I don't know how long I sat in the rain, slowing becoming numb, soaked to the bone, but eventually the militia men and women must have gotten concerned by my absence and come looking. When they found me, no one said a word about me sitting beside a dead older woman, or the blood on my hands and face.

"What would you like us to do with her?" a soldier asked softly, crouched beside me and Maggie. I stared blankly at him for a moment before realizing that he was talking to me and that I needed to answer.

Standing unsteadily, I shook my head faintly, "I-uh, think it would be best if we brought her back to camp. We'll bury her away from here." The soldier nodded and gathered Maggie into his arms, her limbs no longer stiff and unwieldy.

I could sense eyes on us as we walked back to camp, but I didn't have the strength to focus on anything but placing my feet slowly, one step in front of the other. The soldier ahead of me carried Maggie to the doctor's tent, depositing her there until we were prepared to leave.

I thanked him quietly and went to my tent, slumping down at the small table, my head falling into my hands. Wet strands of my hair were plastered to my neck and face and I shivered, my soaked clothing sticking to my cold skin.

Stumbling back from the table I stripped off my button down plaid shirt and the tank top I wore underneath, shivering harder as the cool air hit my wet bra and exposed skin. Grabbing my bag off my bed I yanked a heavy cable knit sweater out with one hand while unfastening my bra, tossing it aside before tugging the sweater on.

After shimmying out of my jeans and hanging them on the back of the nearby chair I crawled beneath the spare blanket on my cot, shivering. I closed my eyes and tried to relax; hoping that with sleep would come peace.

Maggie's slashed throat and pale face flashed before my eyes and I sat up with a soft gasp, running a hand over my wet hair, trying to settle my mind and stomach.

"Ambassador?" a quiet female voice called outside my tent flap.

"Come in" I called, pulling the blanket tighter around my waist. When Natasha entered I smiled faintly and waved to the nearby chairs, "Please sit," I murmured.

She nodded and sat across from me, her hands knotting together as she frowned softly, "Have you heard the news?" she asked, her brows rising as she studied me.

I tilted my head, "Doubtful, it's been a busy day. We discovered that the rebels were all dead, and I found…" I stuttered over Maggie's name and glanced up at Natasha, my stomach burning at the sympathy in her eyes.

No one in camp actually knew who Maggie was, just that I had ordered her to be buried respectfully. I took a shaky breath and decided to trust Natasha with more of my secrets.

"Her name was Maggie. She used to work for the CIA when this was the United States. She agreed to spy on the Plains Nation for us to make sure our deal would stick, and she was my source on the information that Dale would turn on us."

That information at least, I had shared with Natasha, but had warned her it was highly classified, and she couldn't know where the information had come from. She had been content with just knowing the details about Dale and hadn't pressured me on Maggie, an arrangement that left us both satisfied.

Until now.

"She died killing the rebels last night, or this morning…I'm not really sure when she actually died," I murmured, shaking my head. I ran a hand over my face, Christ I was so tired. Glancing back up at Natasha I felt a spasm of relief to not see any judgment on her face, only a tired sympathy.

"I'm sorry your friend died."

I nodded and the silence grew for a moment until she spoke again, "But that's not the news I was talking about. We found Dale dead, and half the Plains Nation soldiers sent with him. It looks like they were poisoned."

My head snapped up at her words, incredulity running through me. How in the hell had Maggie poisoned them without taking out the whole camp? Shaking my head ruefully I smirked grimly at her, "Well, I'm sorry that you've become a widow so soon after the marriage."

Natasha snorted and shook her head, "Saves me having to kill him," she muttered, her tone so dark and the comment so bald that I burst out laughing, startling both of us. We laughed until tears ran down my face and Natasha's cheeks were bright pink, our chuckles dying slowly until silence pervaded the tent again.

Shaking my head, I smiled ruefully at her, "God, I really made a mess of things, didn't I?"

"You did the best you could; it's just been a rough couple of weeks," she encouraged softly.

I nodded, not really believing her. After a moment she stood and her shoulders squared into the professional stance of the soldier, "The Plains Nation survivors would like to speak with you, immediately. They want to know what you did to Dale, and what we plan to do about it."

Her jaw tightened as she relayed their words and I knew that what they must have said to her had to have been twice as rude. Smirking I nodded, "Great. Let them know I'll be joining them shortly. I just need to get dressed," I muttered, tossing back my blanket and reaching for my still damp jeans, shuddering as I pulled them on.

