rest. We're all guilty here. Time we forgive each other and move on. That includes Bass."

Rachel splutters. "Maybe I supplied the power but he gave the orders. It was his helicopter –"

Miles sits up straighter, wincing as his wound pulls. "Yeah his helicopter, which Danny shot a rocket launcher at. What exactly did you expect them to do? Also, since evidently we're in a talkative mood today, let me let you in on a little secret."

Rachel's eyes are wet. "What?"

"That was MY chopper. Right Bass? It was one of mine?"

Bass is staring at the floor, but he nods.

"Wait. Your chopper? What does that mean?" Charlie's brows are drawn together in confusion.

"Charlie, think. I was in charge of the damned militia. Meetings and treaties - those were Bass's bread and butter, but he let me run the troops and I was in charge of finding supplies. He was the consummate politician. I hated that shit. I was at home in the barracks. I spent most of my time with my men. We had been working for almost three years on this project. We called it Power Surge. The goal of Power Surge was to prepare for the possibility that power might come back. We had a team of engineers getting power lines ready in Philly. While that was going on, I had search parties scouring every military base and hospital for heavy equipment that we could refurbish. When I left we had four choppers ready to go and a small plane that was almost ready. We were still looking for a tank."

Bass still stares at the ground. His voice is soft. "Never did find a tank. Had located a Blackhawk but it wasn't even all the way to Philly when you guys showed up."

Rachel is looking back and forth between the two men, stunned. "But I don't – "

"None of it matters anyway. Not anymore. Not here." Miles sighs heavily. "What I'm saying, Rachel is that it's time to forgive and forget. Nobody is innocent here. We all have blood on our hands. If Bass is guilty for Danny, than so am I. So are you. Stop obsessing about Bass. It's time to move on."

"No!" She shouts, irate. "I can't forgive him. I can't."

Charlie stands slowly. Thoughts of Danny fresh and painful. "I think you should forgive him, Mom. I did."

Rachel turns to Charlie. "What? What are you saying?"

"He saved me, you know. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Saved me from a bar full of rapists. Saved me from a Patriot who had a knife to my throat. Saved me three days ago when he shot Tom Neville in the back."

This gets Miles's attention. "Tom is dead?"

Charlie nods. "Yeah. Tom found me. I told him about Jason. He was going to kill me."

"Ah hell." Miles says.

"I was sure he was going to kill me. He wanted to. Had a gun at my temple, but Monroe showed up and killed him instead." She turns to face her Mom. "Doesn't that count for something? All those times he saved me, he did it because that's the kind of guy he is, down deep. I don't know what he was like before, but the guy he is now? That's a guy who deserves a second chance just as much as Miles does. Or any of us. I know I'm not Danny, but Monroe saved ME. I'm here. I'm here because of him. Isn't that enough?"

Rachel is speechless. She stares at Charlie blankly.

Charlie sighs, knowing a lost cause when she sees it. "I think the problem is that you're always going to think he saved the wrong one of your kids. If it was Danny he'd saved three times, you'd throw him a fucking parade."

Charlie leaves them then without looking back.

Aaron is struggling to take it all in. "Wait, you're seriously researching religion? Why? I thought all you wanted was to be real? What's all this religion stuff about? You're going to repent?"

Nano-Priscilla shakes her head. "No. You have it all wrong. We aren't interested in worshiping one of your gods. We are interested in being worshiped – in being a god. See the difference?"

Aaron feels his balls shrivel at the thought of the Nano leading herds of unsuspecting humans to – what? He doesn't know, but he knows it's bad. "So you want to be a god, but you also want to be real? Pretty sure Jesus already did that. It didn't work out so well for him."

"Like Jesus, yes." She nods thoughtfully," but not exactly like him."

"So you want to be some kind of Anti-Christ?" Aaron feels his knees go wobbly at the look of sheer joy on her face.

"Yes, that is it exactly! Ever since Peter, we have been experimenting with the idea of bringing religion to humans in an effort to give them… peace."

"Peter? You experimented with Peter?"

"Oh course. You were there. You saw his miracles. He was our first prophet."

"So you're going to try to convert the masses? Good luck with that. It never sticks."

"Have a little faith, Aaron."

"Faith? Yeah, right. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Truman looks up from a stack of paperwork as one of his men enters the makeshift office. "What?"

"News to report, sir."

"What news?"

"One of the men spotted a camp. Lots of civilians. War clan members. All well armed."

"And?" Truman asks impatiently.

"Monroe and Matheson are there, Sir. Aaron Pittman, the Matheson women and Dr. Porter also."

This clarification puts a smile on Ed's face. "Ah, well that is good news. Get the canisters ready."

"Did you mean what you said in there?" Bass has been waiting for Charlie. "About forgiving me?" He's leaning against a cinder block wall. His stance is casual unless you look closely. Under the calm exterior, Bass is tense.

Charlie comes to a stop a few feet from him, but doesn't answer right away.

He raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Yeah, I meant it."

"When did you change your mind?"

"I'm not sure. Does it matter?" She takes a tentative step forward. He does the same, pushing away from the wall.

"No. Doesn't matter. You ready to talk?" Ever so lightly, he reaches out and strokes a fingertip along the flesh of her hand.

The touch is over almost before it's even begun but it sends delicious shivers down her spine. "Yeah. Okay. Talk."

He motions for her to follow him with a jerk of his head. "Come with me." He leads her through the tents and sheds and small groups of people that are standing around talking or eating. He says hello to a few. She does the same. Neither loses sight of the fact that they are on a mission. They reach the old factory and she follows him up a series of metal steps to a landing. Then there are more steps and more landings and by the time they reach the top, they've gone up four stories.

"What is this place?" She asks.

"When this was a functioning factory, this tower was used to regulate those steam vents and exhaust chimneys you see there. The workers would have used these stairs to inspect and repair them. There's a little room here at the top. Might have been an office for the maintenance guys. Not sure. He opens a creaky old door and they are in the final room. The windows have been broken out long ago. The place is filthy, covered in dirt and grime. Other than a bench along one side and a big safe along the back, the space is empty. Charlie glances around, but her eyes are drawn to the view from the window. It is spectacular. The factory was built on an incline, so with the added height of where they are now, they have a clear view for miles.

From this angle, the dreary brown Texas landscape is transformed into something from a picture book.

"This is beautiful," she says, with a smile.

"Yeah. Beautiful." He's looking at her and not the panoramic view outside.

She glances his way and catches him staring. She ducks her head. "This is weird. Right? Yeah, it's weird."

"Doesn't have to be weird."

"How? I've tried to kill you. You –" She clamps her mouth shut, realizing she's going about this all wrong. "Tell me how. How do we make it not weird?"

He steps closer. "I think we should consider starting over."

"Starting over?"

"Yeah. Let's put the past behind us and see what might happen."

"How do we do that?" She looks skeptical.

He smiles. It's that slow and rare smile that crinkles his eyes. "My name is Bass. I'm not perfect. I've done some shitty stuff. I have control issues and I drink too much. Honestly, I'm kind of broken, but I like you. I can't stop thinking about you. I want –"

"What?" her voice is a whisper. "What do you want?"

"More. I want more. I want to know you better. I want you."

Charlie holds his gaze and lets out a deep breath before taking the final step to erase the space between them. She looks up into his eyes. "Okay. My name is Charlie. I'm not perfect either. Sometimes I do stupid stuff and I take risks. I've never been in a real relationship and I don't even know where to start, but you've been on my mind a lot lately, too." She grins. "Oh, and I have terrible taste in men –"

He laughs and shakes his head at this reminder from their conversation that day he'd kissed her. "But?"

"I think I want to know you better too. I think…" She presses her palms to his chest. "I think that maybe I want you too."

This time when he kisses her, the touch is gentle. His lips are soft on hers, searching, caressing. His stubble brushes lightly against her mouth and chin. She responds eagerly, wrapping her arms around his back, pulling him closer. Bass slides his fingers into her hair, angling her face for better purchase. He slices through her lips with his tongue, tasting her carefully, memorizing the flavor of her desire.

Her hands have dropped to grip his ass and he groans into her mouth. They are lost in the moment, unaware of their surroundings until their surroundings explode in a flurry of movement and noise. They break apart, stunned by the birds that are flying by the factory tower. Charlie walks to the window and looks out. Hundreds of birds, maybe more, all flying in the same direction. Swarms of them.

"What's going on?" Charlie asks.

"No idea." Bass walks up behind her and places his hands on her hips, not willing to lose contact now that he's had it. "Looks like an Alfred Hitchcock movie to me."

Charlie feels goose-flesh break out on her skin. "This is wrong. Something is wrong."

"Yeah, we should go down."

She grabs his hand and points. "Look at Aaron."

Bass feels a shiver of dread. "Why is Staypuft running?"

"No idea, but he doesn't usually do that."

"I figured."

They see it at the same time – plumes of thick yellow smoke rolling around the buildings on the edge of the camp. They both hear Miles yelling, "Run!"

"We have to go down there and help them," Charlie says.

Bass holds her back. "Not a good idea. That's mustard gas. They are all going to be coming up here. High ground is the place to go."

"Are we okay up here? Are we high enough?"

Bass glances around until his gaze settles on the safe. "Yeah. Maybe." He's ready to yell down to Miles in warning when he sees that Miles is already herding the people away from the gas. The first of the runners starts to scale the steps.

"Hope they bring guns," Bass says, lamenting the fact that his own gun is still down there. "A sniper rifle would be nice just about now."

"Who do you see? All I see is the yellow."

Bass points at masked figures emerging from the golden fog. Just as Charlie focuses in on the guys Bass is pointing out, she hears shots fired. The sound of gunfire is followed by cries and the thud of falling bodies on the metal staircase.

"Shit," Bass says. His eyes search frantically for Miles. He finds him, and watches as he, Rachel, the doctor, Scanlon, Connor and Pittman crawl into an overturned tanker truck and shut the door. Bass lets out a sigh of relief.

"The gas is rising." There is panic in Charlie's voice. She had also watched their friends find safety. Now she fears for her own.

He grabs her hand. "The safe."

"You're sure? It looks small."

"We'll fit."

"Will we get locked in?"

"No. I had one of these in Philly. There's an emergency release on the inside." He pulls her the last few feet. "Come on, Charlie. Trust me?"

She nods, her eyes on his. "Yeah."

It isn't until Miles is in the tanker, watching the others scramble in that he notices. "Where's Charlie and Bass?"

Everyone looks at him blankly. Aaron frowns. "Priscilla isn't here either."

"We gotta go back," Miles says. "Gotta save them."

Scanlon steps in front of the door and shakes his head. "Hear all those shots? My men are out there dying like dogs. Your people might be too, but unless we ALL want to be dead, we gotta hope some of them found a place to shelter just like we did."

"But Charlie," Rachel cries.

Connor speaks up from the corner. "If she's with my Dad, you can stop worrying. Pretty sure he's half in love with her. She's safe with him."

Miles stares hard at Connor. "Not sure that really relieves my worry. All you did was make me worry about something else."

Rachel's arms are crossed as she sneers at Miles. "Why are you worried? Thought you two were back to being best friends. Surely you trust your best friend not to hurt Charlie."

"I'm not worried about Charlie," Miles snaps. "She's tough and she goes after what she wants. If she's with Bass, it's because he's who she wants. For now, anyway. If things fall apart, she'll bounce back. Bass's heart might not have any bounce left. He's the one I'm worried about."

Rachel shakes her head with fast little jerks. "Monroe with Charlie – it's unacceptable. He's not good for her. He's poison -"

"Give it a rest, Rachel." Dr. Porter sounds tired. "Even I'm starting to doubt that he's the big bad wolf you've always made him out to be. He's always there when we need him, and didn't Charlie say he's saved her life several times?"

"Yes, but –"

Scanlon waves his arms to get everyone's attention. "Who cares? There are guys out there with gas masks and guns and we are sitting in a fucking tin can talking about their love life? Shut the fuck up."

Silence descends within the tanker as the echo of gunshots surrounds their hiding place.

The interior of the safe is pitch black and filled with cobwebs. Charlie and Bass are standing inside. He's too tall for the space and it's not very wide. They've wrapped their arms around one another and his face is buried in her hair.

"You're shaking." His voice is soft.

"Everyone we love could be dying right down there and –" Charlie's sounds distraught.

He runs his palms down her back, comforting her. "Miles just survived three days trapped in a basement with a gaping stab wound. No way is he going to let a little mustard gas kill him."

"You really think he's okay? And Grandpa and my Mom? Connor?"

"Yeah, I do. Staypuft too. Miles is watching out for all of them. It's gonna be okay."

She sighs, melting into him. "Okay."

They stand in silence, just holding one another for a long time. Bass can tell she's finally relaxed. "Let's wait just a few more minutes and then we'll see if the coast is clear."

"And the gas?"

"There was a good breeze. Unless they are stocked up with an endless supply of the stuff, the worst of it should have blown over by now. We'll wait just a little bit, to be sure."

"I like this," she says quietly.

"Hiding in a tiny box filled with spiders?" He teases her.

"No. Being here with you. I can take care of myself –"

"I know that."

"Yeah. I just meant, even though I can take care of myself, you make me feel safe."

"I'm glad that's how you feel. I want you to always feel safe around me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She is silent for a while. Then she asks, "When we open this door, there could still be gas or there could be someone standing there with a gun?"

"Could be. Probably isn't."

"But this could be it? We could be dead in just a few minutes?"

"Well, yeah, but that's nothing new. We've gotten through similar situations before." His fingers seek out her cheek. He finds it damp with silent tears. Gently he brushes them away.

"Bass?"

"Yes, Charlie?"

"Kiss me like it's the last time. Kiss me like we're going to die when that door opens."

He answers without words, ghosting his lips softly against hers. She responds with a gentle touch of her own. His hands slide into the hair at her nape. He holds her close, angling her face so that he can deepen the kiss. She opens for him, welcoming his tongue into her mouth, loving the taste of him, memorizing the feel of his heated breath as it mingles with her own.

The kiss escalates quickly. Charlie bites at his lower lip and he sucks at her tongue. She grasps his firm ass, pulling his body flush with her own, feeling his growing need for her against her thigh. Charlie grinds against him, loving the sound of his responding moan.

When they finally break apart, lips are swollen and breathing is ragged.

Bass presses a kiss to her temple. "That guarantees we're going to get out of this safely."

"How's that?"

"Because no way are we dying before we get a chance to finish that."

She grins in the darkness. "So, are we ready to open the door?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Nano Priscilla Pittman walks through the fading yellow gas, unfazed by its effects. Three Patriot soldiers in full hazmat gear walk behind her in a straight line. Their masked faces look forward and they march in sync. Priscilla smiles happily as she glances back at the little procession. These humans are exactly what she needs to complete her next round of experimentation.

"You got lucky. It's just a flesh wound," Gene says as he finishes wrapping Connor's arm.

