It was almost dawn before they got a response from the Rangers. Five men approached the train. Miles was still leaning up against the boxcar impatiently. "Lieutenant Dyer?" he said when he recognized the superior officer that approached. "You're the second in command here?"

"It's Captain Dyer now, actually." He held a hand out to Miles. "What on earth have you gotten yourself into?"

Miles shrugged sheepishly. "Well, it got a bit dull in Willoughby so we thought we'd shake things up a bit. You know, steal a train, save the world, kill a president and the like."

Aaron looked stunned. "So you know this guy?"

"Aaron, this is Captain John Dyer. We fought together briefly during the Patriot War. He fought with Bass too, actually." He went over to the boxcar and motioned for Dyer to follow him. "There's something you need to see."

Dyer indicated for his men to wait outside. He knew he was in no danger from these men. They wouldn't risk hurting the one person in Oklahoma City that might be able to help them. He climbed inside and waited for Miles to turn up the lantern wick. In the light he saw Bass lying there. He almost didn't recognize him. "Holy shit," he said as he backed away. "Why would you bring him here? He could infect the entire outpost."

Gene stepped in. "He's not contagious, but he is dying."

"Who are you?" the captain asked.

"My name is Gene Porter, I'm a doctor and I've been treating Monroe for radiation poisoning."

Dyer turned back to Miles. "What the hell have you been up to?"

A half hour later, Dyer was staring at them like they'd all gone insane. They took a risk and explained everything to him—the Nano, the Glitch, even where Bass had been during his brief hiatus. "And this happened to him in Idaho?"

Miles nodded in the affirmative. "We get it, we can't get into Texas and we're probably on Blanchard's shit list for Willoughby having falling apart. Bass is dying John. He just wants to go home to Indiana. I'm asking you for a huge favor here—let us go east. If Blanchard wants us to stay out of Texas indefinitely, we will."

John Dyer looked at the man he'd served with one last time. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the same person, so much had his appearance been altered by his illness. "I'll see what I can do," he finally said.

When started walking away Gene took off after him. "Even if you can't help us with the train, we need medical supplies. We had an IV kit, but the tubes are shot. Also, he's in a lot of pain but I'm running out of morphine. If there's anything you can get for him in the meantime, we'd be grateful."

"Come with me," Dyer told the doctor. His face was grim as he led Gene and his men back to the outpost from the train yard.

When Dyer returned it was with good news. "There's a train leaving later this afternoon for the new base in St. Louis. I can get you on that train. From there, I can't make any promises. We aren't running on full capacity yet, not since everyone went nuts. I don't know when another will be heading out further east. There's a station in Booneville though. I'll send along orders for you to be on the next train heading past there, but it's the best I can do. There's no telling when that will be."

"Thanks John," Miles said. "I know you're sticking your neck out for us. We owe you."

They made arrangements to leave their refugees there. Dyer promised to do what he could to get them settled. The majority of the people that had chosen to join them on the way south were an odd mixture of former servants from California and Texans. He also promised to send word east if anything changed in regards to the border. Gene returned just a few minutes before the train was scheduled to leave with a box of supplies, including a new IV kit that the company doctor had reluctantly parted with.

They were given a few compartments in one of the coach cars. They turned one into a room for Bass and shared the others for the trip. With the Rangers running the train, they'd get to St. Louis in just two days. It was slower than it had been before the Nano's attack but considering how much chaos it had caused, they couldn't complain.

In St. Louis, they'd gotten lucky and another train had been set to leave for Ohio shortly after they'd arrived. They found themselves in Booneville and had immediately set out for the long ride to Jasper. It had been twelve days since Bass had first started getting sick again and he was barely hanging on. By the time they got him loaded onto the wagon, he had long since stopped getting sick. His body had lost the ability to do so. The IV kept him hydrated at the very least and made it easier for Gene to give him the morphine the Rangers had given him.

Miles stood in front of the wagon as the gates to Jasper opened. The last time they were here the town hadn't needed walls. Up until the day Bass had held the town hostage in order to flush him out, Jasper had been protected by the Militia. It had always been standing orders that the town held a special status because it was the hometown of both of the founding generals of the Monroe Republic. The only post-blackout threat they'd ever experienced was caused by the man that had ordered the town to be guarded in the first place.

