They arrived in Philadelphia to great fanfare.

People had come from all around to see the train and the men that disembarked from it were greeted like they had just returned from a war, victorious of course.

Jason was the picture of a perfect soldier: tall and handsome, dressed in his full military regalia. Many looking at him smiled in admiration, not knowing the weight that that esteemed uniform carried with it.

He walked behind his father with a small group of officers bringing up the rear: the Captain, his second and his minions. Tom Neville epitomized a man of his rank. He'd done what he'd had to to become the man befitting the uniform. As Jason watched his father come to a halt in front of a beautiful, blond woman, his mother, and embrace her, he wondered who exactly was in control at that moment: Tom Neville the man and husband or Tom Neville Monroe's Captain. He wondered if his father could even differentiate between the two at this point. He had long ago stopped being able to.

As the two parted, he stepped up to his father's side and put on his best, vacantly polite smile as he faced the woman who had borne him.

"Jason," his mother greeted, smiling sedately up at him.

"Hello, Mother. It's good to be home."

Like his father, his mother had embraced the role of the Captain's wife whole-heartedly. She'd become a lady-of-the-manor of sorts, the Queen Bee amongst the wives of the high ranking officers. She too played her part very well. However, unlike his father, she had never stopped being a mother to him. They'd both had characters to play in this new world they lived in but whereas his father had become his alter-ego, internalizing his goals and aspirations and ruthlessly doing whatever it took to achieve them, his mother had somehow managed to retain some of her old self while seemingly donning her new persona. While she wasn't as effusive with her affections as she'd once been, she'd never stopped being affectionate. Though she might not tell him that she loved him as often as she had in the past, she showed it constantly. And while she might encourage him to be the best that he could be, to rise in the ranks of the militia like his father had, her motives were entirely different.

His father had once been a powerless man and by the time of the blackout, that had become unacceptable to him. He'd taken his first life to regain the power he'd thought he'd lost and every life he'd taken since was a rung on a ladder that took him closer to his goal of attaining and holding onto as much power as he possibly could. That he didn't seem to aspire to rise to General Monroe's position both surprised and amused Jason. It seemed contradictory to this new man that he had become. On the other hand, his mother's main reason for motivating him could be summed up in one word: survival. Being in the militia, and especially being a ranking official, ensured his safety and his future. There were risks, of course, since he was constantly sent on missions and any manner of things could go wrong. How close had he come to dying at the hands of Miles Matheson? And how many times had he dodged bullets, literally and figuratively, during the short time he'd spent with them? Compared to some of his other missions, that one had been a piece of cake but still no less dangerous. There were no guarantees but it was relatively safer to be in the militia than on the other side where he could possibly become an enemy of the militia. His mother, smart woman that she was, had drilled that into him from the day they'd first stepped foot in Monroe's compound. For this reason, when she hugged him and he automatically wrapped his arms around her, his small sigh of contentment and his feelings of comfort were completely genuine. It really was good to be home in the warmth of his mother's arms.

These feelings were short-lived, however, as thoughts of Miles naturally brought thoughts of his honey-haired niece. He looked up just as she and Danny walked by, holding each other's hand tightly as Samuelson – he'd finally gotten the name right – led them down the platform to the buggy that would take them on a short ride to Monroe's compound. He had specifically chosen Samuelson since Charlie seemed comfortable with him. It was the last thing he would be able to do for her for a while.

Though he continued to hold onto his mother, his gaze remained fixed on Charlie. He wondered if it would be the last he would see of her too. He had no idea what her fate would be once Monroe got his hands on her.

Unaware of the eyes on her, Charlie held her head high, diligently taking in her surroundings, her hand tightening around Danny's as they walked the plank.

It might be a platform but it certainly felt like they were about to meet their maker, so to speak.

Philadelphia was, from what she could see of it, a bustling city. It was certainly the biggest she'd been to so far. The streets were milling with people, rushing here and there, all under the watchful eye of General Sebastian Monroe's militia. That Philadelphia belonged to the militia was unquestionable. There were circled M's on banners hanging from every building as far as the eye could see. It was more than a little daunting to think that she would have to, somehow, hold her own in this place until Miles was well enough to attempt a rescue.

"Here we are," Sam announced, bringing them to a stop at a horse-drawn buggy. He helped her and Danny in, their hands still cuffed, ankles still shackled, before climbing up next to them. "Lieutenant Neville said that the driver will take us straight to General Monroe himself."

Lieutenant Neville.

Charlie's jaw clenched, seething anger burning in her eyes.

During their brief interlude the night before, he'd certainly failed to mention that, hadn't he? If not for Sam, how much longer would she have remained ignorant of Na…dammit, Jason's true identity?

And all because she'd asked Sam one silly, little question!

"Do you have a girlfriend, Sam?"

Sam blushed furiously, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "A girlfriend? Me?" He shook his head. "No, Ma'am."

"Why not? Is it not allowed?" she asked, curious about the social aspects of militia life.

He shook his head again. "It's not that. We…that is to say, officers of the militia, do date. Because of the grueling schedule and constant missions, etc., some officers prefer to just make use of the resident…uh…ladies'…" His blush deepened. "Um…services, but many of the high-ranking officers are married. Like Captain Neville, for example."

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "Neville's married? What poor, unfortunate woman willingly tied herself to him? Or was it willing?"

Sam laughed. "He was already married when he joined the militia. He used to be an accountant or some kind of number-cruncher before the blackout."

"Hmm. Wonders never cease, do they?" she mused. "So if dating is allowed, why don't you have a girlfriend?"

Sam turned an even deeper shade of red, looking down at his nervously twisting hands. "Me? Who would want me? I'm nobody special."

"That's not true," she disagreed vehemently. "You're a great guy. Well, you seem to be anyway. I'm usually a good judge of character." Usually, she thought, reminded of her most recent lapse.

"Thank you," he said shyly. "But girls tend to go for the tall, handsome, confident, mysteriously brooding type. Like Lieutenant Neville."

Charlie's ears perked up. "Lieutenant Neville?"

Sam nodded. "Yes. Captain Neville's son."

"Wait just a minute. So not only is Neville married but he also has a child?" She waited for Sam's nod of confirmation again. "Whoever thought it would be a good idea to make that man a father deserves a universal godsmack."

"I thought you knew," Sam said with a small frown. "You two seem close. Well, close enough. And he did spend time with your group while he was undercover."

Her stomach dropped, her heartbeat coming to a complete stop. "You mean…"

Sam nodded. "Lieutenant Jason Neville."

All this time she'd been conflicted about having an interest in and possible feelings for a traitor, someone who had saved her continuously but was, at the end of the day, on the wrong side of this fight. Now, to find out that not only had he used and betrayed her but he was also the son of the man who had killed her father and kidnapped her brother was a shock she could not have seen coming from five feet away. It made his betrayal that much worse.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she had quickly changed the subject.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, catching Sam by surprise.

