Author's Note: Just a reminder; for the most part this will follow the episodes and simply give more detail and insight than what we see on tv. However, I might also change or add things to the story. I never really know until I'm writing. That also means that some things might be out of character, although for this story I'm trying to keep them close to character. If you have any requests for stories or things you want to see in this one, let me know! Thanks for reading!

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Cautiously, Bass and Charlie moved from cover to inspect the now charred bodies of the Patriots. Bass poked one with the barrel of his rifle, grimacing at the disgusting burnt smell that permeated the air. He glanced at Charlie, "C'mon, let's go find your mom and Miles. With any luck, Stay Puft is with them and we can get the hell outta here."

Charlie followed him back to the hallway where they had previously split from Rachel and Miles, both softly calling for them and checking rooms just in case there were some Patriots that had managed to escape Aaron's wrath. They didn't find anything until Rachel's head poked out of a doorway at the end of the hall. Her frantic voice had them sprinting towards her.

Upon entering the room and seeing Miles passed out against an overturned table, Bass abruptly stopped. "Son of a bitch," he swore softly. Handing his rifle to Charlie, he quickly stepped to Miles and knelt beside him, feeling his temperature and checking his injury.

Charlie laid a comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder as her mother stated, panicked, "I've done everything I can think of but he won't wake up! We need my dad; he's the only way Miles would have a chance!"

Bass looked down helplessly and made a decision. He squeezed Miles' shoulder and stood up, facing Rachel, face determined, "Where can I find Gene?"

Rachel shook her head, tears in her eyes, "You don't understand..."

"Rachel, focus!" Bass shouted, "Where the hell is your dad?"

Charlie interrupted, "I can take you to where we left him but..." she glanced at her mom in sympathy before continuing, "There's no way to know if he's still alive."

"He stayed behind-" Rachel started to explain but Bass cut her off.

"I don't give a damn what he did; we're going to get him back so he can fix this," Bass growled.

Just then, Aaron ran into the room, splattered in blood, eyes darting around wildly, "I'm so glad I found you guys, I was-" he stopped talking when he saw Miles, "Shit, what's wrong with him?"

Charlie took Aaron over to one side to calm him down and Bass turned once again to Rachel, "We're going to move Miles to the cellar then Charlie and I are going to find your dad. You and fatso keep the door secured and stay quiet until we're back, got it?"

At Rachel's nod, they quickly moved everybody back to the cellar, grabbing blankets that had been left down there and stacking them to make a bed for Miles to lay on. As soon as that was done, Bass shouldered his rifle and stalked outside.

After giving Rachel a quick hug, Charlie caught up with him and led him to the building where they had left Gene surrounded by Patriots. If the Patriot guards out front were anything to go by, Gene was, in fact, still alive.

Bass made quick work of the guards and stormed into the building, finally coming to a locked door. He tore it open and, sure enough, there was Gene in a pathetic heap on the ground. Bass took a moment to assess any injuries the man might have suffered but didn't see anything. "On your feet, Gramps," he ordered, hauling Gene up none too gracefully, "We gotta go. C'mon." To his annoyance, Gene just stared at him. Bass rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I'm alive. C'mon, go!" He ushered him out of the building where Charlie was keeping watch.

In the interest of time, Bass forwent his usual cautiousness in favor of speed and the group arrived back at the cellar quickly. Bass knocked knocked on the wooden doors to signal their arrival.

"I don't get it, why are you helping me?" Gene asked Bass, suspicion clouding his tone.

Bass glared at him as he waited for the doors to open, "It's not for you."

Aaron opened up the doors and Bass quickly descended, Gene and Charlie right behind. He ignored Rachel, brushing past her and going straight to Miles. He frowned as he observed the sweat pouring off his friend and his choppy breathing. Hearing the soft voices of Gene and Rachel, he glanced up, fury building. Miles was dying and those two were shooting the effing breeze. He cast one more look at Miles before striding up to Gene. "Well, this is touching, really," Bass said, venom dripping from the words. He nodded toward Miles and his voice dropped to a dangerous tone as he clenched his teeth, "Go help him." He spun around and placed himself at Miles' bedside again, ignoring Aaron standing beside him.

