Chapter 2

'Something I've been meaning to tell you'

"Miles?"

Rachel surveyed the scene in the tent. Texas had put Miles back in a uniform. But it was the recent events that had put Miles back into his old ways. An empty flask lay on the ground next to the desk on which he had passed out cold. The lantern was still burning and he was still fully dressed in his officer's Uniform.

Miles looked older than ever these last few weeks. Dark circles were always present under his eyes and lines she had never noticed before on his face suddenly seemed more pronounced. It didn't help that he had taken to drinking himself to sleep every night.

"Miles?" Rachel said again, louder this time. She crossed the tent to pick up the empty flask and return it to the desk. As she set it down she saw what Miles had been working on before he had collapsed under the weight of the alcohol and his exhaustion. She frowned, and gently, without waking him, shifted the map out from under him.

It was obviously hand drawn, in Miles' writing. Messy, as though he didn't want anyone else to be able to decipher it. At the top Miles had written "22 days," the number 22 had been scratched out to be replaced with a 23 above it. The map was covered with stars and red dots and arrows. No one, if they didn't know Miles, would be able to understand anything the map was saying. But she did know Miles, she had for a very long time. Not only did she know him, but she had been making her own maps. Granted, her maps were in her head. She didn't know Monroe the way that Miles did. So she didn't know where he would go, where he would take her daughter. But every day she imagined the greater distance between her and the only child she had left. How many miles were between them, how far was Charlie from her. Fucking Bass... she should have shot him the moment he arrived in Willoughby. She should have shot him in his sleep as soon as Charlie and Miles were out of the way. She should have shot him when he gave that fancy little speech to the Texans, his words like velvet. Sebastian Monroe could make anyone believe anything. But he could not fool Rachel Matheson.

"You see, Miles and I didn't just build the Monroe Republic out of nothing, just because we were good at swinging swords," Those had been Monroe's words to the Texans, who had him handcuffed and chained to a chair. He calmly stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, no fear, never any fear on those dangerously handsome features. "We made people believe in us, Miles and I, believe in swinging their swords for us." He had leaned forward in the chair as far as his restraints would allow. As close to the gun as possible. Looking the Texan leaders in their eyes. "I will give you that, all of America, swinging their swords for you. And if I don't. I will gladly let you kill me."

They had made them both generals, both him and Miles. But it was Miles who had almost lost his life when Monroe skipped town. Once they realized he really had skipped town.

"We have to go after them, we have to get Charlie back!" Rachel had pleaded with him.

"I am done chasing Monroe all over the god-damn United States Rachel!" Miles had yelled. "And if I leave, the Texans will kill you, they'll kill your father, they'll kill Aaron... Don't think they won't!"

"We'll come with you."

"No, Rachel. No. I'm not doing it. I can't do it. Someone else will find Monroe and someone else will kill him."

"They'll kill Charlie too!"

Miles had sighed, "Charlie is obviously old enough to look after herself."

"Charlie is twenty-one, she's just a kid Miles. But if she's found with Monroe, the Texans, the Patriots, whoever finds them, they don't care."

"Well then I guess we just have to trust the bastard to be as good as we know him to at not getting caught."

The fight lasted for hours, which turned to days. The Texans would kill Miles for abandonment, if they caught him. And they wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone they knew he cared about too. Taking Rachel and Gene would slow him down, but leaving them was killing them. And Aaron and Cynthia would be tortured, at the very least, for information on where Miles had gone. "I can't do that." Miles repeated over and over. "No more innocents are getting hurt on my watch."

"So you're just going to let Monroe have Charlie."

"Like I said, Charlie's a big girl Rachel."

So they had come to a stalemate. Rachel knowing she still had an ace up her sleeve she hadn't played. A dangerous, unpredictable ace that could make Miles hate her, or could convince him to follow the arrows he had drawn on his map. Convince him that he had to go and find Charlie.

It had been 23 days. She was ready to play that Ace.

"Miles!" She put a hand on his back, trying to wake him.

He stirred in his sleep, muttering to himself, she could only make out one word, a word that felt like taking an arrow all over again. "Norah..."

He was far away from her or Charlie in his dreams. And the jealousy was unbearable. But the guilt that accompanied it was worse. How could she be so jealous of a dead girl.

