Day 2...

Bass paced up and down Gene Porter's front porch. He felt like a caged animal. It had taken him half a day to get back to where their wagon had been stashed and then another day on the road to get back to Willoughby.

In that time, Miles hadn't stirred. He was sick with worry at this point. He'd only been back a few hours and had, of course come directly here. Rachel's father was currently tending to Miles' shoulder. As he waited to find out the doc's diagnoses, he felt the rawness of true fear start to take over.

The front door opened up and he stopped moving. He turned to see Rachel coming out. "How is he?"

"We don't know. He's in a coma. A fucking coma, Bass!" She shoved him as hard as she could, taking him by surprise and almost knocking him flat on his ass. "What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Rachel—"

"No. No excuses, no bullshit. This is your fault! I didn't even want him to go on this stupid trip with you and now look at what happened. I always knew you'd get him killed one of these days, and you may have finally done it."

When he'd first pulled the wagon up, he'd given them an abridge version of what had happened. Was it his fault? Yes. He knew it and he hated himself for it. But, they'd been hunting a war clan that had been hurting people. You'd have thought he'd have at least gotten brownie points for that one.

As she shouted at him, she continued to slap and shove at him. As much as he hated Rachel, Bass' guilt prevented him from fighting back, or even bothering to block for that matter. He just let her take it out on him.

Gene came out then and Rachel stopped. She looked at her father anxiously, hoping there'd be some news or revelation—something. "All we can do is wait and see," he said. And then, before anyone could react, he raised Miles' gun, which he'd been holding behind his back.

"All you've ever done is hurt my family. Get off my porch. If I ever catch you on my property again, I'll put a bullet in you—and no one will care."

Bass just stared at him, his mouth agape. He couldn't believe that this was happening. He clenched his teeth in fury and hurt and then just nodded his understanding before backing away and then going down the porch stairs.

As he left, he didn't notice that Charlie was watching this from within the house from the front window. Her eyes were welled up with tears as she realized that Miles really might never wake up and it was all because he had stupidly followed Bass into tracking a warclan instead of following through with their weekend of drinking, whoring and God knew what else Bass had planned.

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Day 7…

Charlie wakes up an hour before dawn. She sees to her immediate needs and then goes into the bedroom at the end of the hallway—the one next to hers. This is where Gene has set up Miles' makeshift hospital room.

She checks the glass bottle on the i.v. line. It's almost empty, so she changes it, like her grandfather has taught her. It was quite the battle, but Gene has fought Rachel over her sleeping in here. Miles needs time to heal and she needs real sleep.

Her mental health has been fragile ever since the war as it is and staying up all hours will not help that. She needs to be strong for Miles and so she's reluctantly agreed that from midnight on, she will accept Gene's ban on her sitting in here and watching over him.

Charlie turns around and sees the window. It had been storming the night before and she could have sworn she'd left it almost closed—just open enough to let a breeze into the room to combat the heat of May. The rain has blown in some.

She goes and gets a towel, using it to dry the wooden window sill. She sits down on the chair, still holding it. As soon as her bottom touches the seat, she notices it's a bit damp. She wonders how the rain has blown in that far. She stands and puts the towel down before sitting down once more.

She stays there for an hour or so in the quiet of morning, hoping that if she just stares at him long enough, It will creep Miles out and he will open his eyes. Of course, he doesn't and so she stands. It's her turn to cook breakfast and so she might as well get started.

As she turns to leave, she notices a bit of mud on the floor. It's slightly smeared, as if someone has tried to clean it up. Curious, she looks under the bed and finds a rag, dried mud now crumbling off of it.

The wheels in her brain turning, she goes downstairs and right out the back door. She walks off the deck and down to the soft earth below, her bare feet squishing in the mud. She groans at this, but keeps going.

Beneath the windows—one hers, one Miles'—she sees the boot prints. If she's correct (and the tracker in her knows that she is), there's an ass print too—and two handprints on either side of that. She looks up.

There's lattice work on the back of the house. Before the blackout, Charlotte Porter had begged her husband to install it. Her vision had been a beautify ivy wall. Without being able to use the hose and the municipal water supply, the hot Texas summers have ruined it, of course. It always comes back, but it never lasts past June. It's in patches as it is.