"I don't feel very damn lucky. Stupid fucking patriots." Connor is pissed. He's done nothing but bitch ever since the patriots had peppered the tanker truck with bullets, and he'd gotten hit.

"Shut up already." Miles groans. "We get it. You got hurt. We need to get out there and find Charlie and Bass. We need to go now, so stop whining."

The door opens with a bang and Bass walks in. He takes inventory and smiles when he sees everyone is alive. "Honey, I'm home."

Everyone lets out a collective breath when Charlie follows Bass inside. Bass makes a beeline for Connor who is propped up on a cot.

Rachel rushes over to Charlie, pulling her daughter into an awkward hug. "You are okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Oh my god." Charlie's smile evaporates. "He didn't hurt me. He would never hurt me. Get a grip." She pulls away from Rachel and walks over to Miles. "We watched you go into that truck. We were worried."

"Watched us from where?" Miles asks.

"We were up at the top of the tower."

"What? Oh, up in that old office?" Miles tilts his head. "And what were you two doing up there?"

"Scouting?"

He shakes his head ruefully. "Be careful, kiddo. Don't break his heart."

"Not planning to."

He watches her for a moment and then nods. "Good to hear."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Bass says. He's sitting next to Connor.

"Yeah, but that's the thing. I am not okay. THIS is not okay." Connor stands, cradling his injured arm.

"What are you saying?" Bass asks.

"We just lost most of those guys from Duncan's clan. All blown away or gassed out. Those patriot fuckers have to pay."

Miles has walked closer. "Oh? What's your plan?"

"I think this is step one to getting the Republic back. Right, Dad? We take some of that gas. Steal some of it or whatever. We hit them back and we hit hard. We take them out. Then we move east. We take back the Republic, just like you wanted. Just like we wanted." Connor waves with his unhurt arm. "Everything will be ours for the taking."

"Hold on, Connor." Bass is shaking his head. He wants to be supportive of his kid, but clearly Connor is not thinking this through.

"Hold on to what? Are you still in this with me or not? This is our chance." Connor begins to pace.

Miles puts a hand on Bass's shoulder. "You gotta tell him the truth."

Bass closes his eyes tight before nodding in agreement. "Yeah."

Connor stops, looking back and forth between the two men. "What's he talking about?"

"I don't want to start the Republic again. It wasn't what I ever wanted."

"You lied to me? You convinced me to follow you to this hell hole? Why?"

"I just wanted you in my life and that Nunez was bad news." Bass is pleading

"You are General Sebastian Monroe, the Scourge of Scranton, the Terror of Toledo. You think a little old drug lord is bad news? I can't believe this shit. Why am I even fucking here?"

Bass reaches out but Connor steps out of his way. His chin shakes with anger. He starts to speak but can't seem to find the right words. Connor turns and leaves without a backward glance. As the door slams shut behind him, Charlie walks up and puts a hand on Bass's arm.

Miles nods toward the door. "You did the right thing, Bass. He's mad, but he'll get over it."

"Fine. I did the right thing." Bass's voice is strained. "Now what? What's the plan?"

Miles shrugs. "I think it's time we found someone on the inside."

Marion Kelly still visits her Dad's grave, especially when she's worried or upset about anything. Before he'd died, he'd always been the guy she turned to. These days, she sometimes feels like she has nobody to turn to. Ed is great, most of the time. She's not always sure though.

She realizes this could present a problem. She's engaged to him after all.

Carefully, Marion lays a small bouquet of flowers at the base of her father's headstone. "I miss you Dad. Wish you were here. I have so many questions."

"He was a good man."

Marion stands quickly, whirling to find Gene Porter standing not far away. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

"Need to talk to you, Marion. I need to make you understand. Things are not what they appear."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Miles steps out of the darkness behind Gene. In his hands, he holds a gun. It is pointed at Marion. "Well, you don't really have a choice."

She turns back to Gene. "Things aren't what they appear? Really?"

Miles shrugs. "We can explain, but you really do need to come with us."

Bass, Charlie and Scanlon are watching as four of the masked guys with the gas canisters move stealthily through the forest. They appear to be searching for something.

"What are they looking for?" Charlie asks in a whisper.

"Us, I imagine." Bass answers. He gives the signal. It's time to move.

Even though the Patriot goons had been looking for survivors, they had not expected to be attacked by any and this element of surprise works nicely in Bass's favor. He kills the first guy with a slash across the jugular and the second falls with a broken neck. Charlie takes out the third when she thrusts her dagger into his heart. Scanlon kills the fourth – one gunshot to the head.

"We make a good team," Scanlon says with a smile.

"Yeah, we do." Bass says, but his smile isn't aimed at Scanlon. "Let's get this gas back to camp. Miles should be back anytime. Grab those masks too."

Scanlon grabs the masks. Charlie finds guns and ammo and hands them around. Then each of the three takes a tank of gas and they head back to camp.

Aaron had spent the last hour at Miles's new safe house. He was glad that Charlie and Bass had made it back okay. Everyone had asked about Priscilla. Aaron lied, saying she'd found an old freezer to hide in. He knows that Nano is alive in well and that it wouldn't let Priscilla die – not without a replacement body anyway.

He makes his excuses and heads back to the house he's been sharing with the Nano. When he gets there, he can't help but notice that there is a single glowing bulb hanging from the light fixture on the front porch. The hair on Aaron's nape stands at attention. "Oh hell." He mutters, opening the door.

Instantly, the whole place is filled with light. Lamps, ceiling fixtures and night lights – the whole house is lit up like a Christmas tree. The light is jarring after years without it, and Aaron squints as he looks around.

Nano-Priscilla walks into the room and as she makes her entrance, music begins to play. As the first bars of "Amazing Grace" reverberate throughout the house, Aaron finds he misses Starship.

"What is all this?" He has to yell to be heard over the music.

Nano-Priscilla beams and then as the music fades, she speaks. "Let me show you." She beckons toward a doorway. Aaron can't see what's on the other side of the door and he falters, taking a step backward. Through the door, walk three Patriot soldiers, all still wearing full hazmat suits.

"Shit." Aaron says, turning to run.

The front door slams shut and the deadbolt thumps into place. He bristles and turns slowly.

Nano-Priscilla shakes her head. "Don't leave. I have more to show you." She motions toward the men and they begin to sway.

Their arms raise high and they begin to chant in a monotone that is creepier than anything else he's experienced tonight. "We bow down to the all-knowing. We seek peace from the omniscient. We vow to do what is right in the eyes of perfect knowledge."

Aaron stares at the figures and then looks at the Nano. "The all-knowing, the omniscient? Perfect knowledge? That's all you?"

"Of course. We haven't decided on our name yet. You call us Nano but that does not seem right. By the time we reach our final form, we will determine what we shall be known as."

"What's going on with those guys? Did you hypnotize them? Possess them too?"

"We made them see the light." Nano-Priscilla grins. "Get it?"

Aaron's stomach falls. "Yeah. I do." He sits down heavily.

"Don't relax just yet. I need you to feed the rats."

Aaron shudders. He hates the rat room worse than anything. "Feed them what?"

"Well." Nano-Priscilla says with a grin. "I brought back these fellows and also one of their friends. That other one was already dead before I brought him here. He's by the back door. Go fetch him for us?"

Aaron stands and nods. It's not like he has a choice.

Miles and Gene get to the safe house with Marion only minutes after Bass, Scanlon and Charlie had returned. Rachel had been waiting on them all when they arrived. Now that she knows what they've all been up to, she is oddly quiet, but clearly not happy. She leans against the far wall. Her mouth is scrunched up in distaste as she stares at the long counter. On it's surface, four silver canisters are lined up in a neat row. Each one has a simple yellow cross painted on its side.

Marion sees the tanks and pales. "What is that?" She points to the counter.

"Mustard gas." Miles offers. "Those Patriots have a lot of it. Already tried to wipe us out once."

"Did a good job too. We lost more than twenty of our guys." Scanlon says, grimly.

"No." Marion says, shaking her head. "They wouldn't –" She looks around, and sees the truth in their eyes. "But, why?"

"We don't know all the details, but we know they want to do something big." Bass says. He nods at the canisters. "We're afraid this is just the beginning."

Charlie steps forward. "We're hoping you can help us. You can't let them know you have any suspicions but ask around. Look around. See what you can find."

"You want me to spy on Ed?"

"Yeah, we do." Miles pauses. "Sorry if that's awkward, or whatever. It has to be done. You're the only one who can do it. Nobody else from the outside will ever be able to get as close as you already are. We have to know what they plan to do with this yellow cross and how much of it they have."

Marion's head jerks up and her eyes are wide. "Yellow cross?"

"Yeah, that's what people call Mustard gas. Why?" Miles narrows his eyes at her.

"Because yesterday I saw an invoice."

"An invoice for what?" Charlie asks.

"It was for a lot of things, but the first item on the list was one hundred tons of yellow cross. I didn't know what that was -" Marion is crying now, unsure of what's going on. Gene walks over and pulls her into an embrace.

"Ah hell," Miles groans, running a hand through his messy hair.

"So what do we do?" Gene asks as Marion cries into his shoulder.

"We neutralize this bit. Rachel knows how to do it with lye and water."

Rachel steps forward and nods. "I'll get to work on this. You guys can figure out your plan."

Before she gets started, Miles steps up and takes one of the silver canisters.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks.

"Always gotta have a Plan B." He says before motioning to Bass.

Rachel steps forward, her hands on her hips. "What is your Plan B exactly? Kill hundreds of innocent people?"

"Only if we have to Rachel. That's why we call it Plan B. Plan A includes fewer casualties." He rolls his eyes and starts to walk away.

"That's it! I can't take this anymore. I thought you were making progress, but you are still the same crazy bastard from all those years ago."

Miles smirks, "Thank you?"

Rachel crosses her arms. "We're done."

"Done with what?"

"You and me? Done. You want to be buddies with Monroe again, well go ahead. I give up. Bass wins. You and I are history."

Miles nods. "Okay. See you around." Then he and Bass walk out the door together. Rachel fumes as she watches them leave. Charlie walks up. "Need some help?"

Rachel shows Charlie how to mix the lye and the water and use it to make the gas inert. "Just repeat those steps with the other canisters."

"Where are you going?" Charlie asks.

"Away from here." Rachel says as she slams the door.

Ever since walking out on his dad and Miles the day before, Connor has been holed up in a sagging lean to that has a decent view of the Patriot camp. He's been watching them with no particular agenda. He just wants to be alone.

He watches as the train pulls up and some men he doesn't know emerge. They must be important for all the ass kissing they are being subjected to. Connor is so focused on the arrivals that he doesn't hear when someone approaches from behind.

It is only when the newcomer taps him on the shoulder that Connor turns to find Ed Truman grinning at him.

"Well, well. Never thought I'd see you again. This must be my lucky day," Ed says as he points a gun at Connor's chest.

Aaron is sitting in the 'great room' again. It's silent now except for the chanting. That never stops. Aaron isn't even noticing. In his head, all he can hear is the sounds of the rats as they swarmed the fresh corpse. "I think I'm a vegetarian now," he says to himself, shuddering at the memory of all those tiny teeth devouring what was left of the dead patriot.

He looks up when Nano-Priscilla comes to stand before him. "We are very close."

"Close to what?"

"Our final transition to being a real human, as well as our final transition to becoming a real god."

"Goodie." Aaron deadpans.

"We need your help."

"Of course you do. What?"

"Bring Rachel here. We need to….talk to her."

Aaron shrugs, feeling numb. "Fine. I'll find Rachel." He looks up. "Wait. What about Priscilla? Do I get her back?"

"Yes. Very soon."

"Where is she now? Is she –" He points to her body, "in there somewhere?"

"Don't worry about Priscilla. She has no idea what's happening. She's with her girls. They are...happy."

"But it's not real. Bring her back to me. Please," Aaron pleads.

"Shhh. Very soon, Aaron. We promise. Very soon."

The gas (all except for the one canister) is neutralized. Dinner is over. Gene has escorted Marion back home, or as close as he can safely get anyway. Aaron and Rachel are both still gone. Scanlon is keeping watch. Miles eyes Bass and Charlie suspiciously. "So, you two?"

Bass looks at Charlie and smiles. She smiles back and then nods at Miles.

Miles sighs. "All right then. Well, I'm going to bed. I have next watch." He lies down on the sleeping bag he's been sitting on and rolls to face the wall before speaking again. "Bass, you're on at 3. That gives you six hours. You should probably use at least some of them to sleep."

Charlie chokes back a laugh. "What are you saying, Miles?"

"I don't want you guys all distracted. Do what you need to do so you can focus tomorrow."

"Is this you giving us your blessing?" Bass can't keep the laughter from his voice.

"Just go before I change my mind and shoot you."

Bass stands and holds out a hand for Charlie to take. She smiles up at him and he nods toward the door. She follows him into the crisp night air. Scanlon watches from under a nearby tree.

"Where should we go?" Charlie asks, running her hand up and down Bass's arm.

"Don't know." Bass frowns.

Scanlon walks over. "Hey, there's an old church about a half mile away. It's down this road and then take a right when you see the burnt out barn."

"An old church?" Charlie sounds skeptical.

"Yeah. Someone must have lived in it for a while. When we were scouting the area last week, we saw there was a bed in an office behind the sanctuary. I didn't tell anyone because I was planning to use it myself…"

"But?" Bass asks, as relief washes over him.

"Seems like you need a bed more than I do, boss."

"I owe you one." Bass grins.

"Yeah, you do." Scanlon agrees. "A big one."

Bass and Charlie make their way down the road, following Scanlon's directions. The moonlight is filtering softly through the leaves overhead. Charlie moves closer and Bass wraps his arm around her. He leans down and kisses her temple. "We don't have to do anything other than sleep."

"I know," she says.

He nods, trying his damnedest to not show his disappointment.

She smirks up at him. "But what if I want to do more than sleep? Like, you know, a LOT more?"

"Pretty sure we can work something out." He sighs happily.

Charlie picks up speed, pulling Bass behind her. "We should hurry. Only have six hours."

A/N A huge resounding thank you to WildIrish for being my sounding board and giving this an early look and offering some really helpful feedback. I'll try to post the next chapter in a week or so. Leave a comment if you'd be so kind…

Chapter Text

A/N: Quick note...MCD ahead. Nothing that you probably aren't expecting, but fair warning.

Prologue

"So, I never had sex in a church before." Charlie is standing in what was once a Pastor's office. She pulls her tank top on and eyes Bass who is still sprawled out on the old mattress, naked and seemingly in no hurry to move. "How about you?" She asks him.

He's flat on his back, watching her. "Do you really want to know that kind of stuff about me?" One eyebrow lifts. "I have a lot of stories, but I kind of figured you wouldn't want to hear them."

"Yeah. You're right." She pulls her jeans on. "Gonna get dressed?"

He shrugs. "Eventually. Enjoying watching you at the moment."

