Bass walked with trepidation down the jetway towards the terminal, every step making his reason for coming home a little more real. The lack of sleep and constant flights over the past two days added a surreal quality to his surroundings. After six flights and spending endless hours haunting the various airports, he'd finally arrived at Indianapolis International.
His CO had immediately approved his request for emergency leave, but there hadn't been time to arrange a more direct route from Iraq to the states. The man was even now trying to pull some strings to get Miles approved for leave on this short of notice. He knew that the two sergeants were brothers, despite their lack of consanguinity. At a time like this, Monroe needed any family he could get. With any luck, Miles would be on a flight in the next few days. But, until then Bass would have to find a way to deal with all of this without his friend. The Colonel had told them that since they had only a few weeks left before they were scheduled to report to Parris Island he would see what he could do to keep them from having to return to finish their tour after their leave had ended. The military hated to bend the rules for anyone, but with the scheduled pullout, there would be little point in them being sent back.
After what felt like the longest hike in his entire life, Bass finally made it into the terminal. He looked around, taking in everything around him. He walked over to a set of monitors and scanned the arrival list for his flight's number. Finding the listing, he noted the carousel number that had been assigned to his flight. He slowly headed towards the baggage claim area. That's where she would be waiting for him. Long gone were the days that your friends and family could wait by the gates for your arrival. It made getting picked up at the airport more complicated and lonely, but in this case it gave him needed time to compose himself.
He ducked into the men's room closest to the baggage carousels. He stood there for several moments, just staring into the mirror. He looked like shit, and he knew it. The dark circles under his eyes only highlighted how bloodshot they were. He looked tired and used up, and he desperately needed to shave. He absently scratched at the three-day old beard that had sprouted. The whiskers were starting to itch. He was, in short, a mess.
He used the urinal more out of preparation for the two hour drive ahead than out of any need to use it. Washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror again. He didn't want anyone he knew to see him like this. He turned the water on cold and rinsed his face. The water revived him some, even if it didn't improve his appearance. Drying his face with a paper towel, he took one last look before he picked up his bag and walked out of the restroom, and headed to carousel 7.
He quickly found his duffle. It was the only bag left on the carousel. He must have taken longer than he'd realized. The baggage claim area was almost deserted. He looked around, but didn't see her. Must be running late, he thought to himself. So he sat on one of the hard plastic chairs and waited. He could feel himself starting to doze off when he heard her approach him from behind. Eight years in the marines had trained him to pick up sounds without even realizing it. He raised his head to meet Rachel Matheson's gaze.
"Sorry I'm late, Bass," she said quietly. "Danny is sick again, and they had to take him in. I got stuck on the phone." She felt horrible for her tardiness. She couldn't imagine what it was like for him. Miles' plea to her had been very clear – whatever she did, don't make him do this alone.
He slowly rose to his feet. "It's okay," was all he said as he picked up his backpack and duffle. Wordlessly, he gestured for her to lead the way. She walked past him and led him through the exit and into the garage, towards the rental car she'd picked up the day before when she'd arrived from Chicago. They walked in utter silence, finally arriving at the car after a few minutes. She watched him with concern as he stowed his bags in the trunk and slid into the passenger seat.
As they drove, she took sidelong glances at him. He stared at the window the entire way. She could see the reflection of his face in the glass. The expression on his face worried her. In the five years that she'd known him she'd never seen him like this. His eyes were normally almost constantly lit up with amusement. Now, it was like the light had gone out. He was lifeless. Maybe it was just the jet lag, but there was something that just made her uneasy. It was like he was empty. Maybe her parents could stay in Chicago with the kids for a few more days, and Ben could come down and help her until Miles could get in. She'd already received a text that Danny just needed a breathing treatment and would be fine. The cold had just triggered an asthma attack.
It was well after two in the morning when she pulled into the motel parking lot. Rachel was suddenly thankful she'd had the forethought to rent them both rooms here. The clerk had been friends with Ben in high school. When he'd seen Bass' name included in the reservation, he'd bent a few rules so that Bass didn't have to check in when they got there. He'd said it was the least he could do, all things considered.