Since the night Monroe had almost burned the town to the ground, they'd been hit by the Patriots, bandits and war clans alike. The Militia no longer protected them and it wasn't until very recently that the Texas Rangers assigned to the area after the war had decided to offer them any assistance at all—and what they'd been willing to do and been mediocre at best.

David Browning met them just outside the gate, a rifle in his hand. "Miles? What are you doing here?"

He greeted his old high school classmate before giving him the reason for his return. "David, we've come to bring Bass home," he said, and then he waited to see if he'd be shot for even saying it.

"After what he did here? You can tell Monroe that he can go fuck himself Hell will freeze over before he's welcome here." he sneered.

"Why don't you tell him that yourself?" Charlie interjected, outraged. They'd come so far and she'd be damned if they got turned away by this asshole.

"Gladly," he said with a shrug. "Where is the son of a bitch?"

David was led to the back of the wagon where Connor sat with him, taking his turn at holding up the IV bottle. Seeing the young man, he stopped for a second. "Do I know you? You look familiar."

"I ought to. I grew up next door to you," he said under his breath. "How are you Mr. Browning?"

"You're Emma's boy?" He stared in awe as Connor nodded in the affirmative. "And you're traveling with Monroe? Guess they didn't bother to tell you that he killed your mom."

Connor handed the bottle in his hands off to Gene and jumped down to confront the man. "I know exactly what my father has or hasn't done. Now will you let us in or not?"

"Father?" He opened his mouth to tell the young man that Sebastian Monroe didn't have kids, but he shut it when he took a closer look at him. He could see the resemblance now—He really was a brown-eyed version of the man he'd played little league ball with as a kid. "Not if you're with him. Now where is he? I've got some things I want to say to him."

Connor had an overwhelming urge to deck the man. He clenched his fists at his sides in an effort to not do exactly that. Taking a deep breath he nodded towards the wagon. "You can tell him whatever you want, but he probably won't hear a word you say."

David peered into the wagon now and saw him. He recoiled from the sight of him. "My god… What happened to him?" What little hair he had left was in thin patches and his face was covered in the burns. He hadn't been conscious more than a few fleeting minutes on the journey from Booneville. Every breath he drew was raspy and shallow.

"Acute radiation syndrome. He's dying." Gene said as he adjusted the tube leading into Bass' arm. "I'm guessing you had something strange happen in town a couple of weeks back?" David nodded in response as he continued to look at the dying man that he'd once called friend and had later sworn to kill if he ever saw him again.

"Well, this happened to him because he tried to stop it—and he went into it knowing that this was the cost. In forty-five years of practicing medicine, I've never encountered a more painful way to die, and I watched half of a town die from cholera," Gene spoke sharply to him. How could anyone look at the man and not feel compassion? That was what separated most people from men like Monroe in the first place.

"Mr. Browning, I just want to bring my dad home so he can die at peace and can rest with my grandparents and aunts. I've got the right." Connor had since calmed down and spoke now as any grieving son would.

David looked from one face to the next. He saw the small child sitting next to Aaron on the bench. He looked so stricken and lost. "How long does he have?"

"A day or two at best," the doctor replied.

"Come on, David. A few days and we'll be out of your hair. This was his dying wish, to come home. I know there are a lot of bad feelings and he does too. He wouldn't have even asked if he was in a frame of mind to think about it—I just couldn't tell him no." Miles pleaded. With a sigh, David relented. He called out to someone on the inside and the gate opened. "We'll need a place for the night," he added as David led them past the gates.

"His family's house is empty. The people that bought it never did anything with it before the blackout. You can take him there. I'll see what I can do to make sure you're not bothered—no promises though."

"Thank you."

David escorted them to the house personally to make sure they weren't stopped along the way. "What's with the kid?" he asked, curious.