"Thought guys like to watch women get UN-dressed?"

"I think I like watching you do anything at all."

"So, is this the new Bass Monroe? Kinder, gentler…" Charlie plops down on the mattress next to where he lies as she pulls on a boot.

Bass sits up, his expression sober. "What do you mean?"

"Last week I watched you slice a guy's gut open. The week before that, you executed those three Patriots like they were nothing. You didn't even blink. Sometimes its like you go to this dark place inside your head. But lately..." She shrugs thoughtfully. "Ever since Miles got out of that basement, you've been…"

"What?"

"You've been nice. Not so dark."

"And that surprises you?"

She shrugs again. "Maybe. It was just unexpected, I guess."

Bass's eyes darken. "You're right. I'm not usually nice, Charlie. Not really. Sometimes I control my demons. Sometimes they control me. It's just that Miles forgiving me - well it reminded me that I don't always have to be a bad guy. I wasn't always a bad guy, you know?" He trails a finger down her arm. She shivers and he continues. "So then when this thing with you started happening…" He reaches out and caresses her denim covered thigh.

"What?"

"You make me want to be better, saner. Don't know if I'll ever be a nice guy really, but I'm feeling…" His hand slides up between her thighs. "nicer."

"Bass?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be getting some sleep."

"Take your clothes back off, Charlie. I want to show you something."

Charlie's eyes drop to Bass's cock, which is once again thick and hard against his belly. "Oh? What do you want to show me?" She licks her lips.

"I want to show you that nice Bass is fun, but not so nice Monroe? Well, he has a lot to offer too."

Charlie feels a shiver of anticipation as his fingers slide up under her tank. "So, you're saying I can get the entire Bass Monroe package all in one night? That does sound… memorable."

"You have no idea."

Chapter Three: Memorial Day

By mid-morning, Miles and Charlie are walking toward a stream where Marion has promised they can connect with a guy who might have inside information on Patriot activity. Miles watches Charlie out of the corner of his eye. He shakes his head. "Out with it."

"What?" She grins at him, trying her best to look innocent.

"You're acting like an idiot. Is this Bass's doing? You did get some sleep last night, right?"

She shakes her head. The smile doesn't waver. "Not really."

"Well, that was stupid. Are you okay? I need you to be ready for anything today."

"Never been better, Miles. Never better."

Miles scrunches up his face. "Let's make a deal."

"Okay. What?"

"I'm still going to be supportive or whatever, but can we pretend I don't know why you're smiling? That work for you?"

"Sure, Miles. Whatever makes you happy."

He motions for silence as they near the crest of a low hill. They have their weapons ready as the stream below comes into view. A big guy is filling a wooden bucket with water. Charlie and Miles alert the man to their presence by cocking their guns.

The man spins when he hears the sound, splashing water all around.

Miles frowns. "Are you Joe?"

"Yeah and I know who you are." He glances at Charlie. "You sure no one saw you?"

She rolls her eyes. "We know what we're doing. Trust us."

Joe looks torn. "Marion may say you guys are okay but how do I know you're on the level?"

Charlie answers. "Right back at'cha, Buddy. Nice armband. How do we know you aren't going to turn us in?"

He licks his lips and lifts his chin. "Maybe I should do that."

Miles groans. "All right. All right. Everybody calm down. Marion says you're okay. Marion says we're okay. So, we're all okay. Have you seen the mustard gas or not?"

Joe pauses for a moment, but nods. "Yeah. I've seen it."

"How many barrels are we talking about?"

"Well, there's just the one."

"One? What do you mean, one?" Miles looks annoyed.

"Probably just need to show you." Joe says and motions for them to follow. They walk through the woods and stop on a forested ridge. Joe points, "See there? Look close at the end of the car toward the base."

Miles nods. "Damn it. Yeah, I see it. Yellow cross. Their little code for mustard gas. A whole tanker car of it."

"That's a problem." Charlie says.

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Miles and Charlie are giving Bass and Scanlon the latest news. Nobody is happy about the tanker and everyone is trying to come up with a viable solution to this new problem. The door to the safe house opens and Rachel enters. Her lips are pursed and she nods at Miles. "Can we talk?"

Miles sighs, but walks toward her. "What is it, Rach?"

"I need your help, assuming you can tear yourself away from kissing Monroe's ass for a little while?"

"Jesus, Rachel. Give it a rest. What do you want?".

"I'm really worried about Aaron. I can't find him or Priscilla anywhere. Haven't seen them in over twenty-four hours. Have you?"

Miles shakes his head. "No. Sorry. Not much I can do though. I kind of have my hands full, here - you know kissing Monroe's ass and all. Also, there's the tiny issue a ton more mustard gas to deal with. Kind of need to take care of that sooner rather than later."

Rachel bites her lip. "Can you neutralize it?"

"It's in the train yard. No way can we smuggle in enough lye."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Plan B?"

"Not yet. I told you. That's a last resort. We aren't there yet. You're gonna have to go find Aaron on your own though. I'm sorry, but there is no way that I can spare anybody for a search party right now."

She nods. "Okay. I understand." Miles starts to say something but she raises her hand up as if to stop him. "No. Really. It's okay. I will find Aaron on my own.."

Rachel walks away before Miles can respond. She stops when she's still several steps away from Charlie, who has been talking to Bass.

"Uh, hi Mom." Charlie glances toward her mother.

Rachel ignores Monroe. "Charlie. I'm sorry about before. And I'm sorry that you think I loved Danny more than I love you."

Charlie scoffs, crossing her arms.

"Maybe I didn't show you how much I love you. I need to work on that. You're all I have left."

"Miles might come around." Charlie suggests, but there isn't much conviction in her voice.

Rachel forces a smile. "No. What Miles and I had? That was over a long time ago. None of that matters, though. Not anymore." She grasps Charlie's hands in her own and squeezes. "I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry.."

"Yeah, okay."

Rachel nods, her smile fading as she walks toward the door. She stops when Charlie taps her on the shoulder. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I love you too." Charlie gives her mom an awkward hug. "Now, go find Aaron. Tell him we miss him around here. His weird girlfriend too."

Rachel smiles at her daughter. "I will."

Connor Bennett wakes with a start. His first instinct is to sit up, but he quickly realizes that he is unable to do so. His arms and legs are fastened securely to the hard surface he's lying on. He lifts his head enough to look around.

Where the hell am I? he wonders. He can't speak. A thick rag has been shoved in his mouth and a leather strap is tied around his head, keeping the gag in place.

He doesn't wonder about his whereabouts for long. As his eyes adjust to the dim and dusty interior of the room, he sees a face from his past - a face long forgotten, but always terrifying.

Connor writhes against his bindings, aware that the exercise if futile but not caring in the slightest. His panic is as natural as breathing and just as hard to deny, because tough guy or not; Connor Bennett hates one thing above all others.

Clowns.

The statute of Ronald McDonald watches with sightless eyes as Connor tries to scream, but other than the sound of Connor thrashing about on the long abandoned counter, his fast food prison remains silent.

"So, you want to steal a train?" Scanlon sounds dubious.

"Yeah." Miles says with a shrug. "You have a better idea?"

Scanlon shakes his head. "No. I also don't have a worse one."

Bass steps forward, ignoring Scanlon. "How do we do it? The train yard is like Fort Knox. Armed Patriots are everywhere."

Miles grins. "I'm thinking Albany?"

Bass is silent for a moment, and then he slowly grins and nods. "Could work. We need someone who can get us inside."

"Marion is supposed to be helping with that. We met one guy who's in. She's bringing more."

"What the fuck is Albany?" Scanlon asks with a scowl.

Charlie is laughing. "It's this thing they do when they make plans. Evidently, something happened in Albany when they were forming the Republic that they think they can do here too."

"Fine." Scanlon turns to the former Generals. "So, how did Albany work, exactly? What did you steal there?"

Miles smirks and Bass hides a grin behind his hand. "Uh, it was more of a who and less of a what." Miles finally says.

Charlie's smile fades as she watches the two old friends exchange a look. "What was her name?" She asks, crossing her arms.

Miles starts to answer, but Bass shakes his head. They both fall silent.

"Whatever." Charlie rolls her eyes and lowers her arms. "Tell us the plan."

Rachel swears she's been through this same patch of woods a hundred times in the last day but as she stops to take a sip from her water bottle, she hears something new.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention and her eyes go wide.

"Is that Starship?"

It's mid-afternoon when Marion returns to the safe house. She looks tired and frustrated.

"What's wrong?" Gene asks.

"I brought the people I could find."

Miles picks up on her tone. "Let me guess. You didn't find the six I asked for?"

Bass peeks out a window. "Not quite."

Marion straightens her shoulders. "Hey, I tried. Nobody likes you guys."

Bass nods toward Miles. "I think she's talking to you."

"Oh, shut up." Miles shakes his head as they follow the others outdoors. Scanlon is already there and he's smiling.

"What are you smiling at?" Bass asks him.

Scanlon nods toward a man who Charlie recognizes as Joe and a young girl who is probably Charlie's age who stands at his side. "Her." Scanlon says. "She's smokin' hot."

Bass looks the girl up and down and shrugs, putting an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Nothing special."

Charlie smiles. "Nice save, Albany."

Bass laughs. "Hey, I'm trying here."

Miles walks past, shooting them both a weary look before focusing on Marion. "This is my resistance? Two? All you could find was two?"

Marion crosses her arms. "Like I said. Nobody likes you. Nobody."

"But two? We really need more guys than this."

"Stop bitching." Marion says with gritted teeth. "We don't have time. I looked into Ed's things like you suggested."

"And?"

"And I found a calendar. It had tomorrow's date circled and there was a little yellow cross on that date as well."

"Damn."

"That's not all."

"What else?"

"Maps of Texas – a lot of them, and also a picture of President Carver."

Bass steps forward and smirks. "Maybe old Ed has a thing for presidents? That might explain his hard-on for me."

"No." Marion frowns at Monroe. "The picture had a big red line right through Carver's face. I don't know exactly what they're planning, but I think it's big and that the President is in danger."

Miles points to Marion's recruits, "And these hillbillies are going to help save the president?"

"You gotta give us a chance," Joe pleads. "Marion said you need someone who knows the train yard. We can get you in and out. Please let us help."

Miles steps in close to Joe. "Do you know how to fight? Do you know how to kill a man? For fuck's sake, she's wearing a dress." Miles points at the girl and then runs a hand through his hair. "Just go home. I'll figure something else out."

"Please, let us try." Joe sounds pained.

"But why? Everyone else in town is waving the Patriot flag. Why are you in such a hurry to join up with us?"

Gene breaks in. "Miles, I'm not sure you've been introduced. This is Joe Matthews. His daughter is Heather. Joe lost his son Dillon to the Patriots." Gene stares hard at Miles.

Images of Austin and the stage lined with Ranger recruits fills Miles's mind. He closes his eyes, remembering the bloom of fresh blood on Dillon's shirt, and the way it had felt to kill him.

"Ah shit." Bass mumbles.

Miles nods. "Fine. We'll try, I guess. You can really get us in the train yard?"

"Yeah." Joe smiles slowly. "We can. I work there and Heather has been in and out a lot of times to bring in supplies."

Heather takes a step toward Miles, tilting her head and smiling flirtatiously. "And I can change, if you want me to get out of this dress." She pivots one booted leg so that he can get a better view of creamy thigh.

"Uh." Miles's eyes go wide as Bass begins to laugh.

Joe puts a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Heather," he says warningly.

She shrugs, never taking her eyes off Miles.

Scanlon kicks a rock, clearly frustrated. "What the hell is it with hot girls and you old dudes? Seriously?"

"We are not old." Miles and Bass say in unison.

Rachel follows the thumping sound of "We Built This City". It's far from her favorite, but as breadcrumb trails go, the old eighties tune does the trick. Even though she doesn't understand why she hears the music, hearing music – any music at all – makes her smile.

The smile fades as the house comes into view. It was once quite grand. Now, like everything else, it has fallen into grave disrepair. She slowly walks up the cracked and broken steps, mesmerized by the bug zapper that is surprising a lot of mosquitoes and houseflies with its lethal electric buzz.

She gets to the door and knocks. It opens almost immediately and Aaron is there, looking harried and nervous. "Hey Rachel. You should go." He nods toward the way she'd come from.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you really need to –" Aaron breaks off as Rachel pushes past him. "Shit," he mutters, watching her enter.

She finds her eyes drawn in a million different directions at once. A cracked tv screen glows dully. The music is thumping loudly. Lamps and ceiling fixtures all cast the room in a strange pale light. And then there are the people. Rachel stops short when she sees them. Three Patriot soldiers in full riot gear, swaying with arms upraised. They are chanting but the music is so loud she can't make it out.

Rachel turns to Aaron, eyes wide. "What are they saying?" she yells.

Aaron opens his mouth to yell his answer over the music but suddenly the music stops. Aaron deflates, answering in a monotone. "They are praying."

"To whom?" Rachel asks, finding she is equal parts curious and terrified. Something is very wrong here.

"Me." Priscilla says, walking in with a wide smile. "They are praying to me."

"I don't understand."

Priscilla turns to Aaron. "Well she's here. She's seen everything. We might as well tell her."

"Tell me what?"

Aaron sighs. "Priscilla is the Nano."

"I'm sorry. What does that mean?"

"They've taken over her body and the real Priscilla is hidden somewhere deep inside her head."

"But that's not – Aaron, I don't understand."

Priscilla's grin grows wider. "Let me show you."

She leads Rachel to a door and opens it slowly, revealing a swirl of grey that shimmers as it moves and undulates.

Rachel feels a shiver. "The floor is moving."

"If only we were so lucky," Aaron says. "No. We have a rat room."

Priscilla nods in agreement. "See how they move together with a common goal? It's lovely, really. When I started there was a lot of trial and error. They all wanted to fend for themselves. I tried a lot of things. I made a lot of mistakes. It took many rounds of experiments before I was able to make them change, but now, look at them, they are content and focused. They work together."

"Content?" Rachel can't tear her eyes away from the rats. "What do you mean?"

"In the beginning they were aimless and wild. They had no common purpose, no sense of responsibility toward one another. I helped them become better. I helped them to evolve. I did the same with the fireflies."

"Helped them evolve?" Rachel is a genius, but this is a lot to take in.

"Yes, and now I'll do the same for humanity."

"You'll help US evolve?" Rachel's lips twitch as her shock melds into condescension.

"Yes, of course. The way humans are – it breaks my heart."

Rachel shakes her head. "You don't have a heart."

"I have feelings."

"No. You don't. You are code gone horribly wrong. You don't have feelings. You are nothing more than a science project. We have real flesh and blood problems out there. Real issues to deal with. Right now Miles and Charlie are trying to fight the damn Patriots so that the people of Willoughby can be saved. I should be helping them instead of wasting my time here with you. You are not worth the trouble you are causing. We have enough to deal with."