Bass felt his stomach churn as he watched Gene use the larva to eat the infection from Miles' blood. He knew it was necessary but that didn't make it any easier to watch. Finally, hours later, Gene pronounced that lots of rest and hydration were the only things Miles needed now. Rachel, Charlie, and Gene all bunked in the room where Miles was. Bass moved so he was reclined against the stairway leading outside, rifle cradled in his arms in case of intruders, and Aaron settled down across from him, to keep an eye on him or something, Bass didn't know nor did he really care. He was exhausted.

The next morning, Bass got up with the sun in order to scope out the area and make sure no Patriots had moved closer during the night. Thankfully, it appeared that they hadn't even discovered Gene was gone yet and the area around the cellar was, for the moment, peaceful. When he arrived back, the first thing he noticed was Miles finally conscious. "Good, you're awake," he stated, walking into the room, "We need to talk."

Rachel, still gazing at Miles, tried to dismiss him, "Not now, Bass."

"I'm done waiting," Bass said firmly, "Now." When nobody moved, he met Miles' eyes with an expression that made it clear he was done screwing around.

"Give us a minute," Miles told the rest of the group, watching as they all filed out of the room, finally leaving him and Bass alone.

"Where's my son?" questioned Bass.

Miles sighed, "I still need you here, Bass."

Bass shook his head, "That's not the deal."

"Look," Miles explained, shifting so he was sitting up, "These Patriots; still a big problem."

"Where is he, Miles?" asked Bass wearily, tired of playing these games. Miles didn't answer right away and Bass's tone took on a hint of desperation, "You said if I saved Pittman then you'd tell me. I saved him, I even threw in old man traitor as a bonus! I held up my end, now it's your turn. Tell me where my son is."

Miles seriously considered staying silent but the pleading look Bass was giving him forced him to speak, "His name's Conner."

Bass waited for more. While it was nice knowing his son's name, that wasn't what Miles promised him.

Sure enough, Miles spoke again, "I'll do you one better, I'll take you to him."

Bass wasn't expecting that. From the get-go Miles had been less than enthusiastic about Bass's arrival. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until he realized he needed Bass's help that he stopped actively trying to get rid of him. So, understandably, Bass was a little suspicious about the offer. He studied Miles for a moment before it clicked, "You don't think I'll come back."

Miles had the decency to meet his stare head on, "Do you want the help or not?"

It would be easier, not to mention safer, to navigate Patriot territory if he and Miles could watch each others backs, and while Bass had no doubt he could find his son once given the location, having Miles lead him directly there would be faster. Finally he nodded, "Alright. You'd be pretty useless in a fight right about now so we'll head out tomorrow afternoon." He started to walk out, leaving no room for argument, but Miles' voice stopped him.

"Rachel's coming with us."

Bass froze for a second before spinning around, "What the hell for? Miles, it would be quicker and easier if it's just us, not to mention safer for her."

Miles shook his head stubbornly, "I don't care, Bass. She's coming."

Bass could see there was no use arguing so he just huffed and continued out of the room.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The next day while Bass and Charlie were saddling up three horses, Miles called Rachel into "his" room to help him re-wrap his hand and arm. She started in about Bass almost immediately, as Miles expected.

"This is ridiculous. You're in no shape to go anywhere," she said as she unrolled the bandage.

"He's right," Miles told her, "I owe him." Rachel thought he meant because Bass had brought Gene to save Miles but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Miles knew he owed Bass for much more than just that one act. It was time to start making it right.

Sure enough, Rachel didn't get it, "Okay. Tell him where his kid is and he can go find him. Good riddance."

Miles kept his irritation pretty well in check as he explained, "I do that, he won't come back."

"Good."

