The wagon finally began to slow down, which was fortunate because it should not have been traveling at the speed it was considering the condition of the roads.

She wasn't sure for how long or far they had traveled, but it was a while. Charlie looked over at Connor, who looked like he was going into shock. She wished she had a blanket to put around him to keep him warm…you do that when someone is going into shock, right? Instead, she put her arm around him to try to share some heat.

"I killed him," Connor lamented. "I killed my father." He began to break down. Not crying or sobbing…it was like he was too overwhelmed to do either.

Charlie tried to comfort him. "You don't know that."

Connor abruptly looked at her. Don't give me that crap.

"What? You don't know that. Yeah, he's going to be in really bad shape. And, yeah, he might die, but I think, at least for now, your father is still alive. He will make it to Duncan's…alive." Charlie was pretty sure she was trying to convince herself of that just as much as she was trying to convince Connor.

Eventually, they came to a stop. A large, burly, stereotypical biker dude jumped from the wagon's bench and stood before them, complete with large bushy white beard and leather headband and vest. She hoped that the trailing wagon…with Monroe…Bass…would show up soon she could know for sure what his situation was, but Duncan's men ushered the two out of the wagon quickly. Charlie looked around at the compound. It looked like an abandoned…compound. Maybe a former small military base or outpost and the customary town that grew up around it. Or at least what was left of them. It was definitely defendable; she could see why they chose this place. It was a lot more permanent…and nicer…than what she expected.

Connor and she were escorted into one of the buildings. It looked like former dorms, or maybe a cheap hotel. As they walked down an interior hall, she noticed that every few rooms the doors were removed from the jambs. As she looked in, she saw that these rooms must be used for storage. But she noticed something else: on the opposite side of the exterior windows were an abundance of lanterns, protected from the elements, with their light shining inside the rooms. She looked down the hall and noticed that it was illuminated by the light shining through the missing doors, no need for the use of lanterns inside. Hmmm. Clever.

"I'm Striker, by the way," burly biker dude said to them as they came to a stop in front of a door. "You two will wait in here until Duncan is ready for you. In there," he pointed in the comfortably appointed room, "you'll find supplies to clean up his wounds. There is alcohol. I recommend using the red labeled one for disinfecting only. It tastes horrible. The green labeled bottle is OK for drinking. Help yourself."

Charlie tried to find out about Bass, but Striker slammed the door shut. She heard a lock and figured they were stuck. That pissed her off. Really pissed her off.

She began banging on the door and being a general obnoxious nuisance…and would be until the door opened. Finally, Striker apparently had had enough and the door swung open…violently.

"What is your problem, lady?"

"I want to know how Bass…how Monroe is. I want to know how long you intend to keep us locked up in here. I want to know why you imprison people who are friends. I want to…"

"I want YOU to calm down!" Striker demanded. He wasn't cold hearted. He knew what happened that night and he understood their need for answers. "Look. I don't know how Monroe is doing. If it is as bad as I imagine, we probably won't hear anything for probably an hour."

God, an hour.

"But, we have a couple people here who were medical personnel before the blackout. An actual ER doctor. And there's a woman who was a field medic in the Army. They know what they're doing. And you aren't imprisoned. We just don't know you. Once things get settled, Duncan will come here and everything will get sorted out. Now please, take care of your friend and leave me be in peace. I'm in the middle of 50 Shades of Gray and I would like to get some of it read tonight."

Charlie silently nodded as Striker closed the door. Duncan's clan was a whole lot more diverse and a whole lot less stereotypical than she initially imagined. What a strange group.

Monroe was brought into the compound's medical unit…or what passed for it. He was unconscious with lacerations and contusions over much of his upper body. As Duncan looked on from a distance, Joseph, the former ER doctor, and Florence, the former field medic, went to work with the meager tools they had. They cut off Bass' jeans and determined that his lower body, for the most part, made it out relatively unscathed. He had one large contusion on the side and back of his upper left leg, but that was all.

"OK. A-B-Cs" Joseph started. "Come on 'Nightingale', what's the situation?"

"Yeah, never heard that one before Joe. But it does get funnier every time you say it." She leaned her head down by Bass' mouth and the room fell silent as she listened. "Air way sounds clear. Doesn't appear to have a compromised pharynx or any obstructions."

"Good. Next?"

"Breathing seems labored. Patient is unconscious and is unable to confirm pain."

At this point, Joseph lightly pushed on the bruised area of his patient's torso, trying to determine any pain. After a little prodding, the patient had a clear pain response, but fortunately in only one location.

"OK, Judy, note to check ribs for fractures," he indicated to their de facto nurse. "Next?"

"Circulation….um…" Florence began as she checked Bass' extremities. "Fingers and hands seem to be warm and color is good."

"Yeah, pulse is good on the femoral artery too." Joseph agreed.

"Mr. Monroe! Can you hear me" Joseph yelled at Bass' face. Monroe stirred but didn't respond. "Mr. Monroe! Do you know what day it is?"

"No," came a weak response from the patient. "Stop yelling at me," he quietly implored.

Everyone smiled a little. At least their patient was more conscious than a moment ago.

"OK," Joseph said, a little quieter. "You're at Duncan's place. My name is Joseph. Do you know what happened?"

"No." a pause. "A fight?"

"That's right." The doctor was relieved to hear his patient had at least some memory of the evening's events. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"All over. I just want to sleep."

"In a bit. Do you remember my name?"

Taking a moment to think, Bass finally replied, "I don't know you. Where am I?"

He suddenly tried to sit up and became agitated when they held him down.

"Mr. Monroe. Mr. Monroe! We will answer your questions, but we need to take care of your injuries first."

"Where is Charlie?"

That must be his son.

"He's fine. He's nearby…he's being taken care of in another…oomph" The doctor unexpectedly found himself with a tight grip around his neck.