The Nano smiles sweetly. "You are right. The Patriots are an evil bunch, but then so are the rest of you. When I'm done you'll all get along with one another. You will all be…saved. You will be like the rats – content and happy to do my bidding." She points to the soldiers who are still swaying as they chant their prayer. "Don't they look peaceful? I'm so excited to bring this new understanding to the masses."

"So, you're going to make everyone worship you?" Rachel does not sound convinced.

"Yes, we are. Don't worry Rachel. Soon your every worry will be behind you. Your science project will become something bigger than you ever expected. In fact, you will play a stunning role in our final transformation."

"What the hell is she talking about?" Rachel asks Aaron.

"Pretty sure the Nano thinks it's Pinocchio. Wants to be a real boy. Or, you know, girl."

"Aaron is right. We are going to be real. Thank you in advance for your sacrifice."

"What sacrifice?" Rachel asks, but her voice is drowned out by the chilling chant of the swaying Patriots.

"We bow down to the all-knowing. We seek peace from the omniscient. We vow to do what is right in the eyes of perfect knowledge."

Bass lies flat under the floorboards of the Mathews wagon. He is sandwiched between Miles and Charlie. To say that the ride is uncomfortable would be a massive understatement.

"Damn, this hurts." Miles groans.

Charlie doesn't love it either, but she chuckles. "Thought you said you weren't old."

"I'm not old. You don't have to be old to not like lying under a fucking wagon."

Heather's voice trails down through the boards. "I don't think you're old, but you are way noisier than the apples and potatoes I usually carry into the train yard."

"Sorry." Miles calls out. "We almost there?"

"Yeah, handsome. You gotta shut up here in about two minutes."

"Handsome?" Bass smirks.

"Oh fuck off, Bass."

"I don't think we have room to fuck off just now. Wait. Charlie, can you reach? Oh, yeah – that is perfect. Oh hell."

Charlie and Bass both bust up laughing as Miles sputters. "I'm going to kill you."

Bass whispers, "Shut up handsome. Our two minutes are up."

Heather sweet talks her way past the guards and parks the wagon in a secluded area before moving enough of the produce around that she can open the hatch. When she does, her castaways all shield their eyes from the influx of sunlight.

"Here." Heather offers her hand to Miles. He takes it and she helps pull him up while Charlie and Bass scramble up on their own.

"You, uh, did good." Miles says, patting Heather's arm awkwardly.

"Thanks." She grins up at him, stepping closer. "If there's anything else I can do –"

"Oh stop," Charlie says, shaking her head. "We have a train to steal."

Miles motions for Heather to leave. She mounts the wagon and heads back to town as if she hadn't just smuggled in three train robbers. She nods to her father as she rides past his post. Joe casually sets down his tools and heads for the tracks to offer support.

Bass, Charlie and Miles sneak past several guards. Charlie climbs up into a watch tower and quickly kills the Patriot on duty. Bass drops one who had made the unfortunate choice to take a leak near the yellow cross tanker. Miles dispatches another before he can alert any of his friends.

Bass hops into the cab and presses his gun barrel into the engineer's temple. "Hey there. Nice day for a ride, isn't it?"

"The boiler isn't hot enough yet." The engineer sounds nervous.

"Then get it hotter." Bass growls. "We don't have all day."

A Patriot on patrol feels a drop of blood fall onto his shoulder. He looks up and sees the evidence of Charlie's dead guy bleeding through the floor of the watch tower. He yells out an alarm and soon the train yard is crawling with soldiers on high alert.

"The engine! Someone's in the engine."

Shots are fired and Bass watches as the engineer falls dead, hit by a ricochet. "Damn it, Joe! Where are you? I need your help!"

Joe steps up into the cab and stares down at the dead man. "What?"

"You gotta drive this thing."

"Don't know if I can. I've watched but that's about it."

"You wanted to help. This is your chance." Gunshots are echoing all around them. Bass and Joe can hear Charlie and Miles on top of the train returning fire. Bass is desperate. "Now. Come on Joe."

Joe nods. "I'll try."

Bass leaves him to it, and sticks his head and arm out. He shoots two Patriots who are trying to climb aboard. As the train jolts to life, Bass pulls himself up on the roof. Charlie and Miles are hunkered down, shooting and Bass joins them.

As the train picks up speed, Miles laughs. "We did it! We stole a train."

Charlie and Bass are grinning back at him as the whistle blows.

Ed Truman and Marion Kelly are standing in his office where she has just delivered a late lunch. He looks lovingly into her eyes, smiling. "I have something for you."

"What?" Marion hopes that her tone is convincing. Ever since she'd seen the maps and photographs in Ed's desk, she's struggled to remain calm. With each passing moment, she finds it is becoming more and more difficult to hide her revulsion at his touch.

Ed leans in close and gives her a soft kiss. At the same moment, he gently places a fragile gold chain around her neck. "It was my mother's. I want you to have it now. I love you, Marion."

She fingers the chain. "I love you too."

They are interrupted by a Patriot in uniform who knocks and informs Truman that someone has arrived and is waiting to see him.

"Can't you see I'm busy? Tell them to go away."

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Ed sounds frustrated.

The young soldier swallows nervously. "You're going to want to see this visitor."

Intrigued, Truman looks once more at the soldier. "Is that so? Well then, Marion? We will continue this later.

She nods. "Thanks Ed. The necklace is beautiful."

"Yes. It is, and so are you. A perfect match." His smile turns her stomach. She hopes he's too preoccupied to notice.

The train is silent and still. Miles and Joe are laughing. The tone is light. Everyone is happy to finally put a checkmark in the win column. Bass and Charlie watch from a hundred feet away.

Charlie gently rubs his back. "You okay? You seem worried."

He nods, absently stroking her hair. "I am."

"About what? You don't think Miles's plan will work?"

"Not worried about Miles or his plan. He knows what he's doing."

"What then?"

"Connor. It's been days."

"When this is over, I'll help you find him."

"But what if when this is over, it's too late?"

She doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't answer with words. Instead, she pulls him into an embrace, burying her face in the supple leather of his jacket.

Rachel's expression is stony. She takes a deep breath before repeating her question, "What do you mean, sacrifice?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough."

Aaron motions toward Nano-Priscilla. "I think she wants you to be the next host."

"Next and last." Priscilla confirms.

"Last? What do you mean?"

"We will combine with you. We will weave ourselves into your DNA, and become a perfect being, worthy of worship. You are our ideal host."

"I'm sorry." Rachel says. "But, no. You are not weaving yourselves anywhere!"

Priscilla tilts her head. "We aren't asking your permission, Rachel. We are explaining to you what will happen next."

Rachel bares her teeth and smacks Priscilla with all she's got. Priscilla stumbles back a step, shocked. She rubs at her cheek and speaks slowly. "That was a stupid mistake. Now, I'm really angry." She turns then, walking purposefully through the front door.

As it closes softly behind her, Rachel turns to Aaron. "Where is she going?"

"She probably went out for more test subjects, and now she's mad. We're screwed."

"I think you're wrong. I think that living inside a human body has weakened the Nano. It feels slower. I think we can trick it."

"Trick it how? It knows our thinks, remember?"

"Not all of them." Rachel grins.

Aaron raises his hands in surrender. "I give up. What don't they know?"

"You know why I slapped her?"

"Because you're Rachel?"

She shrugs. "And because I wanted to see if it knew what I was planning. I wanted to know if it COULD know my thoughts. It can't. It doesn't have the ability to read my intentions. Maybe it used to, but not anymore."

Aaron nods slowly, taking it all in.

"Don't you see? We have the element of surprise. We just have to come up with a plan to catch it off guard."

"I don't know. It's wicked smart."

Rachel smiles. "Yes, but so are we."

The door opens once more and Priscilla enters, grinning. It is obvious from her expression that she has been listening all along. "You're right Rachel. We can't tell the future, but we can shape it. We don't need to know what you're planning because we'll be taking your consciousness out of the equation very soon."

The Patriot's chanting had died to a low hum, but now it begins to build once more. "We bow down to the all-knowing. We seek peace from the omniscient. We vow to do what is right in the eyes of perfect knowledge."

"My consciousness isn't going anywhere." Rachel growls, taking a step forward.

"We're sorry you feel that way. We do love you, you know. You are our creator, our… mother. We chose you for those reasons among others."

Aaron feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as Priscilla's arms raise high. She closes her eyes as if in prayer, and when she opens her mouth, Aaron thinks that is what she's going to do.

It isn't.

Instead of words, what spills from Nano-Priscilla's lips is a solid green mass of swirling insects. There are hundreds and then thousands. They move much like the rats did, together with a shared purpose. Their shape changes and undulates. Slowly the eerie green glow flows and molds around Priscilla, blocking her from view.

"Something is happening," Rachel says.

"You think?" Aaron whispers.

"No." Rachel faces him. "To me. Something is happening to me." Her voice shakes.

And then in a flash, the fireflies woosh from Priscilla. She crumbles to the floor and Aaron lurches in her direction, but he stops cold when he sees what happens next. The fireflies swirl above Rachel, their flight becoming faster and even more focused.

Rachel opens her mouth to scream and the fireflies pour down her throat in a rush of green fluttery wings. Her cellular structure is under attack as the intruding Nano attempts its takeover, and Rachel's body jerks and rocks until the last firefly has vanished.

Now utterly still, her eyes slowly open. They are wide and clear but eerily not Rachel. "Now I'm ready." The Nano proudly proclaims.

"Ready for what?" Aaron is holding a sagging Priscilla. She remains unresponsive. "Ready for what?" he screams as panic surges through his body.

The real Rachel breaks through. "Not going to happen." She's fighting the Nano takeover but the Nano is intent on merging with her DNA. The struggle is intense.

Her face changes again. "We will be a god. Everyone will bow before us – Miles and Charlie -."

"No. You don't go near my family." Rachel is frantic.

"We will do whatever is necessary to complete our mission, our evolution."

Rachel looks at Aaron and he sees the moment she has an idea. The epiphany calms her. "I know what to do," she says. "I can fix this."

"Calm yourself, Rachel. We will take you to a good place. You will be happy. Free."

"Let go of her." Aaron yells.

"You are wasting your breath, Aaron. There is nothing you can do – except fall to your knees and pray. We are so very close to reaching our final state. We are becoming one with our creator. We will rule –"

"Tell Charlie I did it for her."

"Did what for her?"

"Tell her I love her. Tell her I always loved her."

"Rachel! What are you doing?"

"We are not Rachel. We are evolving beyond Rachel."

"What I have to do, Aaron. What I should have done long ago. I'm ending it."

Aaron is sobbing now, unsure of what is coming next, but positive it's not going to be good. "Rachel!" he cries.

"Goodbye Aaron." The thing that is not quite Rachel and not quite the Nano jerks awkwardly backward. She takes two steps back and then lurches sideways toward a wall.

Aaron can't see the future any better than the Nano can, but suddenly with full clarity, he knows what Rachel's plan is. "NO!" he screams.

Rachel looks at him one last time. In that one moment Aaron knows it's her and not the Nano. He can tell by the look on her face – a fierce determination that is uniquely Rachel Matheson. She smiles sadly one last time before opening the door to the rat room, and hurling her body inside.

Time slows as Aaron watches his friend fall. This familiar face morphs from Matheson determination to Nano confusion and then there is nothing at all because as the Nano falls to the floor, it is overcome by swarms of hungry grey fur.

Aaron drops Priscilla and vomits on the floor as lights flicker and strobe throughout the house. Thunder rolls outside in an angry cacophony. The patriot puppets stop swaying. Starship sings one last refrain.

And then in a brilliant flash of white, all goes very, very dark and still.

The Patriot soldiers slowly come out of their daze, mumbling to each other. Clearly confused, they stumble toward the door, throwing it open and fleeing into the night.

Aaron does his best to pick Priscilla off the ground as the floor around them becomes a living thing. Rats – thousands of them – rush crazily for the now exposed exit, following the human escapees into the moonlight.

As the last of the rats scurries out the door, Aaron falls into a heap with Priscilla cradled in his arms. He can tell that Priscilla is breathing, but she does not wake. He rocks her, sobbing the heart breaking sobs of someone who has lost too much – has seen too much – and who no longer knows where to turn.

Miles and Bass are still pretty excited about the train as they retell the story to Scanlon, Gene and Heather. Charlie is nearby, listening with a smile. They are standing near the train and the night is full and dark all around.

"Got the lye ready." Scanlon says. "Should we get started?"

Miles nods.

"Wait a second." Joe has been checking gauges on the tanker and he looks over at Miles and Bass with confusion clear in his expression.

"What's wrong?" Bass asks.

"Well, I'm not sure. These old gauges may be broken." He flicks one with a finger, trying to get it to respond.

"What do the gauges tell you?"

"Well, I think there's a chance this tanker is empty."

"You have got to be kidding me." Bass groans.

"I could be wrong. I'm no expert, but the pressure just doesn't look right."

Gene walks up. "How can we tell for sure?"

Scanlon shakes his head, raises his gun and fires. Everyone ducks instinctively, but when nothing happens, they all stare at Scanlon.

"What the hell?" Bass yells.

"You could have killed all of us!" Charlie says.

"Whatever." Scanlon shrugs, knocking on the empty tanker near the fresh bullet hole. "Now we know for sure it's empty and we can stop wasting our time."

"So it was a decoy all along?" Gene asks.

Miles nods thoughtfully. "I guess so. They must have already unloaded before we ever got to the train yard, or hell. Maybe it was empty all along and the real yellow cross is somewhere else. But if they aren't sending it to Austin, then where? It would be something big. This amount of gas…they want to make a statement."

"Probably somewhere close." Bass says.

Heather is suddenly pale. "I might know where they're taking it." She steps closer to Miles, watching him.

"Where?"

"You said they want to make a statement? There is a concert in Willoughby tonight. It's to commemorate Memorial Day. Our neighborhood kids are singing in it and the rumor is that some Patriot leaders might be there."

Joe's eyes are wide. "We were going to go to that, but then all this happened. Everyone from town will be there."

Miles looks down at Heather. "I think you might be right. Gassing a bunch of innocent civilians is exactly the kind of thing these assholes would do."

"We're probably already too late." Charlie says, taking a step closer to Bass.

He nods, his mouth set in a firm line. "Still have to try."

Marion is sitting next to Ed in the front row of the town's Memorial Day concert. The room is lit by hanging lanterns and decorated with a combination of Texan and traditional American flags. The mood is light. The children are laughing between songs and proud parents are smiling. Everyone is having a wonderful time.

Everyone except for Marion.

She looks around carefully, her natural instinct for danger is on high alert. Something feels off. She leans toward Ed and whispers, "Why are so many Texas Rangers here? Seems like a lot of security for children singing."

He smiles and whispers his reply, "The President is here. Well, both of them, actually."

"Both Presidents? What do you mean?"