Miles glanced at her but she was focused on his arm. "Rachel, we still need him," Miles said earnestly, "He's useful. And he saved your dad, for one thing." He knew trying to get Rachel to accept Bass was futile but it would make his life a whole hell of a lot easier. And yes, Miles was telling the truth when he said they needed Bass and he was useful but those weren't the only reasons Miles wanted Bass to stay. He couldn't really put into words the other reason, though. It was like he didn't want to risk repairing the brotherhood they had in case something happened but he also didn't want Bass completely gone from his life again, either. So, he handled it the way he handled most situations pertaining to his relationships: badly. His solution was to keep Bass in their group while being a dick to him to make it clear they weren't friends. There were only two things complicating that plan: One, Bass kept trying to leave so he could find his kid and even though Miles understood, he really didn't think Bass would come back , Bass continued to try and repair his relationship with Miles despite Miles being almost totally unresponsive except for the occasional sarcastic remark.

"Look," Miles stated, "We'll take him down to find the kid who probably won't even be there then we'll drag him right back."

Rachel only heard one part of that, "Wait, we?"

Miles nodded as if that was a completely irrelevant part of the plan, "Yeah, I want you to come."

Rachel looked at him as if she was worried about his mental health as well as physical, "On your little Thelma and Louise road trip? I don't think so."

Miles frowned, trying to understand Rachel's hesitation, "Charlie is gonna be fine."

"I know," Rachel replied, "It's...Monroe."

Miles didn't get it; couldn't Rachel see by now that Bass had no intention of hurting any of them?

Rachel clarified, "We're like gasoline and a match."

Oh. That made more sense to Miles. Well, she was forcing him to be honest, "I'm worried. He and I get together, people tend to start dying. Think it'd be better if you came." One look at Rachel and he knew she would agree.

Bass didn't say a word to Rachel or Miles as they came outside, although he spared a small smile at Charlie as they mounted up and headed away from the cellar.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The three rode until dusk, stopping near an abandoned pole barn to make camp. It was a quiet affair, Rachel and Miles mostly keeping to themselves. Bass was surprised when, while Rachel put her blanket on the side of the fire opposite him, Miles laid his down a few feet to Bass's side. Miles didn't say anything, though, so Bass kept silent. Miles probably just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to sneak off or something.

They all went to sleep relatively quickly and the next morning, Rachel finally unglued herself from Miles' side to roll up her sleeping bag. Bass had already neatly packed up his stuff but he stayed crouched beside it, watching as Miles worked on packing his. Despite what Rachel thought, Bass did not save Miles simply because he needed to find his son. He still considered Miles a friend, his best friend, and he was honestly worried they were going to lose him. He still felt worried as he took in the somewhat run-down appearance of the man beside him. So, Bass decided to check on him in his typical blunt manner, "How you holding up, Stumpy?" The nonchalant words were offset by the warm, sincerely concerned tone in which they were said but Miles didn't seem to pick that up.

"Don't worry. I'll live long enough to help you find your kid," Miles replied, barely looking up from what he was doing.

Bass suppressed a sigh and looked down, unpacking and repacking his things simply to keep busy until everyone was ready to go.

"Can I ask you something?" Miles questioned suddenly, still focusing on his own pack.

The first thing that ran through Bass's mind was, didn't really give me a choice there, did you? But he tried to brush Miles off, "If I said nope...?"

Miles continued as if he hadn't spoken, "What're you hoping to get out of all this?"

Bass frowned in confusion and looked at Miles. "He's my son," he answered, as if it were obvious why he needed to find the kid. He realized that didn't really answer Miles' question though, so he elaborated, "I dunno. Maybe I can, uh...do something for him. Help him." He shrugged; he wasn't sure himself how exactly this was all gonna go down.

Miles could see Rachel was getting agitated with the turn this conversation had taken and his voice took on a slightly sarcastic tone, "You think this is gonna be Field Of Dreams? You guys will have a catch?" The dead look on Bass's face when he finally made eye contact made Miles want to retract the questions. It was even worse when Bass just went back to packing his bag without a word. Miles took a breath and made his voice more neutral, "I mean, he's gotta be, what...twenty-five by now. He may not be too happy to see you." He was trying to prepare Bass for the worst but it backfired.