"Huh? What for?" he asked.

"For being you. You know…nice. I may never see you again so I just want you to know that it meant a lot to me. And if it's at all possible, don't ever change, Sam. Don't let this place, this life, change you."

Sam couldn't really think of an answer, though he wanted to assure her that he had no intention of changing. Change wasn't something people always precipitated, though, and he was too humbled by her faith in him to point that out, so he settled for a simple nod.

They fell into silence for the rest of their trip to the compound, which was probably for the best since they no longer had the privacy of the prisoner's cabin on the train to shield their interaction.

The train station and its immediate surroundings had been clean and well-kept but on the way to the militia headquarters, Charlie got a look at the real desolation and decay at the heart of the city. Buildings burned to the ground, empty shells of their former glory. People, dirty, bedraggled and undernourished, shuffling through the streets going where and why, she had no idea because it didn't look like there was anywhere to go or anything to do. It was eye-opening, to say the least, and made her all the more thankful for her simple, if misleadingly safe, upbringing in the suburbs.

"There's nothing out there," her father had said. "Do you want to die like your mother?"

She'd thought that he was being dramatic, over-exaggerating the horrors of the outside world in order to keep her close to him. She'd been wrong. She didn't regret leaving, still felt like she'd needed to in order to grow as a person and better understand the world that they lived in, but she understood now why her father, as a parent, would have wanted to protect his child from this if it was at all avoidable, which in her case it had been. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now…

"Probably "I told you so"," she mused aloud.

"Did you say something?" Danny asked.

"No." She flashed a smile. "Just thinking about Dad."

Guilt and grief stole over Danny's face and she could've kicked herself for being so insensitive.

"It's not your fault," she said softly, tightening her hold on his hand.

"It is and you know it. Shirking responsibility isn't going to help me get over it."

"Neither is dwelling on it," she countered. "Dad…Dad's gone. It doesn't matter how or why or who's responsible. We have to put it behind us, at least until we're safely away from here. Then we can mourn him properly. Until then, we stay focused. We need to be strong, both physically and mentally. This isn't going to be easy, Danny."

He nodded. "I know."

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that we both get out of here alive."

"Charlie…You don't have to…"

"Stop!" she interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say since she'd heard it many times before. "I'm your big sister, it's my job to take care of you. Mom and Dad left me in charge and I promised that I wouldn't let them down. I should have been there when…"

"Now who's playing the blame game?" Danny interjected, cocking a blond brow.

Charlie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "You're right. Let's just…move on."

It took about twenty minutes to get to the compound.

When they pulled up to the gates, Sam helped them down from the buggy and proceeded to pat them down one last time – as a favor to her, Charlie was sure – before the sentry posted at the gate could do the job. As she walked through the town, Sam and the driver on either side of them, she couldn't help marveling at the stateliness of it. It was like time had stopped here. It seemed to have been an exclusive community of some sort, with large houses, clean streets, manicured lawns and even a park. All of the buildings had been maintained to keep them in prime condition.

It must have been nice growing up here, she thought angrily, disgust clogging her throat. It was unjust and a disgrace that not too far from the high walls of the compound, people lived in squalor, without proper food, shelter or clothing. No wonder Jason had betrayed her. If this was what he had to come back to, if this was what the militia called home, then no wonder they gave their lives for it. Who would want to live hand-to-mouth for the sake of freedom when there was this slice of heaven waiting for them?

Monroe's residence was a huge mansion at the center of the community. Like the rest of the houses, it was picturesque. The only thing that seemed out of place were the heavily armed sentries on the balconies of each of the three levels of the mansion. The militia's presence could be felt and seen throughout the community but it was heaviest here, understandably so she supposed.

Sam and the other escort led them through the gates to the front door but as the door opened, Sam turned to her and said, "This is where I leave you."

Surprised, she suddenly found herself feeling abandoned. She had wrongly assumed that Sam would take them all the way, having forgotten that he was little more than an errand boy.

Swallowing thickly, she nodded. "Thank you."

Good luck, Sam mouthed with a smile before turning and heading back down the walkway.

The walk through the mansion to the stairs that would take them to Monroe was a sight that Charlie had never dreamt she would ever see in person but she wasn't able to appreciate it as she otherwise would have, not after what she'd seen on the way there.

Up the stairs and down a hall brought them to a pair of tall doors, guarded by another pair of heavily armed officers, which seemed to be the theme of the place. Either Monroe was extremely paranoid or he had reason to be worried for his safety, which she had no doubt he did.

One of the officers stepped forward, slinging his gun over his shoulder on its strap, and proceeded to frisk them. She was thankful that he was quick about it but if another man put his hands on her, or tried to, she might scream her head off.

"Clear," the officer announced when he was done.

He moved back to the door and, turning the handle, stepped inside.

"Excuse me. They're here, General," she heard him say.

"Send them in."

The voice that replied was soft and gravelly, not at all what she'd expected from the big, bad General Monroe, President of the militia and the Republic.

The double doors opened and they were led inside.

The first thing she noticed was how huge the room was. Elegantly furnished – like the rest of the house – with a high, domed ceiling and polished wooden floors. That kind of opulence was obscene yet she couldn't help admiring it, having never seen anything like it before.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

She looked towards the voice and took stock of the man who it belonged to.

He was shorter than she'd imagined, though clearly fit, and far more handsome than someone as evil as he should be. His face did not betray the man he was said to be on the inside.

I guess the big, bad wolf really does come in sheep's clothing sometimes, she thought.

"Welcome," he greeted. He turned to her brother. "Danny. I'm sorry about what happened to your father. Believe me, it was not my intention." He glanced over his shoulder. "Rest assured that Captain Neville will be dealt with." He then met Charlie's gaze, smiling. "And you must be Charlotte. Your reputation precedes you. And might I say, you look just like your mother."

Charlie gasped, unable to control her reaction. Those were the last words she'd ever expected to hear.

"You…You know my mother?"

He looked to his left, an unspoken question in his eyes, and it was then that she realized that he was not alone. Standing beside him were none other than Captain Tom Neville and Lieutenant Jason Neville.

How the hell did they beat them there when they'd left the train station first?

Unable to help herself, she looked at Jason, unsurprised to find his eyes on her. His expression was unreadable – wasn't it always? – so she turned back to the man in charge. She didn't need Jason clouding her thoughts or feelings at the moment. She had to be on the ball at all times where Monroe was concerned. Her life could very well depend on it.

"Ahh, our other guest has arrived," Monroe said when the doors opened once again.

Wary, Charlie turned as the guards preceded whoever it was into the room but as they parted and the new arrival was revealed, her wariness turned to shock.

The blood drained from her face, her heart skipped a beat and for the second time, she gasped.

