Charlie blinked her eyes open, forcing herself not to slip into the doze she'd been fighting for the past two hours. Bass had fallen asleep not five minutes after she'd sat down, and when he'd started tilting to the side, she'd cursed at herself, even as she'd moved closer and let his head drop against her shoulder.

Pre-dawn had brought a definite chill into the air, and she'd pressed closer into his side, soaking up as much warmth from him as she could. Now, gray shades of dawn were giving way to the brighter colors of sunrise.

In the strengthening light, the washed-out pallor of Bass' skin stirred a hornet's nest of worry in her stomach. The pool of blood beneath his arm was bigger than she'd expected it to be. How much blood had he lost? There was no two ways about it, somehow she had to get him out of there, sooner rather than later.

A slight shuffle snapped her fully into awareness, and she brought the gun up, finding a target as a form moved out from behind the rubble.

"Uncle Miles." She let the gun lower, and Miles glanced toward her, her mom appearing a step behind him. Relief ran thick and warm through her at the sight.

"Hey there, Charlie. We've been looking for you all night."

"How did you find us?" She set the gun aside as Miles and her mom came closer.

Miles sent her a faintly offended look. "You're not the only one in the family who can track, you know."

Her mom cut Miles an exasperated look. "We overheard a couple of Patriots talking a few blocks over."

Miles smiled, the expression a little sheepish. "And we overheard some Patriots talking. They said something about a gun fight and collapsed building, we figured you two must be in the middle of it."

Charlie glanced back at her mom, and saw the assessing, curious look Rachel passed from her, to where Bass was sleeping against her shoulder. In one second flat, her mom had made her feel like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been.

She moved forward, gently pushing Bass upright, and the motion seemed to rouse him.

"Charlie?" The word was slightly slurred.

Miles crouched down, bracing a hand against Bass' left shoulder to help keep him upright. "Hey, Bass, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

Bass rubbed a hand over his face and blinked a couple of times, seeming to become more lucid. But there was still an unfocused sheen to his gaze.

"I've just been hanging around, waiting for your sorry ass to turn up."

Miles shifted to the side and touched the mess that was Bass' arm.

"Now who's the handicapable schmuck?"

Bass gave a tight, pained laugh. "Well, you made it look so good, Miles, I thought I needed to give it a try."

"All right, let's get a better look, here. Rachel, you want to tell me what you think?"

Rachel walked over and picked up the nearly empty canteen. "Before we do anything, we need to get a tourniquet on this arm and rehydrate him."

Charlie hung back, while Miles and her mom tied a length of material just above Bass' elbow. Following that, they took a closer look at the damage, before tracing where the rest of the conveyer belt disappeared into a machine. After a few minutes, they came back again, and Miles crouched down to offer Bass some water.

Miles kept a neutral expression on his face, but Charlie could see the grimness in his dark gaze. "I was hoping we could disconnect the conveyer belt from the machine and worry about getting the mess off your arm once we were holed up safe somewhere, but without a drill or a toolbox, its not going to happen."

Her mom caught her eye, and nodded her head to the side.

Charlie glanced at where Miles and Bass were talking quietly, before standing and joining her mom over by a busted-out window.

"It's not good, Charlie," her mom murmured.

She nodded. "I figured that."

Yeah, she'd guessed things were looking bad for Bass, but confirmation from her mom still made a heavy, sick feeling pitch through her stomach.

"He's lost a lot of blood and the only way to get him free might be to amputate the arm."

Charlie took a step back, shock jolting her entire body. "You want to cut off his arm?"

"I know it sounds extreme, but we need to get him out of there. The Patriots are still searching the area, and if we don't get Bass out soon, he might bleed to death anyway."

"Yeah, and he also might die when you cut off his freaking arm!"

"I know it's hard to hear, Charlie, and I can see that there's something going on between you and Bass—"

"There is nothing going on between me and Monroe. I told Miles once before, I wouldn't ever let him touch me."

Her mom shook her head. "I'm not talking about something physical, Charlie. Maybe you simply feel indebted to him for saving you, or maybe it's something more. I don't accept it, but I can understand, Bass has always been very charismatic—"

"Can we not do this right now? I told you its nothing. I wouldn't have left a dog trapped here if I knew the Patriots were going to kill it. Don't forget who was responsible for killing Dad and Danny."

Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line. "Tom Neville was responsible for killing your father. And Danny? Well, Bass might have played a part in it, but Danny didn't have to be the one who picked up that grenade launcher. There were a dozen other people there who could have taken that shot. Ever since your grandpa—" She paused and swallowed, before taking an unsteady breath. "The last few days, I've been thinking about a lot of things, and I came to the conclusion that holding onto hatred, to misconceptions of the truth, wouldn't get me anywhere."

Charlie stared at her mom as numb grief and disbelief stole through her. All this time, she'd thought they agreed on this at least, that no matter how he tried to atone, Monroe would always be the bad guy, directly to blame for Danny's death. But now her mom was trying to convince her it wasn't Monroe's fault after all?

"Rachel?" Miles glanced up at them.

Her mom squeezed her shoulder and shot her a reassuring smile, before walking over to crouch next to Miles.

Charlie hugged her arms around herself and stared out through the broken window as the sun touched the top of the nearby buildings. She didn't know what she felt for Bass, there were too many conflicting emotions raging through her. But she certainly didn't hate him any longer, and she definitely didn't want him to die, or lose his arm.

"I'm sorry, you want to do what?"

Bass' raised voice grabbed her attention, and she shook off the churning thoughts, before walking over to join the three of them.

"You've lost a lot of blood, Bass, you can't afford to sit here and lose any more," Miles replied.

"And what do you think is going to happen when you cut off my god damn arm?"

Miles' expression was hard and unyielding, as though the decision had already been made, no matter what Bass said. "Once the limb is amputated, we can control the bleeding more easily than we can right now."

Bass leaned his head back against the machine behind him and scoffed. "What are you, Miles, the surgeon general? Jesus, we're not talking about digging out a bullet, or putting in a few stitches here."

Charlie clenched her fists, a weird sense of panic unfurling within her. They couldn't really do it, could they?

"Uncle Miles, surely there's something else we could do? I mean, okay, cut off his arm if it's the last resort, but couldn't we at least try to free him first?"

Miles glanced at her with a foreboding expression.

"Please, Uncle Miles." There was too much emotion in her voice, and Bass shouldn't matter so much to her. But her mom had called it, apparently part of her was well and truly compromised when it came to Sebastian Monroe.

Miles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I'll give it half an hour; see if we can't come up with something else. But after that, we're taking off that arm and getting out of here."

He stood and went over next to Rachel, the two of them talking in low tones, no doubt discussing the best way to go about chopping off a limb.

Charlie sighed and looked down at Bass, only to find him staring up at her.

"Once again, you've come to my defense. Is this going to be a thing with you, or—?"

She dropped to her knees next to him. "You know, a thank you would do just fine."

Bass shook his head, lips lifting in a short grin, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "No use saying thank you yet, they're still over there, chatting about amputation techniques."

"I won't let them do it, not until I'm sure there's no other way to get you out."

She started to stand, but he reached over and grabbed her hand. "Miles was right about one thing, Charlie. I've lost a lot of blood. If things go south—"

"Don't go giving me some lame if-I-die speech, Monroe. We're leaving here together, with all our limbs in tact."

She tried to tug out of his grip, but he tightened his hold on her, his expression taking on an intense edge.

"If I bleed out, whether before or after they cut off my arm, you have to get Miles to tell you where my son is. I want him brought home."

She stopped resisting and speared him with a weighted look. "Just one problem with that, since we don't have a home."

"I thought you would have worked it out by now, Charlie. Family is home. Whatever happens, I want that kid to know who his real family is."

"You want your son to know he has a dead, war-mongering son of a bitch for a father?"

He gave a husky laugh, which turned into a cough. "Even when the grim reaper is about to make me his bitch, you're not about to soften the blow, are you tough girl?"

She grabbed the nearby canteen and unscrewed the lid for him. "You want dumb adoration, get a dog. I'm not going to pretend like I don't know who you really are."

He nodded as he took the canteen from her, his gaze considering. "You might think you know who I really am Charlie, but most days I can't even work it out myself."

Before she could reply, Miles returned, and Bass turned that consuming blue gaze away from her.

She dragged in an uneven breath and forced herself to focus on her uncle.

Miles cleared his throat. "Well, if either of you have got any ideas about how to get that arm free, now would be the time to speak up."