A/N: Sorry for the later update. Lots of work over the weekend. This one was a little hard to write because it is a lot of dialog. I tried my best to not beat everyone over the head with it, but it kind of had to happen. Not a lot of action can go on when you're protagonist is pretty much incapacitated physically. One thing that had always driven me nuts in the series is how someone will be on death's doorstep and then pow! Up and about in the blink of an eye (although I think that the timeline in the show was a lot slower than the writers mentioned). Because of this, I've decided that Monroe will need to heal at a little less exaggerated of a pace but at the same time, I've got to keep everything else moving too – so I decided to get a lot of the back and forth out of the way in one chapter. I hope you don't mind. PS: I've done my best to do edits, but if I'm ever going to get this up, it seems it's now or never and my kids have been playing pounce the laptop today… Sorry if I've missed stuff.

Monroe's eyes fluttered open. The light streaming through the window was blinding, forcing him to turn his head away. It took several minutes for his blurry vision to clear enough to take in his surroundings. He was in his own bed, his own four walls around him. He tried to sit up, but his entire body seemed to protest. With a groan, he slumped back on the pillow.

He felt movement on the other side of the bed. He turned his head in that direction to see two muddy paws on the old bedspread. Moments later, Brodie had joined him on the bed. He pulled his body in a playful crouch, tail wagging madly. He let out a happy yip before he lunged and gave his master a lick on the cheek in greeting. Before Monroe had a chance to order the dog to get down, Brodie leaped to the ground and bounded out the door.

I'm home. He'd long since given hope of ever waking up in this room again. He tried to think back, remember how he'd gotten here, but his memory was fuzzy. He vaguely recalled the last time Baxter had come in to interrogate him. He'd been almost ready to finally give in. He hadn't been able to take it any longer. But the man's questions had become so urgent, it reminded him about why he'd been holding out so long in the first place, and somewhere he'd found the will to refuse them one last time. Then the last dose of drugs had come, wracking his body in those excruciating spasms and horrifying hallucinations.

The sounds of rapid gunfire, fading into silence, followed by voices, He remembered. Miles, Charlie, Gene and he was fairly sure that Rachel had been there as well. Was there someone else? He remembered another voice, but for the life of him couldn't remember who it had belonged too. A wagon? He remembered the feel of the wood beneath him as he looked up and watched the sky pass above him.

They are traveling as fast as the wagon can accommodate. There is only room for two in the back with Monroe and two on the bench. The others have stayed behind to mop up the mess that is the Patriot compound, Aaron and Priscilla included. While they were securing Monroe in the wagon and trying to get him stabilized, a rider had gone out ahead of them. They were five days from home under normal traveling conditions. He won't last that long. The rider will arrange for a change of horses tomorrow and messages will be delivered further down their route as well. They will not stop unless absolutely necessary.

Gene is worried about his condition. He has obviously been beaten multiple times; Monroe is covered in bruises. He likely has a few cracked ribs. Hopefully there has been no damage to any internal organs, but only time will tell on that. Gene is fully aware of some of the tactics that the Patriots use to extract information. At one point he'd been an unwilling participant in such "negotiations". He is delirious as well. Gene is vaguely familiar with the various drugs they use as well. The fact that Monroe is clearly suffering from severe dehydration is likely adding to his deteriorated mental state.

Avery's men found some crude medical supplies. A raid of the Patriot's food stores had provided them with salt and sugar. They need to get fluids in him. As the wagon races towards home, Gene does his best to measure and mix a crude solution to get his body back in balance. Charlie helps to raise him enough to force some of the liquid down his throat. He tries to struggle, but at this point, he is only able to move his head from side to side. A few minutes after they've done, he starts to gag. They force him into a sitting position as most of that they've given him comes back up.

This goes on for hours. It is disgusting work, but if they can't get him rehydrated he will die long before they reach home. Gene has witnessed their torture sessions enough to know what condition their captives are kept in. They are normally better tended to. Either he'd been ready to crack, so they didn't feel the need to keep him alive much longer or they were about ready to give up. Either way, if they had been even a day or two later it would have been too late – they still might be.

By the time they change horses for the first time, he's stopped throwing up the fluids. This gives them some reason to hope. The second day he spends mostly unconscious. Gene and Charlie have managed to get a few hours of rest in the back of the wagon. They switch places. Miles and Rachel will tend to Monroe and rest while Charlie and her grandfather push on.

Rachel is trying to get him to drink again. He starts to talk. "Please… No more…" Miles is sitting behind him, propping him up so he doesn't choke when Rachel holds the canteen to his lips. He's damn near holding Monroe in a bear hug, trying to help keep him still.

"Bass, you have to drink. If you don't then you'll die," Miles tells him firmly.

He doesn't recognize the voice as belonging to Miles. In his head, it's Baxter and he's forcing some noxious liquid down his throat. "Please… I can't tell you where Miles and Rachel are. I don't know who they're helping. No more drugs… Please just kill me."

Miles and Rachel lock eyes. The Patriots have done this because of them? Charlie turns from her place next to Gene and looks down at him. She's just heard Monroe begging to die. She tries to fight back her tears. What have they done to him? This is her fault. She lost the trail. If she'd only been able to find it, they would have saved him two weeks of torture.

"Bass, listen to me," Rachel chokes out. "The Patriots are gone. There's no more drugs."

Somewhere in the web of delusions that the drugs and dehydration have spun around him, he hears her voice. There were no women in his month of hell – no feminine voices for his mind to equate with someone else. "Rachel?"

"Yeah. It's Rachel. We're taking you home. Please drink." Her own guilt has her crying now. After all these years, despite everything that has happened – Miles trying to kill him, Bass trying to kill her, Her trying to kill Bass – he still tried to protect them. Why?

"I – I didn't tell them. I didn't break," he stammers, like he's desperate for her to believe him. He's getting agitated.

"I know you didn't. You did good, Bass. Now please drink," she tries to calm him down. She raises the canteen to his lips one more time. This time, he complies. A few minutes later, he's drifting back under again.

Brodie returned to the room. He stood at the end of the bed, barking excitedly. The sound was harsh in Monroe's ears, exacerbating the dull and steady throbbing in his head. However he almost welcomed it. If he was in pain it meant he was alive. Miles poked his head into the room. "Bass?" He entered the room, not quite sure what to expect. Seeing that Monroe was fully alert, he crept into the room. Someone had drug the rocking chair out of the nursery and placed it by Monroe's side of the bed. Miles took a seat and leaned forward. "Hey, buddy." A wave of déjà vu washed over Miles. This was the third time that they'd found themselves in this position. "We've gotta stop doing this. I'm starting to wonder if you just like all the attention."

Dick, Monroe thought. Well if that's how he was going to be… "Where am I?"

This caught Miles' attention. "You're home, Bass. On the farm."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Sometimes Monroe really couldn't help himself.

Miles' jaw dropped. "Oh no," he said under his breath. He jumped out of the chair and went to go find Gene. Rachel's father had warned that the condition they'd found him in could have lasting effects. He was almost out the door when he heard a quiet snicker from behind him.

He turned to see Monroe with a shit eating grin on his face. "Sit down, you idiot. I was just fucking with you," he rasped.

Miles didn't know whether to be pissed or happy. He sank back into the chair. "You are such a prick, you know that?"

"You love me for it, admit it." He started to laugh quietly. The movement hurt. Biting back a groan, he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside a little.

Miles rolled his eyes at his friend. "Serves you right."

Eyes still closed, a smile broke back out on Monroe's face. "Totally worth it." He was silent for several minutes. Miles was almost convinced that he'd fallen back asleep when he turned his head back towards him and spoke again. "So out of everyone that lives in this house, why is your ugly frown face the first one I've gotta see?"

Miles laughed now. He translated this as Bass-Speak for 'Where's Charlie?' "Glad you're happy to see me, asshole. Charlie and Daniel rode out the Carter's to collect your kids."

Monroe furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he'd known they weren't here. "Why are they there?"

"Because everybody went to go rescue your sorry ass. Well, everyone but Daniel. Someone had to hold down the fort. We just got you home last night," Miles explained. "Listen, Gene's gonna want to check you out. I'll be right back, okay?"

Monroe nodded and watched Miles leave the room. While he was gone, Brodie took this as a cue and jumped back down on the bed. He lay down next to Monroe and sniffed at his hand. He tried to reach out and pet the dog, but the movement hurt too much. "You're going to be in trouble when Charlie gets home. Big trouble."

