A/N: This was a hard chapter to write, and it kept trying to get away from me. I know where he's going to end up, but I had to get him from one place to the next, which was a lot harder than I thought. So, I'm hoping that I haven't lost you all by the time you get to the bottom of this chapter. Not a whole lot happening, just a lot of interactions. I felt he needed to interact with everyone one on one a little (except Aaron, but don't worry, there will be a few interesting things to come with Aaron later). There is a Charlo-esque moment towards the end with a reveal. MORE NOTES AT END

Monroe woke up alone to the sun's first rays. His instincts had him reaching for his wife, only to find himself alone. He sat up in a panic, only to remember the events of the previous day. She was gone – dead and buried over a thousand miles away with the child that never was. He had another son that he could not remember – the result of one mistaken night when he was basically still a child himself. That son's mother had been the first woman he'd ever loved. She'd also been the first woman Miles had ever loved. He'd spent so many years trying to forget that betrayal it was surreal that it was now out in the open.

He'd seen the underlying anger in Miles' eyes when he'd been told that Emma had died over a year ago. He'd asked Miles how, but he'd evaded the question. He felt lost in a sea of confusion. A lot can happen in fourteen years, and apparently a lot had. He'd yet to be told why Danny and Ben were not here. He hadn't seen Ben since his family's funeral all those years ago. And while he'd never been as close to him as he had been to Miles, he was still family. Rachel was still family.

Rachel – that was another source of confusion. If looks could kill, the one she'd given him yesterday would have vaporized him on the spot. He'd asked Miles about that but was evaded yet again. He closed his eyes to fight back the tears that threatened. His body ached and his head pounded. When the door opened he turned away to hide his grief from the intrusion.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Porter asked as he entered the room.

Monroe chuckled in spite of himself. The ultimate shitty question. "All things considered? I feel like shit, thanks for asking," he said flatly.

Gene began to check his vitals, and as always wrote things down in the notebook. Done with this part of his exam, the doctor sat down and waited for Monroe to look at him. After allowing silence to reign for quite a while, Monroe realized that Porter would not leave until they'd talked. Resigned, he turned his head to regard Porter with a sigh.

Gene had to hide his smile. Memory or not, Monroe was one stubborn son of a bitch. "How's your head?" he asked.

"Shitty. Fucked," was all Monroe replied. Porter may be forcing him to cooperate, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Childish? Of course it was, but he figured after what he was going through, he was allowed a few moments of childish behavior.

Another scribble in the notebook. "Have you remembered anything at all?" He knew damn well what Monroe was doing. He was throwing a pity party and was determined that no one should spoil it.

Monroe shook his head. "Nothing. The only things I know about the past fourteen years are the things that Miles told me last night. I accept the fact that so much time has passed, but I still don't remember any of it." His voice was bitter.

Scribble, scribble again. "These things take time. It hasn't even been a full day," Gene felt sorry for him. Ultimate bad guy or not, Monroe was going through something that no one should have to experience. Despite what Rachel had said during her tantrum the previous afternoon, he knew that Monroe wasn't always the way he was. How devastating to wake up having not a friend in the world and no memory of how your life had gotten that way.

"So how long am I stuck in this bed for?" Monroe asked as he shifted uncomfortably. He knew already that he'd go stir crazy being stuck alone in bed all the time.

"A few weeks, maybe more. Your breaks weren't all that bad. You were lucky in that. They were clean breaks, which is saying something. We're just kind of limited here. I can't make a cast, which would help you to get around. You're just going to have to tough it out for a while longer." Gene stood and went over to retrieve his bag before leaving.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Monroe muttered to Gene's retreating back.

And thus began three weeks of absolute hell. As the others went about their day, he laid in the "damn bed" (as it was officially named in his mind) alone. Occasionally, Rachel would join her father when he checked the splints, but she remained strangely standoffish and did her best to ignore him. With so few real doctors remaining after the blackout, he had a feeling that her presence was more to learn what she could from him in the practice of what was basically field medicine that any desire to help him.