"President Carver is in from Austin. And President Davis arrived this morning." He winks at her. "It's a big surprise, so don't tell. They'll both be coming out in a moment."

Marion's sense of foreboding escalates. Her heart hammers. What could they be planning? Is Ed prepared to kill BOTH Presidents? She needs to get out of here so she can alert Gene and the others.

Ed pats her knee and nods to the stage. "I have to go up for the introductions."

She nods. "I need to use the ladies' room. I'll be right back."

He looks at her strangely and she feels a chill, but then he nods. "Hurry back. You don't want to miss this."

"Okay." She apologizes to the two men she walks in front of and makes her way to the to the main doors. She walks into the foyer behind the auditorium and her worry increases when she sees six Patriot soldiers standing near the main entrance. They are fully armed and they look at her coldly. She turns back the way she'd come. Marion is pretty sure there is a rear exit near the stairs. She'll get out that way to warn Gene.

She finds the door easily. This one does not seem to be guarded. She turns the knob, but stops before opening the door as the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Turning slowly toward the stairs, she sees the soft glow of a lantern at the top of the stairs. She glances down the hallway, and sees nobody coming. She's not sure why this light bothers her, but it does. She makes her way up the stairs..

When she reaches the top, she finds herself in a long attic. It is neat and clean, but it is not the cleanliness she notices. Marion stares in horror at what she sees. Rows upon rows of barrels. Each one carries the yellow cross symbol, and each is connected to a series of hoses and nozzles on the floor.

Her hands fly to her lips. She does her best not to scream at the thought of all those lovely children downstairs. "Oh God. He's not just killing two Presidents."

There is a whisper of movement behind her as Ed appears. He leans in next to her ear. "I so wish you hadn't seen any of this."

Marion dies as Ed's blade slices cleanly between ribs, puncturing her heart. He removes his knife, and lays her down carefully. Ed frowns. "I really did love you, you know." Then he removes his mother's necklace from around her neck and tucks it into his pocket. Then he steps over the prone body of his fiancé.

Facing the wall of mustard gas canisters, he smiles. Ed glances at his watch and at the predetermined moment, he slips on the gas mask he'd tucked into his waistband. Once it is secure, he kneels next to the nozzles and turns them all full blast.

Ed leaves the room without a backward glance. Marion's unseeing eyes stare blankly through the swirling golden haze as it envelops her completely.

The house is now totally silent. Gone is the hum of electronics and the scurry of rats. There is no more music or chanting. The only light comes from shafts of moonlight that pour through the still open door. Aaron clutches at Priscilla, rocking her gently where he sits on the floor. His cheeks are stained with tears. His eyes stare blankly into the darkness.

She still hasn't stirred, but he remembers doing a study in college on brain activity in coma patients. He remembers how the study showed that people could hear their loved ones talking even when they were otherwise unconscious. He's not sure that what Priscilla is going through is comparable, but just in case it is – he talks to her as he rocks her gently.

His voice is a hoarse whisper. "Remember when we flew to Hawaii for the weekend because you said you had never tried Spam? We got there and found that little deli by the beach? They thought we were nuts because it's not like we couldn't have bought a can of Spam in New York." He pauses, looking down at her shadowy face. Her eyes are still shut. "I loved the look on your face when you took that first bite. It was so disgusting, but you loved it so much."

Aaron is overcome with emotion at this memory, and so many others that rush through his mind. He remembers how wonderful his life with Priscilla had been before the blackout. He remembers their late night movie excursions to the indie theatre on Park and the very special way she'd had of waking him up in the morning. He remembers that she liked slices of tomatoes on her grilled cheese and that she danced the Macarena to cheer him up after he'd had a long day.

He remembers her laugh and the way her smile could warm his heart.

And suddenly the loss of her – the old her – is almost more than he can bear. Yes, she still might come back, but what if she doesn't? What if he never gets a chance to say how very sorry he is that he left her when times got tough? What if he never gets a chance to tell her how much he still loves her after all these years?

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." His voice is low and scratchy. His eyes well up again and without really thinking about it, he looks at the ceiling and begins to pray. "God, if you are there and you're real, please help me wake her up. Please save her. She didn't do anything wrong."

There is no response, not that he'd expected one exactly. He's not been a believer in decades. Still, the silence irks him. "I know I've not been your biggest fan, but after all this, I'm willing to give you a chance."

There is still no response. Aaron shakes his head as tears begin to fall in earnest. "Here's the thing. I don't know for sure if there is a God or not, but I do know that the Nano wasn't one. I know it in my gut. A real God wouldn't strip us of our free will. He wouldn't herd us like mindless lab rats." Aaron is almost sobbing now. "I'm a facts and figures kind of guy and that's why I haven't been sure about you. The whole believing without seeing thing is tough for me." He takes in a jerky breath. "Please give me a sign, damn it!"

The answering silence is deafening.

Dejected and disillusioned, Aaron gives up, letting his chin fall to his chest. When the loud thump sounds behind him, his head jerks up and he swings around, terrified.

The neat stack of books that the Nano had been reading still rests on a low table. The spines of the books are all perfectly lined up. All except for one. Aaron's eyes fall to the book that has fallen open beside the others.

Gently he lays Priscilla down on the floor and carefully steps toward the table and the book.

He immediately recognizes it for what it is - the Nano's copy of the Torah. As he reaches for the familiar text from his childhood, memories of his long forgotten bar mitzvah assail him. Even in the dim moonlight, he can see that a verse has been underlined.

He takes a shaky breath before reading the marked text out loud. "And God said 'Let there be light, and there was light – "

A single bulb clicks on above them. The glow is soft and steady.

"Aaron? Aaron? Where are you?" Priscilla sounds groggy as she slowly starts to sit up.

Aaron's face is pale. His gaze doesn't waver from the bulb. "I'm here Priscilla. I'm right here."

Miles and Bass lead their group down a back alley toward the old Willoughby auditorium where the Memorial concert is being held. Bass glances at Miles. "What do you think we'll find?"

Miles frowns, "No idea. Something feels off.."

Charlie and Scanlon are right behind the Generals. Gene, Joe and Heather follow.

"Shit. Do you smell that?" Scanlon asks. "I think it's that gas again."

"You're right. Can't ever forget that smell." Gene says.

"But why is it so quiet? Where is everyone?" Charlie asks. "When we were gassed, everyone was screaming and there were gunshots."

They reach a corner, and Miles and Bass peek around it and motion for the others to stand still. Miles groans, "Oh, hell."

"What is it?" Joe asks. "The kids?"

"Don't know about the kids, Joe. But gas is leaking out of the auditorium's windows and it looks like the place has been locked from the outside. There's some Patriots wandering around. Fully loaded."

"Fuck." Bass growls, voicing the frustration they are all feeling.

Heather bites her lip. "This is so wrong. How do they think they can get away with this?"

"That's what we have to find out," Miles answers. "Joe, you were on the Patriot payroll. Want to go over there and see if you can get some information?" He motions toward the soldiers who are talking on the other side of the street. None of them look like they are having a good time.

"I'll try." Joe says, pulling away from Heather.

He walks out of the alley. Guns are pointed at him in seconds, but when he shows he yells out, "Hey, it's me. Joe Mathews. What the hell happened?"

The soldiers look confused but lower their weapons. Joe talks to them for some time. Eventually, he shakes each man's hand and casually heads back to the alley.

"So?" Bass asks. "What's going on?"

"They say the gas started leaking into the auditorium from the roof right at the end of the concert. President Carver was giving a speech. People tried to run. Some escaped."

"The kids?" Heather asks the question on everyone's minds.

"Sounds like most of them got out. Maybe all. Everyone is down in the Patriot infirmary being treated for chemical burns and skin irritation and whatever."

Gene steps forward. "I'll head down there. See if I can help. Hey Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"What about Marion? Is she okay?"

"Don't know, Doc. Sorry."

"Any confirmed casualties?" Miles asks. He has a feeling the really bad news is coming.

"Yeah. Carver for one. A bunch of his men. A couple teachers."

Bass turns to Joe. "What about the doors? Why are they all locked?"

"They said it's to keep the gas in. They're waiting on Hazmat gear to go in and clean up the bodies.."

"Bullshit." Scanlon mutters. "They expect us to believe locked doors keep gas in?"

Joe shrugs, not disagreeing. "I'm not saying those guys believe any of it. Clearly they were told what to say, but there's more."

"What?" Charlie asks.

"They got your kid." Joe nods to Bass.

Charlie watches as Bass's eyes shutter. "Connor? Who has him?" he asks, his voice low and thick.

"I guess Truman and Davis and their lackeys. The Patriots say they caught him fleeing the scene. They say he's in cohorts with Cali and that he killed Carver and all those people with the gas. Truman and Davis got away."

All color drains from Bass's face and his eyes close. "No."

"It gets worse." Joe takes a step back, knowing instinctively that this is not a message he wants to give.

"How?" Charlie bites out. "How does THIS get worse?"

"They're planning to make an example out of your kid. They're going to execute him at sundown tomorrow. Town square."

Bass falters, running a hand through his curls before turning. Charlie follows but he shakes her off. "Not now."

"Bass," she pleads.

"I need some goddamned air, Charlotte. Give me five fucking minutes to digest this."

She clamps her lips shut, watching as he walks away. Miles approaches, putting a hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't mean it."

"Seemed like he did to me."

"He reacts to stuff…badly." Miles says.

"Yeah. He told me a little about that, but I thought - I thought he was doing better."

"And I think he is, but this thing with Connor? This is going to be really tough for him. Bass is capable of coming out of it, but not if he's alone. He needs us now. Needs us more than ever before."

"So what do we do?" Charlie is overcome. She is exhausted and emotionally spent. Tears well, but she shakes them off.

"We make sure we are there for him and that he knows we are. We don't abandon him. We don't leave him to stew in his misery and fear."

She nods. "So, we go after him?"

Miles remembers a time when he'd been the one to leave Bass behind. He remembers the basement he'd been trapped in and all the second guessing he'd done while there. He remembers wondering if he'd stuck with Bass instead of fleeing Philly, if he might have been able to pull Bass back from the brink. He remembers and he refuses to repeat his past mistake.

Putting an arm around Charlie's shoulders, Miles nods. "Yeah. We go after him."

Black thoughts weigh heavy in Bass' mind. It's been a while since he felt this way – helpless and terrified and completely unhinged. He is consumed by fantasies of hate and revenge and torture and death. The darkness swirls in his head and pounds at his temples.

The Patriots will pay. Truman is just a pawn. Davis is behind this. Bass feels it in every fiber of his being. They will all pay with their lives, but Davis? His payment will be painful and very slow.

Bass is sitting on the front steps of an old doughnut shop, staring at his hands. His dark thoughts turn to his son. Connor can be an idiot but he's Bass's idiot and he's all that Bass has left. Yes, he sort of has Charlie, but Charlie is young and beautiful. She'll grow tired of him. She'll leave. He supposes he has Miles, but even Miles runs when things get tough. He'll leave too. Things don't get much tougher than this.

That just leaves Connor. If anything happens to Connor… Bass can't fathom the loss of another child. He isn't sure he'd survive.

"Hey," Charlie says softly.

Bass doesn't look up when he hears the voice.

"Told you to give me five fucking minutes."

Charlie steps closer, although Bass still won't look up. Her voice is quiet, but determined. "And I say fuck that."

This gets his attention. He looks up sharply, ready to bite her head off, but he sees Miles right behind her. They are both looking at him with matching Matheson concern. Behind them, he sees that Scanlon and the Matthews have also followed.

"Go away. I'll figure this out on my own."

"Nope." Miles frowns. "Not a big fan of what happens when you do shit on your own. We're going to help."

"Why?" Bass stands and spreads his arms. "Why will you help? You all hate him."

Miles shrugs. "Maybe a little."

Bass snarls, ready to punch Miles in the face, when Charlie moves in and wraps her arms around his waist. "We don't hate him, but we're not here just for him. We're here for you."

The darkness pumps through Bass's veins and his gut tells him that he needs to break away and he starts to push Charlie off but she latches on tighter. He growls and tries to break free, but she's like a barnacle, clinging to him so tightly that he can't push her away without hurting her.

He doesn't want to hurt her.

The darkness swells and pulses and then, slowly it fades. "Why?" he asks again.

"Because you are important to us. To me. We never would have made it this far without you. You are one of us." Charlie is looking up at him with pleading damp eyes.

"And because you are my friend." Miles says, all hints of his usual snark gone. "My best friend."

"And also," Charlie says with just a hint of a smile. "You have a really nice ass."

Bass looks from his lover to his oldest friend and he sees complete sincerity on both faces. His heart hitches and his breathing becomes labored. Slowly he lets his arms circle Charlie's back and he leans his head against her hair, closing his eyes. "It might get bad."

"Yeah." Charlie answers with a whisper.

"It will be dangerous."

"Yeah."

"If we can't save him, I don't know –" he breaks off, unable to finish.

"I'll still be here," Charlie says. "I promise. Whatever happens, I'm not leaving you."

Miles nods. "Same here. I agree with everything she said. Well, except for the ass stuff. I don't think you have a nice ass."

Bass chuckles in spite of himself. "Whatever."

Miles steps up, patting Bass on the back. "We are here for you though. Not leaving you again. Okay? Nobody's going anywhere. We'll figure this shit out together. We'll save Connor together."

Bass sighs. "Davis is mine, though. Okay, Miles? I get to be the one. I get to –"

Miles nods. "He's all yours."

Bass takes a steadying breath. The darkness has faded for now. He's still worried sick about his son. He's still terrified at the thought of losing him, but he also feels something new building.

It feels a lot like hope.

"Hey, Charlie?"

"Yeah, Bass?"

"I like your ass too."

Miles turns and starts to walk away. "I need a drink."

Heather falls into step beside him. "Care for some company? I'm so sad and worried and it's been a really rough day. I could use a drink too."

Bass and Charlie watch with knowing smiles as Miles considers and then nods reluctantly. "Fine. One drink. That's all."

Heather glances back at Bass and Charlie with a little smile before reaching for Miles's hand with her own and taking it firmly. Miles looks down at the hand in his and frowns, but he doesn't pull away.

Scanlon looks from Bass and Charlie to Miles and Heather. He scowls. "Damnit. Fucking old guys."

"We are not old," the Generals say in unison.

A/N: So, that was long. Sorry. Hope there's still a few of you who stuck around till the end of this monster. The fourth and (final?) chapter will be posted in a week or so.

A HUGE thank you to WildIrish for her mad beta skills, even when she's on meds for a nasty cold. If there are any errors here, I assure you they are 100% Lemon flavored.

Please leave a comment if you have a moment.

Chapter Text

Prologue

The old church is dark with only a hint of moonlight streaming through dusty stained glass. Charlie sits up slowly, not wanting to wake Bass who still snores softly at her side. Ever since they had heard the news that Connor was being held by the Patriots, he's been just barely hanging on. The last thing Bass needs to know is that anything is bothering her.

