Charlie and Scanlon proved to be a fairly effective team. Sure, he still sent suggestive grins her way (after checking to make sure Monroe was nowhere in sight, she noted) but he kept his main focus on the other men, and actually let her take the lead as they started drills.

As she worked with some of the clan members on their sword work, she started to see what Monroe had been talking about. Everyone she worked with listened attentively to her comments, and seemed to be making an effort to improve—either that, or to impress her.

The men she had fought yesterday had been scattered throughout the group, but she spotted them easily enough. She was somewhat surprised, though certainly not disappointed, to see two of the men she had identified as being among the better fighters had drifted close, ensuring that it would be Charlie working with them instead of Scanlon. As she observed and worked with them, Charlie saw what she didn't the previous night. Yes, these clansmen were all strong—stronger than her, for sure. They were tough, they were experienced, but they weren't trained. They didn't have the discipline to seek out a weakness and develop a strategy to exploit it. They simply attacked. This was a war clan, after all, not an army. But an army they would have to become.

The thought passed Charlie's mind before she registered it. An army was not just needed for defeating the Patriots, it was also the first step in building back the Republic. A necessary step, one that she found herself signing on to before she even knew it. As she stepped back to let two of the men she was working with parry on their own, she let her thoughts drift to Sebastian Monroe.

That bastard. As she stood there, overseeing what were to be his troops, she realized that he had gotten her to work with his own army without her even realizing it. Part of her enjoyed the trust he had bestowed upon her, but mostly she was pissed off. At him, for being so damn charismatic and persuasive. At herself for falling for it. At her family, Jason, Connor, she was furious; had been filled with rage for some time now, but this was the first she acknowledged it. She had been shoving it aside and ignoring it, letting emptiness consume her. Sure, she had her moments—joking with Miles, handling her mother, exchanging quips with Monroe—but when she was by herself, the emptiness seemed unending.

Disturbed by the turn her thoughts had taken, she went back to her time-honored tradition of pushing the rage and emptiness to the back of her mind and trying to focus on the men before her. It was so much easier when she had something to concentrate on. Despite cursing his name mere seconds ago, she actually found herself grateful to Bass and his schemes for putting her in a position where she didn't have time to think. She could almost forgive him his new empire if he kept this up.

xxxxx

Charlie was working on blocking techniques when Connor returned from a supply run with a couple other clansmen, including Mac, the man from Charlie's final fight the previous night. Both Connor and Mac took in what was happening as they got back to camp. While the clansman's eyes lit up, Connor bit back a frown. Even at first glance it was easy to see that Charlie was calling the shots. This was supposed to be his army, his republic, his damn birthright. This was why he left Mexico. He had promised his father that they would build something great, and that they would do it together. He wished suddenly that "Not Charlie" applied to the Republic and not just to his dick.

Though they still had to load up the wagons, Mac declared they would be taking a break then and instantly went off in the direction of Charlie's training session. Connor eyed the group warily. It would be a chance to get some much-needed training, as well as get to know some of the men—they were to be his men, after all. But the thought of letting Charlie of all people boss him around and call him out on all his mistakes was more than he could take. Instead, he made his way to the command tent, hoping it looked like he was planning instead of sulking.

He was not alone when he arrived at the tent- Rachel and Gene were there, packing Gene's medical supplies and conferring quietly. They stopped talking when they noticed Connor had entered. He is content to ignore them, but apparently they don't agree. After a few minutes of silence, Rachel leaves Gene to his packing and approaches Connor.

"Connor? Aren't you meant to be overseeing the clan?"

"Looks like Charlie's got it covered." He replied with no small amount of bitterness.

Rachel sighed. She had seen Charlie working with the men, fighting with them. Her daughter fit in so well with this group of brutal killers. Seeing her fight alongside Monroe time after time was bad enough, but now she was practically commanding troops. How long before she ended up on the same path that had captured Miles and Bass? The worst part was, Charlie didn't care—she figured she'd be dead before she was able to 'end up' anywhere.

Rachel dreamed of grabbing Charlie, Miles, Gene, and just running off. Giving Charlie the normal life she so deserved after everything she's been through. She should be going to school, meeting cute boys, thinking about starting a family; not living through this unending bloodshed.

As though drawn by her burning ears, Charlie entered the tent. She was flushed with a slight sheen of sweat covering her face from her exertion. She looked happier than she had in some time. Her face brightened further when she spotted her family.