Rachel led him to their adjacent rooms and opened the door for him. She walked in, leaving him to follow her. She set the room keycard down on the nightstand and turned on the lamp. She watched him drop his bags without ceremony and sink into the room's only chair. He leaned on his knees, his hands rubbing his face, as if the action would somehow help keep him awake. She didn't quite know what to do with herself. She considered him a friend, family even. But, she wasn't as close to him as Ben was, which in turn was nowhere near as close as Miles was.
She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, a simple gesture of comfort and friendship. "Hey, get some sleep okay? The appointment isn't until one." He nodded in response, looking up her. "I'm right next door if you need me. I'll come get you around eleven. Maybe we can get a bite to eat before?" Again, a nod.
She left him alone then. He sat there for several minutes, face in hands, unmoving. His eyes burned with the tears that he'd refused to shed these past few days. He looked up and eyed the mini fridge in the corner. He went to it and opened it. Much to his relief, he saw the little bottles lined up on one side. He grabbed as many as he could hold and moved to the bed. He sat down, lining them up on the nightstand like tiny little soldiers. He smiled grimly at that allusion. He laid there in his fatigues and grabbed one at random. Opening the bottle, he down its contents while he reached for the television remote. He grimaced at the taste of very cheap tequila. He turned out the light and sat there flipping channels. He wasn't really watching anything. He reached for another little airplane bottle, and drank while he flipped through the channels a second time. He had no recollection of what was on any of the channels. It was just something to keep him occupied while he drank. This continued over the course of the next hour, until he ran out of the mini bottles. He then turned off the tv and stared at the ceiling. Drunk and alone in the darkness, his eyes once again threatened him with tears. Refusing to give in, he laid there staring up until exhaustion finally overtook him.
Bass woke up to the sound of a gentle rapping on the door the next morning. He looked around in a slight panic at his unfamiliar surroundings before it all came rushing back to him. Where he was, why he was here. He stumbled over to the door, fumbling with the handle for a second before opening it. Rachel stood there, that same damn look of concern on her face. He backed away from the door, letting her in. "What time is it?" He finally spoke as he sank back onto the bed.
She sat down in the chair, trying very hard not to notice the dozen or so empty airplane bottles scattered on the nightstand . "Not quite eleven. Ready to go?"
He almost laughed at that. He was never less ready for something in his life. "Give me twenty?"
Rachel stood and walked towards the door. "Just come get me when you're ready, okay?"
He headed towards the bathroom as she left the room. He turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot as he unlaced his boots and stripped down to his dog tags. Bass stepped into the hot spray and stood there for a few minutes before he reached for the small bottle of shampoo the housekeeping service had left him. As he finished his shower it hit him that he was numb. He knew that the water beating down on him was too hot. He could see his skin turning red, but it was like he couldn't even feel it. Maybe it was the hangover layered with the jet lag? He turned off the water and hurried to dry off. Rachel would come looking for him if he took forever.
Bass rushed to get dressed, putting on clean fatigues. Since he'd spent most of his adult life in the military, he didn't bother with keeping an apartment. He stayed on base when he was stationed stateside. If he and Miles took leave together and didn't come home to either Chicago or Jasper, he just wore the fatigues. Any civilian clothes he owned were at his family's home in town. As he laced his boots it hit him that he'd have to go to the house sooner or later, if anything to get clothes. Soon after, he knocked on Rachel's door. She opened it quickly, stepping out with purse and jacket in hand. She had been about to leave to check on him when he'd knocked.
The got into the car and she headed over to a diner in what was considered downtown Jasper. As she drove she glanced at him. He looked a bit more alert, but still looked exhausted. She wondered briefly if he'd even really slept. It didn't take long to reach their destination. Jasper was a fairly small town.