Miles looked back to where Jeremy was sitting, huddled on the driver's bench between Charlie and Aaron. "Bass found him wandering alone in Idaho. The kid had followed his mom there but she died. He brought him back to Texas with him—took him in and I guess he kind of adopted him."

They'd reached Bass' family's house. David stopped at the end of the driveway. "Why would he do that?"

"Because the kid would have probably starved to death otherwise," he replied, indignant. "He's not the same guy he was that night Emma died, David."

Late the next afternoon, Bass woke up again. He looked around in confusion. He saw Gene preparing a new IV bottle. Charlie was sitting on a chair next to the bed. "Where are we?"

She got up and opened the curtains to let in more light. "We're in Jasper. Miles said that this was your bedroom—you're home," she explained as she sat back down.

Bass looked around again and it slowly came back to him—He'd asked Miles to bring him here. Everything after that was hazy. He'd finally sold the place a year before the power went out, but the room was the same as the last time he'd come home. Since he'd sold it "as is" the furniture was still there. In fact, other than the few mementos and heirlooms he'd put into storage, never to be seen again he'd left everything else behind—his civilian clothes, the dishes and so on.

He closed his eyes and just took in the feel of the room. After being gone for so many years, there was something to be said for being home again. He didn't count the time he'd come a few months before the Republic had collapsed. He'd been to town but he hadn't really been home then. He still hadn't been himself. Now, as he lay dying in the bed that he'd slept in every night throughout school and when on leave in his twenties, he was truly home. It had taken all those years, but he finally had found the piece of himself that had been missing—If only it hadn't been too late.

The following morning Charlie led the way up the stairs while his visitor followed soberly. He knew his way around the home just as well as she did—after all he'd been here countless times growing up, but he let her lead the way out of respect.

She made him wait in the hallway while she gently knocked before opening the door. She insisted on making sure he was up to company before she let this man loose on him. She opened the door slowly and found Jeremy sitting on the edge of the bed with a book. He looked up for a second and paused before he continued to read.

She watched them for a few moments, heedless of the man that waited patiently outside. Once or twice he came across a word he couldn't get past. He'd spell it out slowly and Bass would then whisper it to him so he could continue. The boy's reading really had improved over the past weeks despite the fact they'd been on the road. With so much down time while traveling, there'd been little else for him to do but work on it. When and if they ever got back to Willoughby he'd probably be able to join his peers in class now.

That thought almost made Charlie cry anew. Bass had done such a good job with him and now he wouldn't get to see the results of that. Remembering his guest, she cleared her throat, interrupting them. "Bass, someone's here to see you," she informed him.

He patted Jeremy on the arm, indicating that he should stop for the time being. The boy got up and headed towards the door, hesitating as he got close to it. He stopped and turned back around. He rushed over to the bed and hugged his father briefly. Bass lifted his arm weakly and hugged him back before ruffling his hair and sending him away. Jeremy went to leave again, brushing by the man that waited to talk to his dad.

The visitor watched the exchange with much interest. This was hardly the type of interaction he'd have thought General Monroe would be capable of. For that matter it was hardly expected behavior from the man he'd been friends with either. The former was a ruthless killer and a soulless bastard. The latter was fun and decent but more concerned with having a good time and getting laid than anything resembling parenting.

"Bass, David Browning is here to see you," Charlie said as she picked up the book Jeremy had abandoned. Setting it on the end table, she went to fluff up his pillows and check his IV, just as Gene had shown her. "Is it okay I send him in?"

He nodded in response. Talking was so difficult for him now that he tried to save it for when it really mattered. He didn't know why David was here now, so he just watched him warily. For all he knew he'd come to kill him—not that it would have mattered other than giving him the satisfaction of having done it himself.

David slowly shuffled forward, every bit as wary as Bass. He eventually sat down in the chair. In his hands was a large cigar box. Swallowing nervously, the man began. "The people that bought the house only came here once or twice before the blackout. As far as I know they didn't take anything out of the house, but they did find some things. They gave them to my sister Jessie—she handled the sale for you, remember? Anyway, I kept them in case you ever came back, but you never did—not until that night. I thought you'd like to have them."