Gene and Miles walked into the room to see Brodie happily stretched out on the bed and Monroe half-heartedly telling him to get down. "I think she'll give him a pass just this once," Miles said as he leaned up against the wall while Gene set his bag down on the dresser and started to pull things out of it.

As Monroe's eyes landed on the leather satchel, the room suddenly faded. He was back in the tent, watching Baxter reach into a very similar bag and pull out a syringe. Miles noticed the way Monroe's eyes grew wide before glazing over. A sweat broke out on his forehead and his breath had quickened. Miles had been in the Marines long enough to see signs of PTSD when he saw it. Something Gene was doing had triggered it. He moved to put himself between the bed and Gene.

"Bass!" He said sharply. "Bass? Hey. Look at me."

Monroe blinked a few times and snapped back to reality. What just happened? He asked himself. Sensing something was wrong, Brodie started to whine. He started to lick the back of Monroe's hand as if to comfort him. Monroe closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. When he opened them again, Gene had finished and was sitting in the rocking chair, writing furiously in his precious little notebook. Monroe hated that fucking notebook.

Miles had figured out that the bag was the trigger. He casually backed up to the dresser and grabbed it from behind. The feigned nonchalance as he backed up to the door to toss it out of the room almost made Monroe laugh. The look of concern on Miles' face didn't leave, and he found it mortifying. General Monroe – leader of one of the most vicious armies that the continent had ever seen had freaked out over the sight of a man-purse. He turned his head and focused his sight on the dog.

Gene quietly went about taking Monroe's vitals. The attack hadn't really surprised him. As a doctor, he knew that something as traumatic as torture was bound to have psychological effects. Maybe they'd pass… Then again, maybe not. Monroe may have been getting better over the past year and a half, but the fact was he was still a broken man. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on him.

The attack had ruined the good mood Monroe had woken with. He clammed up and waited for Gene to finish. Right now, he just wanted to be alone to process what had just happened. As soon as the exam was over, Gene collected his things and left the room, stopping in the hallway to pick up his discarded bag. Miles edged his way towards the door as well. "Bass, you know what that was. You had the same training I did. We were both taught to recognize the signs."

Monroe refused to look at him. "Miles, just leave it."

Miles tried one more time. "You're going to have to talk about what they did."

"They didn't do anything I haven't done or ordered done to someone else. Nothing I didn't deserve," He said quietly.

Miles gave up and turned to leave, almost bumping into Rachel on his way out the door. She carried a tray with a bowl of stew. Miles shook his head, trying to get her to take the hint that this was not a good time, but Rachel gave him her most annoyed 'don't fuck with me' look. With one last glance at Monroe, he left the room.

The sound of the tray being set on the nightstand got his attention. "Come to finish the job?" he asked weakly.

Rachel ignored the barb. "You need to eat something." She reached over him to grab Charlie's pillow from the other side of the bed and used it to help prop him up. She noticed the way he grimaced when he leaned back against the pillows.

"I'm not hungry," he snapped. He was in pain and tired and feeling decidedly vulnerable. She was the last person he wanted around him at this point.

Rachel refused to let him piss her off. "Too bad. You're going to eat anyway." She picked up the bowl and spoon.

Monroe realized what she was intending to do. "Seriously? I'm a grown man. I can feed myself."

Rachel shot him an annoyed look. She set the bowl back down and set the tray over his lap. "Fine. Pick up the spoon, Bass."

It took a concentrated effort and no little pain but he reached out and picked it up. The shaking in his hand made it obvious to both of them that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to do this on his own. Humiliated he let go and the spoon fall to the tray with a quiet clatter. His eyes welled with tears of embarrassment. He ignored this and gestured towards the bowl for her to proceed. "I swear if you start making train or airplane sounds I'll kill you."

"Because a sword is so much easier to lift than a spoon," she scoffed. Having proven her point Rachel went about the task of getting food in him.

"I hate you," he told her in between bites.

The words had no heat behind them; she rolled her eyes and tried to go about things as casually as possible. "Not for this, you don't." She proceeded in silence for a while. "I'm sorry for going after you the night you left."

He just stared at her. An apology from Rachel Matheson was about as rare of an occurrence as an apology from him. "Do we have to have a moment here? This is humiliating enough." Rachel looked hurt. "I get it. You'll never forgive me for the things I've done. For the Republic, Ben, Danny – and you probably shouldn't. That night of my so-called execution, I meant it when I said I was sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen."

"Bass –"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted. "We both love the same people. Can't we just call a truce for their sakes? I don't want to fight with you anymore."

Rachel's mouth formed a thin line as she thought about what he'd said. The bowl was now empty. She set it aside and handed him a dishrag, letting save some dignity by wiping his own mouth. "You're right. I'll never forgive you for Danny. He was my baby, and he's gone." He'd heard these words from her before, many times. This time, however there was no hatred in her voice. "I wish I could forgive you. It would be so much easier. But I won't attack you for it any longer. You're right. All we're going to do is tear apart the people we care about. If I hadn't pushed you, maybe this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have been alone when the Patriots showed up."

The only good thing he thought that had come out of his ordeal was the fact that he'd been alone. If Aaron had gone with him, they still may very well have been captured. But Monroe knew he was by far better equipped to deal with it than Aaron would have been. Aaron would have been killed, or worse – forced to talk. "It would have been worse otherwise, and you know it."

"Aaron certainly doesn't see it that way. When he and Priscilla get back with the others, you might want to talk to him about that. He took it hard. All of us did," Rachel argued as she stood up to help him lay back down again. "When Charlie gets back, I'll have her bring you something else to eat."

"Trying to fatten me up?" He said lightly.

Rachel went to retrieve the tray. "You should see yourself. You look skinny." He shot her a dirty look. As she walked out the door, she turned one last time. "You didn't deserve it, by the way – what they did."

She left him to ponder those words. The sensation of having finally eaten took the last bit of energy from him. Monroe closed his eyes to wait for Charlie to come back. He'd so far spent the past few hours with her entire family. All he wanted now was to see her and the kids. He fell asleep hoping she'd hurry up and get back.

They are now only twenty miles or so from Providence. They've stopped again to change horses one last time. Gene has finally proclaimed that Monroe is, for the time being stable. They've all been working on almost no sleep for days and are running on empty. Monroe will need a great deal of care in the days to come. Miles makes the decision to stop for a few hours. Even taking shifts driving and riding in the back they've only managed to snag an hour or two of sleep here and there.

Without further ado, the bedrolls are pulled out. They eat a hasty meal, provided by their new friends, who had been waiting for them. These men will watch over for a while. It is not long until Charlie's family is now asleep around a small campfire. It is easier to leave Monroe in the wagon. Charlie elects to stay by his side. The clothing they've managed to get on him will not provide much protection from the early November chill that sets in.

She lies down next to him and draws the blanket from her bedroll over them both. He's been shivering in his sleep, and she's hoping her proximity will help keep him warmer. The last thing he needs right now is to catch a chill on top of everything else. She slowly starts to doze off, but is pulled from sleep by the sound of him rousing next to her.

She sits up and tries to calm him. His eyes are open just a little, and she can tell that he's really seeing her for the first time since they've found him. "Charlie?" She's been waiting for him to truly wake up for days, and now that he has, she can't make her mouth work. She just smiles down at him and strokes his hair.

"Please say something, so I know you're not in my head." His words are slurred and raspy. He's awake, but hasn't fully come to his senses. The drugs are slowly working their way out of his system, but he's not himself yet.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," She tells him as she lies back down next to him, reaching for his hand.

Monroe squeezes her hand, reassuring himself that she's really there. "I dreamed of you," he whispers. "Every day. I wanted to see you one last time so badly."

She leans down and kisses his dry, chapped lips. "I'm so sorry," she tells him, now starting to cry.

"Please don't. Not your fault." He squeezes her hand again. He wants so much to hold her but he can't force his body to cooperate, so he settles for that. His own eyes are tearing up now. "I'm sorry I didn't make it home."

"Shhh… We're almost there. We'll be there tomorrow. We just stopped to rest for a few hours." Charlie curls up as close to him as she can without hurting him. "Go to sleep." His eyes close as he goes back under.