The Bass that sat before her in the small both was not the man she'd come to know. The Bass she knew was always talking, laughing, moving. Now he was so withdrawn into himself, he looked like an empty shell. She eyed him with concern as he ordered only coffee. She knew he'd been drinking last night and needed to eat something. She was willing to bet he hadn't eaten a thing in the past few days. She'd ordered entirely too much food for herself, hoping she could pawn some of it off on him, force him to at least eat something. He sat sullenly, staring into her coffee, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Suddenly it hit her, he probably knew quite a few of the diner's patrons. This was a smaller town, and he had spent his whole life here before joining the Marines with Miles. She looked around as nonchalantly as she could. She noticed that there were a few people staring at him with concern and pity. Most of the town had likely heard about what had happened. News always traveled fast in small towns. He was deliberately trying to make himself invisible.
In truth, he was actually terrified of looking up. He certainly knew almost everyone in the diner, and if he even accidently made eye contact, he would be bombarded with condolences and questions. He simply didn't have the energy to talk about it. Not yet.
An elderly couple slowed as they walked near the table. The woman looked as though she was about to say something to them. Rachel gave her a beseeching look. The woman empathetically understood, and with a nod, simply walked past.
Bass finished nibbling on the piece of bacon Rachel had snuck onto the saucer his coffee rested on. He knew what Rachel was doing, and he supposed she was right. He did need to eat. But right now, food tasted like ashes in his mouth. He forced himself to choke down a piece of toast as well before he pulled out his wallet and threw down a twenty and a few ones. "I gotta get out of here, Rachel. I'll meet you there at quarter till?"
She looked up at him, seeing the panic on his face. "Okay," she breathed. She watched him sadly as he all but ran out of the diner. She finished her oatmeal in silence, lost in her worry over him. She almost jumped when her phone rang. She checked the caller id. Unknown. It occurred to her that it might be Miles. She added a five to the money Bass had left, knowing the waitress would be happy with her tip, and picked up her jacket and purse. She answered the phone as soon as she reached the door. "Hello?"
Miles' voice was indeed on the other end. "Rachel?" The connection was horrible. "Did he get there?"
Rachel put on her jacket. Even though it was damn near noon, it was still fairly chilly. "Yeah. He got in late last night."
"How's he doing?"
Rachel fumbled with her car keys while she considered how to answer him. "Not great. Not really eating, barely talking. And, I'm pretty sure he emptied out the minibar last night. Oh, and he just pretty much ditched me at breakfast."
"Well, when you see him, let him know I'll be heading out tomorrow. I can catch a transport to Germany in the morning, and if all works out I can take the red-eye to Chicago tomorrow night. I'll send you the flight info for Indy when I have it."
She closed her eyes and sighed in relief. When he got here, Miles would know what to do. "I'll let him know."
"Okay. I've got some things to do before I can leave," he paused for a moment. "Oh, and Rachel?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for doing this. For taking care of him. I know you've got a lot on your plate with Danny and work and all. It means a lot."
Rachel nodded silently, as if he could actually see her. "See you in a couple days. Bye Miles."
"Bye." It was still difficult to talk to him sometimes. He had ended their affair four years ago. He had tried to completely avoid his brother because of it. It had been Bass that had forced him to visit, and over time things began to heal. Bass had been raised in such a close family, that it went without saying that family was everything. He'd hated seeing Miles and Ben estranged, so he'd forced it until they'd reformed a relationship. To Bass, Miles was his brother, so Ben was just as important to him. After she'd married Ben, he'd simply added her to his mental list of family. Charlie and Danny had become every bit a part of that list as well from the moment they had been born.
As much as he'd teased them growing up, Bass had loved his younger sisters very much. He'd even arranged leave the previous spring so he could be there when Cynthia, the older of his sisters was picked up by her date for her senior prom. He'd later joked that he wouldn't be able to call himself a good brother if he hadn't been there to scare the crap out of the poor kid at such an important milestone. And he really had scared her poor date, from what Rachel had been told.
That closeness had meant that Bass held the idea of family very dear. Having to bury them all, she knew he needed someone there. He didn't have any other relatives. All four of his grandparents were long dead and his parents had both been only children. Both Miles and Ben had been worried sick about him when they'd heard the news. That worry was the only thing that had been able to drag Rachel from her sickly infant son. Unfortunately, Ben had already scheduled a meeting with Randall Flynn about their project that could not be delayed given the circumstances. Her own parents had been a godsend flying out from Texas at the drop of a hat to stay with the kids so she could help Bass now.