Miles sat with him for an hour or two in the evenings, quizzing him on random things to see if any of his memories had returned. His demeanor went back and forth between friendly and resentful. This was his best friend, and he couldn't help but feel like there was something wrong between them, but he couldn't fathom what it was. Granted they'd butted heads over the proposed raiding of their neighboring camp, but even that had not caused a rift that he could recall.

Whenever he tried to question Miles about his change in attitude towards their friendship, he'd hesitate before finding some excuse to leave the room. Connor also came by a few times a day to keep him company, but things were strained there as well and he never stayed very long. Conversation between them remained stilted, even though Connor was putting forth an obvious effort. They just didn't seem to have anything really to talk about. He'd accepted that he was older than his mind could account, but he didn't have the memories as any point of reference. He might be 47, but he sure as hell didn't feel like it (okay, maybe his body did, but he refused to admit it). And here sat a grown man that he had to constantly remind himself was his own offspring.

Charlie had at least taken the time to explain that things had been awkward with Connor even before. The knowledge that he hadn't even known Connor that long made his visits more bearable. Anything he asked about him could very well be something he'd never known in the first place, which at least meant that with Connor he wasn't at the same disadvantage that he was with the others.

Charlie's daily visit seemed to be the easiest. He still felt an underlying tension from her, but it was different than it was with Rachel and even Miles. There were still a lot of things that she'd evade when they spoke, but he could tell that when she did it, at least it was without resentment. Instead, she'd get a sad look, and then would quickly change the subject. But at least she didn't punish him for his questions by leaving.

Talking with her was strange because he still had to remind himself that this was the same person as the little girl he'd seen a year before the blackout. But instead of that little girl, a strong and beautiful young woman had taken her place. He had to keep reminding himself of who she was, because despite his recent grief over Shelly, he was still a man and still had eyes. This was increasingly difficult because he swore he caught her staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

For the most part she avoided the topic of his memory loss completely. She asked him often about life before the blackout. She seemed to never lose interest in hearing stories of the any escapades of Miles and Bass. It struck him one day that sometimes it felt like she was trying to get to know him, which seemed odd considering he couldn't even remember having known her in the past, so their roles should have been reversed. When it came to any questions about her own past, Charlie was more reluctant. Sometimes he could get her talking about growing up with Danny, but she'd always abruptly stop and change the subject. Charlie had been the one to finally tell him that Danny and Ben had died, but she refused to discuss how or when.

He had been awake for over three weeks when Gene had decided it was time for him to become a little more mobile. Connor and Miles had apparently found a defunct town a few days ride north. They'd scavenged through the empty homes and businesses and come back with several leg braces and a pair of very old crutches. Gene used what they'd brought back to create a soft cast of sorts. He'd been lucky that the break to his femur wasn't near either joint and was a clean break at that. Gene had already told him that this was the best possible scenario if he was going to have a broken leg. The pain had subsided enough for him to hobble around a little and at least wear some pants.

His arm had already been declared healed the day before. The splint had been removed and he'd seen his arm fully for the first time since he'd woken up from the coma. He'd been shocked to find the burned and ghastly flesh on his forearm where he'd once had a tattoo. He and Miles had come up with an "M" symbol as kids to symbolize their friendship. One night while they were quite drunk on leave, they'd gone into a tattoo shop together. Miles had passed out before it was his turn and therefore he'd left unmarked, leaving Monroe as the only one to actually go through with it.

He hadn't said anything to Porter about it, but the sight made him feel sick. What could possibly have happened that sent him trying to erase evidence of that friendship? The way Miles had been treating him was starting to make sense. Apparently at some point, he must have reciprocated whatever bad feelings were between them, or he wouldn't have done this. This was a symbol of the brotherhood they'd shared, and he knew its mutilation was not something he'd do lightly.

He was torn boring solitude of his room and facing the uncomfortable hostility when he was around everyone else. The only person other than Charlie that didn't seem to hold some mystery sin against him was Priscilla. That woman was just down right creepy. She always seemed to have a deranged smile plastered on her face and every time she spoke it was like she was overly excited about something. Other times, she would simply stand of to the side and observe the others interacting.

Unknown to Monroe, Gene had pulled the others aside and told them that since Monroe's body was well on the mend it was time they started telling him more about the past. He'd yet to remember anything, and never would at this rate.