"Mom?"

Jason watched as Charlie stared Monroe down, admiration and pride filling his chest.

She was meeting the President of the Monroe Republic, the General of the entire militia, and yet she had the audacity to blatantly measure the man with her no-nonsense, calculating gaze. He didn't know anyone as brave as she, not even in the higher ranks of the militia, his father included.

"Ahh, our other guest has arrived."

Something inside of him jerked just then. He wished that he could warn her somehow, that he could ease what was about to come and make it less of a shock. He could have, should have, told her ages ago. He'd had an opportunity on the train as well but he'd let it slip away.

"Mom?" he heard her breathe.

Rachel Matheson froze in mid-stride, eyes widening as she laid eyes on her daughter for the first time in a decade.

"Charlie?"

A second later she disappeared in a blond blur, streaking across the room to her children and throwing her arms around them both, hugging them tightly.

"Oh, my God," she cried. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She kissed their cheeks, nuzzled their faces, never releasing her hold on them for even a second.

Charlie and Danny, so alike in looks, had tears in their eyes as they beheld their mother for the first time since they were children.

"Isn't this lovely?" Monroe said dryly, breaking the mood. "So heart-warming."

Despite her tear-ravaged face, Rachel Matheson managed to pull herself together to look like the fierce Mama-Bear that she was as she turned to face Monroe.

"What is she doing here?" she demanded. "You only mentioned Danny."

Monroe opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. "I was only expecting Danny, Scout's honor. Imagine my surprise when I learned that not one but two Matheson offspring would be walking into my office." He grinned. "Consider it a gift from me to you, after all the hard work you've committed to doing for me." His voice lowered to just a hint of a threat at the end of the sentence and Jason knew by the fear that entered Rachel's eyes that his message had been received loud and clear.

"Come now," Monroe said, clapping his hands. "Why don't you sojourn to your room? I'll have some refreshments sent up and you can catch up on all that you've missed. I'm sure that will last you another ten to twenty years, Rachel."

Rachel flushed at his insult, a reminder that she had abandoned her children and thus missed out on a large chunk of their lives.

"Come," she said to them, ushering them out the door.

"Uh-uh," Monroe chimed.

Rachel stopped and looked back at him.

"I'm afraid she'll have to stay," he said, pointing at Charlie. His gaze shifted to one of the guards behind them. "Take her away."

Rachel dropped her hold on her children and turned to face Monroe. "What? Why?"

"There's just the matter of a minor interrogation and she'll be returned to you posthaste."

Rachel took a step towards him. "Bas…"

Ignoring her, he once again turned to the guard. "Have it set up for tonight," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," the guard saluted.

Jason watched helplessly as the guard grabbed Charlie by the arm and began to drag her from the room. She struggled and tried to kick and claw but all to no avail as another guard grabbed her other arm to keep her still while they removed her from the room.

"Mom!"

Danny lunged after her but was brought up short by Neville's hand on the scruff of his neck.

Jason didn't even realize that his father had moved.

"Charlie!" Rachel screamed, also making a move to go after her.

Monroe grabbed her by the elbow, however, holding her in place.

"Don't make a scene, Rachel," he warned softly. "I won't hurt her unless she makes it necessary for me to do so. So long as she answers my questions honestly, she won't come to any harm. You'll have her back before you know it." His gaze shifted to Danny for a long, pointed moment before returning to Rachel's horrified face. "Take Danny and go to your room before I change my mind about that too. Now."

Stumbling blindly towards her son, Rachel grabbed his arm and jerked him out of Neville's hold before following a guard out of the room.

"Lieutenant, can you excuse us? I'd like to speak to your father alone," Monroe said, walking around his desk to sit in his chair.

"Yes, Sir," Jason saluted, grateful for the reprieve. His feelings of helplessness had turned to those of self-disgust at being unable to help Charlie. Watching her be dragged away, literally kicking and screaming, would haunt him for some time.

"I want your full report at 18:00 hours. Why don't you relax until then?"

"Yes, Sir."

Saluting the General and then his father, Jason took his leave.

Relax.

How was he supposed to relax? His mind was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins with no viable outlet. He had to force himself to stay still as it was.

Sighing, Jason ran a weary hand over his face.

After leaving Monroe's office, he'd headed to the officer's cafeteria and grabbed a quick bite before returning to his room. He'd paced for a while, wearing a path from the window to the door, his thoughts a convoluted mess, before finally dropping onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. It was exactly why he hadn't gone home. His mother would have hovered and that was the last thing he needed right now. He needed to think – or beat himself senseless – and her presence would only have gotten in the way of that. She would have wanted to talk, about his mission, about why he seemed disturbed, and he simply couldn't deal with her endless questions.

Though he sometimes lived at home, he also had a room in one of the many large houses surrounding the mansion, which were reserved for the families of the high-ranking officers, single ranking officers or people Monroe considered otherwise important. He was but one of many lieutenants in the militia, however, being Captain Neville's son had certain perks, this being one of them. It was the only one he was thankful for because he often felt like he was suffocating in his parents' house. Here, in this room, was the only place he could breathe, where he could simply be Jason.

"Why did I bring you here?" he whispered to ears that were too far away to hear.

He'd been asking himself that question since the train. He should have probably thrown her off and risked incurring his father's wrath. He might have yelled at him, probably would have smacked him around a little, but then he would have had to get over it. There was no way that Tom Neville would ever have let Monroe find out about it. In his eyes, Jason's failure would be his own. Jason could handle his father's disappointment but he couldn't live with the uncertainty of Charlie's future. If he'd thrown her off the train, she might have been injured, may have broken something, but she'd most likely be alive and, more importantly, she'd be safe. He could not guarantee her safety here. No one could.

Now, because of him, she was locked up in a cell somewhere – without even the comfort of being imprisoned with her family – awaiting interrogation. He had no idea what she would be subjected to as there were many types of interrogations and it all depended on who conducted it. Best case scenario, Monroe sat her down for a conversation. He prayed that, for once, Charlie would withhold the attitude and just answer straightforwardly. Pissing Monroe off wasn't a good idea. He hoped that she was smart enough to see that. If Monroe didn't handle it personally, there might be even more cause for concern. Some of the men who specialized in "information gathering", especially getting detainees to talk, were downright scary. There was one in particular…

Jason blanched, pushing the thought out of his head before it could fully take root. He prayed to God that Charlie didn't have to deal with him. Jason even steered clear of him if he could. Simply being around the man made one's blood run cold. He had an unsettling aura.

He continued to think, considering his options. Eventually, he decided that, if it was possible, he would go to her interrogation. Somehow, he would try to guide her through it. If nothing else, he hoped that his presence would put her at ease.

Or piss her off enough that she'll be able to cope with whatever they throw at her.