She sat in the car, making calls home to check on Danny and find out how that unavoidable meeting had gone. She was checking her email on her phone when the passenger door opened, and Bass slid in. He looked more composed now. "Better?" she asked him, trying to sound as casual as she could. She knew that pity and concern were the last things he wanted now.
He fastened the seatbelt while he thought about her question. "Yeah. Sorry."
Rachel fastened her own belt now and put the car in gear. "It's okay. Why don't we head over now?"
Bass closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it, the moment of truth. "Yeah, let's get this over with." Rachel drove over to the Jasper County medical examiner's office. She gave him a few minutes to prepare himself to go in. Bass knew he was shaking by the time she parked. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get it under control. This was just one hard moment in a long list of other hard moments that he'd have to face in the coming weeks.
He felt like he was in a dream as he made his way across the parking lot. Steeling himself at the entrance, he walked through the automatic doors and up to the window. Rachel hung back. She was there for him, but knew he needed to see this through on his own.
He waited there patiently for the person behind the frosted glass to notice his silhouette. He could feel himself losing his nerve when the glass suddenly slid open to reveal the receptionist. "Can I help you?" She asked in the irritated town of an underpaid civil "servant".
It took him a moment to find his voice. "Sebastian Monroe. I have an appointment." He tried his best to keep his voice steady, but couldn't stop it from cracking a little at the end.
The receptionist softened towards him slightly. She handed him two visitors badges and gave him directions. He handed one to Rachel before heading down the hallway to the elevators. They rode down to the lower level in silence. The exited the elevator and turned left to reach their destination. The ME's assistant was there to greet them. He calmly went over the procedure.
First, as next of kin, Bass had to identify the bodies and sign for their release. Because they were technically both the victims and evidence in a crime, all personal effects would be returned by the sheriff's department within two days of the ME's release was filed. After signing, he'd receive a carbon copy to give to the funeral service he chose. He was instructed not to lose these because they would be necessary to claim the bodies. That word, bodies was offensive to Bass. This was his family the man was talking about. He clenched his jaw, and had to bite down the urge to deck the impersonal little man. Once under control, he nodded towards the assistant, and they were led into the morgue.
Rachel followed Bass sadly. He gripped her hand like it was lifeline as one by one he identified the mangled bodies of his parents and little sisters. This is it. It's real. They're really all gone, and I'm alone. He was in a daze as he signed the paperwork. He shoved the copies at Rachel and hurried out of the morgue. She raced after him. Unwilling to wait for the elevators, he took the access stairs to the main level. She panted after him as he went through the lobby and out the door. He barely made it to the bushes that lined the side of the building before he began to retch. Having very little to eat, he leaned up against the corner of the building, dry heaving and wishing for the day to simply end. Finished, he still leaned there, panting.
He felt Rachel's arms go around his shoulders. He glanced at her and could see the concern and understanding in her eyes. "Come on, let's get out of here." He straightened and let her lead him to the car. She had her arm around his waist, her hand guiding him as he half stumbled towards the rental. He let her open his car door and sat down. She walked over to the driver's side and got in. As she closed the door, she glanced over at Bass. He sat there, head in hands. She reached across the center console, and put a hand on his shoulder, offering him what comfort she could. He allowed this, and they simply sat in silence for several minutes until he finally sat straight in the seat, his eyes red, but cheeks still dry. Embarrassed, he leaned up against the door, pulling his body as far away from Rachel as he could. Starting the car she started to back out of the parking space.
"Sorry, about before…" He began, his voice sounding flat and void of emotion.
She could feel his discomfort. "You don't have too…" She trailed off, not knowing exactly how to continue.
"I'm a marine. I'm not supposed to lose it." He snapped, instantly sorry for it.
She stopped the car in the middle of the parking lot to address him. "You just did something that nobody should ever have to do. It's okay to lose it. I can't imagine what you're going through, but I don't know a single person that would handle it any better." She snapped right back.