Uncomfortable, he started to pull things out of the box. He handed them to Bass one at a time, giving him a chance to take a look before trading each item for the next. There were a few pictures of his family from that last Fourth of July picnic before the accident. He stared at them and at himself, so young and happy. There was even one of Charlie's family. A little blond imp smiled for the camera, her sunburned shoulders peeking out under the straps of her red white and blue sundress, as her uncle hoisted her up on his shoulders. There was a photo of his parents at their wedding and a few polaroids from when his sisters were just babies.

Bass handed them all back, save the one of all of them—The Monroes and Mathesons all smiling for some unseen cameraman at that picnic. This one he laid down on the bed next to him. David handed him an old baseball next. Bass turned it in his hands and saw the date his father had written on it in permanent marker—June 14, 1997. He remembered the day his father caught that foul ball when he and Bass had driven to St. Louis one summer to see the Cards play. It had been just the two of them—father and son on a road trip. It had been such a good day, a good weekend. The memory of it had a tear trickling down his face.

Most of the other things in the box were just sentimental junk—a medal Angela had gotten for runner up in a spelling bee in third grade; One of Cynthia's high school report cards, expired copies of his parents drivers licenses, a few old birthday cards from relatives and so on.

David then pulled out a small box and handed it over to him. Bass opened the box and looked inside. It was his grandparents' wedding bands. They were simple gold bands, no diamonds or embellishments. James and Marjorie Monroe had been simple people and poor besides. He'd buried his parents' rings in a field in Pennsylvania with Shelly. He hadn't even known about this set. "Where?" he rasped.

"They were in a safety deposit box at the bank. Jimmy Seville opened it up when he heard you were back and sick. He remembered your parents having opened one a few years before they died." He handed him a small pouch. "There were those rings and this," he said as Bass opened the pouch.

Inside was an old pocket watch. It had belonged in their family for several generations and had been handed down from father to son on the eldest son's wedding day. His parents had never lived to see that moment and by the time he'd married Shelly he'd completely forgotten about it.

"Thank you," he whispered as he watched David carefully pack everything back into the cigar box and set it down on the nightstand. He picked up the photo again and studied it. So much had happened since this photo had been taken and now only three of the ten people in it were alive.

David just watched as he stared at the photo for several minutes. Every so often he'd reach out and touch one of the faces in it, lost in thought. The cigar box had only been part of the reason he'd come here, and he was working up the courage to address the other reason. "Why did you do it, Bass? I don't get it. You'd left us alone all those years only to try and kill everyone later. How could you?" More than anything he just wanted to understand. "You've known all of us your whole life. What kind of person does that?"

He took a few deep breaths and worked up the energy to answer. "I wish I could take it back. I'm so sorry." He paused to catch his breath before continuing. His lungs had stopped working like they should and he found himself winded anytime he spoke. "I don't know why I went so far—I was sick."

"How did you get so fucked up?"

Bass explained as best he could about how desperate he'd been after his family's funeral and then about Shelly. "I just broke—I couldn't take losing them. It's no excuse, but that's how it started."

David stood up and loomed over him. His breathing had gotten harsher and he looked like he was about to fade out. The conversation itself had taken a lot out of him. "Emma and I had a thing those last few years. I loved her and she's dead because of you and your stupid fight with Miles."

Bass could only nod in acknowledgement. "Well, you and everyone else in town will get their revenge. Just think, in a few days you can all literally dance on my grave."

"I don't want revenge Bass. Don't get me wrong, I really want to hate you." He leaned forward and squeezed his hand. "But she wouldn't have, so because of her I forgive you." With that, he turned to leave.

Despite Gene's predictions, he was still hanging on two days later. In that time they all took turns sitting with him. The infected burns hurt so badly that he could no longer bear the feeling of his clothing on his skin, so he lay in his bed covered with only a thin sheet as his body slowly shut down. The conversation with David was the last time he was lucid for more than a few minutes.