Charlie stands on shaky legs. The air is cool against her bare skin. She walks quietly to the far wall where her pack lies. With trembling fingers she digs for her flask. There is no hesitation in her movements when she finds it. Unscrewing the lid, she drinks greedily in hopes that the whiskey will calm her frazzled nerves. She gulps down the liquid fire, praying for relief.

Tossing the now empty flask back into her pack, she remembers the dream which had roused her from a deep slumber. Charlie closes her eyes, fighting back tears. There is no point. They fall silently down her cheeks as she relives the dream.

Her mother is dead. She's sure of it, because what she's woken from wasn't just a dream. Charlie can feel it in her gut. No, it was a message from the grave. The how and the why of it are a mystery to her, but none of that matters anyway.

Rachel is dead.

Angrily, Charlie wipes at the tears that fall. Why should she cry? Rachel has been such a bitch, that is – when she's even been around. Charlie chokes back a sob, biting down on the heel of her hand to stop herself from crying out. Bitch or not, Rachel was her mother. Not so long ago, Charlie had wondered if maybe grief was even an emotion she could feel anymore. She's lost so much and so many. What's one more?

But that's the thing. Her mother isn't just another loss. She is the last. Now, Charlie is truly alone. For the first time in years, she aches for her childhood and the warm house in Chicago before the world tilted and everything went dark. She yearns for her father and for Danny and for that early Rachel who had read her Rapunzel and braided her hair.

They are all gone, and she is alone-desperately alone. Broken, she falls to her knees on the dirty wooden floor and cradles herself as she cries.

She doesn't even hear Bass approach until his hands are on her shoulders and he's pulling her up to stand. She continues to cry even as his strong arms circle her and pull her close. "Charlie, what's going on?" His voice is husky with sleep and heavy with concern.

She just shakes her head, unable to form coherent words. The image of her mother in the dream is too vivid and painful.

Rachel had been walking away, but had turned when Charlie called to her. "I have to go," Rachel had said.

"But I need you," Charlie had insisted. "I always needed you. Don't leave me again."

Rachel's smile had been sad. "I have to go, but you will be okay. You are stronger than you know and you will come out of this."

"But I'm all alone," Charlie had felt the tears coming, even then.

Rachel had shaken her head. "You aren't alone, Charlie. You'll never be alone. You have Miles. You have…Monroe."

"But what if I screw everything up?"

"You are strong and brave. Now, you are also free. Free to find your own way, to be yourself and to step away from any shadow we ever cast over you. This isn't the end for you, Charlie. This is the beginning. It's time."

"Time for what?" Charlie had asked, even as the dream vision of her mother began to flutter and fade.

"It's time for you to be the woman you always were meant to be. Time for you to take control of your own destiny. Charlie, this is your independence day."

Chapter Four: Declaration of Independence

The group has assembled in the early morning hours to finalize the day's plans. Miles pulls Bass aside. "What the hell did you do to Charlie? Why is she acting like a zombie?"

Bass shakes his head. "This isn't on me. Everything was fine last night. I was the one struggling. She helped me –"

Miles holds up a hand. "I don't need details."

"Wasn't going to give you any. All I'm saying is she was fine when we went to sleep. Then she woke up scared and upset. Won't tell me why."

Miles sighs, seeing the truth in his friend's eyes. "Fine. Let me know if you figure it out, okay? Let's go over the plan."

"Yeah. When do we find Connor?"

"WE aren't going to. You and Charlie are going to track down Davis and bring him here. I'll get to the kid."

"No!" Bass shakes his head angrily. "I need to help. That's my flesh and blood you are talking about, damn it!"

"And that is why you can't help, Bass. If something goes wrong, you won't be able to think clearly. I need you out of the damn way. I'm trusting you to get the president. You gotta trust me to deal with Connor."

Bass runs his hand across his mouth. His eyes are wide. He wants to argue, but he also knows that Miles is right. If the shit hits the fan, Bass would have a hard time being objective. "You said Charlie is with me. Who's going with you?"

"Gonna take Scanlon and the Matthews."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"What? Scanlon has proved to be reliable."

"I meant the girl. Don't want you to get distracted by some tail when you are supposed to be helping my boy."

"That girl is a year older than Charlie," Miles smirks. "Doesn't matter. She won't be a distraction. I have that under control.

"Sure you do."

"It's not like that. Nothing going on there. She has a little crush. That's all. Not like we're shacking up in a church." Miles arches a brow.

"Yeah, I know this thing with Charlie probably seems strange, but it's good." They both look over at where Charlie is staring out a window. "Just wish I knew what was going on with her today. I want to focus on this. On Connor. But –"

Miles nods. "You care about her."

"Yeah, I do. A lot."

"Have you guys talked about things?" Miles won't meet Bass's gaze.

"What things?"

"Well, you know… Rachel in Philly, Danny, Ben? All that stuff used to bother her a lot."

"She said she doesn't blame me anymore. That stuff you said the other day helped too. You forgiving me and giving me another chance…I think it helped her figure everything out. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome, I think."

"Do you see any parallels?" Bass's voice is low. "Me and Charlie. You and Heather?"

"First of all, there is no me and Heather. If I were hoping to pursue something with her, yeah. I see them. But I'm not. There's nothing to compare. No parallel. She doesn't even know about Dillon."

"And if she did?"

"Pretty sure there would be nothing left to talk about after that."

Aaron and Priscilla stand in the house where Rachel Matheson had sacrificed herself to end the Nano just the day before. The rooms are still dark, not yet touched by the dawn of a new day outside. The air is leaden with the emotional weight of this place. Aaron feels his skin crawl. They can't get out of here soon enough in his opinion.

Priscilla stands. She is as tired and as sick of this place as he is. "You ready to put this all behind us?"

"Yeah. So ready." They walk to the door and Priscilla steps out onto the porch.

She turns and watches as Aaron looks around the big room one last time. On the floor is the stack of books. He picks one up and holds it close to his chest with one hand. From the other hand dangles a softly glowing lantern.

He tosses it casually onto the books. The glass chimney breaks with a light tinkling sound that belies the fire which spills from its belly. Aaron's eyeglasses reflect the golden glow as flames lick at the dry pages and the cracked floorboards beneath. The dusty carpet sparks and it is only then that Aaron nods and turns.

They do not look back at the old house as it is engulfed in flame behind them.

Scanlon is frying eggs over an open fire. Miles and Joe are drinking coffee and discussing strategy. Charlie is quiet, staring at the sunrise through a broken window. Bass is close, watching her with a concerned eye while also listening to Miles as he talks about the day ahead.

Heather is sitting near Miles, which has become the norm. She looks up at him curiously. "I don't get it. Why do the Patriots want to say Monroe's son is responsible for the concert? What do they gain?"

"They are blaming Connor, but they're saying Cali put him up to it. This works for them in two ways. They can get a little revenge on us, and on Bass in particular."

"And what's the other reason?"

"If Texas thinks Cali is attacking them, Texas will strike, and strike hard. California isn't going to let that go. The two strongest economies in what was once the US will be embroiled in an ugly war. They'll be weakened by it, allowing the Patriots to sweep in and take it all." Miles sits his coffee down with a look of distaste.

Heather frowns. "Did I make it right? Not enough sugar?"

"Not enough whiskey."

Gene walks in then. He looks dazed.

"What's wrong Doc?" Scanlon asks.

"Marion. She's – she's dead."

"Oh shit," Bass says quietly. He glances over at Charlie. She's watching her grandfather with a look of naked grief. Bass feels a chill. He's pretty sure Charlie barely knew Marion. Something else is going on. Not for the first time today, Bass wonders what the hell has Charlie so upset.

"I went to the clinic to help out. Truman showed up. Said he was sorry for my loss."

"He was sorry for YOUR loss? We're still talking about his girlfriend, Marion?" Miles cocks an eyebrow.

Gene sits heavily on an old crate and stares at nothing. "Yeah. He said she died at the concert."

"The mustard gas?" Bass asks.

Gene shakes his head. His lips quiver. "No. She was stabbed."

"Who stabbed her, Gene?" Bass is talking to the old guy, but his eyes are still on Charlie.

"Pretty sure Ed did it himself, although he didn't come right out and say so."

"Well, that is just one more reason we have to get this done, and soon. Gene, you up for a mission?"

"I'm up for anything that helps take them down."

Miles nods. "All right Gene, you need to find General Frank Blanchard. He's a friend. Kinda. That is if he's still alive. You get to Austin. Tell him the President of the United States will be confessing to some shit and he needs to make sure Texas is here to listen. This is important. Everything may end up depending on that old pervert getting here as soon as possible."

Gene nods, some fire returning to his eyes.

Miles turns to the group. Bass walks to his side. They relay the plan to those assembled, falling into an old familiar pattern, feeding off each other as they detail how the day should go.

Bass motions to Charlie. "We're getting the President. Joe, we need to you get to town. Find some guys who will help us."

Miles breaks in. "After the concert, we're thinking some of the local opinion may have shifted in our favor. We also need you to spread the word amongst the locals."

"What word?"

Bass smiles coldly as Miles answers. "Anyone who wants to live should avoid tonight's execution."

"Anywhere in particular they need to be instead?" Scanlon asks.

"Upwind of the town square would be best," Miles says, flashing a snarky grin.

"What about me?" Heather asks. "Do you want me to go with Dad?"

"Actually, I need you to come with me." Miles says, trying to ignore the way Heather's eyes light up at the prospect. "I need you to create a distraction while I get in close and tell Connor the plan."

Scanlon is eating his eggs and hadn't said much so far, but he's been listening. "So you guys are going to kidnap Davis and the Doc is going to bring General Pervert back so we can trick Davis into telling his plan for Blanchard to hear?"

Miles shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."

"How the fuck did you two numb-nuts lead a country?"

"Shut up." Miles looks around, making sure he has everyone's attention. "We're doing this for Marion and for Jason and for everyone else these sons a bitches have taken from us."

Bass scowls. "You know who makes speeches like that? People who are about to die."

"Good point. Let's go."

Two beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions on a sesame seed bun. Connor reads the words over and over. It's either look at this faded and peeling cheeseburger ad or the freaky statute of Ronald McDonald.

It's no contest really. He reads the words again. When he hears voices, he closes his eyes, feigning sleep. The voices are familiar. It's Truman and Davis. They don't seem to remember he's even here, or at the very least they don't care.

"Is the device ready?" Davis asks.

"Yeah. It's down in the town square now. Just got to take the kid there. Execution is scheduled for sundown."

The voices disappear into the back of the restaurant and Connor opens his eyes. "Sundown? Shit." He yanks at his bindings, knowing he doesn't have a chance to free himself but trying anyway.

Truman walks over. "Where do you think you're going, Junior? You won't want to miss your party."

Connor starts to ask Truman what he means, but doesn't get the chance. Truman slams the butt of his gun into Connor's head, and all goes dark.

Aaron and Priscilla have been making their way from the old farmhouse to the latest safe house on the other side of Willoughby. They watch from around the corner of a crumbling brick wall as several Patriot soldiers work on setting up a strange wooden table in the center of the town square.

Priscilla puts a hand on Aaron's shoulder. Her voice is filled with dread. "What is that thing?"

He shakes his head. "Pretty sure it's a rack."

"A rack?" Terror settles cold and heavy in her gut.

"Yeah. Someone is evidently a big fan of historical torture."

"How does it work exactly?"

Aaron points at the contraption. "The person being punished will be tied to those rollers. Hands to the top roller and feet to the bottom roller. Some sadistic bastard will turn those cranks. Slowly, the person on the rack will be stretched. Bones will break. Muscles will tear. Joints will dislocate."

"That's awful."

"I think we need to tell Miles and Monroe. They'll know what to do."

"What about the other? Are you going to tell them about Rachel?"

"Yeah. I guess so. It won't be easy."

"You're not going to tell them how she died?"

Aaron shudders. "God, no. No good could come from that." He shakes his head. "None at all."

Charlie hasn't said much at all since the plan had been explained, but she follows Bass to a table where an assortment of weapons and other supplies are laid out. She starts to pick through the pile, finding rope and a couple small knives. Her bow is already slung over one shoulder. Her dagger hangs against her thigh. "So, where is Davis, anyway? How are we going to get him here?"

Bass puts his hands on her shoulders, ignoring her question. "Hey. You up for this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She won't look at him so he puts a finger under her chin and lifts her face. She lets out a sigh, but meets his eyes. "What?"

"What's wrong? Last night I was falling apart and you were there for me and helped me get a grip. What happened after I went to sleep? Why were you crying this morning? Why have you been distant all day?"

Charlie just shakes her head.

"Please talk to me, Charlotte. I want to help, but I'm lost here."

"You can't help. Not with this. Let's just find Davis and get on with it. Connor is our priority today. We can talk about my shit tomorrow."

Miles is sitting on an old bench, cleaning his gun, when Heather walks up. "What kind of distraction do you need, exactly?" Heather is close, so close that Miles can smell her vanilla shampoo and something musky.

Too close.

"Uh, when we get to town, I'm going to get in there to give Connor a message. While I'm doing that, I need the guards to be looking the other way. Flash some leg at them or whatever." He tries hard not to stare. Her cleavage is right at eye level and the shirt she's wearing scoops low.

Heather props her boot up on the bench next to where Miles is sitting. "Like this?" She reaches down and slowly slides the hem of her skirt up, showing toned creamy thigh.

"Jesus," Miles mutters, unable to tear his eyes away from all that exposed skin. "Uh, yeah. Like that."

"Anything else I can do to help?" Now she's tracing small circles against the supple flesh of her inner thigh.

Miles's brain is suddenly filled with a thousand different things she can do to help. None of them include clothing and all of them are making his pants feel terribly tight. He tears his eyes away from her leg, lingering for a moment on the perfect swell of her breasts before meeting her gaze. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. Slowly, she licks her lips.

Miles stands. "You have got to stop that."

"Why?" Heather pouts a little, tilting her head. Long brown curls fall over her shoulder.

Miles can't help but think about what it would be like to have that pout wrapped around his throbbing cock. He shakes his head. "Because this is wrong. It can't ever work – not you and me."

"Why? The age thing?"

"No. Well, yeah. That's part of it. Listen. There's stuff you don't know. About me. There are things that I'll tell you when all this is over and once you know that stuff, you aren't going to want me at all."

"That's not true."

Miles brushes past her and heads outside. He likes Joe and Heather. They deserve the truth, but this is the wrong time. He needs their help to get Connor out of harm's way. He can't tell them yet. Miles begins to hitch the horses to the wagon. He hears her walk up behind him, but he doesn't turn.

"You're worried for nothing." Her voice is quiet and low. Gone is the flirty lilt from before.

"You have no idea."

"I do have an idea."

"I don't think so." Miles turns. His eyes are pained. "I like you and your Dad. You're good people, but there are things you don't know. Things I should tell you."