Five weeks after waking:

He was sitting on the porch, his leg stretched before him, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular. Just the feeling of being outside brought him some measure of peace. He'd been cooped up for so long; he had been starting to feel like he'd never see the sky again. Miles was sitting on a rickety folding chair, flask in hand as usual. Monroe could tell the weeks of inactivity were starting to grate on him too. "Where are they buried?" He finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Miles took a drink, thinking about how he should answer the question. At some point in time, someone had to tell Monroe more about his past. "Not far from where we were camped."

Monroe shifted to look at Miles, sitting sideways along the stop step. "I need to see them. Do you think you can find it? I need to make it real." Miles furrowed his brows as he searched for an answer. When he couldn't find one, he looked away as he took another drink from the flask. "What? Why won't you tell me?" Monroe continued. He was fed up with the silence and he did nothing to hide that fact now.

"Bass, you can't go there now," Miles offered.

"Why?"

Miles made eye contact with him, and after weeks of evading he finally broached the subject of the past. "Because it's in the middle of a fallout zone."

Monroe did a double take. "A What? How - I mean that's impossible. Even if someone wanted to setoff nukes, they'd need power to do it."

Miles looked at Monroe sadly. "The power came on for just a few minutes. Bomb hit Philadelphia. Destroyed the city and now most of New England is probably toast."

"Why would someone want to nuke Philly? It's a ghost town. All the big cities are."

"It wasn't just Philly, it was Atlanta too. They weren't abandoned anymore. The country is kind of divided up in a few new nations. Atlanta was the capital of one and Philly was the capital of another. Texas is its own country. Same goes for Cali. The plains - well, the plains are just one giant mess."

Monroe tried to wrap his head around it all. "So who dropped the bombs?"

Miles explained to him about the Patriots and their role in setting off the nukes. He was careful not to mention their own roles that night. Monroe sat in shock for a while before he spoke. "So old government nuked two cities to take control of the country, and now we're fighting them?"

"More or less," Miles said as he shook his flask with a frown. It was empty, which left him feeling decidedly sad and bereft. "That's what we were doing when you got hurt."

Monroe thought about this for a second. "It just doesn't make sense that the US government would just show up and start bombing its own cities. How do we know that they were the ones that really did it?"

Miles had not wanted to get this far into things, but he seemed to have talked his way into a corner. "It's a long story, Bass. We know because we were there. You, me, Charlie and Rachel. Aaron too."

Monroe closed his eyes and tried to see if he could force up a memory of this. He witnessed the launch of a nuclear weapon? How could anyone forget something like that? For a second, he thought that he almost had something, but it slipped from his grasp and he was left only with a feeling of déjà vu and nothing more. "Miles, I need to know what I've been doing all this time."

Miles stood and stepped over Monroe on the stairs, intent on escaping before he caved. "One thing at a time. It's too complicated and too much to take all at once." He left Monroe on the stairs.

It was very early. The day had been dawning when Monroe first woke. He'd been up most the night staring at the ceiling and thinking about what Miles had told him about the nukes. If they were all there, they must have been involved somehow, but he'd be damned if he could come up with a reason why. He'd been having a nightmare, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything about it. He was almost about to doze off again when he heard the backdoor open below his room.

Through the open window, he could hear the sound of someone doing their best to throw up quietly. He'd woken up to this sound almost daily since the weather had warmed up enough for him to leave the window open a few weeks ago. It wasn't the most pleasant of wake up call to be sure.

He was beginning to think that someone had a secret they weren't sharing with the rest of their group. He knew Rachel and Miles were sharing a room. Rachel was a bit old, he supposed but it may not be totally impossible. That creepy woman, Priscilla was a bit younger. Maybe her? He got out of bed and hobbled to the window. To his surprise, it was Charlie he saw emerge from the bushes behind the house. Well isn't that interesting? He thought to himself. If he was right, she was obviously not sharing her news. She wouldn't be hiding the fact she was sick otherwise.

Later on that day, he was sitting in on the couch in the front room, flipping through a very old copy of Sports Illustrated when she came into the room. The rest of the household was nowhere to be seen. They'd been in and out of the house all day, leaving him to his own devices. He had a feeling that this was done mostly in avoidance of him.

