Bass frowned as he went for watch only to find Miles still sitting beside the camp fire. "What are you doing up?" he asked. "Thought you were off watch hours ago."

"I was," Miles agreed.

"So why are you still up?"

Miles sighed as he took a long drink of whiskey. "I'm tired, Bass."

"Like I said, go to sleep. I'm not going to murder you or the kid while you catch some shut eye."

Instead of coming up with some witty quip, Miles just shook his head. "Not that kind of tired, Bass."

Bass quickly sobered. This was dangerous talk for two people who hadn't been friends in a very long time. Bass knew more about Miles than anyone else but this had always been the hardest secret to keep. The fact that not all the scars on Miles' body had been inflicted by other people. "Thought life was going pretty well for you," he said neutrally.

Miles snorted with dark humor. "Yeah, life is just great right now," he snapped. He ran a hand over his face. "I've been doing this too long, brother."

Bass tried not to notice the way the old nickname slipped out. "What makes you say that?"

"We've been fighting one war or another since we were 18. Nothing's fucking changed. Except we got power and looked how we fucked that up. It's just…god, Bass, giving in would be so much easier."

"Come on, don't talk like that. You got your niece—"

Miles' pained laugh cut him off. "Yeah, Charlie's turning out great isn't she? I've fucked up with her almost as badly as I did with you. Girl should have stayed in her village and left all of us alone."

"What about Rachel? You finally get to be with her right?"

"I raped her Bass. I raped her and I tortured her and whatever relationship we have is a joke because whatever white knight she thinks she turned me into is a lie. I will always be General Matheson. I don't' know how to be anyone else any more." Miles took a drink of whiskey and added in softer tone, "I want to just be numb again."

Bass wanted to help his friend, he really did. But he had seen Miles in this state before. Bass could argue with him until he was blue in the face but it wouldn't change anything. Miles had dug himself into a hole that he would refuse to escape from. In fact the downward spiral was at a dangerous point already. The most Bass could do was get him away from the immediate danger and then see if he could patch the other man up tomorrow.

He used to have a whole bag of tricks to solve the problem in front of him. Picking a fight wouldn't work because the others would wake up and get in the middle. A good orgasm could sometimes mind wipe Miles enough that Bass could at least get him back to bed. Not going to happen with the way things were between them. So there was only one option. Forceful and direct. "Alright, give it to me," he declared, holding out a hand. Miles looked at him. "You heard me, hand it over. You're not going to need it right now anyway."

"Dick," Miles muttered as he handed over his knife.

"The rest of them too," Bass insisted.

"I don't' have anything else."

"Yeah, you can lie to your girls and shitty MD back there but I know you too well. Fork over the rest of them."

Two more knives, a razor and rusty box cutter he must have picked up on the road were put into Bass' hand. Bass frowned at the last one as he held it up to the fire light. "Did you plan to give yourself tetanus too? You just got over blood poisoning."

"Do you always have to be such an asshole?"

"Yes." Bass pulled out his own flask. "Take this, go to your bed roll and drink it. Then sleep. We'll talk tomorrow when you're more…Miles."

Miles looked like he wanted to argue but instead he took the flask and started got up. He turned towards his bedroll and stopped. "Why are you doing this?"

Bass shrugged. "You said yourself we're still brothers."

"Yeah and I've said a lot of other not so nice stuff since then."

"Hey, you can hate me all you want. Doesn't mean the feeling is mutual."

It wasn't a satisfying answer but Miles wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd get anything better until the morning. So he did as Bass asked and went back to his bed. Bass sat at the fire and turned the objects over in his hands. The knife had to stay. It had been in the Matheson family for three generations and Miles would destroy him if it went missing. The other tools though…those Bass would bury once Miles was asleep. He'd find some out of the way place and bury them as deep as he could. Just like he had so many times before.

A/N: I was hoping giving Miles cutting urges would cure mine. It didn't but it did distract me for a while.