Charlie was his responsibility, he thought with grim conviction. He had gotten her into this mess and it was up to him to come up with some kind of game plan that would allow him to help and protect her.

Hopefully, he wouldn't get them both killed.

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, the sun was setting.

Groggy, he rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. It was another feature of his room that he loved. Though there was no pipe borne water, they'd been able retain some semblance of modern convenience. The shower didn't work, naturally, but he had a tub and could flush the toilet if he filled the tank manually. There was a huge vat of water in the corner, which allowed him to meet all of his aquatic needs without having to lug water through the house every day. Whenever it got close to running low, it would magically be refilled.

Another perk, he thought with a smile, one that he'd missed while stomping through the woods with Charlie and company.

Everyone had a role to play. While he might not have to do menial jobs, he did constantly put his life on the line and spent most of his time training for a war that would undoubtedly eventually come. A fair trade if ever there was one.

He splashed water on his face and neck, letting it air dry to cool himself down. He was in desperate need of a bath but he would take care of that later, when his mind and heart were no longer filled with fear and worry for Charlie and what awaited her. When he could finally, as Monroe had ordered, relax.

Feeling refreshed, he walked back into the bedroom, toweled off and tidied up, trading his shirt for a fresh, crisp one. The material was rough and uncomfortable and felt foreign after weeks of dressing like a civilian. That was one of the benefits of living a normal life, he supposed. There was very little uniformity, no mold that the civilians had to force themselves to fit into. They could do whatever they wanted to do, say whatever they wanted to say – so long as it wasn't against the militia or they weren't caught, of course – wear whatever they wanted to wear. His civilian clothes had been extremely comfortable but they'd also been specifically chosen for the mission.

He smiled to himself, remembering Miles' name for him.

Nipples.

An unexpected though entertaining bonus feature of his fitted shirts. He'd worn those clothes on missions before, missions where he'd had to get close to women to glean information. It was one of the many information gathering techniques he was trained in. They were always advised to use their assets and, being a handsome guy, attracting women was a piece of cake. He never had to expend much effort to get what he wanted from them. Charlie was a harder, more difficult nut to crack but not altogether immune to him. When they'd first met, he knew that she'd liked what she'd seen. And even after he'd betrayed her, she'd still protected him from Miles at the amusement park. He knew that she was as aware of him physically, sexually, as he was of her. Try as she might to fight or deny it to herself, it was there. He'd seen it in her eyes a few times, even after she'd found out who and what he really was. He liked the fact that she was attracted to him. He knew that nothing could ever come of it, any kind of relationship was doomed before they'd even met, but it made him feel good to have his feelings returned. No one liked being in a one-sided love affair, after all.

Breaking out of his musings, he finished tidying his clothes, checked himself in the mirror to make sure that he looked presentable, stuffed a rolled-up sheet of paper on his desk in his pocket and exited the room.

He still had time before Monroe would be expecting him so he didn't hurry. He'd written his report the night before on the train – when he'd been too distracted with thoughts of Charlie to sleep – and had it memorized verbatim so he wasn't worried about being caught off guard by any questions the General might have for him. Nothing he'd written in the report was a lie, he'd simply left out a few details here and there. He'd downplayed Charlie's involvement with Miles' schemes and skimmed through their interactions, making the report as analytical and impersonal as he possibly could. As far as Monroe was concerned, he was merely a robot, a programmable foot soldier following orders, so he tried to write his report befitting of that role.

When he reached the front of Monroe's mansion, he walked up the heavily guarded drive, nodding briefly to the officers as he passed.

Ten on the ground, three on each balcony, countless others inside.

Even if he'd been crazy enough to try, there was no way he could get Charlie away from this place by himself. Their bullet ridden bodies wouldn't even make it to the front door before they hit the ground.

He made his way inside, up the stairs to the huge double-doors and waited to be announced and permitted.

When the summons finally came, he drew a deep breath, threw his shoulders back and braced himself.

It was no surprise that his father was there, he thought when he walked in, as if he hadn't moved since he'd left them earlier. He was almost always at Monroe's side, like an obedient, prized pet.

"Lieutenant," Monroe said in greeting.

"Sir!" he saluted.

"At ease, soldier."

Monroe didn't waste time in getting down to business. Jason handed him the written report and launched into a verbal recitation. He gave a brief summary of every point he'd noted in the report, answering Monroe's questions as he asked them.

"Good," Monroe said when he was done. "You've been very thorough, Lieutenant. I appreciate your attention to detail."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I found it a bit light myself," Captain Neville commented, cocking a brow as he looked pointedly at his son. "Especially where it concerns the girl."

"The report is complete, Sir," Jason replied tonelessly, barely restrained anger prickling beneath his skin.

Monroe chuckled. "Give the boy a break, Tom. There's nothing wrong with appreciating a pretty face."

Neville said nothing but by the look on his face, Jason was sure that he disagreed.

"You think quickly on your feet, Lieutenant," Monroe continued. "I like that as well. To be honest, like your father, I probably wouldn't have thought of keeping her around."

"You can never have too many hostages, Sir," he responded confidently.

Monroe laughed. "That sounds like something Miles would say." He turned to drop the report on his desk, picking up another sheet of paper. "You're free to go, Lieutenant, but before you do, have you seen this pendant? With the girl perhaps?" He held the paper out to Jason.

Jason glanced down at the page, instantly recognizing the symbol.

"Not the girl. The fat guy has it."

Monroe nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."

"Yes, Sir." He clicked his heels together and turned as if to leave, took two steps then paused, turning back. He wanted it to seem like an afterthought. He couldn't let even a hint of anxiety or anticipation show. "Sir."

Monroe raised a questioning brow. "Lieutenant."

"Permission to observe the detainee's interrogation, Sir."

A frown settled between Monroe's brows. "May I ask why?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Sir?" At Monroe's nod, he continued. "She handcuffed me to a post and left me for dead, Sir. It took me two days to free myself." He forced anger into his words, hoping that he looked as pissed as he sounded. "I just want to see her suffer a little."

Monroe gave him a long, considering look before a huge smile broke out across his face. He looked over at Tom and slapped him on the shoulder. "Jesus, Tom, he's almost as vindictive and blood-thirsty as you are. Like father, like son, eh?"

Tom Neville cracked a small smile but Jason still saw suspicion in his eyes.

Turning back to Jason, Monroe nodded. "Alright, permission granted. Oh, but you'd better hurry. I think Strausser's already started."

Strausser?

Jason's stomach sank, his heartbeat quickening.

No, no, no. Anyone but him.

"Please remind him not to get carried away," Monroe said. "I don't want the girl scarred for life and he's terrified enough women around here as it is."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Lieutenant, one last thing. To your knowledge, does the girl know what her uncle plans to do next?"