There was no sense in putting on dry pants when we would all just be standing around in the rains arguing. Tying my hair back, I slapped a baseball cap on and tied my boots back on before turning to find that Natasha had quietly left, presumably to tell them that I was on my way.

Pausing at the tent flap I stared out at the organized chaos of the camp and wondered, not for the first time, how this had become my life. When had I become a leader? I was still a kid, and yet here I was leading people into battles and making decisions that would forge a Republic.

Shaking my head to dispel my contemplative thoughts I stepped outside and strode to where the remaining Plains Nation members were gathered, their faces taut with anger and their loud, angry voices carrying.

As I approached a tall, burly black haired man pushed away from the rest and strode towards me, his face stormy.

"Why is Dale dead? Who killed him, huh?" he demanded angrily, his large beefy finger pointing into my face. His eyes narrowed as Natasha stepped up beside me, her presence a solid showing of protection and solidarity.

"You. Foreign bitch. We should never have let him marry you!" the man shouted, stepping towards Natasha.

Sighing, I stepped between them and lifted my hands, blocking him. To my surprise he stopped and stared down at me, his eyes blazing with anger. "You're going to protect this bitch?" he barked.

I sighed as the last vestiges of my tolerance and control slipped away with the still falling rain. Stepping toe-to-toe with the man I tilted my chin and stared up at him, my gaze steely. "That woman's name is Natasha, and she was Dale's wife, which means she's his widow. She deserves your respect for that alone. If that isn't enough to earn your respect, understand this; before the power went out she was a Marine, which means she knows how to fuck you up three ways from Friday."

I smiled widely, all shark teeth and razor sharp words as I continued, "If that still isn't enough, please, try to remember that you're speaking with a representative of the Monroe Republic, and as such I have the authority to hang you all for treason, for really any reason I find appropriate, as we're on Republic territory. So, who's the bitch now?" I hissed.

The man's eyes widened in surprise and I had the pleasure of hearing a few of the men behind him laugh quietly. After a long moment he nodded and cleared his throat, "I'm sorry Ambassador, I meant no offense, but it seems suspicious that Dale turns up dead within the camp when none of your men and women do," he insisted.

I nodded, "You're right, it is odd, but I can't tell you how it happened for sure. All I know is that the woman who served your food within your camp is dead. We found her this morning." I said a silent thank you to Maggie for posing as a serving woman to the Plains Nation soldiers and keeping her cover, enabling me to blame a dead woman for our treachery.

The man frowned, but nodded, "I remember her. She was a mean old cow. Why would she poison us?" he demanded.

I shook my head, "I don't know, perhaps she didn't like the way she was treated as a slave. Either way, she's dead. We're taking her body, and you should take Dale home to his father. Please take your portion of the weapons and supplies here before you go and let Curt know that further payment for your participation will be on its way."

The man nodded and after a long moment he turned to Natasha, his face stiff as he spoke, "I'm sorry for your loss Widow Thompson."

Natasha nodded faintly and murmured a polite thank you, her composure remaining more intact than mine had through this whole ordeal. As the man turned to rejoin his fellow soldiers I laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Please, will you carry a letter to Curt from me?" I asked softly, waiting expectantly as the man debated. When he nodded sharply I breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you, I'll send my messenger with it shortly."

He nodded sharply and yanked his arm out of my grip, his jaw tight with annoyance as he walked away. I couldn't say I blamed him; I wasn't exactly a ball of sunshine right now either. Natasha and I watched as he and his men disbanded back to their small encampment, waiting until they were gathered around a small fire to turn away.

As we walked back into my tent I tossed my ball cap onto the table and kicked off my boots, stripping off my wet pants—determined this time to put on warm, dry clothing. When I had pulled on a pair of sweatpants I sat at the table, setting two glasses down beside my nearly empty bottle of rum.

I waved a hand to Natasha, "Come on, help me write this letter," I encouraged.

After a brief hesitation she smiled and strode over, sinking down into the chair across from me, quickly pouring us each a few fingers of rum. I lifted my glass in a silent toast and grinned when she spoke, "Fuck men."

Laughing, I nodded and sipped my rum, enjoying the burn for a moment. "Indeed," I murmured, rubbing a hand over my face as I contemplated what to write to Curt's father. In all likelihood we had broken our peace treaty with the man by allowing his son to be killed, but if what Maggie had told me was true, they had never intended on honoring it.

I set my pen to the paper and began to write, occasionally asking Natasha about the wording of a phrase here or there until I was satisfied. Finally I nodded and folded up the letter, sliding it into an envelope and sealing it, dripping hot wax onto it and adding my official seal onto it.

Leaning back in my chair I stared tiredly down into my empty cup and shook my head, "I need a vacation," I murmured.

Natasha laughed, "I need a hot shower," she said with a wistful sigh.

I nodded and grinned, thinking of the last time I had a hot bath. "Pizza…I want pizza," I sighed, thinking longingly of goey cheese and crispy crust. "Mmm, ok, this isn't productive," I muttered, leaning back in my chair and shaking my head.

I slid the letter across the table and smiled at Natasha, "Thank you for all your help today," I said softly, grateful to have a friend in the impressive woman.

She smiled back, "I should be thanking you Becca, that man was ready to take my head off," she replied.

I shook my head, waving her off, "Please, you could take him! I've seen you fight bigger guys than that!"

She nodded, "But it's still awesome to have a friend who will stand up for you. I've not had that in a long time," she murmured.

I stared at her thoughtfully and then smiled hopefully, "Would you like to be part of my private guard?" I asked, "I want it to be exclusively women, and I'd like you to be in charge of it. If it's something that would interest you, of course."

I waited on pins and needles as she appeared to contemplate the suggestion.

"Sort of like Secret Service?" she asked, her brows rising in interest. I nodded and she grinned, "I'm in. What will the President think of this?" she asked.

I shrugged and rocked back on my chair, "If he's smart, nothing," I quipped. I couldn't wait to get home and tell him all about it, honestly. I missed Bass, and I wanted to see Miles. I realized that they were indeed my family now, and I had been away from them for far too long.

Lifting my eyes from the top of the table I smiled at Natasha, "Let the camp know we'll move out at daybreak. It's time to go home."

She nodded and stood, gathering my lettering and tucking it into her jacket, keeping it from being destroyed by the rain. As she walked out of the tent I sighed softly, happily. It felt wonderful to have someone on my side, someone whom I could trust with my secrets and my decisions, who didn't have a stake in the outcome and only wanted the best for the Republic and the people in it.

I leaned over and grabbed my journal from my open trunk, opening it to a clean page. Ideas for the Republic came fresh and new each day, and I had more after the past few weeks that I needed to get written down.

As I wrote, eagerness began to fill me. I was ready to go home and change things, improve the lives of our people and make the Republic the wonderful place I knew it could be.

Maybe an empire didn't have to be built entirely on blood.

August 18th, 2016

The sight of Philadelphia's crumbling skyline on the horizon had never been more welcome than now; after the past month we had lost 20 men and women during our battles with Canada in Augusta and Hamilton.

Of our original 150 militia, it was disheartening to see so many gone and so many more injured or ill. I knew they were pleased to be home, and would be given time to rest once there, but a part of me worried that perhaps what we had won hadn't been worth our losses.

As we grew closer to the city a figure on horseback approached at a quick clip, waving as he grew closer. I frowned and nudged Beda into a trot, riding out to meet him, my stomach knotting in worry.

As the figure approached I could see that it was Jeremy, a bandana pulled over his mouth, and a grim wrinkle between his brows. My stomach sank and I pulled Beda to a halt, "Jeremy? What's going on?" I called out as he approached.

He sighed deeply and shook his head, "There's cholera in the city. We can't let you in. It's not safe."

My stomach dropped and I closed my eyes in horror, terror gripping me. Bass…Miles…are they safe? Alive? I opened my eyes and looked to Jeremy, "The President and the General?" I demanded.

He nodded, "Alive, both in Headquarters. They both have ordered that you stay out of the city. Supplies will be sent out to you to ensure your company's survival until the disease passes."

I gritted my teeth but nodded in agreement, "Fine. Can you please carry a note to Sebastian?" I asked hopefully. He nodded and after a moment I turned Beda and rode back to the head of the camp train, spreading the word to make camp.

I quickly pulled my stationary out and wrote a letter to Bass, my hands shaking and leaving splotches of ink on the page as I did.

Bass,

I leave the city for a month and a half and you let cholera in? Remind me never to leave you alone again. Please don't go into the city and get sick. Stay in Independence Hall and please stay safe. I'll kill you if you get sick.

