Poison and Wine

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing about Revolution. I don't own David Lyons either. Basically my life is sad so don't sue, please. No copyright infringement intended, blah blah blah, you know the rest.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction in ages. I have become obsessed with Charloe and was upset when NBC canceled Revolution. This is my own imaginings of how a possible season 3 would unfold. Note that Rambo would not be a fan of my storyline (not that I'm a fan of his proposed one either) so if that is what you are looking for, please look elsewhere because there is #NoBachel in this story or frankly my universe.

Texas Ranger Camp, Austin, Texas

Charlie felt the scorching Texas heat even through her tent. The tent provided shade from the unforgiving sun, but it just ended up heating up like an oven inside with little breeze to offer a reprieve. Didn't matter anyway, she figured. She was not going to be in the camp for much longer. That's why she found herself packing up her few possessions in her bag. In the few days since Texas had declared war on the Patriots, Charlie had thankfully been able to find clean clothes, wash her old ones and most importantly bathe herself. She'd replenished any supplies she'd need for medical emergencies, food, ammo (both bullets and arrows), and sharpened her knives.

Her uncle stepped into the tent. Word had gotten to him that Charlie had asked for two horses to be prepared for travel. "What's going on, Charlie?"

"I'm going with Monroe," she explained.

"I'm sorry, what?" Miles said in that voice he used when he thought she was being ridiculous. He tended to use it often.

"You heard me," Charlie said.

"Why?"

"You know him. He's going back to try and find his son," Charlie said. "I'm going to help him. We owe him because he came through for us with the President. We will still need him in this fight. If I go I can keep an eye on him and make sure he and Connor don't run off and start their dictatorship run early."

"What makes you think you could stop him? That he won't hurt you?" Miles questioned.

Charlie sighed. She thought about the tower. Pottsboro. The woods. The school. New Vegas. Beside the train. No. She didn't really believe that Monroe would hurt her. She didn't know how to explain that because he was still the man that had her held at gunpoint by Strausser in Philadelphia. Except that, in some ways, she doubted very much that this was the same guy.

"Bass won't hurt me."

"Bass?" Miles repeated incredulously. "When the hell did that start?"

Charlie shrugged. "Is it a big deal? It is his name isn't it?"

"I've just never heard you use it before," Miles admitted.

"I figure that he deserves something for going with us into Willoughby in the face of mustard gas. And that he didn't screw us over with your plan for Davis and Blanchard. I mean, we have to acknowledge at some point he's trying to be a better person."

"Charlie, I got to tell you that this whole conversation feels like a great big mind fuck."

Before she could reply voices rose up outside the tent as people—Rangers—moved by. She waited until they'd passed before speaking. It gave her time to organize her thoughts.

"I forgave you, didn't I?" Charlie murmured. She pierced him with her blue eyes. They always made Miles want to shuffle his feet when she gave him that stare. It teleported him right back to that hotel in Chicago when she pleaded with him to help her save Danny. He'd sent her packing and had proceeded to feel like crap afterwards. "You did horrible things too. So did my mom. Why is he unworthy of any forgiveness?"

"He killed your brother and my brother," Miles reminded.

"How many brothers have you killed? Or for that matter, how many have I?" Charlie countered. "And Monroe wasn't there when my dad died. That was Neville's incompetence. And Danny—he made himself a soldier when he chose to be in that fight. That helicopter would have shot down anybody with that rocket launcher. It would have shot me down. We kill soldiers all the time. Danny signed up and he died. I begged him not to, but he didn't listen."

"Where the hell did all this perspective come from?"

"You know how they say that in life and death situations that your life flashes before your eyes?" Miles nodded. "Well, it's true. You gain a lot of perspective about things. You achieve clarity on things you didn't even know you were confused about before. This is the product of Neville pulling that trigger while the gun was pressed to my temple." Miles eyes hardened at her words. Neville would indeed pay for nearly killing his niece—twice. He would make sure of it. Even if he had to resurrect good ol' General Matheson to get it done.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, he was a dick. Sometimes he still is," she said with a laugh. "But he's also had my back more times than not in this last year. Especially when you've been so wrapped up in my mom."

"Charlie—"

She shook her head. "I meant what I said the other day about you two giving it a shot. But the truth is, Miles, we use to be partners and then Mom came back. She became your entire world. It happens. I'm honestly used to it. But you can't be mad at me for learning to be partners with Monroe when you kind of forced it. You can't give me a hard time about starting to respect him when Miles you still love him like a brother. And you punish both of you by trying to pretend it'll ever be different."

"He's not good for me, Charlie," Miles told her.

Charlie shook her head. She thought that was an easy excuse. "No. I think you were a coward, Miles. You left him when he got really dark. What kind of friend does that? Not only did you abandon him—a guy who apparently has serious abandonment issues—but you tried to kill him. If you guys were such good friends, why couldn't you talk to him? How could you let him get so out of control? Everyone blames him…but aren't you just as culpable for a lot of it? The fact is you guys are best when you are on the same team. This world is so screwed up Miles. Why deny yourself your last brother?"

