Chapter 13: Détente

Author's Note:Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Each notice makes me happy!

Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

Some dialogue taken from 1.19, written by David Rambo and Jim Barnes.

Trigger warnings: POV Stockholm syndrome/PTSD

I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Eight years after The Blackout

Rachel lay in Miles' bed, staring up at the cracks in the plaster celling trying to decide if it was time to start the day. She looked around at Miles' room. There were no personal mementos or knick-knacks to indicate the room was his, except for an old jar of refined tallow for his hair and herself, Rachel thought with a snort.

After Miles had taken her out of that Place, he had locked her in his room, and nursed her back to health. Rachel had exaggerated her weakness and kept on waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to demand to know where Ben was. She kept on waiting for Bass to turn up and start questioning her again. She kept on waiting for Miles to move her back to a cell – maybe not the broom-closet – but a cell never the less. But these things never came to pass.

Rachel kept setting and extending deadlines for her escape attempt. At first the goal was to be able to walk to the chamber pot and back ten times in a row. But once she could do that, she felt that that wasn't enough to actually ensure a successful escape attempt. Then it became the ability to do fifty jumping jacks in a row before needing to take a breather. Her current goal was to do 100 push-ups. She could do 82, and was probably in the best shape of her life. She told herself that once she could do all 100 push-ups she really would escape. Would see her baby boy, her daughter, Ben.

Rachel shook her head; thinking about the future was never a fruitful exercise. Denied one well-trodden trail, her mind turned to the other.

Once Rachel was strong enough to sit up in bed for extended periods, Miles started coming over for dinner. Rachel had wondered what sick harem fantasy he was playing out in his head – keeping his brother's wife locked up in his inner sanctum. But at the time she was far too weak to argue and had played along, and she was ashamed to admit, it eventually became habit. He would come over, bearing dinner and they'd have a nice chat about inconsequentials – whether this late frost would hurt the apple crop, what Miles was up to and how Rachel was improving, and later what Rachel had been reading. At one of the first of these dinners Rachel had tried to test the limits of her altered incarceration by asking for books. Miles had nodded levelly and the next afternoon a young militiaman built like a wide receiver showed up at her door with a stack of introductory physics textbooks.

Rachel still laughed about that to this day. At the time she was concerned that he suspected something, and this was just an opening volley, but now she knew he was just utterly clueless about the depth of science. Miles had really thought 100-level physics textbooks would interest her! Personally, Rachel had been expecting a stack of bodice-rippers, so she supposed this was a slight improvement. And it did turn out to be rather entertaining, just laying on Miles' bed comparing the different ways the textbook authors attempted to explain the laws of thermodynamics to the lowest common denominator.

Later, Rachel had asked if it might be possible for her to go to a library herself. The first trip Miles accompanied her, so she stuck to getting some 300-level biochemistry textbooks and a half-dozen collections of plays – mostly by Tom Stoppard. As time passed, she worked her way through various fields of science she hadn't had the time or inclination to explore, and expanded her literary horizons as well.

These trips became traditional Tuesday afternoon outings, and whenever Miles couldn't come he sent the wide receiver – who she would later learn was his protégé Alec Penner – and a few privates. On these trips Rachel was able to sneak off to other sections of the library and grab a few illicit books – she found a slim volume on Krav Maga and a surprisingly technical FBI pamphlet on hostage situations.

Rachel had taken to reading these books only when she knew Miles wasn't going to be in town. Lately, he had taken to randomly dropping by for brief visits or longer working visits during the day. At first, Rachel thought he wanted to make sure she wasn't plotting anything – even with two guards on his front door, two guards outside at the base of the windows, and numerous militiamen around the compound – but she had come to understand that he took some perverted pleasure from seeing her. It didn't matter if she was strictly polite, apathetically indifferent, or scathingly tart; he'd still kept coming back. She was careful never to cross certain lines, as much as she was uncomfortable with how comfortable her captivity was getting, it was a damn sight better than being back in Bass's hands.

Rachel shook her head; the past wasn't a 'happy place' either. She rolled out of bed and got dressed. She dragged the desk out of the doorway and lit an oil lamp. She pulled out an astrophysics book-beard and the Krav Maga volume.