Bass looked at him again, barely contained bitterness and hurt in his ice-blue eyes as he retaliated, "Who's fault is that, Miles? Huh? You're the one that took him away from me."

Miles didn't reply, just stood up and walked to his horse, fastening his pack to his saddle.

Bass did the same with his but he watched Miles, not willing to let him just drop the conversation now. "I just want to meet him, alright?" said Bass, "I think I deserve that much." He was talking to Miles but he saw the death glare Rachel directed at him. "What?" he finally asked sharply. She just stared at him and he rolled his eyes, "You got something to say, just say it!"

Miles watched them carefully, hoping Rachel wasn't about to say something to make everything worse.

"I have to help you find your son," said Rachel, disdain evident in her voice, "After you killed mine."

Miles knew better than to speak up at this particular instant and it seemed Bass knew it, too. He stayed silent as Rachel walked away before glancing at Miles. Miles didn't say anything and Bass just clenched his jaw and turned back to his horse. Sure, he gets the blame for all the dead and all the atrocious things the Militia has done. But, if anyone bothered to remember, he wasn't the one that set it up. Not that he's completely innocent but Miles has just as much blood on his hands. And Rachel probably has the most of all, being the one that created the nanotech to begin with and made it all possible. But he didn't say anything. Just mounted up and waited for the other two.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

They'd been riding for hours and still Miles refused to clue Bass into where they were going. He resolved to stop asking but when Miles dismounted and ordered Rachel and Bass to do the same, he couldn't help himself, "Seriously, Miles. Where are we going?"

Miles gave his usual infuriating answer, "Almost there."

"Almost where?" Bass shot back, "We're running out of Texas." Just as he said that, they topped a hill and saw the Mexico/U.S. Border stretching out below them.

"I never said he was in Texas," Miles replied.

Bass couldn't believe this, "You took my son to Mexico?" He looked at Miles, as if Miles couldn't possibly have been that stupid.

Miles ignored him and led the group down to the border gate where they walked carefully through the crowds and small camp.

"Why would you take my son to Mexico?" Bass asked Miles, looking around in disgust.

"One, he's got family there," answered Miles, "Two, they're richer than most the other Republics. Three, we wanted him as far away from you as we could get him." He couldn't look at Bass as he said that but it ended the conversation anyway.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

While Rachel's plan to get them into Mexico was working, Bass was getting really, really sick of bouncing along in a rickety old wagon. He'd entertained himself at first by evaluating the threat level of everyone else on board but it was clear to see that the only one they'd need to be concerned with was the one up front with the rifle. Bass scoffed at his tough-guy attitude; he could take the guy down with both hands tied.

A hissing sound caught all their attentions and they looked up at the man with the rifle riding beside the driver. The driver's guard, however, only had eyes for Rachel. He said something in Spanish and patted the seat beside him, laughing when Rachel looked away.

Bass smirked at the uncomfortable look on Rachel's face and didn't bother trying to hide it when she fixed him with a stare that plainly said she was blaming him for that, too.

"If we're going to make a move, we should do it soon," Rachel whispered to Miles, who sat beside her.

"Can't," Miles replied, "Nowhere to run for cover. Gotta wait."

"Can't," Bass interjected, "Can't do it. I'm done waiting." Not stopping for Miles' opinion, Bass looked at the driver, "Hey. Hey! Scusa ma!"

Miles was torn between laughing and asking why the hell Bass thought he would get a reply from a Mexican by speaking Italian.

As expected, no reaction from the driver. Bass looked at Miles for a second, shrugged, and turned to the man sitting next to him. "Excuse me," he said politely, then reached over him and quickly relieved the driver's guard of his rifle, jamming the butt of it into the man's face and knocking him off the wagon. He took the reins from the driver then gestured for him to jump off the wagon, which the man did before taking off running down the road.