Most of the time he was awake his mind wasn't where his body was. Sometimes he was in Iraq, other times on leave somewhere. The worst times were when his mind had gone back to Philly. When he was there he wasn't exactly the general. Instead he was the damaged and insecure man he'd been behind the cold mask he'd worn for so long. A few times he was even back in the dream the Nano had locked him in. David had come back to sit with him a few times and his presence seemed to have triggered that. Other times, they couldn't even tell exactly where he thought he was, so disjointed were his ramblings.

After dinner they gathered in the living room and all sat, depressed and quiet. Connor was sitting with Bass and they were all exhausted. As the end grew closer, Jeremy had stopped talking completely. Charlie was curled up on the couch with him trying to offer what comfort she could. A knock on the front door broke the silence. Miles disappeared for a few seconds, returning with David behind him.

He sat down on the loveseat before speaking. After he'd left from a visit in the morning he'd taken it upon himself to describe Bass' condition to his neighbors. "I spoke with several people in town. They put it to a vote and they'll let you bury him next to his folks. There were a few people that spoke out against it, but most of them agreed to let you because of what you said he'd done to help stop the Patriots."

Miles stood off to the side, leaning up against entryway into the living room. David having taken his seat, there was no place else for him to sit. "Tell them that he didn't just help. If it hadn't been for him, we'd never have been able to get Texas to listen about Davis and Texas would never have declared war on the sons of bitches. You tell them that." His voice was bitter. The urge to make sure that people heard all the good things Bass had done since the Republic had fallen became overwhelming.

David nodded and started to get up before his curiosity got the better of him. "How did this happen to him?" he asked as he settled back down. He'd found over the past two days that he was not immune to the sense of loss that permeated the home. He'd been friends with Bass longer than he'd considered him an enemy and it was hard to overlook that, no matter what he'd done in recent years.

They all looked at each other, not sure what to say. It was Aaron that decided someone should know what had happened. "I can't explain everything, because you wouldn't believe me—and even if you did, you wouldn't understand. But what I can say is that the thing that caused the blackout was dangerous and it posed a risk to the entire world. It's what caused everyone to go crazy and it would have only gotten worse. We had to use the reactor from a nuclear power plant to stop it. Bass and Rachel Matheson were the ones that went."

"He thought he was expendable, said that he was the only one the world wouldn't miss, so he volunteered for the job." Miles added, his voice cracking as he recalled the conversation he'd had with him that night on watch.

David didn't know how to respond, but something made him want to believe. His plans changed and he decided to wait with them from here on out with the rest of them. Eventually Connor came out and traded places with Charlie.

Charlie sat down. She hadn't been there very long when she heard a moan from him, indicating he was waking up again. "Bass?"

His eyes were narrow slits. He knew she was there but he couldn't really see her. Everything hurt, it was agonizing but he was too weak to do more than let out a pathetic moan. "I'm so tired. Make it stop, Charlie. I don't want to hold on anymore," he begged before mumbling something about Parris Island. He'd apparently slipped back into that semi-conscious state and was lost in the past again.

She went downstairs to look for her grandfather. "Grandpa, you have to help him. He's suffering. He's ready to go," she said as she fought her tears. She was surprised she had any left. When Gene argued against it, she lost it. "I just had to listen to him beg me to die. Don't you dare give me a moral lecture."

In the end he finally agreed. There was no hope and it had gone on long enough. He got up and went to his bag, taking out the last vial of morphine. He took out the syringe and filled it all of the way. It was more than enough to end it, as weak as he was.

Bass is in the backyard once more. He's standing under the willow tree. It's sunset and a warm orange glow is cast all around him. The pain is gone now. He doesn't hear her or see her at first, but he feels her standing next to him.

"Is this a dream, or am I really here?" he asks.

She comes to stand in front of him. "I'm here with you," she says. Her blue eyes are full of understanding and peace.

He hasn't come here since he's been sick. He doesn't know where he's gone when he's been out, but it hasn't been here. He'd have remembered. This place makes him happy. It reminds him of family and friends and what it was like to be the old Bass. It reminds him of Charlie, even though he'd called her Sarah then.