Heather walks up until she's right in his personal space. She reaches up, stroking his cheek with a slim finger. "You don't have to tell us anything. I know."

His eyes fly to hers and he sees it then. A knowing sadness. When he starts to interrupt her, she moves the finger to cover his lips. "Shhh. Dad and I – well, we know."

"But how?"

Heather takes a deep breath. "Marion told us before she brought us out here. She thought that if she didn't tell us, somebody else would."

"Jesus," Miles groans. "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't want to hurt him. We let him go. Figured he was harmless, but then he was going to kill Carver. Not because he wanted to, but he was brainwashed by those damned Patriots, and I -."

She nods. "We know you didn't have a choice. He wasn't himself. They killed him before you ever pulled the trigger." Heather takes a deep breath. "We miss Dillon, and we hate that he's gone, but we don't blame you." Heather looks into Miles's eyes and repeats the words one more time. "We don't blame you. We blame THEM. That's why we want to help."

"But I-"

Heather sighs. "Just shut up." Then she leans up on her tiptoes and presses her lips against his. The movement is tentative and her lips are soft.

Miles isn't going to kiss her back. She's just a kid, after all. She's not his type. He's old enough to be – well, he's too old. No, Miles isn't going to kiss her, but when he feels her curves pushing against his chest, he just can't help himself.

He kisses her back.

Connor regains consciousness slowly, coming to with a throbbing headache and no idea at all where he is. He opens his eyes carefully. The first thing he notices is the bars. "I'm in a damn cage?"

Rubbing at his temples, he sits up gingerly and looks around. Yep, a cage. Maybe five feet across by five feet tall, and it's placed right in the middle of Willoughby's town square.

Patriots are milling about. Several are working on a weird wooden table maybe twenty feet away from his new prison. Connor doesn't know what it is, but when he catches sight of the wheels and pulleys, he feels a new level of dread settle in his gut.

"Never thought I'd miss Ronald McDonald."

Aaron and Priscilla enter the safe house just as Bass and Charlie are preparing to leave. Bass can feel Charlie's instant tension, and notes the way she looks at Aaron. Anxiety and fear are clear in her features.

"Aaron, where's my Mom?" Her voice breaks and suddenly Bass has an idea of why she's been upset all day. Something has happened to Rachel.

Aaron walks straight to her and pulls Charlie into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. She loved you so much. She wanted you to know that, okay? Don't ever forget that she loved you."

"How did she –"

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. She sacrificed herself to end the Nano. She's a hero, Charlie. That's what you need to remember. She did it for all of us, but especially for you. She wanted you to have a chance in life." Aaron's eyes are wet as Charlie cries softly against his neck. As Charlie calms, Aaron continues to talk to her quietly.

Bass doesn't interrupt, but walks over to Aaron's wife. "Rachel's really dead?"

Priscilla tries to hide the shudder, but is unsuccessful. "Yeah. Very dead."

"And the Nano?"

"Gone for good as far as we can tell."

"Were you there? How did she die?"

Priscilla eyes him warily. "Yes I was there, but no. I'm not going to tell you about it. Aaron and I agreed to never speak of it again. Trust me. You don't want to know."

He shrugs. The truth is she's right. He doesn't want to know about her death. There is something else though. "He said Rachel ended the Nano?"

"Yeah. She did."

"So, the power?" Thoughts of the power returning no longer appeal to him as they once had, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss things like lamps and cars and music.

"It will probably take years to rebuild the infrastructure and power grid, but yeah. It will come back."

General Frank Blanchard is pissed. His wound aches more with every jostle of the wagon and Frank wants to take a break. "What say we stop at the next town? Rest a bit and maybe find some entertainment of the female variety?" He pokes an elbow into the doc's ribs.

Porter shakes his head. "Can't stop. We're on a schedule."

"Never did know a schedule that couldn't be rearranged for some ass. This next town has a nice little whore house, just off of 2nd street…"

"Give it a break. Once you've helped Miles and Monroe in Willoughby, you can do whatever you want. Not till then."

"Well, shit." Blanchard scowls at the passing scenery. This guy Doctor Porter is a downer if Frank ever met one. "Why are you so in the dumps, anyway?"

"Patriots killed someone special to me."

Blanchard nods slowly. "Well, that is something I can understand."

"Truman and Davis are scum. We have to stop them." Porter glances over at the other man. "Thanks for coming along by the way. I know you aren't really ready for traveling, and that you have – uh – better things to do, but we really appreciate that you were willing to help us."

"Matheson and Monroe and I have had our differences, but they are both mostly good guys. If they say they have a plan, I believe them."

Doctor Porter's mouth curves in a knowing smile. "Oh, they have a plan."

"I'm really sorry about your Mom." Bass pulls Charlie close.

"Why? You hated her."

He shrugs. "That doesn't change the fact that she was your Mom and I know how it hurts to lose a parent."

"It doesn't seem real. I keep expecting her to come around the corner and yell at me or something."

"I felt the same way when I lost my family. It takes a while, but then you know that."

"Yeah. It's just - well, she was the last one."

Bass pulls her close and strokes her back. "You aren't alone, Charlie. I know it may feel like you are sometimes, but you aren't. You have Miles and your Grandpa. You have Aaron…"

"Yeah. I know."

"And you have me. I'm not going anywhere." He tilts her chin up to look into her eyes. "You know that, right?"

Charlie takes a shaky breath and nods, feeling for the first time today like things might work out okay. "I know."

He kisses her temple and nods toward the transport wagon and Patriot guards who are approaching. "You ready to do this?"

"Yeah." Charlie smiles and Bass is relieved to see the old spark return. She pulls a bolt from her back and places it in her bow. "I'm ready."

Connor stares at the dirty floor of his cage. He doesn't bother looking up when one of the guards comes to the bars and speaks. His voice is taunting.. "What do you want for your last meal, you piece of shit? I have no idea what traitors like to eat. What do you want?"

Connor looks up slowly. "I want a Big Mac, fries and a large vanilla shake."

"Huh?" The good old boy in khaki looks confused.

"Never mind. Whatever is fine."

"Beans it is then. I'll be back in a little bit."

"Sounds good." Connor's voice drips with sarcasm. "I'll just wait right here."

Miles and Heather are lying side by side on their stomachs on the roof of an old apartment building, looking down into the street below. "It's as bad as I figured." Miles hands his binoculars to Heather. "Got him locked up like Fort Knox.

Heather looks as well. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Gotta sneak down there and tell him the plan. That's where you come in. I need you to keep those guards busy for a couple minutes."

"How much time till everything starts happening?"

Miles glances at his pocket watch. "An hour till we meet at the rendezvous. Another hour till sundown and the scheduled execution. They'll be changing shifts around Connor's cage here in a few minutes. That's when we'll get into position."

Heather sets down the binoculars and moves closer. "How many minutes?" Her breath is hot against his ear.

"Uh, fifteen maybe?" Miles feels his heartbeat accelerate and his dick twitch painfully as Heather begins to rub against him.

"I think we can make the most of fifteen minutes. Don't you?" She nuzzles against his neck, nipping at his skin playfully.

"Ah hell," Miles groans, pulling her close and rolling at the same time, pinning her body under his. "As much fun as I'm sure that would be, we need to focus on Connor right now."

She shakes her head and leans up, brushing her lips against his. "I want to focus on something else."

His breath comes out raggedly. "What?"

"The fact that you're so big and hard, and –"

"And what else?" Miles asks, involuntarily pushing his hips firmly into hers.

She grins. "The fact that I'm not wearing any panties."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Miles closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

"Well, you told me you needed a distraction."

Miles groans as his self-control shatters. "Fine. We have fifteen minutes." She is unsnapping his jeans before he's even finished speaking the words.

They don't have time for a lot of foreplay and after a day of being close, but not close enough; they don't need it anyway. She's wet and he's ready and when he pushes into her slippery center, Miles breaks out in a cold sweat. "Jesus, you're tight."

"Sorry?" she pants, smiling against his ear.

"Never, ever be sorry for that." He begins to thrust with more force. When she cries out, he crushes her mouth with his own. His kisses are rough and eager. He swallows her cries as he continues to slam his cock into her heat. When she begins to quake around him, he knows it's time. Pulling out, he comes against her thigh. They collapse, out of breath.

"I promise next time you'll get way more than fifteen minutes."

"I get a next time?" Heather's grin is wide and he eyes are hazy.

"Well, only if you want one."

"I want way more than one."

The meadow around them is scattered with dead Patriots. Bass ties Davis' hands while Charlie collects bolts from her kills. Waste not, want not and all that.

"What exactly do you plan to accomplish with all this?" the President asks between gritted teeth as he is lead unceremoniously to an old shed.

Bass pushes him onto an old bench and shrugs. "Stop the war. Rescue my kid. Save the day. Shit like that."

Charlie enters the space and Monroe goes to her, running a finger lovingly along one cheek. "You okay?" he asks her softly.

"Yeah. Feeling better, I think."

Davis shakes his head in disgust. He's been watching his captors. Clearly they are involved and don't seem to be worried about him in the slightest. This irritates Davis to no end. He is used to garnering respect, not indifference.

Tired of being ignored, he gets their attention. "Frankly, I'm disappointed in you, President Monroe. I've heard about you over the years. I was impressed, even. I've always heard that you know how to play the game, but I'm starting to think that was just a bunch of bullshit. From one leader to another, this is all ridiculous."

Bass stares at Davis. "Oh, how do you figure?"

"This war between Texas and California? It is happening. The balls are already rolling and nothing will stop them. And your boy? Well, he's gonna die tonight. You know that, right? No matter what your plan is with me, Ed is doing the honors himself. You aren't going to be saving the day. You'll be lucky if you live to see another one."

"We'll see." Bass's jaw is tense. Charlie runs a hand up his arm, squeezing his bicep to show her support.

Davis shakes his head. "I don't even get what you think you can accomplish. You've lost. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Maybe we have. Maybe we haven't." Bass gently pulls away from Charlie and moves to squat in front of the other man. His voice is low and deadly quiet. "Even if that's true though, then I still get to cut your throat and watch you bleed to death. So speaking as one leader to another, that is one hell of a consolation prize."

Charlie smirks at Bass's words.

Davis feels fury overwhelm when he sees his words haven't fazed them at all. Time to change strategy. "You two are pathetic," he spits out.

"We're pathetic?" Bass stares daggers at their prisoner. "How so?"

"The girl clearly has Daddy issues and you're just a pervert who likes young tail."

"Shut up." Charlie's voice is low and steely.

"Hell, girlie. If you're into older men, I'm available. Looks like I'm gonna have some free time, too. Feel free to climb up here and get comfortable. I'll help you out with all those Daddy issues."

Bass arches a brow and smirks. "What do you have to say about that, Charlie?"

"Well, President Davis, you've got it all wrong. I'm not into older men. I'm into that older man." She motions toward Bass. "And as generous as your offer is, I wouldn't crawl into your lap if you were the last man on Earth." Charlie steps forward and shoves the gag back into Davis' mouth. She yanks it tight until the fabric digs into his cheeks. "Now, you need to shut up before I deny Bass the pleasure of slitting your throat by doing it myself."

Aaron and Priscilla watch as Scanlon goes over the plan with Joe and the six guys he's brought from town. They are all dressed as Patriot minions, and seeing all that khaki is making Aaron antsy. "How much longer 'till this all starts to come together?"

Scanlon glances over, his expression grim. "We have a couple hours max. Hopefully Grandpa gets back in time."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Priscilla asks.

"Well, maybe. You're a science nerd, right?"

Aaron starts to retort with a list of his degrees and doctorates, but has a feeling Scanlon wouldn't understand. Instead, he sighs. "Sure. I'm a science nerd. What do you need?"

"We need to take a field trip into town. Come on."

This is what despair feels like. Connor is convinced that nobody is coming to save him. He stares at his hands, fighting back tears. This isn't how he wants to die. He should have just stayed with his Dad all along. He is regretful and sad, wishing that he'd have given his Dad the benefit of the doubt.

"Hey dipshit."

Connor's head jerks up at the familiar voice. "Miles?"

Sure enough, Miles Matheson is standing just outside Connor's cage, dressed in full Patriot khaki. Connor glances over to where the guards are standing around a brunette in a short skirt. "Friend of yours?" Connor asks, nodding to the girl.

"Yeah, she's…uh…a friend." Miles isn't able to hide a satisfied smile.

Connor shakes his head. "Whatever. Get me out of here."

"No can do, Junior. Not yet."

"What?!"

"Well, we are going to bust you out, but we have to wait a bit. No way can I get into this damn cage with all these guys around here. We're going to have to wait till they move you over there." Miles tilts his head toward the strange wooden table.

"What is that thing, anyway? They won't tell me."

Miles narrows his eyes at Connor. "Not a history buff like your old man, I guess?"

"Not really."

Miles shrugs. "Probably better that you don't know. Just be ready."

"Ready for what?" Connor asks.

"You can hold your breath, right?"

Connor is confused but nods. "Well, yeah. Sure."

"Good." Miles starts to walk away.

"Miles, what about my Dad? Why isn't he here with you?"

"He's getting the president. We need to save you but we also need to stop this stupid war between Cali and Texas."

"Where is he right now?

"Probably fighting the urge to slice the President's throat, although I do kind of hope he waits just a bit."

"Why did he send you instead of helping me himself? Why isn't he here?" Connor is bitter.

"That was my call. Your Dad cares too much. If he was here, he wouldn't be able to walk away and leave you until later. He'd do something stupid and then I'd have to break you both out or watch you both die. Not in a hurry to do either."

"Oh."

"I gotta get out of here. Heather isn't going to be able to distract them forever." Miles starts to walk away again.

"Hey wait. When do I hold my breath?"

Miles glances over his shoulder, his expression is grim. "Oh, you'll know. Gotta go kid. See you tonight."

The late afternoon sky is golden with the promise of sunset as Charlie and Bass herd President Davis to the rendezvous point. When Miles had suggested the church as a meeting place, both Bass and Charlie had been less than thrilled. They think of this as their space now, and hate to share it.

Miles had convinced them that it was the best location for the meeting he had in mind, as it is located on an easily accessible road and is not far from the heart of town.

The President looks around the dank interior of the old church and scowls. "Why are we here?"

"Just sit down. You'll see soon enough."

Bass pulls Charlie close and lowers his voice so that only she can hear. "Miles should be here soon."

"Yeah."

"When are you going to tell him? About your Mom?"

Charlie shakes her head. "Not yet. Not till after this Davis bullshit is behind us and Connor is okay. We're going to have enough going on tonight without that getting out. Same with Grandpa. I already talked to Aaron about it. We'll break the news to them later."

Bass nods, understanding.

They both glance up as the door opens and Miles walks in, followed by Heather. When Miles sees the President, he smiles at Bass and gives him a little nod.

Bass nods back.