Yours,

Becca

I quickly sealed the letter and handed it over to Jeremy, "Make sure he stays safe, you hear me?" I demanded quietly as he reached for the letter. Jeremy nodded slowly and tugged on the envelope, brow furrowing as I refused to let go. "Promise me Jer," I ordered.

He sighed and relented, still holding the envelope, "I promise," he murmured before tugging the envelope from my hand and nudging his horse away, turning back towards the city. I watched him go, my stomach in knots.

August 25th, 2016

Sweltering sun bore down on our camp, irritating already high tempers within the small confines of our temporary home. We dug three new graves; our most grievously injured having passed away in the night from infection, with four more soldiers hanging in the balance.

I stared down at the white shrouds as they were lowered into the ground, wondering how many more people we would lose before this was all over. I turned away and walked slowly through the syrupy heat until I came to a small rise in the ground that overlooked the city, lowering myself to sit in the dried out grass.

Smoke rose up from the city, turning the sky ashy and grey; they were burning the dead as fast as they could, but from what Jeremy was able to tell me in his short visits, the disease was burning through the city like wildfire.

I slid Bass's latest letter from my pocket and ran a finger under the flap of the envelope, pulling the letter out slowly, wanting to make it last. Flipping it open I began to read.

Becca,

We still don't know where the cholera came from. We haven't had disease like this since we settled the city. Everyone has always been careful to keep the water supply clean…I can't think of how it happened. Shit. I'm just glad that you're safe outside of the city. I'm sorry that more wounded men and women are dying in camp, I'll send more medical supplies to you.

Are you feeling well? Jeremy said you looked healthy. I miss you.

I'm tired of being locked in this damn building. I want to see you, to hold you again.

Come home soon.

Bass

I sighed and ran my fingers over the words, "Come home soon," I breathed. Home. It was comforting to think of Bass as home, as somewhere safe. It was all I had ever wanted really, to feel like I belonged somewhere, with someone.

My own family had slowly, over the years glorified my brother's every action, especially when he joined the military. I couldn't blame him really, he was an awesome older brother, and I loved him, but it hurt to see your own parents so obviously favor your sibling.

After he died, it was like a part of my parents died. They were pleased for me that I did well in school, but it seemed like they were never able to summon the strength of love that they had for Edward, for me.

The thundering of hoof beats broke through my melancholy thoughts, forcing my gaze up from the dried out grass I had been crushing between my fingers. Jeremy was riding like hell towards me, his horse lathered from heavy exertion in the heat.

I stood, worried about what could have driven out to see us when he had just been here last night. He reined in his horse a few feet away and gasped for breath, "You have to come, it's Bass…he's sick."

Inhaling sharply, my hand went to my stomach, feeling as though I had been stabbed by his words. "W-what about Miles?" I managed to ask.

Jeremy shook his head, "He left the city early yesterday to gather medical supplies and bring more doctors."

I nodded and looked around in a daze, his words buzzing around in my head.

"Becca! You need to come now!" Jeremy barked.

I looked back up at him sharply, focusing. "Right. Take me to my tent and I'll get Beda. She's fresh, we'll leave your horse here." I strode forward and extended my hand to him, clambering up behind him on his tired horse.

We quickly rode into camp and to my tent, unsaddling and watering his horse as I saddled Beda, speaking softly with Natasha. Within moments she had gathered her things and another horse, joining us, ignoring Jeremy's protests.

"She can't come, we'll attract too much attention with more people."

"She comes or I don't."

He grumbled and shook his head but agreed, swinging into the saddle behind me, looping his arm around my waist as we moved out.

As we descended into the city I lifted my bandana up to my nose, securing it against the stench of death, illness and burning bodies. Everywhere I looked were the signs of disease; bodies lay in the streets as people struggled to move them, and still others helped the sick to tents marked Infirmary.

We stabled the horses quickly and ran to the Hall, fending off people begging for help. Jeremy slid the bolts on the doors after we entered and I felt guilt sluice through me for feeling better as they thunked solidly into place.

Without a glance backwards at my two friends I took off through the halls to Bass's quarters, fear making my heart pound unsteadily. Shoving the door open I stumbled to a halt at the sight of a doctor hovering over Bass as he vomited into a large basin.

I studied him unnoticed for the moment and my worry grew. He looked not just pale, but grey, his eyes sunken and his hands shook where he reached for the support of the doctor's arm. His muscles looked ropy against his skin, taut as he retched.