He will not wake up again before they get home. As the drugs fully wear off, he will finally get real sleep for the first time in weeks. They will rouse him just enough to keep getting fluids in him so that his body can recover and heal.

Monroe woke up to the sounds of giggling and running in the hallway. As he turned his head, the door opened and two happy toddlers came scrambling into the room followed by their mother. Angie stood by the side of the bed with her arms raised high. "Up, up," she squealed. Monroe's first instinct was to comply, but as he tried to move he was reminded that he was still too weak to do anything. Charlie rushed over and picked Angie up, hovering her over her father so she could give him a sloppy kiss. "Daddy! Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy!"

Charlie and Monroe both chuckled at her ramblings. "Yeah, Angie. There's Daddy." Charlie set Angie on the other side of him. The little girl began to roll around the bed in glee. Danny was standing on his tip toes at the side of the bed feeling decidedly left out. "Poor Danny. Wanna give Daddy a love?" Charlie picked him up and not to be outdone by his sister he gave Monroe a wet kiss of his own.

Danny scrambled out of his mother's arms and threw himself on top of his father. Monroe winced and let a groan escape as twenty pounds of squirming giggles pounced on him. Charlie reached out to grab him. "No, it's okay," Monroe stopped her. He smiled at the twins as they jumped and climbed all over him. Angie finally settled herself in the crook of his arm, still babbling "Daddy-daddy-daddy," over and over again as she played with her toes.

Charlie sat in the rocking chair and watched them together for quite a while. Her mom had already told her that he'd managed to eat something, and from what her grandfather said, he seemed to be well on the mend. It would just take time for him to get his strength back. Whatever drugs they'd given him had cause extremely violent muscle spasms. He'd be very sorry for a while just from that. She'd also been clued into the fact that he might suffer flashbacks and god knows what else, so she shouldn't let him overdo it. With that in mind, she let the twins crawl on him for a bit longer before she plucked them up. "Okay, that's enough you two. Daddy needs to rest."

She returned a few minutes later, having successfully pawned them off on Miles and Rachel. She went to sit back down, but he stopped her. "Lie down with me a while," he all but begged. Charlie did her best to ignore the dirty paw prints on the bed spread as she kicked off her shoes and pulled the blankets back to join him. She laid her head down on her pillow and stared into his eyes. He looked so tired. "Come here," he sighed.

She scooted over closer to him, laying her head on his chest. He grunted a little in pain, but tightened his arm around her all the same. It was worth it. "I thought I'd never see you again," Charlie said quietly. She kept trying to convince herself that she's done crying but it had been a long and emotional five weeks.

"Don't cry. You found me. That's all that matters," he told her gently.

His words only served to make her cry harder. "No, I didn't. I lost the trail. It rained and I couldn't find it again. We kept trying for another week, but we didn't think there was any way you were still alive." She wiped her eyes and tried to calm herself down. "I'm so sorry I gave up. I should have kept looking."

"No. I sent that patch with Brodie because so you knew I didn't leave you. I never meant for you to come find me. I was shot and I the horse was hurt. I knew I was as good as dead." The last thing Monroe wanted was to make her feel guilty. "How did you find me then?"

Much to Monroe's surprise, Charlie evaded the question. "We had help."

"Who?"

Charlie shook her head. "A lot has happened in the last two weeks. We've made some new friends," she said vaguely. When he opened his mouth to question her further, she stopped him. "I promise to explain everything in a couple of days. Our resistance has gotten a whole lot bigger – Kentucky won't be so easy for them to take now. They are stripping the Patriot's compound now. When they're done everyone will be back, and you can see for yourself."

He still wanted to protest, but knew it wouldn't do much good. "Okay," he finally relented.

"Just focus on getting better, Bass." She was practically pleading.

"Alright," he said as he closed his eyes. He thought back to the afternoon before she went into labor with the twins. She'd laid there and demanded that he take a nap with her. It was long since time she returned the favor. "You know, that's the first time I think you've ever called me by my actual name," he told her.

Charlie looked up at him. "Really? I hadn't realized." She thought back. No, she usually always just called him Monroe.

He kissed her on the temple. "Sounds almost weird coming from you now," he mused.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, dummy" She tried to hide her smile.

Monroe chuckled. "Now that sounds more normal."