Jason shook his head. "They were single-mindedly focused on yesterday. Their original aim was just to get the brother back but then the woman, Nora…"

"Nora Clayton?" Monroe interjected. "Latina?"

Jason nodded. "Yes. She's a rebel. She met up with a man named Hutch, another rebel I assume, and they built the bomb to blow up the train. My guess is they were hoping to find the boy before the train departed but when they realized that he was on it, they decided to stop the bomb instead." He paused for a moment. "I was their prisoner but they spoke freely in front of me so I'm fairly certain that what I heard and saw is accurate. If they'd gotten the boy, they would have gone back home so I don't think they had any further plans. The girl won't have any information to give Strausser no matter how hard he tries."

"It never hurts to be thorough," Monroe replied with a small smile. "I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Jason bowed his head in – grudging – agreement.

"Go on. And don't forget to remind Strausser to show some restraint. The girl's mother is difficult enough to deal with as it is, I don't need to give her more reasons to be troublesome. Threats are only meaningful if I have something to use against her, which I won't if the girl's dead."

"Yes, Sir."

Jason saluted one last time, turned and calmly walked out the door.

He kept his pace sedate, chanting left, right, left in his head as he mechanically walked through the house. He couldn't show any emotion, couldn't give in to the fear clogging his throat, the urge to run. He had to stay cool, he reminded himself. He had to be strong for both of them. Heaven knew what condition Charlie would be in when he got to her. If Strausser hurt her… He didn't know what he would do. He might very well lose his head.

Back in Monroe's office, the General walked to the sidebar, picked up a crystal decanter of his favorite whiskey and poured himself a glass. He raised the glass to Tom in a silent question, replacing the stopper in the decanter when his Captain declined.

"You've done a great job with him, Tom. He's the perfect soldier. You really should be proud."

Captain Neville bowed his head graciously. "Thank you, Sir."

"I don't think I'll ever know what that feels like, Tom. The pride a man, a father, has in his son."

"It's not too late, Sir."

Monroe laughed mirthlessly. "Come now, Tom, you know me better than that. You're lucky that you had Julia before the blackout. Finding love in this world is as likely as the electricity coming back on at this very minute. A one in a million chance. So don't be too hard on your boy if he has a little crush on a pretty girl. Those who find it are the lucky ones. Unless he lets it get in the way of his work," he added with an inquiring lift of his brow.

Neville hesitated. "There was a moment on the train where I thought that he was going to defy me. He did defy me when I told him to bring her to me and he didn't."

"But…?"

"But then he made his point…and he was right. I did let my anger towards the girl and her brother cloud my judgment."

"He could have said that just to save her," Monroe pointed out.

Neville nodded. "True. But he's never put her before his duty and loyalty to the militia. He's betrayed her at every turn and he knows that bringing her here means she'll probably never leave. He may not want her dead but… No, he hasn't let it interfere with his work."

Monroe nodded, satisfied. "Good. I think he deserves a little reward."

Startled, Neville straightened. "Sir?"

"What? He's completed a solo mission, one that, knowing Miles, couldn't possibly have been easy. He was bound and left stranded and helpless, as he pointed out, by the girl he fancies. Don't you think that deserves a reward?"

No, Neville thought. Regardless of what he'd said in Jason's defense, he didn't believe in doling out rewards unless they were earned through blood, sweat and tears. Following a little rag tag group of wannabe troublemakers was hardly likely to be too difficult.

"I respect your opinion, Sir," he said finally.

Monroe chuckled. "You would've made a hell of a politician, Tom. Any idea what he'd like? Alcohol? Gold? Is there a specific girl that he visits at the hotel?"

"Not that I can think of, Sir. Jason has always been a pretty introverted young man. He's sociable enough, he gets along with everyone and for the most part they like him, but he keeps his thoughts and predilections to himself."

"Hmm… Fine, I'll think on it. In the meantime…" He knocked back the rest of his glass. "There's that small matter of Ben Matheson."

Neville paled visibly. "Sir, it wasn't my intention to…"

"How would you like the rank of Major?"

"Sir?" Were his ears deceiving him?, he wondered.

"Your reward, Tom," Monroe said with a smile. "I know how long you've had your eye on heading up the information and interrogation division. You've been away from home, from Julia, for quite some time now. As has your son," he pointed out. "I'd say you've certainly earned it. It's yours if you want it."

"Sir…" There was so much he could say but words escaped him.

Monroe nodded. "We make a good team, Tom, you and I. With you by my side, there's nothing we can't accomplish."

Humbled by Monroe's faith in him, Neville was again struck speechless, only managing a nod in response.

The dungeon was dark and eerie, lit only by widely spaced sconces set in the walls.

There were other detainment areas with cells similar to that of a regular prison but the dungeon was atmospheric. Only important prisoners were brought here, people who had pertinent information and needed the fear of God put in them to comply. The cells were completely blocked off, concrete walls on the sides and a solid steel door at the front, so that prisoners couldn't see or interact with one another. They could hear each other, though, especially if/when an interrogation was being conducted in the rooms at the end of the long aisle. Agonized screams had a tendency to permeate even the smallest of wall cracks.

Jason listened intently for any sounds coming from the rooms at the end of the aisle as he hurriedly made his way down. There were currently no prisoners in the dungeon so there were no guards around except for the two posted at the outer door. For this reason, he felt safe enough to run down the aisle to the only door with light shining in its window, pausing only to collect himself before unceremoniously throwing it open.

"What the…"

Strausser stood, turning towards the door to see who had joined him, a wicked looking blade in his hand. He usually worked alone, unless the General had questions he personally wanted to ask, so he wasn't expecting company and was less than pleased with the interruption.

Jason forced himself not to look at Charlie, meeting Strausser's hard glare with a bemused expression of his own as he casually leaned against the door frame.

"Hey," he greeted calmly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Strausser barked.

"What do you think? I came to watch."

Strausser's brows furrowed and he took a threatening step towards Jason. "I don't like company when I'm working."

Jason scoffed. "Too bad." When Strausser raised his bladed hand and took another step towards him, Jason raised his own hands defenselessly. "Hey, I got permission. General Monroe knows that I'm here." This time he took a step towards Strausser. "He told me to make sure that you don't go overboard. He doesn't want the girl tortured or scarred. Just get the information and be done with it." He smirked. "But I can promise you now that she won't tell you anything."

Strausser cocked a challenging brow. "You think so?"

He walked back to Charlie's side, squatting beside her and for the first time, Jason allowed himself to look at her.

Good God.

Jason froze, arms dropping to his sides, hands curling into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

She sat in a chair, bound and gagged, her arms tied to the armrests of the chair, palms up. Her face was fine, blotchy and her eyes shone with tears but she was otherwise unhurt. Her arms though… There were countless lines etched horizontally from elbow to wrist. They were so perfect, so precise, that it looked like he'd used a ruler to measure the distance between each slice. There was no blood, though, which was a small consolation. No blood meant no scars.