Bass, ignoring the horrified looks he was getting from the other passengers (excluding Miles, who just looked annoyed), hopped into the front seat and took a firmer grip on the reins, talking softly to the horses as he coaxed them to a stop. "Alright," he said jovially, turning around, "Well, congratulations. You made it to Mexico. Go enjoy the Mexican dream." Everyone just gave him strange looks and his patience ran out, "Go, go!"

Startled, the others jumped out of the wagon, walking a few steps then turning back to see what this weirdo would do next.

Bass slapped the reins against the horses, giving them the order to move forward. "Well," he tossed over his shoulder to Miles and Rachel, "Now we got ourselves a wagon." He looked at Miles and patted the seat beside him, shrugging when Miles just glared at him. Bass thought he'd done pretty well. After all, he'd let the guard and driver go with minimal injuries instead of killing them, which would have been easier. He just couldn't win with those two.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Before too long, they arrived at the town of Puesta Del Sol. The more they saw of the residents, the less impressed Bass was with Miles' decision. The people were dirty and poorly-clothed, the buildings were run-down, and everyone watched the newcomers with extreme suspicion.

To give him a chance to curb the anger flaring up at Miles, Bass jumped off the wagon and took a few extra moments tying the horses up before finally speaking, "You brought my kid down here, Miles? This is nice. What'd you do, buy him a hand job and an eight ball?"

Miles glanced around, "Didn't used to be like this. Actually pretty nice." He walked off before Bass could formulate a response to that.

Bass followed Miles and Rachel down the sidewalk until Miles stopped at a particular door, knocking on it firmly. "Just tell them we're looking for Gary and Susan Bennett," he said to Rachel, who was the only one that could speak fluent Spanish.

When the door opened to reveal a dirty mid-age man, Rachel repeated the message. The man regarded them all carefully before telling Rachel something.

"What'd he say?" asked Bass impatiently.

Rachel sighed, "Uh, Conner's aunt and uncle died...eight years ago."

Miles sucked in a sharp breath; this wasn't going to go over well.

Sure enough, Bass rounded on him, "Eight-eight years. Miles?!"

Miles shook his head, "I didn't know..."

Bass couldn't even believe this, "Well, when's the last time you heard from him?"

"Been awhile," was all Miles would say.

Bass turned back to the man at the door, "They had, uh, had a kid with them! Uh, Conner Bennett-just ask him!"

Rachel questioned the man but he promptly backed up and slammed the door in their faces.

The three stood there, not knowing what to do next. Bass swallowed and looked at Miles who was staring at the ground, "If we don't find him or I find a grave with his name on it...you and I are gonna have some serious problems."

Miles met his gaze and could see Bass wasn't screwing around. What they had now was a strained relationship but a relationship nonetheless. If Conner was dead...there would be no going back.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass took the lead this time, deciding to just ask around until he had some idea of where his son might be. By late afternoon they had made there way to a dimly lit bar where Bass had found an English speaker to interrogate, "He would be about twenty-five years old. His name's Conner Bennett. You know him?"

The man frowned, "I said no." After spouting off something in Spanish, he shoved his chair back and walked away.

Bass made his way back to where Miles and Rachel were sitting in time to hear Rachel say his son was gone and they should leave. "I'm not goin' anywhere," Bass stated defiantly, sitting down and pouring himself a drink from the bottle already on the table, "Not without a lead. Something."

Miles sagged back in his chair, "Look, I said I'd bring you here and I did. Now it's time to get back, deal with the Patriots."

"Oh, that's perfect, Miles," Bass said sarcastically, "First, you kill the kid's mother and then you give up on the kid." He knew that was harsh but did Miles really think he was going to give up on finding his only living relative so easily? Couldn't he understand, at least a little, that Bass was sick and tired of being alone all the time?

Miles immediately protested, "I didn't kill Emma."