"Where is this all coming from? You never talked to me like this before," Miles noted.

"Perspective," she said simply. "I have a lot of baggage to carry around. The dead are heavy. I can't add to it by hating somebody who has gone out of his way to look out for me even when I've tried to kill him. I don't want to do that to myself. The past is past. It can't come back, no matter what. We move on. Do you really want to live your life without your brother? Because let me tell you, it sucks. And I would give anything to have mine back. But I can't. You can. Unless you're an idiot."

Miles laughed. "When the hell did you get so goddamn smart?"

"I was always wiser than you," Charlie taunted.

"Pfft. As if," Miles said derisively. Charlie just gave her grin, the big one that flashed her prominent dimple. "Just be careful with him. He might be on the level now, but he could turn just as fast. Especially once he reconnects with Connor."

"I know. I'll be careful," Charlie promised. Or as careful as someone could be when they willingly went off on a journey with a former psychotic dictator. Oh well, she'd done it before and survived. "I better go before the asshole leaves camp and I have to track him down first."

"I'll miss you, kid," Miles said and pulled her in for a hug. She gave him a big hug in return.

"I'll be back once we find Junior Monroe," she said. "Tell Mom I love her, okay?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're not going to see her before you leave?" Miles said with a mild hysteria starting to form. How the hell would he break the news to Rachel that her daughter had left to travel with Bass? Dear God. He'd have to sedate her.

"No. So I could listen to her lecture me, then tell her to shut up it's not her choice and still leave?"

"So you want me to deal with it instead?" Miles said. He felt mildly betrayed by this after all he'd done for the little brat.

"Seems fair." Charlie said sardonically and then left a sputtering Miles behind in the tent. The moment gave her a little laugh. She missed sharing those moments with her uncle. It was like the old days where she would infuriate him and he would still follow through for her. Charlie figured that Miles could survive any temper tantrum Rachel may throw. She hoped. Maybe she'd say a prayer for him just in case.

Bass was checking the clip in his handgun for the last time before placing it back in its holster. He had missed the simple luxury of a holster. He used to have one that strapped around his leg that he missed. He didn't entirely trust placing the gun in his waistband. If you got into a fight, it could fall out. The holster kept his weapon secure and easily accessible. But he'd had to endure all kinds of inconveniences during the years after the blackout and before he'd been king of an empire. But the last year running around no better than the rebels that had defied his own Republic had reminded him of the simpler luxuries of life.

Christ, he actually had ice carried out onto battlefields so he could have his drinks with ice while discussing battle plans. He snickered at his own damn ego. No wonder his troops had been eager to follow after that mutinous bastard Tom Neville. Their own leader had turned into a pompous ninny. Bass realized he'd needed this time back in the trenches, down in the deep mud and blood to remember what soldiers went through. The fear that this battle would be the one to take him away from his family.

Of course, Miles had been his only family for years before he'd abandoned him. But then he'd found Connor. His son.

He thought back to the look on his son's face when he stepped out of the way and gave Neville the signal to assassinate him. Why did the people he loved the most always want to kill him and abandon him? The dark thoughts twisted their way through his mind. How the hell did he reconcile that both his brother and his son have wished him dead?

Was he really that much of an asshole?

He understood Rachel's desire to kill him. Even if he found that she irrationally focused on him when there were so many bigger issues for them to face. Even Charlie's disdain was understandable…

Except he wasn't entirely sure that Charlie hated him anymore. He doubted seriously she was the cheerleader to his fan club but it had been a while since she had given him her patented look of distaste and scorn. The look that said she was just barely tolerating his offensive presence. Bass couldn't exactly figure out when that tide had begun to change.

After Pottsboro possibly, when he'd saved her from those murdering rapist? Even the memory set his blood to boil. He had stepped into that little shithole of a town and known immediately that only bad things would come. He'd shaken his head in annoyance at her naiveté. The girl had bravado he'd give her that. But sometimes it wasn't enough. He knew that when he heard the window shatter in the bar. Bass had marched over to the steps and through the broken glass saw the bastards circling her like wolves. She was putting up one hell of a fight and he'd actually paused long enough to admire her. She was a lot like Miles and he could see his brother's influence in her fight. But then the fight had gone out of her in an instant and the fury had propelled him to kick that door down in one swift kick.

Bass knew he was a lot of screwed up things but he'd never abided rape. The Republic had always taken a hard line to rapists. Bass had a reputation as a womanizer, one in which he knew he'd earned fair enough, but he'd never been with a woman against her will. And there was something about Charlie being targeted that had only made the rage stronger. Which was ridiculous because she'd been nothing but a pain in the ass since he'd woken up in that nasty pool by the sound of gunfire.

She'd actually dared to call him nothing but a drunk fighting for coin in a whorehouse.

God she really was a mini-fucking-Miles.

Damned if he didn't like and respect that about her.