"How do you expect her to talk if she's gagged?" he heard himself ask, his voice husky to his own ears.

"She'll let me know when she's ready. Won't you my pretty?" Strausser cupped the side of her face and Jason saw her visibly tremble, jerking away from the man's touch.

"She can't tell you what she doesn't know."

Strausser glanced at him. "And you know this because…?"

"I was there. I heard everything they said, saw everything they did. I already told General Monroe this. She doesn't know anything."

Strausser shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm just following orders. Now you can either stand there quietly and let me do my job or leave."

Jason stepped back to the door, needing to put as much distance between himself and Strausser before he strangled the man. He focused instead on Charlie, seeing that she was already watching him.

She was shooting daggers at him again and it made him want to smile. She was undoubtedly in pain but her spirit was apparently as feisty as ever.

"Now where were we…" Strausser murmured, bringing the thin blade to Charlie's arm again.

"No scars," Jason reminded him.

"Don't worry. It looks worse than it really is. Superficial wounds are always the bloodiest," he said matter-of-factly. "But as you can see, there's no blood. I'm being a good boy."

By Strausser's standards, playing tic-tac-toe on a young girl's arms was light torture but it still made Jason's skin crawl. He wondered how anyone could be so soulless.

Charlie groaned softly as the blade scraped across her sensitive flesh. Sweat broke out on her skin and her eyes were filled with pain but she didn't cry and she didn't make any attempt to talk to or reason with the psycho inflicting pain upon her.

Look at me, Jason mouthed, pointing to his eyes.

She stared back at him, holding his gaze and he felt like their souls connected. Her lashes would flicker and her chest would heave whenever Strausser made a new cut and the pain in her eyes was so tangible that Jason felt it as if it was his own. Yet still, she didn't whimper or shed a single tear. She stayed centered on him, like he'd wanted – needed – her to and he felt himself smiling, his chest swelling with pride. She was a strange girl, Charlie. With the exception of his mother, he didn't know any woman who could even bear being so close to Strausser, much less being strapped down and at his psychotic mercy yet keeping her cool.

"You have anything to say to me, darlin'?" Strausser asked, once again trailing a hand along her cheek.

This time Charlie didn't jerk away. Instead, she looked at him with a hatred and anger so intense that Jason was thankful not to be on the receiving end.

Strausser, however, seemed to find it amusing since he laughed and said, "You've got a lot of fire in you, don't you girl? I like that. I think you and I could have a lot of fun together. Too bad I can't bring out all my toys."

Listening to him, Jason struggled to remain calm, wanting nothing more than to take Strausser's knife and carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He would be doing the world a favor, he was sure of it.

"Are you about done here?" Jason asked, keeping his voice level and disinterested.

"I like to take my time when I'm working. I'm a bit of a perfectionist so I need to be…thorough." He shot Jason a glance over his shoulder. "Why did you want to watch anyway?"

Figuring it was the safest answer, Jason gave him the same excuse that he'd given Monroe.

"When I was tailing them, I thought she'd been injured so I revealed myself to help her. Stupid decision, I know that now, but I really thought she was injured and I needed her to get to Matheson so…" He shrugged. "But the bitch was faking it. Next thing I know I'm handcuffed to a post and she's walking off on me. Took me two days to free myself, then I had to haul ass to catch up."

Strausser laughed. "Amateur."

"Whatever. Anyway, I figure I'm due a little payback so I asked General Monroe if I could watch. It's about the only revenge I'm gonna get."

"Well, Lieutenant, I wish I could put on a proper show that'll make up for what this pretty lil' thing did to you but I've got my orders. However…" He turned his body slightly to look fully on at Jason, smiling a smile so cold and creepy that a shiver ran down Jason's spine. "Why don't you come over here and give it a try?" He gestured to the handle-less knife he held. "I'm sure that'll be a helluva lot more satisfying than just watching."

Jason forced a laugh, waving off the offer. "I'd better not. My emotions might get in the way and I may end up doing more damage than I mean to. I'd rather not be on General Monroe's bad side. Better to leave it to the pros."

Strausser chuckled, turning back to Charlie. "Suit yourself. It's a pity for all my work to go to waste, though. Even just one…"

"No scars," Jason said firmly.

"I got it, I was just saying…"

Jason had to assume that Strausser knew, like he'd already told him, that Charlie had nothing to say so at this point, he was merely torturing her for the sake of it. That he was a sick man was nothing new but it hadn't really hit home until now, until it was someone he knew and cared about. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Until Strausser himself called it quits or one of the higher ups sent for him, Charlie was at his mercy. He wanted to whisk her away and take care of her, wanted to fight for her honor and pay Strausser back for every cut, every shiver, every tingle of fear that he'd made her feel. But he couldn't. He was utterly, disgustingly helpless.

After another ten minutes or so, or what felt like eternity, Strausser stood, picked up a soft white cloth and wiped the knife clean.

Jason breathed a soft sigh of relief, flashing Charlie a small smile as if to say "it's over now".

"Packing it in?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Not quite yet."

Jason frowned, panic rising in his chest. "But…"

"I said that it was a pity I couldn't bring out all of my toys," Strausser reminded him. A wicked smile settled on his lips. "I never said that I wasn't going to show her a few more. This was just…an appetizer, if you will."

"What's the point when she obviously doesn't know anything?" Jason asked, trying his best to stay calm and not give away the fact that he was freaking out inside. "And General Monroe…"

"General Monroe said not to leave any scars, and so I shan't. But he knows better than to rush me. He usually leaves me to work in peace. I let you stay because you said that you wanted revenge for what she did to you but if you can't stomach it, there's no shame in admitting it. Torture is not for the faint of heart or yellow-bellied," he purred, his smile widening.

Jason flushed slightly. "It's not that. I've seen far worse things. I just…"

A knock on the door interrupted him and Jason turned to see a private standing behind him.

The private saluted. "Lieutenant. Colonel Lansing requires your presence."

No, no. Not now.

"Just give me…" he began.

"He said that it's urgent, Sir. Regarding the trouble down south."

Shit.

"Go on," Strausser said. "I promise not to leave any scars. Scout's honor." He placed a hand over his heart but the smile that accompanied his words was anything but comforting.

Jason looked at Charlie, apology clearly written in his eyes. He wanted to say something, wished that he could, but what could he possibly say that would give her strength but wouldn't sound out of place?

"Good luck." The words fell from his lips as his eyes bored into hers.

She nodded slightly and it gave him confidence that she would be okay. Relatively speaking.

"I don't need it, but thanks," Strausser replied, assuming that it was meant for him.

"I'm sure that it's not easy to…restrain yourself so…good luck."

Strausser nodded and turned back to look down at Charlie.

