Poison and Wine
Chapter 29
Disclaimer: Revolution is not my property. I'm only fiddling around with it. And trying to fix the holes their way too early cancellation left us with.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who left me a comment on the last chapter. Meant a lot. I know it wasn't an easy chapter. Sorry I haven't gotten back to you all-it's been a crazy week. I'll try to respond soon. Thanks again.
Bass had no idea how he survived from the time he took his step outside of the Patriot headquarters, the hurried march back to camp and the long wait while Sully was operated on and plans were made. The camp was hastily breaking down so that they could march on Nashville. It was going to be sloppier, riskier than if they'd taken the time to plan and prep properly with the intelligence they had recovered from the headquarters.
But that was before the plan had gone south.
Before Charlotte had been taken—hopefully—captive.
Captive instead of killed.
Captive meant that there could be a rescue.
It was this thought that kept Bass holding on. The slippery slope into that dark abyss in his mind was greased with the madness wrought by a life imagined without Charlie. There could be no life without her.
Therefore they would rescue her.
Or die trying.
During what could be loosely deemed their planning session, Bass had announced to everyone in the room, "We are going to kill every one of those sons of bitches for whatever they are doing to Charlie. And I don't want to hear you give me a hard time about the kids in the brainwashing camp, Rachel."
Rachel stunned him with her reply as sure as she had done when she'd stabbed her friend in the heart with a screwdriver. "I wasn't going to. I'm actually relieved to see President Monroe right now. I want my daughter back. He'll get it done."
Bass leveled her with a steady gaze. "I don't need to be President Monroe to kill anyone who threatens or hurts Charlie."
Then he left the tent. There was nothing more to say. He didn't give a shit about the men; they were only a means to an end for him now. He didn't care if they lost one or one hundred of them as long as the line of bodies lead him directly to Charlie.
He knew that he was slipping fast into that madness but the fear that had coated him when he'd heard the metal ripping apart behind him and the echo of Charlie crying out had yet to abate. He had just gotten her back. Had he been such a fuck up his whole life to deserve all this?
He lost his parents and sisters.
He lost his wife and child.
He lost his brother.
He lost his son, without ever really having him to begin with.
He had lost Charlie.
But then he'd gotten her back. She had come back to him and had returned to a life where they hadn't been separated. She had not ridiculed him for his mistakes; she hadn't espoused the oft repeated line that he was a monster. No, she had returned and given him no more or less than her heart.
She'd given him everything.
And the Patriots had taken it from him.
At least Miles was on his side this time. There would be no squabbling over the right and wrong thing. They would march and slaughter. That was it. There would be no quarter. Because if there was one thing that Miles and Bass agreed on without question, if there was one thing that could reunite them into the brothers they'd once been, it was Charlie. Charlie was the most important thing to both of them.
The Patriots had heard stories about Generals Monroe and Matheson and how they had built a republic with bloody swords. And that was when Bass had only been following along because the cause mattered to Miles. Now it was a cause that mattered to both of them.
The Patriots had no idea what was coming. Whether it was here in Nashville or some other place in this godforsaken world, the Patriots would be torn asunder for whatever harm befell Charlie.
He went back into their tent, preparing to pack it up and leave their belongings to the followers to carry for him. But when he'd picked up a spare shirt of Charlie's the scent of her brought about the memories of her touch and the sound of her voice whispered into his ear. He collapsed on the cot where they had made love numerous times and held onto the shirt as if it was a line connecting him to her.
There is a phrase about seeing the forest for the trees. This was Bass' mindset as they marched on the headquarters. All Bass saw with a razor-edged focus was the building and its two double doors that led to wherever Charlie was being kept, undergoing whatever unspeakable hell they could imagine for her. Therefore Bass didn't pay attention to the number of men whose blood sullied his blade; or the number of men felled by the bullets shot with exquisite precision from his gun. They were just objects in the periphery. Inconsequential. Nothing else mattered but those doors because those doors meant Charlotte and Charlotte meant that he could breathe again.
That he wasn't really dying, as it felt since she had slipped out of his reach.
He knew somehow that Miles was nearby, fighting the spattering of men left at the front of the building. Bones and Gibbs were leading a second unit that would cut off any Patriots attempting to escape. They weren't letting the bastards get out of Nashville without killing as many as possible.
Debates had been held as to who would come along on this fight. Obviously he and Miles; Rachel had been unequivocal about her coming. Gene had also spoken up because not only was Charlie his granddaughter but he was a doctor and she would most likely need medical assistance and Gibbs was going with Bones. He knew they were there but he wasn't paying attention to where AARP and the screwdriver wielding psychopath were. Didn't care.
There was a part of his brain that said that it was a little too easy. There weren't enough men there for them to fight. The General in him knew it was a trap. The man didn't care. Let them take him; at least he'd be with her. Neither of them would be alone. The man won this battle and Bass kept up his bloody march to the doors without pause. It was almost passionless the way he was killing the men. It was an act disassociated with his body; in his mind, he was already inside, already with her.
Feet—mere feet—from the door, Bass saw the end in sight. Miles was a couple steps behind him.
"Charlotte!" He cried out when he cut down the last man standing between him and the doors, his girl.
Then the world exploded in a burst of red and white and a cacophony of sound. White blast, white heat ironically tempered to a red flame and a red heat as the building rose from the foundation and landed like flaming comets, crashing to the ground, burning around them. The earth shuddered and Bass sympathized; both their bodies were rocked by the grief of a world where Charlotte Matheson no longer lived.
Then the black hole greeted him and Bass surrendered to it.
