A/N: So it's been over a year, hasn't it? Indeed it has, but it turns out that I have had the entire story written for most of that time, I just lost my computer and my handwritten copies. But last night I found all of my handwritten copies! So as soon as I type them up again I will be throwing them up here. We've got some fun in Gilead ahead of us, I hope you enjoy.

When she woke a few hours later Rebecca felt somewhat better. She pushed the cloth off her face and sat up, still reeling from the morning. She couldn't quit – not now – but she couldn't do what they requested in the time allowed. She would have to take her chances with Farson, because taking chances in Gilead would get her killed and ruin their chances of winning. Jon forgive her, but she would have to put their child in danger.

With the decision made she grabbed a pair of pants she'd thrown over a chair, wrapped her chest in a length of cloth, and changed into one of Jon's shirts. It was a daily practice close to what she used to do to become Robert, but now the constricted feeling of her chest made her feel nauseous instead of protected. She tied her hair low against the back of her neck and went out to the kitchen to grab the box with the guns. Strapping them on she stood before the bedroom mirror, her look complete. Today the Red Army was going to learn what fighting a true Gunslinger was like.

Throwing a long duster over her guns and a wide-brimmed hat on her head, Rebecca kept her face down, knowing full well that the Army wouldn't be expecting her. She walked through the doorway into the courtyard, flipped back the duster and had the guns in her hands before any of her troops had time to react. As the first shots rang out most of them scattered, seeking shelter from the open field and flying bullets. She didn't hit a single one, but the sound of the big guns was frightening enough to the greener men and women. A small group of seasoned warriors ran forward to attack but she deflected them, using her grips as bludgeons and throwing the men to the ground before she put her pistol to the temple of the final man.

"Stand down," she growled, and he dropped his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.

The click of a hammer behind her drew a smile, and she un-cocked her own gun and holstered it. "At least one of you knows how to fight," she said as she pushed back her hat and pulled the tie from her hair.

The gun behind her lowered as her second in command realized who she was. "Man Jesus, how did you get those guns? I was going to shoot you."

Rebecca turned with her serpentine smile. "You were going to shoot me? You thought a Gunslinger came to the castle? If I was a 'slinger, sai, you'd all be dead by now."

He laughed nervously and put away his gun, but his eyes landed again on the sandalwood grips that she rested her hands upon. "Where did you get them?" he asked with a nod.

They were in her hands before he could blink, and she turned them curiously in the sunlight, drawn by the familiar feel of them in her hands. She nearly shuddered. "I got them from a Gunslinger named Robert Baine. I stole them." Her voice had a far-away quality to it that seemed very strange for Susannah Fairmoor.

The scared troops were beginning to come out from the safety of the columns and circled around them, trying to hear what she was saying and get a good look at the stuff of legends. A mummer went up within the crowd as they tried to ask each other what she was saying.

"You stole them?" The second smirked as if she were joking, but she stopped his smile with a look.

"I killed Robert Baine. He was my cousin." She looked again at the guns, glinting nearly white as the sun shone off the metal and wood. Then she turned her back on her second and looked out at the curious faces before her.

"These are the guns of Robert Baine, Gunslinger of Gilead, Protector of the White. These guns are no different from your own. They have no innate power, they have only the power of the person wielding them. Shooting this gun does not make you a Gunslinger. Wearing this gun does not make you a Gunslinger. Being the firstborn son of a Gunslinger does not make you a Gunslinger! They have told you these things are true, but they are lies. Your heart is what makes you a Gunslinger, my friends. Your training and your heart. You have received the training of Gunslingers, and soon you will go to battle against mortal men, same as you. They will be carrying these guns, but you will be carrying the future of this world – the freedom of any man or woman to follow whatever path they choose. They go to this battle with beautiful guns and ugly, corrupt souls. You go to this battle with the truth!"

The Red Army cheered.

xxxxx

"You be good for your father, hear me?" There were tears in her eyes as Rebecca gave her daughter a kiss and a long hug before releasing her to the ground. "I love you, Becky," she said and squeezed the little girl's hand before sending her to play. The tears broke free and she watched the blonde head bob out of sight.

'All for her,' Rebecca thought to herself. 'This is no longer about me. I do this for her now.'

Strapping on her guns and hiding them once again under a duster, Rebecca took one last look at the apartment she had been so happy in, made sure the note she'd left was sitting in the open so Jon would see it, and made her way down to the blood-red castle. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been nervous, but this trip was making her so. Rebecca took most situations in stride, weighing the pros and cons and doing what would further her. This trip would likely get her killed. There were no pros for her on this trip, but if it meant a future for her daughter then she would gladly go.

She met Jon and Farson at the castle and could see the look of anxiousness in Jon's eyes. There was a different look to Farson and she was quite sure he was giddy with excitement.

Jon pulled her into a hug before she could even say hello. He was worried too; they had already discussed the problems she would face with Lane back, and he knew her plan for getting into the city. Jon thought it was a bad plan as far as she was concerned, but it would get her in and she could heal after they won. As he let her go he pressed a small dagger into her hand and studied her eyes. "Are you sure you don't want me to go?"

Rebecca smiled, her eyes revealing nothing. "No. Go home and make sure Becky's ok. I'll be fine - I've been playing with the Council my whole life."

The smile he returned was less than sure, but Jon's words were brave. "I will see you when Gilead is ours, then." He gave her one last kiss, nodded to Farson, and turned to make his way back to his empty apartment.

Farson and Rebecca were silent as they walked to the doorway his inner circle used to travel the worlds. Rebecca's plans spun through her head slowly, her mind turning each to taste and try out. There was no point in worrying – either it would work or she would be killed.

They stopped before a red door that looked just like all the others with the exception of the archaic brass doorknob. Well that made sense – the door here had carried a similar handle.

"Any last words to send me on my way?" Rebecca asked with a scowl as he put his hand on the knob.

"Three days. Don't fail."

She gave him a grim smile and rested her hands on her guns for reassurance as he opened the door. From what he had said this should put her a half-day's walk east of Gilead. Half a day there, half a day back, two days inside to do her business. If she was late… well, she had better things to think on then being late.

Stepping past him, she could feel the change in the atmosphere as she crossed the threshold. Rebecca turned back to Farson casually. "One last thing," she said and he raised his eyebrows.

Her gun was up and roaring before he had the chance to so much as widen his eyes in shock, and she pulled the door closed behind her, breaking off the knob so no one could follow. On the other side, Farson's body slid down the wall and lay in a puddle of red carpeting.

xxxxx

Jonathan,

If everything went according to plan Farson is dead and the door is locked. Don't think I've turned my back on you or the fight; I just need more time than he was willing to give me. I'll send someone to open the door when I'm ready. You Will Not Fail. Not this way.

Give Becky a kiss for me and tell her that I love her. I know I'm not an easy person to live with, and I know you cannot understand many of the things I've done and have yet to do, but thank you for trusting me. I love you both.

Susannah/Rebecca