She's heard her grandfather say that he keeps meaning to get rid of it, but he never has. It had been hers, and he finds it hard to let go of anything she loved still. Before she'd died, he used to catch her using bucket after bucket of well water in a vain attempt to keep it green just a little longer.

In between the alternating green and brown vines, she sees the telltale signs. There's more mud. Someone's climbed that lattice and had used it to get to the window. She knows right away who that someone must be. Since everything was so wet, he must have slipped on the way back down—hence the ass print, and in the darkness he must not have realized that he'd left quite an impression behind him. Either that or he'd hoped that the rain would wash it away.

"What was he doing?" she asks aloud to no one in particular. And then, she remembers the wet chair. He'd probably been soaked by the time he'd gotten inside. He'd obviously tried to erase all evidence of his presence, but in the darkness had missed the rest of that muddy boot print. And, he can't make upholstery dry faster

Why would he pick a night like last night to pop in for a visit? It was a bad storm and not ideal weather for climbing up the lattice. And then, it hits her—he didn't. He must have done this more than once.

That night, she lies awake in her bed, waiting. It's not raining—thank god. Her window is open and the windup clock on her nightstand tells her it's just past one in the morning. She's listening carefully and then, she hears him. Considering he's climbing up the back of the house, he's being fairly quiet. If she wasn't waiting and listening specifically for it, she'd have missed it entirely.

She waits until she knows he's inside, and then, she waits a bit longer. She pokes her head out the window. It's not that far from hers to Miles. She's a lot more agile than Bass is and can move with more stealth. She makes her way along the lattice. She's curious and for some reason, she wants to see what he's doing without him knowing about it.

Within a few minutes, she's peeking through the window. She sees him sink into the chair. His elbows rest on his knees, and despite the fact that his back is to her, she just knows that his chin is resting on folded hands.

The truth of what Bass is doing really sinks in. He's not allowed anywhere near the house. When he'd come the day after he'd brought an unconscious Miles home, her mother had gotten the sheriff. He's been told that if he's caught, the charge won't be trespassing. It'll be breaking and entering, which is in clear violation of his pardon.

If someone finds him here, he'll be arrested to be sure and he will once more be considered a war criminal. It's not exactly like he's doing a whole lot wrong here, but there are enough people that would gladly attend a second execution that it won't matter.

And that's even to say that her grandfather won't make good on his threat. Bass may or may not believe him, but she's not so sure. Gene Porter may not be in love with the idea of Miles marrying his daughter, but it makes her happy and keeps her levelheaded. That is something he cares about very much.

Despite these risks to himself, Bass is still here, holding a late-night vigil over his friend. Charlie finds that moving. This is the excuse that her mother would need to see that he's out of their lives once and for all. She's said on more than one occasion that the man deserves a shallow grave, not a pardon. Even if Miles recovers, this is a great way for her to see that happen.

"You've gotta awake up, Miles."

His voice breaks Charlie out of her reverie. It's low, as to not be overheard from anyone within and it's shaking. "Come on, man. You-you gotta work with me here. Don't you want your chance to tell me how much of an asshole I am? For not leaving well enough alone?

"Open your eyes, Miles. Just—just open your eyes. I'm so sorry. You were right… we should have just kept going, right to Austin. If I could, I'd take it back—all because I was just itching for a good fight and a little action."

Charlie watches his shoulders shake and his change in posture tells her that he's got his face buried in her his hands. A few ragged breaths later, he's got himself under control.

She listens to him talk to Miles, sometimes not catching all of it. He's barely speaking above a whisper now. She catches a lot of apologies—so many she loses counts. Her arms are getting tired—she's lost track of how long she's been out here, but if she doesn't get her butt back in her room soon, she'll probably create an ass print out there to rival Bass' and then he'll know she's been here.

She makes her way back to her window. She's almost all the way inside before she hears his voice drifting through. "… I'd better go before I get caught. I'll—I'll see you tomorrow."

Charlie barely has time to get out of sight before he leaves through Miles' window. She watches him climb down and slip away under cover of darkness. She decides then and there not to say anything. She doesn't have it within her to rat him out or stop these visits. As much as her family hates him, she can hear the guilt and loss in Bass' voice. It stays her when loyalty to her family would have her at the very least locking that window to keep him out.