Being here has him remembering the feelings of dread and anticipation. How it felt to be terrified of what it meant if she didn't show up, but even more so of what it would mean if she did. How his heart skipped a beat when he'd seen her appear in the yard as he stood by Miles, telling his friend not to embarrass him because he really liked her. How it felt to fall for her the second time, this time without all of the pain of past betrayals and uncertainty. How she looked in that sundress. He wishes he could see her in real life in a dress like that…

"Where were you?" The question comes out almost as an accusation. He can't be in this place without her help. It would have been such a good place to be when he wasn't dealing with the agony and illness.

She caresses his cheek in matronly concern, almost as if it's in apology. "I had a lot on my plate." This was a phrase his mother had used whenever she was overly busy. It sounded so natural coming from her now. "You did good, Bassie," she adds.

"So it's really over? No more bad little robots?" He doesn't want to go, but the confirmation that the Nano would never again attack the people he loves the most makes it easier to let go.

"Yes. The Nano is contained," she says.

Bass smiles at this. "Can I ask a favor?" He figures that after everything he's sacrificed and been through for her, he's at least owed one small thing.

"Ask what you will."

He leans up against the tree and looks up, watching as the leaves above him sway in the warm breeze. It's still the Fourth of July here—this place is frozen in time and it will always be the Fourth—the last time he was truly happy before his life fell apart in the real world. After a few moments longer he flicks his gaze to where she waits patiently for him to continue. "Is it a boy or a girl?" he finally asks.

The image of his mother that is not his mother cocks her head to the side in confusion. "This is what you want?"

"You're everywhere, right? You can see it, can't you?"

She lets out a soft laugh. It is so much like his mother's that it is hard for him to remember that it really isn't her standing before him. "Yes, of course I can, but why ask me to tell you? Wouldn't you rather find that out yourself?"

"I don't understand…"

She touches his forehead. "You will."

Gene made his way to the stairs, his heart heavy as he came to terms with what he was about to do. As his foot hit the first step a memory of approaching the man upstairs with a different needle in a different place was foremost in his mind. This time there would be no feelings of satisfaction in the end. Charlie stood behind him, intent on being with him right through to the end.

Gene was halfway up when suddenly the hallway above them was illuminated by a bright orange light that emanated from the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Throughout the house the lights flickered on and off, a stereo could be heard cutting in and out—the cd skipping as the electricity surged intermittently. The television turned on and the sound of the snow was harsh in their ears. "What the hell is going on?" David asked, terrified as he jumped to his feet.

They heard a scream from the floor above them. It was a scream of utter agony and was almost inhuman. "Bass!" Charlie shouted as she pushed past her grandfather. The light intensified and turned white. It was so bright that they couldn't even look at it, let alone go up those stairs. They all stood in horror as the screaming continued.

After several minutes the light faded and the house was silent. The power that brought the house to life was now gone once more. A loud bang above them broke the silence. Charlie took to the stairs two at a time, bursting into the room at the top, with the others hot on her heels. She gasped when she saw the bed was empty. "Bass?"

"Ow…" came a groan from the other side of the bed. Two hands appeared on the mattress first and then Bass appeared as he pulled himself up. "I hit my head," he whined as he held his hand up to his temple, his eyes squinted shut. A light trickle of blood seeped through his fingers from where he'd cut it on the nightstand when he'd fallen out of the bed. For the moment he seemed completely oblivious to the seven people that had crowded into the room just moments prior.

"Oh. My. God…" Charlie said, in awe of the sight before them. The burns were gone—not healed but gone as if they'd never been there in the first place. It also registered that he was completely naked, unabashedly so. "Um, Bass?" she said as she pointed to the sheet and then to him.

"Hmm?" he looked up and finally noticed he had an audience. He looked down at his naked body. With a shrug he reached for the sheet and pulled it off the bed to wrap around his waist. "Sorry," he murmured. He wore a dazed expression as he looked down at his chest and then his arms. His eyes became glued to the right one.

"What the hell is going on?" David repeated as he watched Bass rip off the wrist brace and unravel the Ace bandage beneath, his eyes wide and confused. He twisted his wrist this way and that and wiggled his fingers, for the time seemingly having forgotten again that he wasn't alone.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe it," Aaron muttered.