They drove in silence back to the motel. Bass got out of the car without a word and went into his room. She knew he needed to be alone, so Rachel just went to hers without trying to stop him. The day had drained him completely. He bypassed the minibar and flopped down on the bed. Miles would be here in two days. He could hold onto that fact, as if his friend's arrival would somehow make this mess all a little better.
There were dozens of things that needed his attention. He remembered when his grandfather passed when he was ten. It was the last remaining member of his small extended family. His mother had worked tirelessly for three days to prepare for the funeral. But he had the burden of preparing for four people. And he hadn't the slightest idea where to even start. For the time being, he didn't have the energy to think about it further. The physical exhaustion of his journey coupled with his emotional strain were too much. He fell asleep, not waking until early the next morning.
Waking to the first rays of the morning's sun, Bass knew what he had to do. He took only the time to brush his teeth before packing his things. After sliding the key card to his room in the office's drop box, he took to the streets and walked through the town of Jasper. Despite his excellent physical condition, his bags were starting to make his arms numb by the time he walked up the empty drive. Setting them down on the porch, he dug through his backpack until he found his key ring. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and walked inside.
The stillness of the house was eerie. After dropping his things haphazardly by the front door, Bass aimlessly wandered from room to room. It suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in his 28 years, he was truly and irrevocably alone. Growing up he'd always had his parents and Miles. Then his sisters had come along. It had always been a full house after that. Even after leaving his family to join the marines, he was never alone. Living in barracks stateside and in in camps while on deployment, privacy had always been at a premium. With an exception for the few times he'd gone on leave without Miles, he'd always had someone around him. And, he'd always had this noisy, happy household to come back to, even when he neglected to do so.
But now, it was all gone. As he walked into the kitchen, the solitude overwhelmed him. A half-eaten pie sat on the counter covered in plastic wrap. Most likely this was the leftover from their last meal before piling into the car that night. The first signs of mold were starting to form on the top crust. It occurred to him that had he been home, there would have been no leftovers to be had. Then again, had he been home on leave, they probably wouldn't have been going to see damn Harry Potter movie that night to begin with.
Lost in his thoughts, Bass rolled up his sleeves and began to fill the sink with hot water. They had left the dessert plates in the sink, not knowing they would never return to wash them. While the sink filled, Bass scraped the molding piece of pie into the trashcan, eyes tearing up when it crossed his mind that the last piece of the last pie his mother would ever bake had now gone to waste.
As he washed the dishes sorrowfully, Bass did not notice the sound of the front door opening. Rachel found him there, bent over the sink. "I can do that," She said from behind. Not expecting her, Bass visibly jumped as he turned to face her.
Blinking back the tears that had been threatening for days, he turned back to the sink. "No, I've got it. They're just dishes."
Rachel crossed the sink to join him. She picked up the dishtowel that sat on the counter and quietly went to work drying the dishes he'd set in the rack next to the sink. For the next several minutes they cleaned up all traces of his family's last meal. It was a small gesture, but the support she now offered him helped. "I came by to see if you needed any help arranging things. I know there's a lot to do."
Bass closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I – I haven't the slightest idea where to start. I've got to go over their financials and insurance policies, and I guess I've got to call the funeral home…" His voice trailed off.
Rachel set down the towel and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll help you any way I can." Bass nodded as he drained the sink. Drying his hand on the towel Rachel had discarded he walked outside and sat down on the porch swing staring out at nothing in particular.
Later that afternoon, He sat at the desk in his father's office. Earlier Rachel had sifted through months of bank statements and copies of his family's insurance policies for him. Bass stared at the intimidating stacks of paper as he swiveled in the chair, holding a glass of his father's favorite scotch in his hands. He'd gone as far as opening Excel on the computer and labeling one column Asset and the other as Funeral Expense. He'd even formatted the columns to add and subtract. That had been two hours ago, but he hadn't as of yet picked up a single piece of paper.