As he stilled I stepped forward, the floorboard creaking under my feet, drawing attention my way, finally. Bass's eyes were hazy as they met mine and it pained me to see it took him a moment to realize it was me.

When he did, frustration crossed his face, a frown forming on his lips. "B-becca…what are you doing here?" he murmured, his voice weak. He pushed the doctor away that was trying to force him back against the pillows and glared at me, trying to stand.

I shook my head and quickly crossed the room, laying a hand on his bare chest, pushing him back until he relented and lay back against his pillows. "I told you I would kill you if you got sick," I whispered, my voice shaky as I tried not to cry.

He sighed deeply and his glare weakened, though he still looked irritated, "I told you not to come," he murmured, sounding exhausted.

"Yea, because I listen so well" I murmured wryly, finally eliciting a small smile from him. I glanced over at the doctor who was hovering nearby and lifted a brow, "What's his prognosis?" I demanded, my tone brooking no argument.

The man nodded, "It's definitely cholera. He's been vomiting and experiencing diarrhea since last night, though the vomiting is more severe. We are struggling to get enough fluids to stay in his body."

"Do we have IV fluids?" I replied, my hand resting on Bass's shoulder, feeling how hot his skin was, worrying running through me about his fever.

"Not enough. We are trying to save as many people as possible. The water has tested clean, but as an extra precaution we are boiling it. It's a simple matter of his body being able to retain it."

I nodded, "I'm here to help. What can I do?" I demanded.

"Becca no, you have to leave," Bass protested.

I turned and glared at him over my bandana, "If you think I'm leaving you here alone, that fever has fried your brain. Now shut up and rest."

A faint smirk crossed his lips and he reached a hand up to cover mine, squeezing it softly. "Yes ma'am," he murmured softly.

I turned back to the doctor, lifting a brow, "Now, how can I help?"

He nodded, "Get him to drink water as often as possible. Apply cool clothes to help lower the fever, and we'll give him painkillers to try and combat it as well."

I nodded and then frowned, "Have we checked the local hospitals to see if there's any treatments that were left behind?" I asked.

The doctor nodded, "We haven't found any. We think there might be some at the NIH in Maryland. The General was dispatched there to look. God willing, he'll be successful."

I nodded and turned back to Bass, sitting on the bed beside him, reaching for the cloth soaking in a basin of cool water. Wringing it out, I ran it over his face slowly, wiping away the sweat beaded on his brow.

The floorboards creaked behind us and a moment later the door opened and closed, leaving us in quiet.

Bass's eyes had slid shut, and I studied him again, up close this time. His eyelids were pearlescent with exhaustion and there were fine lines around them, as well as around his full lips. I carefully wiped his mouth and then down his neck, watching his pulse beat slowly there.

"Are you in pain?" I whispered.

He shook his head faintly, "Not much right now, it was worse earlier. They gave me something."

I made a soft noise and resoaked the rag, wringing it out before wiping off his chest and abdomen, lifting his arms to run the cloth over his fine muscles slowly.

"That feels wonderful" he whispered, his brow furrowing.

I nodded and soaked the rag one last time, this time laying it across his forehead, allowing the cool water to soak into his curls. He sighed in relief and I reached for his hand, taking it in mine. He squeezed it softly, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips, "Thank you."

"For what? The sponge bath? That's every guy's dream right?" I quipped gently.

He laughed softly once, his stomach rolling, but it must have caused him pain because a sharp wince pulled his face and he reached for his abdomen. I instantly felt terrible for joking and hushed him, "Sorry," I murmured.

He shook his head, "Not your fault." He took a few deep breaths and his eyes cracked open, finding my face. "Not for the sponge bath. For coming. For staying. Even though you shouldn't," he whispered, his voice weaker than before.

My throat grew thick with emotion and I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "You're my family Sebastian, I wouldn't ever leave you."

He gripped my hand tighter and smiled weakly at me before his eyes slid shut and he sank back further into the pillows, clearly exhausted. I held his hand as he fell asleep, his breathing slowing, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that held me captive, each breath precious.

"Don't you dare die Sebastian" I whispered to his sleeping form, "I love you too much."

AN: Hey my darlings! I really hope you're enjoying the story, because I am really loving writing it, it's such a fun one to explore. I wanted to tell you all that for the last chapter that the best song to listen to for the last half is "Make it Rain" by Ed Sheeran...it's truly perfect. Thank you all for reading, following and favoriting! Please review!