"One of your men did," Bass answered. Same thing, right? After all, they were blaming him for Danny's death, Ben's death, neither of which he was present for but if his men did it, Bass did it, right? He shifted his stare to Rachel, "I'm not leaving without him."

A young man showed up at their table with a cocky grin, "Afternoon, folks. So, if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing in town?"

Bass was in no mood to deal with some punk trying to pry into their business, "Yes, we do mind your asking. Mind your own damn business." He took a drink, assuming the conversation was over.

The kid maintained his smirk but it was noticeably more forced, "You're in our town. Show a little respect."

Miles stared at the kid with raised eyebrows and tried to catch Bass's attention before he dug himself into a deeper hole, "Eh, Bass?"

Bass gave him a curious look but spoke instead to the kid, "Wow, so this, uh, this cock-fighting ring of hell, this is all yours? I'm impressed." Ignoring the men with guns coming to gather behind the kid, he climbed to his feet, still running his mouth, "Really, look at this man, huh? Is this not the whitest Mexican in Mexico?"

"Bass!" Miles almost shouted to get his attention.

"What?" asked Bass sharply, still staring down the kid in front of him. Not hearing a response, he turned to look at Miles, somewhat confused.

Miles nodded at the kid, "...That's him."

Bass just stared at Miles as understanding dawned on Conner's face.

"Wait a minute," he said, looking closer at Miles, "I know you. You're Miles, right?"

Miles gave him a half-smile but didn't respond and Conner turned his gaze to Bass.

Bass studied him intently. You're Conner?" he asked softly.

Conner was immediately defensive, "Who the hell are you?"

Bass tried to speak but the words kept getting caught in his throat. He hadn't actually planned this far ahead. "I'm your dad," he finally forced out.

Conner opened his mouth a couple times but nothing came out. Finally, he took a breath and spoke in Spanish to the men behind him, not taking his eyes off Bass. The men walked away as Conner reverted to English, "My dad is dead. My mom said he was a mechanic from East Lansing."

"Yeah?" Bass replied quietly, "Well, Emma lied. It's me." He waited to see what Conner's reaction would be, not holding out much hope for a good one.

Conner glanced at Miles for confirmation.

"That's the truth," Miles told him with a shrug, getting up to stand a couple feet behind Bass.

"Then where's my mom?" Conner asked, looking around the bar as if she might be waiting somewhere nearby.

Baa could hear the hope in the kid's voice and really didn't want to be the one to break the news to him. He slightly turned his head toward Miles, not enough to meet his eyes but hoping Miles would help him out.

Miles did, answering quietly, "She's dead."

The grief was apparent on Conner's face and the group went silent, waiting for a reaction from him.

When none came, Bass decided it was time to move things along, "Okay, uh, I just want to talk."

"Good," declared Conner sardonically, "We'll have a heart-to-heart. Maybe I'll make you an ash tray for Father's Day."

Miles couldn't help himself. "He does kinda sound like you," he told Bass with a small smirk.

"You shut up," Conner tossed to him, sounding more like a little kid than the threatening man he was attempting to portray. "And you," he growled at Bass, getting in his face, "You're gonna crawl back under whatever rock you came from. Or else I'll bury you."

This was not going at all the way Bass had allowed himself to hope it would but he still couldn't help feeling a little indignant at that, "You're gonna bury me? What, with these, uh, West Side Story pals of yours?" Just as quickly, the indignation was gone, replaced with a horrible realization, "God, you're...you're nothin' but a two-bit thug."

Conner smiled coldly, "Well, this thug's got thirty men working for him."

"Wow, thirty? Thirty?" Bass quipped, "Thirty men, really? How do you command so many?" Jeez, this kid really hadn't figured out exactly who his dad was yet. Bass didn't know if he should be thankful or insulted. He tried to help him though, "This is a dead end street, kid. Trust me, I know."

"Really?" Conner scoffed, "And you know that? How?" It was clear he thought Bass was full of crap.

Well, if this was the only way to get through to him, Bass figured he would just bite the bullet, "Because I'm Sebastian Monroe."