She'd made it her habit to sit with him daily still, even though he was no longer confined to bed. For the most part, he'd enjoyed the time spent together as a happy break from the tedium and loneliness that his life had become. She seemed a bit off, like she was nervous. He'd watched her carefully and now noticed the subtle differences. She wore a long sleeved shirt over her tank top, presumably since the weather had warmed enough to ditch her jacket. But, she had it buttoned up halfway. And if her breasts weren't bigger, well he wasn't Sebastian Monroe. He'd certainly been a connoisseur of the female form before meeting Shelly (He'd given up trying to convince himself that he hadn't spent a decent amount of time noticing Charlie's breasts when she'd visited his room while he was stuck in bed).

He finally worked up the nerve to say something. "So, are you going to tell your family that you're pregnant or just go on hoping they won't notice?"

Charlie had been looking out the window when he spoke. She whipped her head around and stared at him in shock. Her eyes were wide with fear. "How did -?"

He chuckled. "You're forgetting my wife was pregnant. I know the signs. That and you've been puking below my window for the past two weeks. Don't worry. I won't tell them," he added to reassure her.

Charlie felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She hadn't realized his room was above where she'd been hiding in the mornings. "Thank you," she told him quietly.

"Not that it's any of my business, but who's the father?" Monroe knew he had no right to ask her, but he was curious. He could tell by the looks Connor sent her way that there was something between them, and quite frankly he was sure that his son was the culprit. He was fully expecting her to tell him he was going to be a grandfather. "I mean, you and Connor-"

Charlie cut him off there. "No. God, no. I mean, we had a thing a while back, but there's no way the baby is his." She saw the very subtle look of disappointment on his face. She didn't realize that it had made her flinch.

What is she hiding? He wondered to himself. He noticed her reaction. "Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay." She began to fiddle with a strand of her hair as she sat. "It's no one you'd know." She noticed the look he gave her at her choice of words. "Sorry, that came out wrong. It was someone I'd met on my way back from Austin a few weeks before we left Willoughby. We went to try to stop the Patriots from killing General Carver. Got separated on our way out of town. I had just lost a friend and was in a bad place. Guess I'm paying for that now."

He sensed there was something she still wasn't telling him, but he decided to let her leave it at that. He had no business pressing her further. "Okay then. You're secret is safe with me." He went back to his magazine. He refused to acknowledge that this was actually one of the most normal conversations he'd had in the past several weeks.

Eight weeks after waking

Monroe had finally been cleared to remove the evil contraption Gene had insisted he wear to support his leg. He was finally even able to put some weight on it without a problem. Miles had agreed to the doctor's insistence that they wait another week or two before moving on, just to make sure Monroe was ready to travel. He would do no good to anyone if the bone broke in a fight because he wasn't ready.

In the past three weeks, he'd learned a lot more about the past. What he'd learned had driven him further into his depression. The week before he'd finally gotten fed up with Rachel's hostility. He'd pulled her aside after dinner. "What the hell is your problem? Last time I checked, we were friends? What the hell did I do to piss you off?" She'd tried to walk past him, but he'd blocked her only exit.

She'd narrowed her eyes at him and finally given in. "You want to know what you did? Why I can't stand to be around you? Fine. You killed Danny and Ben."

His jaw had dropped. "What? Why – I don't understand. I've known been my entire life. I would never do anything to hurt him. And Danny? He's just a kid."

Rachel had tears in her eyes. "You don't remember any of it, but you're a fucking monster, Bass. You've killed hundreds of people. Hell, it could even be more than that; thousands maybe between the ones you actually killed with your own hands and the ones that died because of orders you gave. You even got Connor's mom killed, just to hurt Miles." When she pushed passed him a second time, he'd let her go.

At the time he'd just retreated to his room. Deep down, something she'd said had resonated within him. But he couldn't put a finger on what, and it was still missing from his mind. Inside the nightstand he kept a list of the things that people had told him of the past. After wallowing for a while, he'd dug it out and added these new things. He had no way to dispute anything on the list, so he had gotten into the habit of just writing them down as fact, hoping that someday his memory would return and he could either accept or deny the things he'd written there. He'd then read the list before putting it away:

Shelly is dead

I've got a son – Connor Bennett. I just met him recently. His mom is dead.