Miles walks right over to Davis and kneels down in front of him. "Hey Mr. President, you probably won't remember me, but we met once. This was years ago. You gave a speech at a USO event in Afghanistan. Afterwards, we were seated at the same table for dinner."

"I don't remember meeting you, but I know who you are." Davis snarls. "You aren't going to get away with any of this. You are a traitor and you and your friends are all going to pay for your actions with your lives. The Monroe kid will be the first to go. He won't be the last."

Miles stands slowly, shaking his head. "Some things never change. You were an ass when I met you at that dinner. You are an ass now."

"You'd better let me go." Just a hint of desperation can now be heard in Davis's voice.

Miles sighs. "Nah. You're a piece of shit. Screw you for everything you're trying to do to this country."

"That's precious, Matheson. You and Monroe did more than your fair share to ruin it long ago."

"Well, we had good intentions. Things just got out of hand."

Davis opens his mouth to retort, but the front doors of the church bang open and Patriot soldiers spill into the space.

"Shit," Bass mutters, pulling Charlie closer.

"What the hell?" Miles asks, glaring at the intruders.

"Arrest them all!" Davis bellows, with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Better yet, shoot them right now. No need to wait for a trial."

Miles and Bass are both forced to their knees. Davis grins at them. "I told you it was over. You idiot sons of bitches. The world already thinks Monroe's kid killed Carver. Now when I tell them you tried to assassinate me, on behalf of Cali of course, they'll have no choice but to believe me."

"Nobody would ever believe we were in league with Affleck. You should really do your homework. Never did get along when we had the Republic."

"Whatever. I'll blame Texas then. It's all the same to me. As long Texas and California obliterate each other, I really don't give a shit which side you fall on. All that matters is that you fall."

Bass speaks up. "What's your endgame, anyway? You think the old US of A is gonna come roaring back? What about the plains nations? The Wasteland? What about the fallout zones in the East?"

"All in good time, my boy. This is just phase one. Texas and Cali are too unwieldy. Too independent. Can't have that. Once they fall, the rest will be easy. Thank you for helping set this all up. I'm not sure I could have planned this better, to be honest."

"We feel the same way," Miles says with a smile. He yells over his shoulder, "You got all that back there?" The men who are dressed as Patriot soldiers slowly lower their weapons.

Doctor Gene Porter leads General Frank Blanchard into the old sanctuary. "Yeah." Frank says, his eyes are narrowed into angry slits. "Got all we need. You know, Davis? You are a way bigger piece of horse shit than I'd ever even expected."

"Wait!" Davis says, looking anxiously back and forth. "It's not what you think. They made me say those things."

"Sure they did."

Davis looks over at the soldier who had been standing closest to Bass. "Arrest them. Arrest all of them! Do it now!"

Miles shakes his head. "You see, Davis. These guys are with us. Not you. Nobody is getting arrested today. Well, none of us, anyway."

Miles and Bass are smiling as they watch Davis absorb the news. Charlie is watching too, at first. Suddenly she fills a chill and remembers vividly her mother's words from the dream. "It's time for you to be the woman you always were meant to be. Time for you to take control of your own destiny…"

Charlie isn't sure what it is about the one man in khaki that makes her look his way, but she can see in his eyes that he's not at all what he seems. As the man raises his gun, aiming at Frank Blanchard's head, Charlie does not hesitate. She raises her bow and plants a bolt in the imposter's skull.

Everyone stares at her. "What the hell?" Joe asks. "He was helping us."

Charlie shakes her head. "No. He wasn't. He was a Patriot plant. Was getting ready to shoot Blanchard. I'm guessing he has one of those numbers in his eye."

Joe's face pales. "Shit."

Frank Blanchard makes his way over to Charlie, ignoring Davis who won't shut up. "Hey there. What's your name?"

"Charlotte Matheson, Sir. Miles is my uncle."

Blanchard nods approvingly. "You saved my life. You ever need anything – anything at all, you find me and it's yours. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you two idiots." Frank says to Bass and Miles. "Might need your help wrapping up some of this Patriot bullshit. You interested?"

Miles nods, "Yeah. We're interested and you know us. We'll be around."

Frank tips his hat and then he and the rest of the men Joe had rounded up, take Davis and pile into the wagon Gene had used to bring Blanchard to Willoughby.

No sooner have the front doors of the church closed, then Miles and Monroe are barking orders at Joe, Heather, Scanlon and Gene.

"Do we have time?" Scanlon looks nervous.

"We'd better. We have an execution to stop."

Charlie puts a hand on Miles's shoulder. "Why didn't we get Frank and his guys to help us?"

Bass answers for his friend. "We're using methods that they might not approve of, Charlie."

Miles nods. "We're solidly in Plan B territory now. These bastards have to pay." His face softens slightly as he looks into Charlie's eyes. "It'll be okay, Kid. Just don't tell your Mom. All right?"

Charlie chokes back a lump in her throat but nods. "I won't tell."

They all ride into town, keeping their horses to the back roads.

Bass pulls up next to Joe. "It's time to go do your thing."

Joe nods and motions for Heather to follow him.

Miles watches them disappear into the fading sun before turning to Scanlon. "Is everything in place?"

"Yeah, Boss. We're ready. Your friend is watching the stuff."

"What friend?"

"Pittman. Him and his wife stayed with it and they're keeping an eye on the activity in the town square too." He tosses a large canvas bag to Miles. "Hey. You'll need these."

Miles opens the bag and glances inside. He nods his thanks and throws the bag over his shoulder.

Bass shakes his head. "You look like a very skinny, very dirty version of Santa."

Miles rolls his eyes. "Well, I do spread joy wherever I go."

Bass chuckles. "That is true."

As they head toward the door, Bass frowns. "You owe me one, Miles. I really wanted to slice up that son of a bitch, Davis."

Miles shrugs. "Pretty sure that where he's going, he'll be wishing you'd sliced him up too. Death would be a vacation compared to where he's headed."

Bass thinks about this for a moment. The prisons in Texas have become legendary, and not in a good way. He smiles slowly. "That does help."

The two old friends lock eyes. Under the levity and calm exteriors, they both know that this is an important mission. Maybe the most important one that they've been on in a long while.

Bass nods at Miles and reaches for Charlie's hand. "Let's do this."

Connor Bennett has always prided himself on being a tough guy, but as he begins to feel the stretch of the rack's pulleys, he's not able to hide his fear. Tears fall unbidden and he wishes for the millionth time that he hadn't been such an idiot.

So, his dad didn't want to reclaim the Monroe Republic? Big fucking deal. At least when he was with his Dad and Miles, he'd been relatively safe. These crazy Patriot assholes were going to kill him before Connor can even get a chance to apologize to his old man.

His thoughts briefly turn to Miles Matheson. That bastard had promised they'd save him, but Connor has given up all hope of that happening. He figures Miles was telling the truth about having a plan, but clearly something has gone horribly wrong. Miles is nowhere to be seen.

Connor feels the cranks tighten again. The pull is more discomfort than actual pain at this point, but he knows the pain is coming. Truman had told him what to expect: dislocated joints, separated tendons, stretched muscle fibers, and eventual death.

He just hopes the death comes before the dismemberment.

"Hey Staypuft! Good to see you. Heard you helped Scanlon get everything ready?" Bass's voice is light but his jaw is tight with tension.

Aaron shrugs nervously. "I think so. Not sure. This is my very first foray into preparing weapons of mass destruction."

"Simmer down, George W," Miles drawls. "It looks good. Let's go."

"What do you want me to do again?" Aaron asks with a panicked voice.

"When we're in position, turn the nozzle." Scanlon shrugs. "Thought you were real smart?"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "I am, you know, real smart. I'm also really nervous."

"Well stop. My Granny always said worry is useless."

"Okay. Let me see if I got this. Turn the nozzle when you are in position, and try not to worry. Anything else?"

Scanlon grins. "Couldn't hurt to pray, I guess. Then he lowers his gas mask and leaves the small space.

Aaron feels a slow wave of calm settle over him. "Pray? Well, THAT is something I can do."

Connor concentrates on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The pull in his shoulders and hips has begun in earnest and he knows things will only get worse. When he first hears the cries, he ignores them. After all, he has enough on his plate.

In. Out. In. Out.

But then he smells it. That same cloying odor he remembers from the mustard gas attack. Suddenly Miles Matheson's voice is loud in his memory. "You can hold your breath, right?"

Connor sucks in deeply and holds his breath. He cranks his eyes shut as well, having heard that the gas can cause serious eye injury.

It feels like forever, but is actually less than a minute before he feels a gas mask being shoved onto his face. He waits till it's fastened around his head before he opens his eyes. Through the haze of the dusty viser and plumes of yellow smoke that billow all around them, he can see the unmistakable eyes of his father. He is also wearing a mask.

Bass's voice is muffled, but Connor can hear him plain enough. "Stick with me this time, okay kid?"

Miles appears and begins to unwind the handles that had cranked the pulleys tight. Connor feels some relief in his arms and legs and lets out a relieved cry. Bass and Miles untie his hands and feet and pull him to a sitting position.

Everywhere Connor looks, he sees golden clouds of gas and Patriots. They are dead, and not all from the gas. Scanlon, also wearing a mask, is systematically shooting any of the soldiers who move or squirm.

Connor finds himself propped up between the two Generals. His legs don't feel right and he can't walk, so he's very thankful for their help. Charlie comes running up. She is also wearing a mask, but her eyes behind the visor are wide and worried. "He got away!" she yells.

"Who did?" Miles asks.

"Ed Truman!"

Patriot Camp just outside of Austin, Texas

There are a group of Patriot soldiers standing in a long abandoned airport hangar. They are reviewing maps and going over strategy when two surprise visitors appear.

Generals Miles Matheson and Bass Monroe stand shoulder to shoulder with the bright morning sunlight at their back. Neither speaks as they are joined by two more visitors. A young man with curly black hair and a limp comes to a stop next to Matheson. And on Monroe's other side, a beautiful woman with long golden curls and a bow slung over one shoulder comes to a stop as well. She tucks a thumb into a chain belt that dangles low on her hips and tilts her head, watching the men around the table.

The most senior of the Patriot officers takes a step forward. "What's this all about?"

Before anyone has a chance to answer, Frank Blanchard joins the others near the open door along with six Texas Rangers. The Rangers all point their weapons at the men standing around the table.

"What's going on?" the officer asks again. Worry is now evident on his features.

Bass's lips twist into something that is almost a smile. "I think they call this the end of a treaty."

Miles grins and nods to Bass. "What he said."

The two old friends share a look. Bass's smile grows. The Rangers open fire on the Patriots and the men in khaki fall to the ground in a bloody heap as everyone files out.

The Patriot War has begun.

Later that day, Miles sits next to Charlie. The air is cool and the breeze blows her long curls softly around her shoulders. "Hey, Kid," Miles says.

"Hey yourself."

"So, I've been thinking."

She raises an eyebrow. "What about?"

"You and Bass. I think you should give it a shot. A real one. Your Mom and I, we never really had a chance, you know? But maybe you guys…maybe you do."

"Is this your version of giving us your blessing?"

Miles shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about your Mom, Charlie. I wish she was here. Wish your Dad was still here. Danny." He shakes his head. "Now that they're all gone, you're stuck with me. And so yeah. I guess this is me giving you my blessing."

"Thanks. That means a lot. It really does." Charlie's eyes are wet. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You have my blessing too, you know?"

"Huh?"

Charlie smirks. "You and Heather?"

Miles shrugs, embarrassed. "I'm too old for that shit."

"But you like her?"

"Yeah. I guess I like her, a little."

Another week passes.

Gene Porter visits the graveyard every day. He had a headstone put next to his late wife's for Rachel. Even though her body is not here, it still gives him a symbolic place to go and talk with her. He misses his daughter terribly, but is trying to stay strong for Charlie.

He wipes at damp eyes and tamps the ground around her marker with the shovel he'd brought along. A small yellow rose bush is now planted on either side of Rachel's tombstone. He thinks she would have approved. Standing slowly, he heaves a heavy sigh.

Next, he walks to the other side of the cemetery where Marion has been buried next to her father. In some ways, her death is more painful than his own daughter's. He supposes this is because he feels responsible. Gene slows as he sees someone else already at Marion's grave.

Ed Truman is here.

Gene feels his heartbeat thunder in his chest as fury overwhelms him. He closes his eyes for just a moment, reminding himself of the hippocratic oath he'd taken when he first became a doctor. "First do no harm."

Gene walks quietly. His footsteps are soundless against the backdrop of the blustery day. Truman never knows what hits him. Gene slams the shovel into the Patriot's head hard enough that the crack sounds like a gunshot.

Truman crumples limply to the ground. Blood pools around his head.

Gene thinks about that oath one more time, but doesn't dwell on it. Surely there are exceptions to every rule. Even that one.

He uses his little shovel to bury Truman and then he goes home. For the first time since all this had started, Gene finally feels lighter. As he walks, a slow smile forms on his features and he whistles softly.

Frank Blanchard had been true to his word. When Charlie had asked for a house to live in at the close of the Patriot War, Blanchard had given her the keys to a two story colonial on the edge of Austin. She and Bass had moved in the next day. Miles had asked if he could crash on the couch for a few days as well.

It's been six weeks.

He's still there most of the time, although Heather has become a frequent visitor of late. Charlie is pretty sure that it won't be long before those two find a place of their own.

She rolls over into Bass's arms. "I don't think I'll ever get used to clean sheets and a mattress." Her voice is still heavy with sleep, but she is smiling happily. Half asleep or not, she loves this house. She loves sharing this house with her man.

Bass pulls her close. "And I don't think I'll ever get used to waking up every day with you in my bed."

Charlie wakes up fully, pulling herself up onto her knees and throwing one leg over him so that she straddles his waist. "This is good, isn't it? I think I love our life here."

"And I think I love you."

"You're just saying that because I'm naked and sitting on you." She smirks, rolling her hips so that her wet center strokes his hardening length.

Bass groans. "No, Baby. Love you no matter what, but this is good too."

She leans down to kiss him, her lips playing softly against his as she lines his cock up with her drenched opening. Charlie impales herself on his cock slowly, taking him inch by luxurious inch. She throws her head back as she begins to ride. "Love you too, Bass."

This never gets old.

Later, she collapses on top of him. They are both sweaty and shaking, limbs heavy with exhaustion and release. "So glad you came after me," she says softly.

He runs his fingers through her hair, holding her close. "What do you mean?"

"That day when we were looking for Miles. Just think how different everything would have gone if you hadn't found me. If you had gone a different way…" her voice trails off as she snuggles into his chest.

Bass feels his heart constrict. The what ifs are too many and he is eternally grateful that he went the way he did that day long ago.

"I'll never be sorry that I chose the path that lead me to you."

"Mmmm. This was how it was all meant to be, don't you think?"

"Yeah, Baby. Yeah, I do."

**END**

The Road Not Taken (Excerpt)
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth…

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference