A/N: Whoa. You guys! What a great response to my little story. I'm old school and like to respond to people publicly (and there were too many to put them first!) so find your comments at the bottom. So sorry this one took so long to update – had to finish my nanowrimo novel and then agonized over where to go next with this.

What did you think of the fall finale? The Miles/Monroe standoff was so intense. Aaron's kindof a big deal, everyone recognized him, and he knows Rachel. And Miles didn't know Rachel was alive! I didn't see that one coming. I was disappointed that Nate/Jason (we still call him Nate in my house!) didn't make an appearance, but there was a lot of ground to cover.

Ok, enough of me blabbering. More story!

Nora and Aaron had set a rendezvous point four blocks east of the armory. The plan was to blend in with the panicked crowds and just fade out of the suspicious zone. The problem with that plan, Aaron thought with some irritation as he tried to stay out of sight, was that he didn't blend well.

He'd started east, grateful for the smoke-filled air and general sense of chaos, only to be met with an impromptu barricade of militia directing the crowd north. By his estimate, he'd walked about six blocks out of his way before it had seemed safe to turn east again. Night was starting to fall and the city's shadows grew longer and more menacing with each passing minute. There was only an hour or so before he'd be in violation of curfew.

None of this made him especially optimistic, but the icing on the cake of doom was the conversation he had just stumbled onto. He was leaning against a brick wall one block north of the rendezvous, catching his breath and scouting the area when two militia officers had paused to take a smoke break in the alley 10 feet to his right.

"I'm serious. They're saying he's here."

"Bullshit. If Matheson was in Philly, we'd have his head on a stake by now in front of the general's house." The second soldier was derisive. "Besides, why would he be that dumb?"

"Monroe's got leverage! Prisoners, I heard."

"You think that's what this armory thing is, don't you?"

"I dunno. But Matheson sure knows a lot about the militia, no matter what changes Monroe made after he left. I hear he's got a crew with him."

"A crew? Not even close. More like a dead weight group according to the guys with Strausser. A kid, some rebel girl and – this guy should be easy to spot – big fat dude with glasses. Not many of those left!"

The two men laughed and moved further into the alley, out of earshot. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut in panic. They had his description? Great, now even his eyesight was putting the group at risk. He thought about Priscilla, how he hadn't been strong enough, smart enough to protect her. And now, he was dragging people down again…

"You planning to stand here much longer?"

Aaron's eyes shot open. The woman had a newsboy cap pulled down over her eyes and covering her hair, but it was unmistakably Nora leaning on the wall next to him. She offered him a lit cigarette.

"Ew, no, those are so bad for you," he grimaced.

"Aaron, goddammit," she hissed back, "we need to look like there's a reason we're standing here, and smoking makes the most sense. Take the cigarette and fake it."

He did, fumbling with it and knocking ash onto his shirt. Still, he was able to blow a little smoke and hand it back to her.

"It's still gross," he complained, before lowering his voice further. "Nora, they know we're here."

"Nice throw earlier, by the way," she changed the subject with a determined grin, grinding the cigarette beneath her shoe and straightening up. Then in a tight voice meant only for him, she said, "Now, unless you want to chat with the reinforcements on their way down this street, I say we get moving. Got to beat curfew."

Aaron thought for a moment about just walking away again. He could find another small town and let this whole mess play out without him. Maybe it would be safer for everyone. But whether it was a sense of obligation to Charlie, a need to see through Danny's rescue for Ben and Maggie, or just a newfound stubbornness (matched, if he was honest, with the ever-present hope that if he somehow found Priscilla again he'd have something to offer her), he knew he wasn't ready to disappear.

Nora had already started walking. He hustled to catch up.

"Fine, but I want a hat next time."

Jason was halfway through packing a bag when a single knock sounded on the door. He hadn't even heard the footsteps approach, he thought ruefully. Matheson.

Picking up his knife, he crept to the door and turned the handle. There was a momentary pause, and then with an impatient huff, the door was shoved open. It stopped short of banging on the wall, caught by the long carpet. Miles stood framed in the wavering light from the hallway oil lamps. Jason was relieved to see no obvious blood splatter.

"Neville junior." Matheson gave him a curt nod and pushed into the room, headed straight for Charlie's prone form. "Explain," he bit out with quiet menace.

"She's just asleep," Jason answered softly, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "She collapsed a few minutes after you sent her up here, alone, injured and completely vulnerable. Speaking of which, I hear you met my parents."

Miles leaned over the bed, brushing some hair away from the bullet graze on Charlie's forehead. When he seemed satisfied that she was sleeping and not unconscious, he turned back to Jason.

"So the guard I send to your room is asleep and helpless in your bed, I'm downstairs threatening your mother's life with a sword, and yet you are still upstairs. And," he glanced into the half-full bag by Jason's dresser, "packing, apparently."

"A sword? She said you wouldn't hurt her," Jason's throat tightened with concern.

Miles rolled his eyes. "I said I threatened. I didn't say I followed through. And since when do you trust what I tell Charlie?"

Jason swallowed hard and looked away. This was much more difficult to say out loud than to decide when Charlie was falling into his arms with a concussion.

"See, I have a theory about you," Miles was suddenly next to him, sword raised and pointed at his chest. Jason glared but didn't bother to offer any resistance. Matheson could cut him down in an instant if he wanted to; he just didn't think he wanted to. "I think that you have been a good little soldier your whole life: did what Daddy told you, followed the rules, rose through the ranks. So good, in fact, that they picked you for a special mission: me."

"Except no one knew where to find me." Miles' voice was dripping with sarcasm. "So Bass sends his goons out to track down whatever Mathesons are left. And you, you're told to hang back and follow anyone who leaves town after the militia takes my brother, hoping they'll be heading for me. Well, they wound up killing him and taking my nephew, but close enough. How'm I doing?"

"You seem to be enjoying this," Jason snapped.

"Well, you're an annoying twerp, that's for sure," Miles snarled back. "Where was I? Oh, right. So you track Charlie and Maggie and Aaron, ingratiate yourself with them, pretending to be a fisherman on the way to Chicago, but you'd have played a farmer on the way to Iowa or a rat catcher on the way to Syracuse if you'd needed to." His tone was derisive, and on a purely personal level, Jason wanted desperately to punch him in his smug face.

"But then," Miles glanced back at the still form on the bed, "my niece does what she seems to do best – she gets into trouble. And you're faced with your very first 'big boy' decision: do you interfere, which I presume you were told not to do, or risk losing your only lead to me?"

"And that, soldier, is where my theory comes in," his voice lost a bit of the edge, and the former general sounded almost thoughtful. "See, I think there's a brain somewhere in that thick skull of yours, and somehow your father didn't beat it out of you. Maybe that's your mother's influence, maybe just bad luck on your part. But once you started making your own decisions, you had a rather hard time stopping."

Jason flushed and set his jaw, reminding himself that he'd earned this. He wanted to help Charlie, and knew that he could never really believe in the methods of General Monroe, but Miles had every right to question his motives. He'd betrayed them multiple times, and even if each choice had found him more and more conflicted, he'd always gone back to the militia.

"So here's where this leaves me," Miles growled quietly. "You have shown consistent, real loyalty to Charlie. I think you'd be fine tossing me to Monroe if it didn't mean she'd skin you alive, but she would. So you're… reluctant." He lowered his sword slowly, kicking at it with his boot. "And then there's today. I gave you what should have been an easy choice. You didn't even have to knock her out, idiot girl had already done that herself. All you had to do was leave."

"And I didn't," Jason bit out.

"And you didn't," Miles agreed. "So what the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

Tom Neville had had better days. He'd had lots of them since the blackout and his rise to a top officer in the Monroe Militia. He had power, prestige, and he could punch people whenever he felt like it.

Today had been shit. Julia had questioned him when they'd moved into that house and he'd decided to use the most soundproof room as a study. He found it soothing to block out the noise of the outside world. Soothing could also be deadly with Miles Matheson involved. Even thinking his name, the rage rose up and got the better of him, and Tom had to stop walking and just breathe until he was no longer seeing the street through a red haze. The anger simmered just below the surface as it always had, a living, breathing part of him that demanded blood in payment for wrongs.

When he was sure he could handle it, he continued walking. The damn soundproof room. Such a little vanity on his part; he'd been so sure that he was safe, in Philadelphia, the heart of the Monroe Republic. In the end, he hadn't realized anything was wrong until Matheson was standing in his home, a sword to his wife's neck. She'd been gagged, but her eyes were bright, begging him to stay strong. She'd shed no tears. But she didn't understand – without her, he was not strong, he was lost. Without her, there would be no reason for control. He might as well bunk up with Strausser.

So, when Miles Matheson had laid out the plan, Tom Neville had really had no choice.

"It's very simple, Tom." The former general was always calm, infuriatingly so. Even when he killed, he did it with an ease that Tom could not understand. Wasn't boiling rage a part of every man's soul? "You have to stay away from this house for twelve hours. If you do that, and you keep the rest of the militia away from this house for twelve hours, Julia lives. If anyone so much as looks at that door in the next twelve hours, I cut her throat."

"We have staff, servants who come," his voice had cracked, and he'd hated himself for the weakness. Julia was so strong, so brave, and he couldn't even keep his voice steady. "I can't exactly call them on the phone."

"Not my problem," Matheson said blandly. "Figure it out, Tom. And yeah, I know your son's here too. I've already got him secure. So don't try to be a hero. No one has to be hurt in this. Just go to work and don't come back for twelve hours."

And so he'd left. Walked out the door, leaving Julia and Jason in the house with Miles Matheson. Because as much as he loved his job, and believed in the strength of the Monroe Militia, he also knew firsthand what Matheson was capable of and how few men there were who could best him. The moment those twelve hours were up, he would hunt him to ground and exact the blood his angry soul so craved, but he would not sacrifice his family to do that.

He turned a corner and was confronted with an entire city block on fire. Staggering back from the heat, Tom looked around for someone in uniform. He grabbed a passing lieutenant.

"What the hell happened here? Isn't that the armory?"

"Yes, sir." The boy had to yell back to be heard. "Whole thing exploded about an hour ago, sir. Half the militia responded to try and put out the flames, but there's too much powder in there, sir."

Neville released him and stared in amazement. Certainly that was not the only place the militia stored weapons. But it was a big one. Monroe would be livid. He started walking again, this time to the general's headquarters.

Damn soundproof room.

Miles had just about had it with teenagers. And young people. Just, people in general. God, he could use a shot of whiskey. With his luck, Tom was still a teetotaler who didn't keep alcohol in the house.

He had just ripped this kid a new one, insulted his intelligence, questioned his motives, and generally been as unpleasant as possible, all while holding a sword to his chest. What had been Neville Junior's response?

"I'm coming with you." It was a statement, not a question.

Miles must be losing his edge. Dammit, Charlie. