This hiatus was perfectly timed. I have an endless list of reasons why I haven't posted, I'd uhmm'd and aah'd about putting the story on hiatus before, then all Hell broke loose and it was pretty much decided. I'm glad I took a time out, otherwise I would've brought Steven Tyler's mummified remains to life and had him go on a killing spree... That actually doesn't sound like too bad a fic... A crossover of The Mummy and Revolution, with Bass turning to Charlie all eye-rolling like "Isn't this going just a little bit too far?".

Anyway, very sorry for keeping you guys and girls waiting, some things just needed to take a back seat for a while and this was, unfortunately, one of them.

So yeah, enjoy. Depending on how much of my soul work decides to suck out of me, the next chapter should be up within a few days.

PIP


Deciding against hanging around New Vegas and waiting to get attacked, the trio headed out into the wilderness for some much needed rest.

Bass was somewhat content with the knowledge that his friend wasn't too far away. There was, however, a niggling apprehension running through him, he and Duncan had been close before he was kidnapped, too close for her to be at all okay with him doing a vanishing act without saying goodbye, even if it wasn't his fault. Hopefully, she'd let him explain before putting a bullet in his brain.

Then again, this was Duncan, not Charlie. There were less second and third chances, she was more of a kill now and ask questions later kind of girl, living rough for so long can do that to a person, mistrusting everything and everyone was the only thing that kept you alive, that, and a very nice gun, one he'd lost to her in a game of cards. He had let her win, obviously, being a gentleman and all that, he wondered for a moment if she still had it.

The adrenaline rush from before was certainly wavering, he became aware of just how much pain he was in, with every body part stinging, aching or feeling like it was about to drop off. He quickly nodded to a bushy area nearby, it wasn't a great place to stay, there definitely wasn't enough coverage, but he'd only end up face planting the ground if they didn't stop soon.

As soon as the blankets were laid out, Bass collapsed to the barely softened ground, gritting his teeth to hold back a pained groan, it had been a long time since he'd received that bad a beating, he could tell he wouldn't be able to just bounce back from this one like he used to.

Feeling eyes on him, he lifted his head to find Charlie sat at his feet, glancing over as she rummaged furiously through her backpack, wincing as her hand rubbed against the various items inside, "How's your hand?"

"It's fine." She snapped shortly. It clearly wasn't fine; the skin on and around her knuckles was raw and bruised, and still bleeding in places. For all they knew, her body could still be recovering from the typhus, getting an infection now could kill her.

Bass sat up stiffly, his body sending a shooting pain down his back in protest, and grabbed his own bag, pulling out some rags and bandages. He motioned for her to shuffle closer, "It needs covering, better to be safe than sorry."

Charlie raised a cocky eyebrow, pretty confident she could manage just fine on her own, but he tugged on her hand gently before she could respond, "Let me fix this."

He apologised with his eyes every time she hissed or flinched as he bandaged her up, they sat in comfortable silence for the most part, he knew she was watching him; her body was practically humming with the will to speak but the inability to string the right words together kept her almost silent.

Sitting back, Bass admired his handiwork, and her.

The image of their little fire danced in her eyes, the gentle blues darkening to balance out the bright orange, it was mesmerising. There was emotion there too but it appeared she was having difficulty choosing a specific one, her confusion was both amusing and unsettling, someone normally so sure of herself shouldn't look so lost.

They were open books to one another, and she was trying not to be, that didn't sit right with him. They were partners in battle and in precious, stolen moments alone together, distancing herself meant she was preparing, trying to make it easier for both of them when she would eventually leave.

For a while, he had tried to convince himself that she was just Miles 2.0, but it was different now, if he lost her, it wouldn't be like losing Miles again, it would be like losing Shelley, his baby, his parents, his sisters.

She was a much a part of his life as was breathing, or alcohol, and he was pretty sure that if she disappeared, the darkness that had been lying dormant inside of him for so many months would come back, full force, and God help the Patriots when that happened.

A whispered 'thank you' broke his disturbed trail of thoughts, his eyes refocused as Charlie began to stand. Panicking for a moment, Bass grabbed her arms and held her in an awkward squatting position, "Don't go," his words were a little more desperate than he had intended, "I know you're mad about the fight."

"I'm not mad about that," she objected quietly, "I was, but then I found something else to be mad about," the puzzled, anxious look on his face urged her to continue, "The way you looked at me when I beat that guy up, when I knocked him out, you judged me, and I can take that from Grandpa… But not from someone like you."

Someone like him… A murderer, a man who killed in cold blood just because he could, someone who had absolutely no right to look down on her for doing something completely innocent compared to his previous antics as General.

"I'm not gonna start tiptoeing around you."

"No, I don't want you to." Bass scratched at the back of his neck, desperate for an explanation that didn't sound like utter crap, "Look, I'd had one too many hits to the head, I was confused, alright? Seeing you do that, with that detached look in your eyes, it scared me a bit. I saw so much of myself in you, and I don't want to think of you going down that path." He hated his own words, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anything, where was the confident, word-ready General when he needed him?!