Her resolve in playing that last card, that for a moment had been so strong, so final, was broken. She left him at his desk, with his map and his flask. Tears stung at her eyes. She crossed the length of the tent. Norah was dead. But he still dreamed of Norah. And Norah was dead because of her. So many people were dead because of her. She was just about to let step out when she heard his voice from behind her, heavy with sleep and liquor. "Rachel?"

She sighed and turned back to face him. "You're drunk again."

"I'm sorry." He said, and his tone scared her, he sounded like a man who had given up. She watched as he rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Any word from...?"

"No." She answered his question before he could ask it.

"You know, if they bring Monroe in alive, I don't care this time Rachel, I just don't. I want to be the one to put the bullet in his brain."

"And what about Charlie?"

"What do you mean, what about Charlie, I'm not planning to kill Charlie. I'm just gonna find some castle to lock her up in or something." His words were slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant, what if she's really in love with him, with Bass." Rachel replied, crossing her arms. "She'll hate you."

"So she can hate me." He raised an eyebrow. "And whatever is going on between them, it's not love." His voice was full of hate, "He's got Charlie all.. brainwashed and shit, Rachel. Charlie's... I don't know... Damn it. How did I let this happen?" He looked up at Rachel, defeated.

"How did we?" Rachel corrected.

"You know, back when he could have had any woman, back when they were practically throwing themselves at him, he never kept any of them around longer than a week." Miles mused. "I never thought I would see the day when Sebastian Monroe would give up a war and run away, all for a girl."

"That's not all he gave up Miles." Rachel added, "He gave up his second chance with us."

"Yeah..." Miles agreed, "The Bastard."

"I don't know, Miles. I don't think he would give up all of that if he didn't feel something for Charlie. Maybe he really does love..."

"No, Rachel, he's a psychopath. Whatever Monroe and Charlie are doing..." He put his head in his hands at the image, "Whatever game they're playing at. It's not love."

Rachel closed her eyes. It hurt that she didn't know her daughter well enough, didn't understand her well enough, to understand what her motive for running off with Bass was. She was, no matter what Miles said, still inclined to think that Charlie had fallen in love. She herself had been twenty-one once, and stupid, and in love, and it had only gotten her in trouble. And Charlie wasn't so different from the young girl Rachel had once been.

They were both silent for several minutes. It was a heavy silence, unanswered questions hanging over their heads. Finally Rachel spoke up. "When I came in, you were dreaming... about Norah."

Miles didn't look up. He just shifted slightly. "Yeah, well, Norah's dead, Rachel."

Rachel blinked back tears. Tears that just came anyways. "Miles I feel so guilty." She whispered, "There are days when I feel like all of this, everything, is my fault." She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "I shouldn't have helped them. Ben and I, we just, we just wanted to save Danny. But look what they did. I'm the reason there's no power. And I couldn't even keep Danny alive in the end."

"Hey, Rachel," Miles got up from the table and crossed the tent to take her in his arms. "It's not your fault. We've all messed up. But it's not your fault."

"It is though Miles, she whispered into his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his waist. "I left Charlie and Danny. I just left them. What kind of a mother does that. Ben is dead because of me, Danny is dead because of me, Norah is dead because of me."

"No.. Rachel..."

"Yes Miles. The bombs. Atlanta and Philly..." And she buried her face in shoulder, her body shaking as she sobbed.

"Shhh.." Miles soothed, kissing her hair. "All that stuff you did, you were just trying to do what was best. Shit, look at all the mistakes I made, the Monroe Republic wasn't my brightest moment." Rachel made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

They held each other for a few minutes. Neither wanting to let go, both knowing they had to.

Rachel finally removed her hands from his waist to wipe her eyes. "I should have seen change in Charlie, there had to have been some sort of red flag. I should have been able to stop her from going."

"No one stops Charlie once she decides she wants something." Miles replied, a slight smile on his handsome face. "She's a force of nature."

"She get's that from you, not me." Rachel said.

"I would say that's a Rachel trait." Miles said, still smiling. "Ben was always so rational. Charlie is anything but."

Rachel was quiet for a moment, she hugged herself protectively and looked at the floor, wondering how to phrase words she had once promised herself she would never say. "Charlie is exactly like her father." She finally said.

"I don't.." Miles began, but Rachel interupted.

"Miles... there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Something that I should have told you twenty-one years ago."