Jason forced himself out of the room and once again directed all of his strength into putting one foot in front of the other, walking away from the girl that continued to haunt him.

The pain had subsided, dimming to a dull, barely perceptible throb.

If she didn't move an inch or breathe too deeply, then she didn't feel anything, almost like it hadn't happened.

She didn't know how long she'd been lying there, stretched out on her stomach on the cot in her cell, but it had been a while. No one came, though. Not to bring her food, check her wounds or to see if she was even alive. Surely someone must have known what that mad man was up to? Shouldn't someone be around to tend to prisoners after their ordeal?

Did her mother know?, she wondered. Was she worried? Did she even care?

Rachel had been there when they'd dragged her out of Monroe's office and she'd heard her call her name but since she hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since, she had to assume that she couldn't move around freely. They'd been separated for over ten years, though. The same way it felt foreign to her to think of Rachel as her mother, perhaps Rachel no longer felt like a mother herself. She'd hugged and kissed them and had looked delighted to see them but once the shock wore off, what then? Ten years was a lot of time to have to make up for. Maybe they were just too different now. Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe it was simply too late.

Maybe…

There were a lot of maybes in her life right now. Nothing was definite. She'd accomplished her goal of getting to Danny but she hadn't rescued him and doing so would be impossible on her own. With Miles and Nora injured, there was no telling when they would be able to attempt a rescue of their own. If they could at all. For all she knew, Miles had died. It seemed improbable when thinking about the man who'd built the militia from the ground up but at the end of the day, wasn't Miles just flesh and blood like the rest of them? He wasn't a God, wasn't immortal. Even he had his limitations.

And then there was Jason…

It was his fault that she was in this mess. He'd led her on then betrayed her. He'd probably told his father and Monroe everything that had happened, everything he'd seen and heard, during his time with them. Back there on the train, he'd ruined things for her. Everything had been under control until he'd shown up.

Granted, he had talked his father out of shooting her. She might have been dead if not for him.

Realistically, she knew that everything that had happened would probably have played out exactly the same with or without Jason. He hadn't been the cause of her search for Danny: his father was. She'd sought Miles out because her father had told her to. And Miles was the one who'd led them on their journey, the journey that had ultimately taken them to Noblesville where the train, Neville and Danny were. At the end of the day, Jason had nothing to do with anything.

But she needed someone to blame and he was handy. If he didn't confuse her so, she might have let him off the hook. She didn't get him. He'd told her that he was just following orders, yet every time she turned around, there he was, saving her. Neville would have shot her if not for him. Even though he'd casually said that Neville could still shoot her if Monroe had no use for her, she knew that he hadn't meant it. And tonight, with that sick bastard… He'd appeared, completely catching her, and Strausser, by surprise. He hadn't done anything to stop Strausser from hurting her – he couldn't, she understood that – but his presence had really helped. He'd distracted her from what she'd been feeling, at least as far as the pain went. Her emotions had been, and still were, a mess.

He was her enemy. The fact that they were on opposite sides of the war remained unchanging. And yet…he wasn't like his father, or Monroe, or Strausser. He wasn't cold and calculating. She didn't doubt for a moment that he could be but he didn't go out of his way to hurt or abuse people. She'd seen the fear for her in his eyes tonight, the guilt, the panic and worry. If he'd been a typical militia soldier, the kind she'd heard about for years, ruthless and unkind, he wouldn't have spared a moment's thought for her. But he had. He'd come, he'd stayed, he'd cheered her on, albeit silently. His smiles and nods of encouragement had really helped, especially every time Strausser made a fresh cut. The slices were so light and shallow that she barely felt them at first, but then the burning would begin and the more cuts he made, the more intense the burn.

"You won't have scars," he'd said casually, like they were talking about the damn weather, "but they will itch like crazy for quite some time and if you're not careful and scratch that itch, well…let's just say it'd be a shame to ruin such pretty skin."

Thinking about him made her tremble in disgust. The man was repulsive, clearly sick and depraved. What was Monroe doing with someone like him? Wasn't he concerned that he might not be able to control him one day? Then again, that was probably the point. He needed someone cold and heartless to carry out his evil deeds on his behalf.

Before Jason had showed up, Strausser had said some things that had really alarmed her. Being down in the dungeon alone with a psycho made her aware of her own mortality. She couldn't answer his questions because there weren't any[answers] but even if there had been, she wouldn't have told him anything. Still, the thought of being tortured to death was terrifying. As a woman, there were far more horrifying things he could do to her than slicing her arm and she didn't doubt for a second that he was fully capable of doing them. The way he looked at her when he stroked her face chilled her to the bone. For that reason, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that she'd gotten away relatively unscathed.

The door's lock broke her out of her thoughts, her body going completely still as she listened to the latch being thrown then the sound of the heavy metal creaking as it was pulled open, then closed behind whoever had entered.

There was a tense moment of silence where she wondered if her thoughts of the monster had summoned him.

"Charlie?"

Her lungs kicked into gear again, tears of relief springing to her eyes at the sound of that familiar, though unwanted, voice.

"Go away," she groaned softly, her voice husky with emotion.

Jason stood looking down at her for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He'd stayed away for as long as he could, biding his time until Strausser and most of the senior officers had retired to their quarters before making his way to the dungeon, medical supplies in tow. Now that he was here with her, he didn't know what to say.

Forgoing words altogether, he walked to the narrow cot and lowered himself to the small space beside her hip. The fact that she hadn't moved an inch when she'd spoken worried him. Was she in that much pain?

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing that it was a dumb question before the words even came out of his mouth.

"I'm fine," she quipped, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Just dandy. Now go away."

"Charlie, I…"

He'd shifted a bit, leaning forward to speak near her ear so that he brushed against her side and back, when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Frowning, he pulled back slightly and looked down at her. He didn't notice it at first, looking down at her top as he was. The material was thin but he couldn't see through it to the skin beneath. It was when his gaze shifted lower to the two inch gap between the hem of her top and the waistband of her jeans that he saw the bruises.

It was his turn to gasp.

"Oh, my God, Charlie. What did he do to you?"

"Sandbags," she whispered.

"What?"

She laughed softly, a completely unexpected sound given the grimness of the atmosphere and the scene before him.

"There was this kid. About fourteen, I think. Blond hair, blue eyes. He reminded me of Danny at that age. Strausser tied me up to this rope hanging from the ceiling, then left the room. He was gone for about ten minutes and when he came back, the kid was with him. He said, "I'm going to teach you how to play baseball. Didn't you say that you always wanted to learn?" The kid looked at him like he was crazy, which, of course, he is, but that's beside the point. More importantly, I could tell that he was terrified. Who could blame him?"