Bass did a double take when he saw that the burned flesh on his left forearm was also gone. Everything seemed so bright and yet fuzzy and dreamlike at the same time. He was having problems focusing on any one thing for more than a few second. "Pants… I should probably find some pants," he said to himself as he looked around the room.

He turned around and found the pile of clothes that they'd left on the dresser after taking them off of him. He found his jeans and dropped the sheet without an ounce of modesty. When he realized how filthy they were he started rifling through the dresser. Sure enough the couple that had bought the home hadn't removed them. He found some clean ones and started to put them on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor. His son stood there slack jawed, his hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "Connor, close your mouth; you look ridiculous," he said as he zipped the jeans up, frowning when he realized they were just a little too loose. He yanked open the top drawer and grabbed a belt.

"Wait, you could see me?" Connor asked in total amazement when he realized that they were all standing to his left.

Bass whipped around to face them. "Huh… I did." He raised his hand up, starting in front of his face, he moved it into his peripheral vision. He repeated this motion several times before waving his hand back and forth off to the side, testing it. In his confused state he became completely distracted by it, mesmerized by it. He'd had the blind spot there for so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to not have it.

Miles watched him. Now who looks ridiculous? "What are you doing?"

He ignored the question. "Well I'll be damned… It's fixed."

"What's fixed?" his friend asked.

"He had a blind spot," Connor explained. "He didn't have peripheral vision in that eye."

"Since when?" Miles asked, still in disbelief.

"Since that grenade in Iraq knocked me on my ass. Why else did you think I got transferred to Parris Island?" Bass said as he reached for the shirt sitting on the dresser.

"Because you had a death wish and our CO thought you were going to get your dumbass self killed."

"No. Ok, I did but it was the fact I couldn't see that did it," he held up his shirt. Somewhere along the line it had gotten torn. "Damn…" Again he went back to the drawers/

Charlie came out of her shock enough to find her voice again when she noticed the burns weren't the only things that were missing. "Bass, your back—the scars," she said.

Bass stopped the process of putting the shirt on and twisted around in the mirror attached to the dresser. Sure enough the lash marks were gone. His gaze moved up and he saw his face for the first time. He turned around and leaned in towards the mirror to get a closer look.

He recognized the reflection as his own, but there was so much different about it now. For one what was left of his hair and beard were gone, as if they'd been burned away when he was being healed. His skin seemed a lot smoother than it had been before. He lightly touched his face. His skin had been tanned but now it was pale, like someone that had spent an entire winter inside. "Fuck. I look like Powder," he lamented.

That earned him a snicker from Miles, Aaron and David. The others were either too young, or in the case of Gene too old to catch the reference. "Who's Powder?" Charlie asked.

Miles leaned towards her. "It's from a movie—a very bad movie. He… never mind." As Bass continued to grumble under his breath about his appearance, Miles stared at him. "No…" he said, incredulous. He retrieved the picture that Bass had held onto, the one from the summer before the Monroes died. He looked at it and then back at his friend again. Walking over to him he raised the picture up next to his face. "This is just not fair," he snapped as he tossed the picture down on the dresser.

Bass didn't quite understand Miles was talking about, so he picked the photo up and held it up, looking in the mirror. It took a second before he saw what Miles had. "Tell you what Miles, next time we almost have an apocalypse you can go play in the nuclear power plant. Maybe you can get a makeover too. Me? I'm sitting the next one out."

A/N: Again, yeah I went there. The more Charloe I write, the more it occurs to me that there's a limit to the happiness in their endings. He's twenty-five years older that Charlie and he's going to be old and gray way before she's even hit menopause. So, I decided that since I was going all out with the sci-fi, why not give them a chance for a real and normal life together—well as normal as can be expected for them anyway. People that know him will probably look at him a little strangely now that he looks nowhere near old enough to be Connor's dad, that's for sure.

This is the second to last chapter. The next one is the conclusion of the character's part in this saga. The last will be the conclusion of the mythology of the Nano (but will feature the characters too).

Again a big thanks for everyone still reading and for all of the input I've received along the way.