"Hey! Stan and Leslie are getting lunch together. Should be ready any time now." Stan and Leslie were one of the clan's three committed couples. Leslie was probably the only non-fighter among them, but what she lacked in battle experience she made up for by caring for the clan. Cooking and cleaning, prepping ammo and helping tend to the wounded or ill were all in her wheelhouse. Originally she took on the job with several others, but they had all been slain by the patriots. Until they could get the extra help, she had wrangled her husband into joining her.

Rachel smiled sweetly at her daughter, hoping she wasn't projecting her previous thoughts. "Thank you, Charlie. We'll be right there."

Charlie smiled back, but hesitated slightly. "Someone should probably tell Miles and Monroe. And if Jason isn't triggered, he should probably eat, too." Charlie's bright look had faded somewhat as she mentioned their prisoner. She sighed and turned to leave and find Vincent, ask him to deliver the news. Before she took two steps, Connor surprised them all by speaking up.

"I'll let them know." Charlie paused before turning back to him. She looked at him warily before nodding. She stepped up to him, staring him straight in the eye.

"You will not lay a hand on Jason." Her tone made it clear that this was not up for discussion. Connor rolled his eyes as he pushed past her lightly.

"Yes, ma'am." He muttered as he walked out. Charlie frowned at him behind his back but made no comment. She turned back to her mother and grandfather, asking if she could help them with their preparations.

xxxxx

As he was approaching the tent, the first thing Connor could hear was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. He stepped through the tent flap to find Jason heavily bound to the chair, glaring as Monroe pounded him. Miles stood off to the side with a blood-stained knife in his hand. Jason didn't look like he would be giving anything up any time soon.

Monroe paused as he noticed Connor enter the room. He stopped pounding on Jason and walked to the chair near where Connor was standing. He picked up a used towel lying on it and started to wipe the blood from his hands.

"What's up?"

Connor tried not to let his shock show. He had seen men beaten before. Nunez got a special thrill from it, even. But he had never acted so cavalier. Granted, his obvious enjoyment was a bit more distasteful than Monroe's casual behavior, but both were hard to comprehend.

"Charlie sent me. Lunch is about ready. She wanted to know if he was ok to eat."

As he spoke, Jason had turned to focus his glare toward him. Behind the bruises and swelling flesh Connor could see his eyes. They were focused and direct. They also made him seem… Hollow. Like something had pulled out everything that made him a person and then patched him up without putting anything in its place. He knew that wasn't true—instead of the bastard who captured him was an even bigger bastard who would kill every one of them if given half a chance. But he didn't seem… Whole.

As Connor was being stared down, Miles and Bass had been conferring in the other corner. After a couple minutes, they appeared to come to a decision.

"Let's go, kid." Bass led Connor out of the tent and toward lunch.

"Is Miles going to interrogate him alone?"

Bass glanced back toward the tent briefly before answering.

"It's pointless. We're not gonna be able to break the Patriot brainwashing. Miles is gonna try to get him to snap out of it, then we'll figure out our next steps."

Next steps. That was something Connor certainly hadn't heard them bring up before.

"What are we doing with him?"

"That's what we've gotta figure out, kid."

"He's a liability. We should just kill him."

Bass stopped Connor before they got too close to the rest of the camp.

"Watch it. We need to think this one through. Weigh the risks and benefits."

Connor couldn't believe those words were coming from the same man who led the slaughter of the training camp.

"You never had a problem killing those damn zombies before. So what now? Is this because you grew a fucking conscience or because of Charlie?"

Monroe could feel his face starting to burn but goddamn it he wouldn't sink to the level of actually blushing.

"What in the hell are you talking about kid?"

"I heard you talking to that merc last night. You know, when you told me getting together with Charlie was a bad idea, I almost believed you. I thought you were looking out for me. But you're just, what, jealous?"

"Kid, I told you to stay away from Charlie because she is bad goddamn news. Hell, just look at Jason Neville. They've tried to kill each other more times than I can count, and yet he's still coming back for more. I was looking out for you. And Scanlon was being disrespectful. I dealt with it because it was a hell of a lot easier than the shit-storm Miles would bring down. And as for being jealous? Kid, your head's up your ass."