Instead he spun himself around in the chair idly, going back and forth between looking at those evil statements and the ceiling. Growing up, his father had hated in when Bass and his sisters had messed with that chair. He'd always complained that they'd break it when they spun around in it. The thought brought forth an odd memory:
Bass is sixteen years old. He is stuck babysitting his youngest sister, Angela. His parents are out with his other sister Cynthia at a dance recital. Being three, Angela is into everything. Being sixteen, Bass wants nothing more than to be out of the house, messing with the current girl of the week or getting into some type of trouble with Miles. Angela has the chickenpox, hence why she is home and Bass is stuck watching her. He loves his sister, but she's on his last nerve. The illness has left her very whiney and a week of seclusion has left her very bored.
Looking for something to do, she's gone into their father's office and has climbed up on the chair. Bass has managed to catch her before she has made a complete mess of his father's desk. Bass spins Angela around in the chair. She squeals with glee, so he spins her faster. The more she squeals and giggles, the faster he spins her. Suddenly very dizzy, she tries to get down while the chair is still spinning. She slips and hits the desk, cutting her forehead.
Angela looks up at him, dazed for a minute. Bass' heart is in his throat. He picks his baby sister up, and she starts to wail as the blood drips down her forehead. She clings to him as he races down the stairs to the kitchen. He sets her on the counter as he grabs a clean dishrag and holds it to her head, all the while she is screaming. Bass starts to freak out.
One: Bass worries does she have a concussion or something? The cut is bleeding a lot.
Two: What does he do if the bleeding doesn't stop?
Three: He is so grounded.
The memory is so vivid that he can see it play out like a movie in his mind. Of course, she was fine. She stopped crying about ten minutes after it happened, and she was jumping up and down on the sofa before he'd had a chance to put a band-aid on the cut. And, he had gotten grounded for a week for the incident. The memory sparks a rage inside him. Sweet, innocent Angela was gone. The bastard that had taken her life too soon was still alive while she was no more. Never again will she be able to tease him about the incident, forever changing the details because she was too young to actually remember it.
Bass stopped spinning. He rose from the chair abruptly and threw the new empty glass at the wall, watching in slow motion as the shattered glass flew across the room. Dammit He thought to himself. Now I've got to clean that up… One more thing to do. He sat back down. He buried his head in his arms on the desk, and closed his eyes.
Rachel found him this way an hour later, just sitting there with his head on the desk, hoping he'd raise his head and open his eyes to find out this was all some sort of bad dream. Wordlessly, she went to the linen closet in the hallway and got out a broom and began to sweep up the glass. "Just leave it. I'll get it." He said morosely as she continued to sweep. God I'm such a fucking mess, he silently said to himself.
Rachel ended up sorting through the papers herself, filling out his spreadsheet. She realized she was really enabling, but what else could she do? He was barely able to function, and she really couldn't blame him. He'd come home from a war (She didn't give a damn what the government said, there was still a war raging in Iraq. There were enough skirmishes and roadside bombings for her to believe otherwise). And what did he find when he got there? A dead family .
So, she helped until Miles arrived. She'd called the funeral home, gone with him to meet with the priest at the local Catholic Church, filled out insurance papers for him to sign. And he'd been desperately grateful and gracious to her throughout it all. He'd trusted her judgment, and relied heavily on her throughout the entire process. He just didn't have the mental capacity to handle it on his own. It took most of his energy just to go through the motions and hold on.
She'd helped him with picking out coffins, arranging the burial site, even in picking out the damn hymns for the service. The only thing he'd really had an opinion on was the flowers. He insisted that she find a florist with daisies. They were his mother's favorite, and he knew she'd appreciate them more than the typical roses or lilies. So she sat with him for a few hours while they each sat with a list of shops and began calling them.
Finally Miles arrived the day before the funeral. Being Miles, he'd decided the best way to help Bass was to make sure he was always drunk and never alone. Throughout it all, Bass remained a statue. His eyes were always brimming, but the damn never broke.
The actual funeral went by in a blur. There were neighbors and friends present. Each wanted to extend their condolences. Bass was so numb and admittedly drunk that he could barely recall talking to anyone. He barely registered the whispers from family friends on how much a tragedy it all was, how horrible he looked and so on. Finally, his family was laid to rest as he watched the coffins when they were slowly lowered into the ground. It was over.