Gently, so as not to hurt her, Jason rolled her top up to her shoulders. He expected her to protest, was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. She wasn't wearing a bra, and he was pretty sure that she had been the last time he'd seen her, so he briefly wondered who had taken it off. He hoped to God that she'd done it herself, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from letting loose a string of profanities when he saw the black and blue bruises coloring her back. It was a good thing that Strausser wasn't around. He definitely wouldn't have been able to stop himself from killing him if he'd set eyes on him just then.

"He hands the kid a baseball bat – it's the real thing. I've seen it before – and tells him to swing when he throws the ball. There are no balls, obviously. There haven't been for years. He tells him that the sand bag is a decent substitute, like a hackey-sack, whatever that is. The kid just stands there looking at me like he wants to cry. Strausser hits him, tells him to buck up and be a man. Ugh, if I ever get the chance, I'd love to plant my fist in his face. Among other things. Then he turns to me and says…" She laughed mirthlessly. ""You'd better turn around before you damage your vital areas. No man is going to care what your back looks like when you're lying on it." Filthy, disgusting pig of a man!" she swore. "But I did as he said, not because he told me to but because he would hit the kid again if I didn't. I smiled at him, which wasn't easy with a gag in my mouth, and I tried to tell him that it was okay by nodding. Like what you did for me." She paused for a moment. "The first few tries failed and I could hear him hitting the kid. God, I wanted nothing more than to beat him senseless with that damn bat. Then he decided to demonstrate. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Not at first. But then he kept hitting the same spot over and over and the pain spread throughout my entire body. I felt like my skin was on fire and I wondered if I wasn't bleeding internally. It certainly felt like he'd hurt something inside me, I just don't know what.

By the end, when he finally cut me down, I couldn't even stand on my own. I hated that he had to help me walk, hated having his hands on me, but he just dumped me here and left, thankfully."

Jason's gut clenched as he listened to her story. Every word cut him deep, his guilt multiplying tenfold.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly.

"Why?" Charlie asked brusquely. "You didn't do this to me."

"It's my fault that you're here."

When she didn't say anything, he took her silence as an agreement.

Opening the sack he'd brought with him, he removed a container with a thick, green paste and dipped his fingers in it.

"This is going to sting a little," he warned, before proceeding to dab the smelly green ointment on her bruises. "It won't last long. The medicine has a numbing effect. It'll probably make you a little sleepy."

Charlie winced and buried her face in the thin mattress beneath her. A little was an understatement. The thing burned like hell. But he was right, the sting didn't last long.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly.

Jason paused for a second before continuing his ministrations. "Doing what?"

"Helping me."

Because I like you, Charlie. Because it's my fault that you're in this mess. Because I want to take care of you and keep you safe. Because I can't help myself even though I know that I could possibly endanger us both.

How was he honestly supposed to answer that?, he wondered.

He decided to settle for a partial truth. "It' my fault that this happened to you. I've gone over it in my head so many times. Maybe I should have thrown you off the train. It was a risk but it certainly would have been better than this."

"Why didn't you just let Neville shoot me?" she asked softly.

"I couldn't."

Again, it was the truth, simply put and as much as he was going to admit to her, today at least.

Charlie wasn't stupid. It was obvious that there was more that he wasn't saying but she didn't need him to. She'd been thinking about it just before he'd come in, hadn't she? This thing between them, whatever it was, was dangerous, especially for him, yet he continued to put his life on the line to help her, to be with her. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop: another part of her hoped that he never would.

It was becoming hard to think, though. Her mind was getting kind of fuzzy. Maybe exhaustion was finally catching up with her.

"Charlie."

"Mmmm?" she murmured, nestling into the empty space between her outstretched arms.

"I'm going to get you out of this. Someway, somehow, I'm going to get you out of here. You and Danny both," he pledged.

When she didn't immediately reply, he wondered if she'd drifted off but before he could speak again, she said,

"What about my Mom?"

Jason sighed. "I'm sorry. The only time I ever see her is if she's with Monroe when Major Neville goes to see him. Even if I could get to her, it would be impossible to get her out. There's just no way."

It was no less than she'd expected. She appreciated Jason's concern and his help but he was basically telling her that she would have to choose her life, and Danny's, over her mother's if she wanted to leave. She might be struggling to feel daughterly towards the woman who had given birth to her but they were blood and she didn't have much of that left. Danny, her uncle Miles and, now, her mother were it.

Silence fell between them and Jason continued lathering the salve, coating her back liberally so that there wasn't an inch of skin showing. Satisfied that he'd done his best there, he pulled her top back down, rose and walked around to the front of the cot, squatting in front of her as he repeated the process on her scored arms.

Charlie watched him as he worked. Her eyelids felt heavy and she could barely keep them open but she held on.

He really was quite attractive. He had a strong jaw – she thought that was what they called it, all that angular sharpness – and thick, kissable lips. She probably would have blushed at that train of thought if she wasn't so sleepy. His eyes were quite pretty, though his brows were heavy so she didn't always notice that they were a light gold. His hands were large and warm where they touched her, as they should be, she supposed, since he wasn't a reptile.

Okay, her brain definitely wasn't working right. She was thinking in gibberish. What the hell was in this thing he was rubbing on her?

His task complete, Jason stood and looked down at her.

He had to get going. It was late so no one was likely to notice his lengthy stay in the dungeon but it was still dangerous. Anyone could come in at any time for any number of reasons and considering that his excuse for going to her interrogation had been to see her suffer, his not only visiting her but playing nursemaid to boot would be more than suspicious.

"If I can, I'll come back tomorrow." It was the best he could do. He'd just gotten back to town but there were problems with rebels along the southern border and more than likely, he'd be leaving again soon.

She nodded but didn't say anything, her eyes already drifting shut.

Taking that as a sign to leave, he took one last, lingering look before heading towards the door.

As he opened it, her soft, husky voice called out to him.

"Jason?"

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Coming from Charlie, knowing how hard they must be to say, those words meant more than they ever would from someone else.

"You're welcome."

He stepped out into the dark hallway, closing the door softly behind him.

A/N: I've been sitting on this for over a week. I dunno why this fic is making me nervous. I've written so many in the past 3yrs but this one makes me feel like a n00b. Maybe it's cuz it's not an original concept.

Or maybe my head is still twisted up over that mid-season finale. Can I just say how pissed I still am that there was no Jason whatsoever? A really good ep overall but all I wanted was a glimpse of him, is that so much to ask? I think I've read every single Charlie/Jason-Nate fic on FFN and A03. There isn't much. Is it that this pairing just doesn't appeal to people or something? I'm not surprised by the abundance of Miles/Bass fics, I mean in the finale alone the homoeroticism was off the scale and male/male fics tend to appeal to women, but there's a disconcerting amount of Miles/Charlie fics too, which just isn't my thing at all so I'm extremely deprived.

Oh, thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response. It means a lot.