Not waiting for a response, Monroe made his way over to where lunch was being served, grabbed a bowl of stew and made his way into the command tent.

The word jealous was still ringing in his ears.

xxxxx

Lunch was a casual affair, the whole clan ate and talked in small clusters. Charlie found herself with Mac and two other older mercenaries, George and Chuck. As they ate, she was regaled with stories of their lives before the blackout. George told her about how much easier life was with advanced technologies, while Chuck lamented some of the simpler advances now missing from their society (he positively moaned at the mention of indoor plumbing). Mac chirped in now and then, but was mostly silent. Charlie had grown quite fond of his accent—something called Scottish, she was told. Though it sounded nothing like Maggie's English accent, it was different enough from most speech Charlie had heard to remind her of the woman who she could have loved as a mother.

Mac finished his meal quickly and left, bidding adieu to the two men and the 'little lass' he had been sitting with. Chuck noticed that Charlie was watching the older man make his way through the camp to get back to work.

"Ah, I wouldn't get your hopes up over that one." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm pretty sure he's not one for younger women, even one as beautiful as you."

Charlie laughed at the insinuation that she had developed a crush on the grizzled warrior who was certainly older than her own father (though likely not by much). She was impressed with him; he seemed better trained than most of the clansmen but he spoke about himself far less.

"I was just curious. You two mentioned what you did for work and the like before the blackout—I don't think I've heard Mac say one thing about himself." Not that she had talked to him all that much, granted, but he did seem a bit more terse than most, particularly when the topic of pre-blackout life arose.

At this, George joined Chuck in leaning in, keeping his voice low.

"Mac doesn't talk about himself much. Not unless you get him drunk enough, and even there it's not a guarantee." The two men went on to tell Charlie about people who had gone with the explicit intent of getting information from Mac. Some had more success than others, and the stories had quietly circled the camp.

"From what we were able to piece together, we think he was MI-6 before the blackout hit. Probably stationed here, but definitely trained somewhere else." At Charlie's blank look, George elaborated. "MI-6 dealt in intelligence- spying and the like. They were based over in England. Their version of the CIA or something."

Charlie remembered hearing about the CIA from her uncle and mother at various points, and understood enough to know what they weren't saying—even before the blackout, it was possible Mac was already a trained killer.

"All of this is just guesswork of course. Like I said, the man doesn't talk about himself much."

Charlie nodded, smiled, and changed to topic. But her thoughts didn't stray far from Mac and his MI-6 background. She was grateful to have something to wrap her mind around besides the usual horrors she fixated on.

xxxxx

Though they had agreed on an hour for lunch, Charlie was done in a quarter that time. She went from group to group, checking in and conversing lightly with some of them. Before long, she saw Miles exit Jason's tent, wiping blood off of his hands. She quickly caught his eye, and nodded when he indicated toward the command tent. Charlie told the group she was with that she'd see them when they started up training again and made her way toward the tent.

Inside the tent looked different than before- several chairs had been brought in and were currently in a semi-circle on one side of the room. Sitting in two of them were Bass and Connor. They were each eating their stew slowly, not talking to or even looking at each other. Miles was standing in the center of the room, leaning on the table, staring blankly at some of the maps and documents laid out on it.

Charlie circled the table to the side her uncle was on, stopping next to him. After moving a couple documents out of the way, she hopped up so she was sitting on the table next to him. They were close enough to hear each other without speaking very loudly.

"How's it going in there?" Miles was still staring ahead at the table, and Charlie fixed her eyes on a seam along the tent.

"It's not. I don't think we're going to get anything out of him like this. He's still triggered, I couldn't snap him out of it."

Charlie nodded, silent. It had been a longshot anyways, but that didn't make the lack of results any less disappointing.

Though they were speaking softly, their conversation had attracted Bass' attention. He stayed put, but was watching the two intently.

After a couple minutes of silence, Miles finally raised his head. He looked over at Bass and jerked his head slightly. Getting the message, Bass put his now-empty bowl down on the seat next to him and moved to where Miles and Charlie were. Connor was unsure if he was wanted in this conversation, but unwilling to be left out. He followed his father but stayed at the opposite end of the table from the Mathesons.

Miles spoke up.

"We're not going to get anything out of Jason. So, we need to figure out what to do with him now."

xxxxx

Author's Note: Suggestions? Comments? Concerns? Let me know!