Ben and Danny are dead

I've been fighting the Patriots with Miles

Miles and I aren't friends – Why?

Philly and Atlanta are ashes

I raided that camp and people got killed because of me

I killed Ben and Danny

I killed Emma

I am apparently a "fucking monster"

The week that had passed since that night had done little to keep his mind off of what Rachel had said. He now sat alone at the kitchen table. He was alone in the house. The others had all gone for supplies for their impending departure from the safe house. As he got up, he noticed the notebook sitting on the counter. He'd seen Gene writing in this every time he'd talked to him. Curious, he flipped it open.

Most of the stuff in the beginning was just notes about his injuries - vitals and other comments. Apparently, his recent bouts with depression from this ordeal had not gone unnoticed by Gene. He flipped further ahead and found Gene's notes from the night Miles had given them a brief rundown on his history. He read about the Monroe Republic and all of the things he'd done – Rachel's imprisonment and how he'd tricked Miles into thinking she was dead. He'd read about what had led him to the tower and what had happened after he'd gotten there.

As he finished reading about all of his dark and filthy past, he wanted to be sick. So this was what they were hiding from him all of these weeks? And if all of this was true, even harboring him was putting them at greater risk. The whole continent wanted him dead. What was worse, he couldn't really blame them.

He made a decision then. He went up the stairs and began to grab the few things he'd accumulated during their stay. Finished, he went down stairs and pulled a pack and a bedroll out of the closet and started grabbing a few supplies. He was just sliding a full clip into a pistol when Charlie came up behind him. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked him.

He turned to see her leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and hall, her arms crossed casually in front of her chest. "I'm leaving," he said flatly.

"I can see that," she said as she looked him over. "Why?"

He pushed passed her and stalked into the kitchen to grab the notebook. It was still sitting on the counter where he'd left it. He tossed it to her as he walked back to the closet and finished packing. "Here's the CliffsNotes. There'll be a quiz on this Monday morning."

Charlie rolled her eyes at the reference. Monroe and Miles were always saying stuff like that. They knew damn good and well she had no idea what the hell they were talking about, and it always drove her nuts. "So you know. Did it jog your memory any?"

"Nope. Not at all." He zipped up the backpack and went to work strapping on the bedroll.

She placed herself between him and the front door. She was not letting him just walk out of there. "Then why are you leaving? General Monroe wasn't the running type, and neither are you."

He grabbed his jacket and slung the backpack on his shoulder. "I can't stay with you all. I get it. Every one of you has a reason to hate me. And if I'm as wanted as you say, I'll only get you killed anyway."

"We need you in this fight," she argued.

He sighed as he tried to reach around her to open the door. "No, you don't. I can't remember being that person. I don't feel like him, but that's what everyone sees. If I was as nuts as you all say, then you don't need that."

She reached out and touched his arm. "You're right. General Monroe is not what we need. He was psychotic. And, up until a few weeks before you got hurt, if anyone had asked me, I'd have told them that you still were, especially after we found out you and Connor were going to try to get the Monroe Republic back."

"Well there you go. All the more reason for me to leave." His voice cracked.

"But then a few weeks before you got hurt, I saw another side of you. One that you tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. You weren't the monster I thought you were. I think you were just terrified someone would see the better side of you." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He clenched his jaw and did his best to ignore the way her hand felt on his arm as she gently tried to push him away from the door. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's too late."

Before Charlie could do anything else to stop him, he was out the door and gone. She considered trying to stop him again, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. So later, when Miles and Gene suggested she track him, she lied and said she'd tried but hadn't been able to.

MORE A/N: Okay, so yes, I know there are a few Preggo Charlie story lines out there. I promise to do my best to not make it repetitive. (But lets face it, there are only so many ways we can have Charlie and Monroe interact and there are a lot of Charloe fics out there. ) I promise that it will not end with "oh, yay a baby and lets sing about rainbows and puppies" when we're done.