Conner started laughing but as he saw the cautioning looks both Miles and Rachel were giving him, he abruptly stopped, "Wait, you're s-...you're serious. You're really Sebastian Monroe."

Bass didn't say anything or even nod. He just kept staring at Conner, trusting Miles would have his back if this ended up going badly.

One of Conner's guys came up to him, saying something in Spanish. Whatever it was, it was enough to turn Conner's attention away from Bass as he answered. He fixed Bass with one more glare then turned and followed the man from the room.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

They made camp outside of town that night. Bass was quiet as he took care of the horses and helped set up their spot. It wasn't until he was seated across from Miles and Rachel, staring into the crackling fire, that he finally spoke, "I gotta go back."

"You can't," Miles said, looking up at him.

"Like hell," Bass quietly shot back, meeting Miles' eyes.

Miles tossed up his hands, "Look, you saw him. You met him. That's it."

Bass clenched his teeth, refusing to look away. He just knew Miles wasn't finished.

Sure enough, Miles dropped his gaze back to the fire as he said, "Time to get back to Texas."

"This is on you, Miles," Bass said, "You brought an innocent kid down here, you dumped him. Look what he turned into. Some punk with illusions of grandeur."

Miles didn't say anything; wasn't much he could say. On one hand, he'd done what he thought was right at the time. On the other, as he'd already proven, he rarely managed to do the right thing the first time around. Bad decisions made with good intentions are still bad decisions.

"Must be like looking in a mirror," Rachel spoke up suddenly.

Bass's eyes shifted from Miles to her. So far, she'd been pretty good about letting him and Miles work things out for themselves but it seemed she'd reached her limit.

"There's nothing Miles could have done," she defended, "Could've watched him. Not watched him. Put him on Mars. Put him in a monastery. It doesn't matter who raised him. Conner was always going to turn out just like this because he's your son. He's your blood."

Bass was used to being put down and insulted; it'd been pretty much the norm since he showed up. Normally, he took it without retaliation but this time he pointed out Rachel's flawed manner of thinking, "Well, by that logic, Charlie's gonna grow up and end the world."

Though Miles had been perfectly content to sit their quietly during Rachel's spiel, he cut in before Bass could say anymore, "Okay, that's enough! Both of you." Bass was still glaring at Rachel even as Miles spoke to him, "C'mon, Bass."

Bass's looked at Miles, annoyance dropping from his expression. Despite it all, he trusted Miles and was pretty convinced he could still get Miles to understand why he needed to stay and try to get his son out. But it seemed that Miles wasn't going to give him the chance; instead picking up where Rachel left off.

"Being some...normal type of father, that's..." Miles shook his head as if he couldn't even conceive something so absurd, "That was never in the cards for you."

Bass stared at him, not even trying to hide the hurt on his face. Rachel could say this kinda stuff and he let it roll off; she hated him, after all. But for Miles to say it...and to know that's what Miles had thought of him even before all this...that was too much. He'd known Miles didn't really want to come on this trip but he'd taken solace in the fact that even though Miles protested, he'd still stuck by Bass as they'd searched for Conner and backed him up when they found him. But apparently, Miles still thought Bass was a terrible enough person that the kid was better off in this hell-hole of a town than he would be with Bass. And that, Bass realized, was the worst part of all. He swallowed thickly, looking into the fire.

"Why don't you just leave it alone, okay?" Miles suggested, apparently oblivious to the effect his words were having on the already-broken man in front of him, "You're only gonna make it worse."

When Bass lifted his gaze again, meeting Miles' eyes, all the emotion was gone from his face. Miles knew from experience Bass got like that when he shut down and distanced himself, something he started doing to cope right after his sisters and parents died. Miles internally winced but kept his expression neutral. No one said a word the rest of the night.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Just because Bass wasn't talking about it didn't mean he wasn't thinking about. He laid awake in his bed roll long after Rachel and Miles fell asleep. Finally, he made a decision. Sitting up and carefully throwing off his blanket, he checked on Rachel and Miles, making sure they were still asleep. Creeping almost silently past them, he made his way back to the bar where he had found Conner.