After the reception at his family's home, Rachel and Miles had helped him put the leftover food away and clean up the evidence of the unhappy gathering. Afterwards, Rachel had gone back to her hotel room after informing him that she would be staying through the end of the week, just in case. Miles had gone upstairs to the guest room after a while. He'd been sympathy drinking with Bass all damn day and he'd finally had that one too many. Bass sat up late into the night, drinking still. He woke up on the couch the next morning, the world still spinning around him – and he wasn't quite sure if it was the scotch or the grief.
Two nights later, Bass found himself in the cemetery with his father's handgun and a bottle of Jack. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten there. He'd left to go meet the executor of his parents' will, but he was pretty sure he'd missed that appointment. He was sitting on the gravel path just above four freshly dug graves, trying to figure out just what he was supposed to do.
Bass felt empty and alone. He had no extended family to speak of. He was twenty-eight years old and had nothing. No family, no serious woman in his life to help him fight off the darkness that was slowly creeping inside, leaving him numb. He felt like he was drowning, and yet the people that had loved him the most were no longer there to help keep his head above water. The holidays were only a few short months away. There would be no more Monroe pickup football games on Thanksgiving. Christmas would not bring laughter, cookies and Christmas trees. There was nothing left. No reason to look forward to coming home.
He thought about all of the times he'd been on leave. He'd always come home during the holidays and a few other weekends here and there when he'd been able, but more often than not, he'd taken his leaves in Miami, Venice, and so on. He'd joined the military to see the world, had he not? But now he felt guilty. Maybe he should have come home more. If he had, he'd have gotten to spend more time with them. How many times in the past ten years had he been granted leave while not on a tour, only to go somewhere to party and have a good time? He could have just as easily come home to Jasper. But he'd been selfish and thought with his liver and dick more often than not.
In his sorrow, Bass realized he had a choice now. He could sit here and miss them, or he could simply join them. Join them and the emptiness and instant loneliness would all be gone. Just a quick pull of the trigger and it would be over. But he needed something to bolster his courage, because he wasn't quite sure he had the guts to do it.
So instead of just doing it, he sat and drank. This was how Miles finally found him. He would find out the next day that Rachel was the one that sent Miles looking for him in the first place. The lawyer that he'd made the appointment with had called her cellphone (she had been the one to actually make the appointment) to find out if Bass was simply running late. She'd known then that something wasn't right. She'd called Miles to tell him, and hence started his search across the town.
"I always thought I'd be dead by now," He told Miles. And finally, the flood gates opened. As he cried he told Miles how he had nothing left.
"Bass, give me the gun before you do something stupid." Miles had said after he'd finally talked him down. And, Bass had done as his friend had asked. Miles stayed with him for hours that night, watching him in silent vigilance as a week's worth of tears fell.
General Sebastian Monroe shook his head and blinked several times, willing the memories of that horrible week from his mind. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd stood there, staring at the graves of his parents and sisters. It must have been a while, as the men assigned to his security detail were standing a ways off, doing their best not to look tired and bored.
With a sigh, he finally walked away. As he did, it crossed his mind briefly that things didn't have to be this way. He wondered what would happen if instead of the showdown between himself and Miles that he'd planned, he just walked away. Not from Jasper, but from all of it. Jeremey was a good officer and now his only real confidant. He was also a lot better at diplomacy than he was, even if Monroe had yet to admit it.
He could just hand it all over to Jeremy Baker. Take the Militia, take the Republic. Just leave him here to find Bass again. No one would have to die, and it would be over. No more bad dreams of Miles holding a gun to his head in the darkness of night. No more worries about assassination attempts. Maybe he could fix things with Emma. She had seen right through him the second he'd rolled through town. Maybe Miles would stay, and they could talk about it.
But no… This could not be. Miles had tried to kill him more than once now. Miles had made it clear. They aren't family. No, Miles had made him do all of his dirty work to protect the Republic he'd wanted so badly. And he'd betrayed him. Monroe had never wanted this. This was what Miles wanted, but now he'd been left to deal with it alone, while Miles flitted about the Republic doing whatever he wanted.
So Monroe pushed these thoughts away, steeled his shoulders and waited for Miles to take the bait and show his face.