She was permitted to bar the door with the flimsy IKEA desk while she slept when Miles was away – she physically couldn't sleep without that paper tiger – but there would be hell to pay if one of her guards saw the lamplight or heard noises coming from a barred room. Sure enough, before a minute had passed, one of the guardsmen checked that the door was unbarred and that she was reading – again. Once the brief check was over, she pulled the Krav Maga book out of the Astrophysics text. She would have at least thirty minutes before a private would come bearing breakfast.

The Krav Maga book was a treasure-trove – full of information about the best way to take someone down as fast as possible, vulnerable points, and even the psychology of physical combat. She had to restrain herself from laughing when the author talked about the need to evaluate yourself, to see if you had what it took to severely injure someone in an up-close and personal manner. After all of the deaths she had caused – many of them complete innocents – how would the fact that the blood would be literally on her hands change a damn thing? She was no squeamish Lady Macbeth to go mad at the guilt of one life!

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Miles followed Neville through the Ponderosa pine forest, guided by a small flickering light. Whoever trained these scouts did a piss-poor job of it. Fire blinds you and lets everyone else know exactly where you were.

Miles watched as Neville drew his gun on the huddled scout, and the scout dropped his light and tumbled into the duff.

Miles heard Neville ponderously pronounce, "Aaron Pittman."

Aaron's voice replied, "Oh my God. You?"

Miles felt fifty pounds lighter and ten years younger. If Aaron was here, Rachel had to be around here too.

Before Aaron could piss his pants, unaware that Neville was nominally on their side, Miles announced his presence with an unenthused, "Aaron." It would never do for him to think Miles was actually glad to see him.

Aaron breathlessly exclaimed, "Miles!" He looked rather confused.

Miles got to the heart of the matter as fast as possible, "He's with us now; it's a long story. Where is Rachel?"

Aaron swallowed heavily and looked guiltily around, avoiding Miles' eyes.

Miles' short patience was worn out and demanded in his sergeant voice, "Where is Rachel?"

Aaron picked himself up, out of the pine duff, and said, "Down there. In The Tower. With Monroe."

What the fuck?! Miles was about to interrogate him further when Neville said, "Let's move this happy little reunion back to the others."

Miles nodded his agreement and tailed the other two as they walked through the underbrush. He wondered what in the world Rachel was doing in The Tower with Bass. He could wait the 60 seconds until they met up with Charlie, Nora, and Jason. Patience was a virtue, right?

Charlie was quietly overjoyed to see Aaron again, and Miles begrudgingly let them take the 30 seconds they needed to hug and reconnect, but when Aaron started quipping with Nora, he had had enough and interrupted, "Yeah, can we do this later? Tell them what you told me."

Aaron looked at Charlie sadly and said, "Rachel's in The Tower with Monroe."

Charlie asked the question Miles had wanted to ask, "How did that happen?"

Aaron replied, "She… she went down to kill him. To blow herself up."

Miles was pissed, "And you just let her."

Aaron retorted "Can you stop Rachel from doing anything? 'Cause I can't."

Miles conceded that he had a point. Rachel was a strong-willed woman. Aaron probably wouldn't be able to convince Rachel it was time for a rest-break let alone stop her from avenging Danny's death. In the background, he heard Neville and Aaron exchange what they would certainly call 'witty repartee,' but Miles was focused on Aaron's statement: she went down to kill him, to blow herself up.

Where had she gotten that crazy idea? He knew she didn't think she'd make it back from The Tower, he knew she was suicidal and wanted to revenge Danny's death, but why with the blowing-herself-up-ness? He thought he might have gotten through to her that night in the Rebel base, before he gave her his spare pistol. He had tried to give her a reason to live. It clearly hadn't worked.

The boys moved on to discussing strategies of getting down to The Tower, and Miles shook himself. He needed to fix his mind to the now, and get to The Tower, get to Rachel; then he could think about this sort of shit.

- Author's Note: Business trip is over, I should be able to return to my regular MWF posting schedule now. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)