Life after the patriots, for the most part, had been quiet. Rachel helped Gene in town, taking care of the residents and providing medical care for all. She remembered life before the blackout and wanted nothing more than to get back to a stable life. One where they weren't constantly looking over their shoulder for the next threat, or waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Rachel, this was as close to normal as she was going to get, and for the first time in a long time, she was okay with settling.

Of course, she didn't settle down alone, Miles followed her as per Charlie's pep talk, encouraging him to give it a shot. He had loved Rachel, practically his whole life, and Charlie's blessing was icing on the cake, sealing the deal. He was good at other things before the blackout, but war drained him, mentally and physically. Going back to his roots, he tried once again to open up a bar, hoping this time some whiny, annoying, pain in the ass, brat kid wouldn't show up and turn his life upside down. Although, he was never more thankful for a person coming into his life than Charlie. A positive and influential figure on his life, she had a huge hand in shaping him into the man he was today. Less plagued with grief, anger, guilt, he was now free to live out the rest of his life in contentment.

Charlie however was a different story. She went willingly with her mother and Miles, even helped them both, dabbling as medic and barkeep. Nothing she ever did seemed to satisfy her the way she felt before when there was a goal and enemy to defeat. Back when she felt she had a purpose. She would never admit it out loud, but fighting is what kept her going, fueling her momentum, and now that it was gone, she was crashing.

She wouldn't tell anyone this, but Bass knew, he could see it in her eyes, in her body language. She doubted her own skills, and questioned where she belonged with the fight over. Bass knew these feelings and thoughts all too well, if he weren't tired himself, he would probably be feeling the same way. He had enough fighting to last a lifetime, and when a position opened up with the local law enforcement in town, he all but jumped at the chance. Of course, someone else was running the show and calling the shots. Bass was not cut out to be a leader that much was fact. He didn't mind taking the backseat on this one, it gave him time to spend with Connor, and even help Miles out at the bar from time to time.

Sitting at the bar one evening, drowning her boredom and sorrows in Johnnie Walker, it took all she had not to creep closer when hushed talk about fighting broke her out of her reverie.

"It was somewhere out in the plains nation I heard," one guy spoke up.

The other man paused before speaking, "what the hell you goin' on about now?"

"Remember that fight club wannabe shit in New Vegas? Well I heard some guys were forming a similar thing, only this is real deal fighting, not that dirty ass, grimy shit."

"They just fought a war, what's the point in beating the shit out of each other now?"

Charlie could hear the guy shrug, "beats me, I guess they're tired of twiddling their thumbs, you know how those kind of men are."

The guy's voice dropped to such a low whisper, Charlie strained to hear, "I heard talk of them preparing."

"Preparing for what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, I'm only going off what I heard."

And that was enough for Charlie. She remembered New Vegas very well, and while she agreed it was filthy, there was something thrilling about it. Granted, at the time she didn't think so, she was only concerned with killing Monroe. But looking back on it, during her second trip to New Vegas, there was something poetic and enticing about the fighting that took place.

She smiled and shortly laughed to herself, never imagining those thoughts would be her own.

"What's so funny kid?"

Snapping her head up, she met Miles' curious gaze as he wiped down the countertop.

She shook her head, "nothing, just thinking."

Without missing a beat, she stood up from the barstool, "thanks for the drink Uncle Miles. I'll see you around."

Pulling her arms through her jacket, she offered him a light smile, which he returned, but not without confusion etched across his face. Her tone was laced with a sense of finality, like she was hinting at something. He didn't get a chance to ask her about it, a hand shot up signaling they wanted another round, but he made a mental note to ask her what the hell was going on with her lately.

He noticed she didn't seem to be herself lately, shit, even Bass noticed it and mentioned it to Miles many times. If Bass could pick up on it, then it must've been painfully obvious.

That wasn't the case, it wasn't noticeable, but Bass knew her better than she knew herself because he was her at one point.

So as soon as she left the bar, cool air rushing from behind to dislocate pieces of hair from behind her ears, he followed her.

Bass just finished working and intended to get drunk at the bar, it was a shitty day, but thankfully it was over. He made it halfway there when he saw Charlie out of the corner of his eye, lost in thought. It was unusual for her not to always be glancing around, taking in her surroundings. She was always on alert. That was his warning sign.

She only made it a few steps when she felt it, that all too familiar feeling. It was his presence, "what?"

Barking the question out, she didn't bother to turn around.

She didn't have to turn around because when she raised her head, she met his gaze dead on, "where are you going?"

"Home."

Brows knitting together and a frown forming on his lips, he shook his head, "where are you going Charlotte?"

The enunciation of her full name, and the effortless way it glided off his lips irritated her to no end.

Putting her hands on her hips, she rolled her eyes, "I already told you, Monroe," she spat out his name in the same manner he did, "I'm going home."

"Listen, I don't have time to talk you out of doing something stupid, I've had a long day and I'm tired. But believe me, I know that look when I see it, and it's all over your face."

Mutely she said nothing, who was he to tell her what to do and what not to do. She never listened to Miles, whom she loved and mildly respected, why in the hell would she listen to Monroe?

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair, "just…don't do anything stupid right now okay? Wait until morning, you're not thinking clearly."

His voice started out in a quiet, low tone, but by the end Charlie could tell he was losing his patience with her unreadable expression.

"Whatever idea you have forming around in that crazy little head of yours, just forget it," he snapped at her, pointing a finger at her in a scolding manner.

She got enough of that treatment from her mom, with the occasional disapproving glance from her grandfather, she didn't need it from Monroe too.

As soon as he skulked away she made up her mind, she was leaving. Not because of what he said, if anything he was wrong.

For weeks she felt like she was living in a haze, murkiness surrounding her on all sides, offering zero visibility. She couldn't see the path in front of her, or below her feet, yet she mindlessly kept walking in hopes of clarity. Eavesdropping on the conversation at the bar shattered all of the engulfing fog. Her mind was the clearest it had ever been.

She was leaving. She knew he would get mad, but she did it anyway.