"Charlie is not a he. You are lying to me."

"No." he tried fighting off the grip. "Mistake. There is…young man and…young…woman."

At this, Monroe loosened his grip. The doctor fell back, coughing. At this point, Florence stepped in.

"Sorry, we don't know their names; we thought Charlie was the man's name. I'm guessing Charlie is short for…"

"Charlotte."

"So what is the man's name?"

"I...I don't…can't remember. Clark? Conrad? I don't know."

"That's OK. So, Charlotte and the man are down the hall from here. She's fine. He's a little banged up, but OK."

At this, Bass relaxed and let the doctors continue their work on him.

"Doctor, are you OK?" Florence looked back at Joseph as he approached his patient, but with more caution.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He answered, still coughing a little. "Though I don't think I'd be going out on a limb and say with his memory impairment, headache, and agitation, he has a concussion."

The doctors finished their examination of their easily agitated patient. Finally, they allowed Duncan to approach.

"What's the verdict?"

"Well, amazingly, he doesn't have any severe fractures, though he has a couple cracked ribs and probably some hairline fractures on his elbow, humerus, and scapula on his left side. He has some pretty deep contusions. He doesn't seem to have any internal bleeding. He has a pretty significant concussion and I'm hoping it is only that, but we need to keep an eye on him in case it is a subdural hematoma. Though if it is, any sort of treatment would be extremely risky. He seems to have equal strength on both sides of his body, so I'm hopeful it's just the concussion."

"So can he be moved?"

"We'll give it about another thirty minutes, and then we can move him to…" Joseph looked at Duncan waiting to hear where his patient would be staying.

"He'll be staying in my quarters."

"Of course. We will have him moved to your quarters when he's able to be moved."

Charlie had spent the last half hour cleaning up Connor's injuries. And Striker was right. The alcohol in the red labeled bottle was horrible, but still disinfected well. The green label wasn't bad at all and Connor had been helping himself quite a bit. He was a mess.

She had been sipping some, but had been holding back only because she wanted to stay sharp until she had Connor cleaned up and found out about Monroe. She really wanted to get plastered. She was just finishing up with Connor when the door opened. She expected to finally see Duncan, but it was Striker again.

"I think they're finishing up with Monroe. A bunch of people just filed out of the med unit. I don't know for sure, but I think he's still alive."

Upon the questioning…and hopeful…looks on the two's faces, he explained, "Everyone looks tired, but not distraught or sad or anything. I'm sure you'll find out more soon."

"Thanks, Striker."

He started to close the door, but movement behind him stopped it. Finally Duncan appeared.

Without wasting time with niceties, Duncan gave them an update. "He's alive. He's injured, and the doctor is a little concerned about head trauma, but barring any unexpected troubles, he should make it."

Charlie and Connor were both extremely relieved and hugged each other, tightly.

"You two can stay here." Duncan motioned to the room. Seeing Charlie's expression at just the one bed, she continued, "Just remove the cushions from around the couch and it can be used as a bed also."

"But where is my dad going to sleep?" Connor asked. He was anxious to see Monroe…and to apologize to him, even though he knew his dad wouldn't feel it necessary.

"I can take the floor, Connor. At least for tonight. I'm not nursing any injuries."

Connor seemed like he was going to argue, though just for show or out of gentlemanly obligation. He should let the lady have a bed, but he was so sore, the thought of sleeping on a hard floor made him sick. Fortunately, he could tell Charlie understood all this. She was giving him her best "don't argue with me" look.

"That won't be necessary; Sebastian will be staying in my room, with me."

Charlie wasn't positive, but she could swear Duncan put a little extra emphasis on the end of that statement. For her benefit. Both she and Connor were about to argue with this arrangement, but Duncan went to leave, shutting the door behind her. There would be no arguments.

Angry, but exhausted, the two prepared for sleep, despite both feeling guilty for not fighting to keep Bass with them that night. But with the adrenaline of the evening gone, the fatigue was rapidly overtaking them. Charlie helped Connor into bed, reminding her of all the times she had helped Danny to bed while growing up. She then went to make up the couch to sleep on. She bedded down and felt sleep start to overtake her…though she worried for the man who wasn't there.

Connor and Charlie both drifted off as the sun began to rise. An end to an extremely difficult night.

Duncan studied the man asleep in her bed. He still had dried blood on him…on his face, in his matted, curly hair, on his neck. He was still. Too still for his usual, fitful sleep. She wasn't sure if it was because of his exhaustion, his injuries, or if he had found peace where ever it was he called home.

Injuries aside, he was still beautiful. Rugged. Virile. She missed him…missed the feel of him above her, beneath her. She wanted it again, even if but a short time. She doubted she could get him to stay with her and her clan, but while he was here, she might as well make an effort to reacquaint herself with him, his body.

She shed her clothes and slowly crawled into bed next to him. Sighing, she reached up to stoke his hair away from his face. "When you are feeling a little better," she whispered to him, "we'll get you a bath. I'll wash the regret and pain from your body." She placed a light kiss on his cheek, and another on the corner of his lips.

Monroe leaned into her touch, slowly turning his head towards her kisses, enjoying the feel of intimacy, even in his less than conscious state.

Duncan began running her hand lightly over his abdomen, careful to avoid any of his injuries and bandaged ribs. Small moans and sighs escaped Sebastian's mouth. Duncan wondered how much she could do to him without exacerbating his injuries. There may just be kissing and fondling tonight, more so for his enjoyment than hers, but that was OK, for now.

She let her hand wander lower, lightly grazing his length, enjoying his slight squirming.

"Does that feel good?" she asked him quietly with a smile.

He nodded ever so slightly and sighed her name. Unfortunately, it was the wrong her.

"Charlie…"