Conner was, surprisingly since it was the middle of the night, still there, sitting by himself at a table. Bass stopped a safe distance away so the boy wouldn't cornered and told him, "We still need to talk."

Conner just stared resolutely ahead, "Do we?"

Bass slightly shook his head, "I'm not looking for a Hallmark card here, I'm just-...five minutes, alright?" The kid didn't answer and Bass was getting a little desperate, "C'mon, you must have some questions."

Conner thought for a second before standing up and walking toward Bass, "Yeah, okay. I got a question for ya. How did my mom die?"

Out of everything Bass thought he'd ask, that wasn't it. He knew he had to answer honestly but he tried to soften the reply for Conner's sake, "She died asking for you."

Conner had an unreadable expression on his face as he said, "You know, when Miles came to drag me down here, all my mom would tell me was that...it was to keep me safe. Now, I finally get it." His tone turned bitter, "It was to keep me safe from you."

Bass grit his teeth, fighting to keep his temper in check, "Miles lied to both of us. If I knew about you, I would've come down here in a heartbeat." He glanced around at the other late-night patrons of the bar, "You'd be better of."

Conner laughed but there was no trace of warmness as he declared, "I don't need your charity. I'm doing fine."

Bass didn't believe that for a second, "Right. Yeah. Yeah, with your, uh, sombreros and pinatas and your, what, your thirty men?"

Conner rolled his eyes, "Just say what you need to say and get the hell outta here."

"I'm saying it," Bass replied, waiting until Conner looked at him before continuing. "You're not..." he started, then, in a flash of intuition, changed tactics, "You're not aiming high enough." He knew he would never get Conner to leave with him by pleading family ties. He had to appeal to what the kid wanted most right now; power.

As expected, that caught Conner off-guard and Bass rolled with it, "Thirty men? How about a thousand men? Ten thousand men." He could see he had Conner's undivided attention and curiousity now.

Sure enough; "What are you talking about?" Conner asked.

Bass braced himself, making his voice firm so the kid would continue to buy everything Bass was telling him, "You are a Monroe. You should be leading the Republic. Why do you think I came all the way down here to find you? Huh? It should be passed from father to son." He thought his plan was going remarkably well but Conner turned suspicious.

"Really?" he questioned, eyes narrowing at Bass, "Word's everywhere, pal. There is no more Monroe Republic."

Alright, so this rinky-dink town was more clued in than Bass guessed. No problem; he's always been good at thinking on his feet, "No. You and me, together, we can take it back." Conner scoffed at him but Rachel's words replayed in Bass's head as he went on, "You're my son...and that's in your blood. There's no escaping that."

A group of men suddenly surrounded them, rifles all pointing at Bass. He looked around then slowly turned back to Conner.

"Sorry, dad," Conner sarcastically said with a smirk, "Gonna have to take a rain-check. Mr. Nuenez wants to meet you."

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles woke up when the last whole log on the fire popped loudly and he automatically checked on his companions. There Rachel was, still fast asleep at his side. And Bass-...Miles looked closer...Bass was gone. In a moment, Miles woke Rachel up and jumped to his feet.

"What's the matter?" Rachel asked, looking around in alarm.

"Bass is gone," Miles replied shortly, already grabbing his weapons and getting ready to move out.

Rachel knew better than to argue with him and instead followed him into the town. When they got to the bar, it was mostly empty. Miles started asking around outside and finally got a definitive answer. "Conner and some cartel guys dragged him off," he told Rachel.

Rachel stared at him with raised eyebrows, "Let me guess. We're going to get ourselves killed saving Monroe?"

What could Miles say to that except, "Aren't you glad you came?"

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Author's Note: Well, the following chapters will take some time because there are so many scenes with Miles and/or Monroe but that's a good thing, right? =) Thank you for the reviews and for reading!