Charlie rolled her eyes, spotting Connor approaching with the horses they'd abandoned in New Vegas, she kept her voice low as she stood, "Well, if 'going down that path' means surviving just that little bit longer, I'm gonna take it."

With a heavy heart, Bass watched her stalk past Connor and disappear into the darkness, hoping some space would do her good.

"What's got her panties in a twist?" Connor mumbled as he shuffled closer to camp, glancing over his shoulder in the direction Charlie took off in.

Bass got up and stroked his horse, secretly proud of his son for getting them back on his own, "Not you, thank God."

Briefly, they shared that cocky Monroe smirk, before Connor straightened; taking another nervous look around, "Seriously though, want me to go get her?"

Bass chuckled sharply, "Best not, I've put enough of my family in the ground."

"Well isn't that exactly why we should be going after her… Because she's family, right?"

Something tugged at Bass's heart as his words were repeated back to him, when did his son start seeing Charlie as family and not as a piece of meat to chew on? Where had the lusty gleam in his eyes disappeared to?

It felt good to have something go in his favour for once, providing the kid was being genuine. It was obvious who Charlie had chosen anyway, but it would be nice to not have to hide behind trees or in a bunch of bushes anymore. Still, there was a problem: he had Charlie all to himself, except he didn't; she was off on her own, probably thinking of ways to kill him... Again. Not the greatest of foundations for a relationship.

If Charlie was anything like her mom, or Miles for that matter, she'd need plenty of time to cool down, maybe get a few drinks in her, if she could find anywhere safe enough, she was surprisingly, and unfortunately, easier to handle when inebriated. It was a worrying thought, he hoped she would steer clear of shifty looking bars; he was in no fit state to play the knight in shining armour again.

Despite successfully convincing himself to stay in camp and rest up, Bass was growing more and more agitated as the moon passed further across the sky and the dim blue hue of day appeared. He knew he couldn't keep chasing after her, she needed to come back to him for once.

But she had been gone way too long. What if she had left for good? She'd done it before; just walked away from the ones she loved. Every step she was taking could be getting her further and further away from him, away from what they had.

"Screw this," Bass snapped, standing up and making Connor jump, "Get your stuff, we've gotta go find Charlotte."


Miles had been in a foul mood since he got back from scouting the town, forcing the few remaining occupants of their little barn to tread on eggshells around him. The only cure to Matheson men's bad moods was whiskey, and Rachel, something she herself was all too aware of as she tugged her top lower to reveal just a little bit more cleavage and put her hair up the way Miles liked it.

She less than graciously plopped another bottle of liquor down in front of him as he finished one, he winced at the noise, starting to feel a little buzzed.

Miles knew her game, she'd played it one too many times with him, she was vying for information, and probably something else a little later on, judging by just how low she pulled that tank top. He was tempted to mess with her a bit but she'd done good with the whiskey and even cracked a seemingly genuine smile for once, such effort probably deserved a little gesture of thanks.

He offered her a glass but she shook her head, biting her lip to hide her disappointment, having to remind herself that she could get drunk any day of the week, Miles was more important right now.

Sighing heavily, Miles gave in, his voice was a little hoarse from the strength of the alcohol, "We gotta rendezvous with Tom again," Rachel frowned at him, puzzled, "I saw his kid in town, the kid that's meant to be getting the crap beaten out of him by the President and his goons."

The cogs turned in Rachel's head, so that's why he was being off, he suspected a trap.

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation." Mission accomplished, she poured herself a nice, large drink.

Miles scoffed before necking another drink, "There always is with Tom."

A wild strand of Rachel's hair dislodged itself as she knocked her drink back in one gulp, he twirled it around his finger before putting it back behind her ear, she didn't look all that different from before the blackout, still his princess all these years later. Except, there was so much emptiness in her eyes now, something he had had a large part in causing.

It was cruel, they loved and needed one another, and yet, they only seemed capable of hurting each other. Bad things happen when we're together…

But in spite of all the pain and misery, they were still drawn to one another, still reeling the other in, like moths to a flame.

"What are you thinking about?" Her gentle, soothing voice broke his musing.

Tilting his head, Miles blinked away the haze that had begun forming across his vision, casually telling himself to go to Rachel for whiskey more often, she had excellent taste, "Us."

They clinked glasses with mischievous grins, "To us, the most messed up couple in America."

Miles chuckled, "Yeah, with Charlie and Bass coming in close second." Oops. He blanched, heart stopping for a few beats as Rachel's eyes darkened.

She smiled nervously, brow furrowing deeper by the second as her scientific brain went into overload with dangerous and conflicting emotions, her rational side believed she had misheard, misinterpreted what was actually said… But her rational side was near non-existent these days, and it certainly held no authority over her, "What?"

"It's nothing; they just had a little thing."

"Oh… 'A little thing'… That's… That's wonderfully descriptive, Miles. Explain, now." She jumped to extreme conclusions and found herself feeling queasy at the thought of her daughter and that man together; she had only just started to accept Bass as part of the group, wanting to kill him less and less, but now? All bets were off.

Horrific images ran riot in her head as she waited for Miles to conjure up the right words, he shrugged as his mouth kept opening and closing like a damn fish, "It was just a kiss!" he eventually managed.