He was nothing but an idiot. He should know better than that when dealing with Mathesons. They've never been any good for him. Why couldn't he just learn that lesson once and for all?

That thought came just as he saw her make the turn towards his tent. Her tent was in the next row. She was wearing those low jeans with that ridiculously alluring metal belt hanging down over her hips which were swaying with that confident swagger of hers. He knew intuitively she didn't walk that way to be provocative to the guys that watched. She walked like she could take care of herself because she could. But damn if it wasn't a gorgeous walk.

Do not go there, Monroe ordered himself. Those thoughts were not welcome and had been nothing but D.O.A. since New Vegas. The memory of Charlie in that field with Connor came unbidden to his mind. He clenched his jaw and cursed himself for a fool. He noticed that she was carrying her pack and that she also looked loaded for bear. She had her trusty crossbow slung over her shoulders, arrows too, and her knives at her side. If Bass were to guess, Charlie also had a gun tucked into her waistband. It didn't seem to bother her to carry it around without a holster. Charlie just knew how to roll with the flow. He'd seen the girl morph from one situation to the next right in front of him. It was marvelous to watch.

And he really needed to stop that. Unlike the last five hundred or so times he'd told himself that, this would be the absolute last time his mind veered into even more dangerous waters than the insanity he'd lived in during the last five years. Hell, this unholy attraction to Charlie was probably just another insanity.

"Where the hell you going, kid?" He liked using kid or girl when referencing Charlie. It was a helpful tool—like a pneumonic device or something—to remind him that she was Miles' niece. The way things were there was the likelihood that Charlie was probably Miles' daughter. Not that there was any way to prove it these days. Not that one was any better really because he knew that Miles' loved her like a daughter and that was enough. Bass knew better than most that blood (though Charlie was technically Miles' blood anyway) didn't always make one family.

They were on a rather bumpy road but Bass liked to think that he and Miles were on the way to repairing their broken brotherhood. God if Bass hadn't missed that like breathing. He liked to replay the words "Bass, I'm trusting you" in his head. There really was no way to put into words what that had meant. It had meant everything to Bass. He held onto that when he thought about how Connor had turned on him. He held onto it to remind himself that he'd made the right choice at that small shack.

"I don't know. You tell me," Charlie said enigmatically. She flashed him that smart ass grin and the glimpse of that sweet dimple in her right cheek always made his stomach knot. Sometimes he just fantasized about leaning down and pressing his lips to it. So close to her beautiful mouth that he could then just slide his lips across and finally taste her.

Goddamn it. He was no longer thinking those damn thoughts. He reminded himself. Again.

"Excuse me kid?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm going with you. You're going out there to find Connor, right?" Charlie asked.

It was eerie to Bass how well Charlie could deduce his intentions when they'd really only been in each other's lives this last year. But then he thought back to a New Vegas field and figured she missed her boy toy. That was enough to dry up any lingering, inappropriate thoughts he was holding about her. He had competed on occasion with Miles for women. Sometimes they even dated each other's exes. But he wouldn't compete with his son for one. She'd picked the Monroe of her choice.

Bass was just going to live with it.

Or die trying.

"What makes you think you're invited?" He taunted because the memory of that trip to New Vegas was stripping his nerves raw.

She gave that defiant little smirk. Bass was resolutely not thinking about biting her lip. "What makes you think you got a choice?" She threw his own words back at him. Charlie feared nothing; feared no repercussions any of her actions with him could have. The fact was that Charlie had never been afraid of him even when he'd been General Monroe ordering her shot.

"What's this about?" Bass asked.

Charlie shrugged. "You want to find your son. I'm the tracker, remember? You want to flounder around for a while without me until you find him or do you want to find him sooner?"

"You're not coming with me," Bass told her. He didn't think he could endure another trip alone with her, especially when she just wanted to help him so she could find her fuck buddy. Bass didn't think their relationship was any more than one of convenience. He didn't know if that made it worse or better that she slept with his son because he was there instead of having deeper feelings for him.

"I will just track you the whole way. But I'm going with you. Let's save time and just go," Charlie told him. "I had someone get us two horses ready. Let's go."

She marched away, confident that he would just follow her. He'd been the leader of a country. He didn't kowtow to the whimsy of a kid. But she was a good tracker, he knew that. The sooner he found his son the quicker the issues there could be resolved. The trip with Charlie didn't have to mean anything more than convenience. He winced at the word. It didn't mean anything more than that he knew. Bass followed in her footsteps.

After mounting their horses, Charlie started to lead her horse north. Bass called out to her. "This way."

"No. This way is faster to the train," she told him. She didn't know about the showdown at the shack. He had kept that particular bit of betrayal to himself. It was natural for Charlie to assume that the train was the last place he'd seen his son.

"That's not where we need to go," Bass told her cryptically and led his horse towards the northwest. Wordlessly Charlie followed, curious about this development but kept her questions to herself. It was obvious that Bass didn't want to talk about it so she didn't.

A/N: I would love if it you would leave a review or PM me with your thoughts. Thanks for reading. :)