AN: First, If you still care about this story as much as I do... UMMM thanks! I feel terrible for not updating for so long. But good news: I'm heading home for spring break, and I'm turning all my attention to writing (after I say hello to my puppy!). After that, I'll try to keep everything going, but updates might be sporadic - however they will keep coming!

Not that there was anything particularly surprising about getting woken up from a deep sleep at 6 a.m. by the bellowing orders of a somewhat-deranged, certainly-psychotic dictator…

But, Alex mused darkly as he struggled to pull on his second boot, it's certainly not for everyone.

Finally, after nearly two and a half minutes of stumbling around his tent, trying to find the clothes he'd left strewn about in the wake of last night's… unexpected surprise, he was ready to go. Shrugging on his somewhat wrinkled overcoat with a grimace, Alex made his way out of the tent and toward the sounds of Monroe finally and truly loosing it.

He didn't even bother to look back at the woman still lying asleep in his bed.

Mouth quirking on one side, Alex pushed all non-Monroe-related thoughts out of his head. He had enough to deal with, apparently, without being distracted by some chick who'd shown up without warning in his tent last night…

Alex's mouth curled into a full-on smirk.

But she had proved to be one Hell of a distraction.

A sudden burst of sound on his left made him lunge to the side, barely dodging the oncoming bullet.

Unable to fight his momentum, Alex hit the ground hard, but was otherwise uninjured. A sharp stab of pain in his side made him wince. Almost uninjured.

Crouching low behind a nearby water barrel in order to remain out of the line of fire, Alex cautiously peered around the side, trying to find his attacker.

It didn't take long. Monroe, gun still poised midair, was staring straight at him, dark fury lining his features.

"Where is she, Alex?" Monroe's voice was as unsteady as his gun, but both managed to still seem lethal. Mind scrambling to catch up, Alex tried stalling him.

"Who?" Barely dodging the answering bullet, Alex shouted, "Dammit, Monroe! What the Hell are you talking about-"

"Don't lie to me!" Another holly of bullets aimed at Alex battered against the barrel's solid wooden and metal siding. "What did you do with her?"

"I don't even know who you're talking about!" Alex braced for another attack, but none came. In its place a sudden silence fell over the whole camp – not that anyone was actually still asleep; only that no one was stupid enough to get in Monroe's way when he was like this.

Calling himself an absolute moron for not bringing his gun, Alex carefully shifted to the side, trying to see around the side of the barrel without getting his head blown off.

The camp was only barely visible in the still, shadowy dawn. Against his better judgment, Alex knew a brief moment of fear – nothing more than a little shudder running the length of his spine. There was no basis for it, but… something about that morning made a man feel as though the sun couldn't rise soon enough.

A subtle shift in the sock soil to his right brought Alex reeling around, too late, to face his General. He found Monroe's gun hovering about two inches from his forehead, with the man's deadly glare not far behind. Despite being surprised, Alex was almost impressed. He knew the militia's leader had a reputation for stealth, among many other, more colorful things; but still, it had been a while since anyone had been able to sneak up on him, considering he had quite an impressive skill set of his own.

But the fact remained that he was staring down the barrel of a mad-man's gun – not exactly the time to lose focus.

For a long moment everything was quiet. Neither he nor the General seemed willing to condescend to clarify the situation, so neither man spoke. But that didn't stop Alex from indulging in a few choice words silently, and doing his damnedest to prove the long-running theory that looks really could kill.

"-the Hell is going on out here?" The moment was shattered by a very irate Matthew Forbes storming out of his tent. Despite his own very imminent death, Alex couldn't help rolling his eyes in disgust. The General's most trusted officer was standing in the middle of camp in boxers and half a robe – half, because it seemed Forbes had felt the present crisis too urgent to bother with even the most obvious societal norms. Evidently unconcerned that he was flashing anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby at the time, the grey-haired officer took in the scene before him with characteristic confusion.

"What the devil, Monroe?" Despite his best efforts, Forbes had never quite lost that genteel British accent his parents had left him. Because of it, and quite possibly despite the man himself, his presence always seemed to instill a sense of wry civility in the men around him.

After all, even when the whole world goes to Hell, the British can always be counted on as the keepers of decorum and proper etiquette.

"Bloody Hell, man." Forbes said it with a sort of shocked and embarrassed outrage – and breathlessly, as the man had appeared in quite a hurry. "Why don't you sit down, sir, and we'll sort this out."

But Alex – who's eyes had wisely never left the man holding a gun to his head – already knew that talking to Monroe was useless. All he had to do was look up at the General's unfocused eyes, staring with no small terror at something just behind Alex – something Alex felt quite certain was not really there – and he knew: there could be no reasoning with this man. In no world could the two of them truly work together to bring down the rest of the continent.

Monroe was a liability. And what's more, he was a deranged, deluded, and – Alex's practicality finally overcame his pride - dangerous liability.

The General was past his prime. He was clearly, maddeningly insane. And he only mattered to Alex so long as he helped bring about his own destruction.

There would be no alliance. Alex had hoped he could use the General – use Monroe until he'd positioned himself as the next leader of the Republic in the event anything tragic should happen to its leader…

But now, it was becoming abundantly clear that Monroe was only going to get in his way. And Alex knew what had to be done. An agonized groan from Monroe, as the gun wavered before Alex's eyes, as the man began to look startlingly pale, only reaffirmed Alexander Hamilton's newfound conviction.

He was going to have to kill the President of the New Republic. And soon.

"Are you really going to kill him too, Bass?" The gun nearly fell from Monroe's hand, but he didn't turn to look. Shaking his head, Bass tried to tell himself that it wasn't really… that it couldn't be…

But Emma had never been one to be easily put off.

Before Monroe really knew what was happening, she was there, her pale hand pulling on his arm. He watched in horror as the gun he was holding lowered to his side and then dropped to the ground. That actually wasn't surprising since Monroe seemed to have lost all feeling in his fingers.

Something about seeing the woman you once loved, silently, for so many years – and who was dead now – will do that to you.

She's dead. Bass tried frantically to stop the vision of Connor's mother. She's dead. Gone-

"Gone, but not forgotten, I see." Emma's voice made Bass jerk back, his boots catching on something and making him stumble. As he crashed to the earth, Monroe forgot about Alex, forgot about Forbes, forgot about- well, he still couldn't forget about Charlie, but for once, she slipped into the background of his thoughts while he hurriedly tried to back away from her. But Emma followed after him, looking down on him with soft, gentle eyes.

"You're- not real." Shaking his head, trying to clear his vision, Monroe sincerely hoped he was dreaming. That it had all been a dream, that Miles… that Charlie hadn't really- Emma's figure loomed over him, bringing all his thoughts to a dead stop. "You're dead," Bass whispered, looking into a face he'd never dreamed of seeing again.

The smile Emma gave him then was small and sad.

"Well, you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you, Bass? After all, you're why I'm dead. Right?"

Monroe wouldn't deny it. After all, it was true. He was why Dannie was dead. Why Ben, and Emma, and probably Connor… And Charlie-

With a wrenching cry, memories of her flooded back. Her sweet, dangerous smile- and her last, small, broken smile.

He didn't notice or care when the tears began rolling down his jaw. Nothing mattered, nothing was worth a damn if she wasn't-

A numbing strength flowed back into his limbs. He picked up the gun, ignoring the shouts, and the faces around him. Even Emma's presence didn't faze him anymore. They were a blur, nothing. Voices raised in a concert of discord, but it didn't reach him. The gun felt light, easy, lighter than anything. It felt so light as he raised it to his temple-

-And pulled the trigger.