The revelation that it was nothing more than a quick snog did absolutely nothing to calm Rachel; he winced as he imagined the ice cold walls build up around her, blocking everyone out, protecting herself.

She smiled sweetly, sickly, her eyes revealed nothing of the emotional storm inside her mind, "Well, I suppose that's alright then."

"Rach-" Miles started as she got up, darting outside quickly and slamming the barn doors behind her, he could do nothing but huff, drink more and allow her a little time to process everything, and probably scheme, she did that a lot, after all, especially when it came to Bass.

He was growing tired of the mini-war between them, if it didn't stop, he'd have to choose. It was a situation that utterly terrified him, partly because he didn't feel complete without both of them there, life was dull without them, but more importantly, he had no idea who he'd actually choose.

They'd both want and expect him to pick themselves, but it wasn't that straightforward, there was a lot of history, and a lot of bad blood between all of them. If he chose Bass, Rachel would have no one, having pushed most people away with her instability. Depending on where 'just a kiss' went, Bass could have Charlie by his side if he chose Rachel, but Miles had already pushed Bass away once, look where that lead!

It certainly wasn't something he was going to decide with so much alcohol in him. Piss poor choices were made when drunk and he'd made far too many of them in his lifetime, time for a change.

Instead, he focused on the Nevilles, having one hanging around was bad enough, but two? That was just dangerous, especially when the second was meant to be a brainwashed zombie murderer that should be locked up in a cage somewhere in the White House. Something was going on, and Miles really didn't like not knowing.

He pondered on what would happen if and when they all had a big reunion; it was an entertaining thought but not one that could keep his eyes from sliding shut, the whiskey once again assisting in relaxing him to the point of sleep.

Rachel crept back in some time later, having walked off most of her frustration. Bass getting his claws into Charlie wasn't something she was going to let go of any time soon, but there were a lot of things she couldn't let go of, she would just be patient, wait it out until either her dark feelings subsided or he'd slip up so bad that Miles would beat the crap out of him.

She tried to remind herself that it was only a kiss, and, unbelievably, it turned out that there were worse people than Bass. If it did go any further, at least he'd protect her. It had been a foreign concept to Rachel that Monroe was anything other than a monster, but then Connor came into the picture, and he had proved on many occasions that he cared about Charlie, about all of them, in fact.

He had done a better job of looking after her family in recent weeks than she had done for the majority of her life. It still didn't make him a good person, he wasn't a changed man just yet, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.

Charlie seemed to think there was something in him that could be saved and he'd responded by trying to prove her right, latching onto the one person that had any firm belief or trust in him.

However, if Rachel had learned anything from her time as his captive, it was that Bass was unpredictable, manipulative, always with a plan up his sleeve. He'd do pretty much anything to better himself and get ahead; he could change his mind about something, or someone, in the blink of an eye. Like her, his instability pushed people away.

It sent a nauseating chill down Rachel's spine to think they were in any way alike.

Miles grunted in his sleep beside her, snapping her back into reality. She snaked a blanket around them and snuggled up against his arm, remembering similar moments from way before the blackout, when they'd fall asleep curled up in front of the TV. Precious times, cloaked in sadness and pain and secrets, it had all gone so wrong, and it was all her fault.

She fell into a restless slumber with that thought in her head.


Bass was exhausted, he couldn't actually recall a time where he'd felt so worn out, he had had worse days in the marines but even that didn't compare to the heaviness his body was barely putting up with now, age was taking its toll, something he had struggled to come to terms with for the longest time.

Dying from old age was a rare thing these days, even rarer when you lived the way he did. He had always expected to get killed in combat, it was just the way things were, but he supposed there was still plenty of time for that.

They'd been following Charlie's dusty tracks for hours. Mercifully, she had headed away from New Vegas, but that didn't necessarily mean she was safe, quite the opposite in fact, there were some unfamiliar footprints, and quite a lot of them, surrounding hers, she had been followed.

When Charlie's tracks ceased abruptly, panic set in for the Monroe men. The night in Pottsboro flashed through Bass's mind, he couldn't let it happen again. Last time, he was lucky, she was easy to track and it was just a matter of watching and waiting, now though, time was ticking by.

It wasn't long after losing her footprints that they started seeing blood splattered across the dirt. The emptiness in Bass's chest was unbearable, his breathing became unsteady as he unsuccessfully and desperately tried to convince himself that it wasn't Charlie's blood, it just couldn't be.

He tracked like he had never tracked before; eyes practically glued to the ground the entire time, picking up on the slightest and most insignificant changes in the dirt. He was so focused on what was going on on the floor that he failed to notice the ambush forming around them.

"Sebastian Monroe." An all too familiar voice called out.

His head snapped up to see a leather-clad brunette staring him down with a dirty smirk, her wavy hair shuddered in the desert breeze. Bass straightened up, not taking his eyes off her and using his peripheral vision to pick out the men moving around behind the bushes, he and Connor were greatly outnumbered.

Taking in a long breath, he smiled awkwardly, trying to push Charlie out of his thoughts for a moment, "Good to see you again, Duncan."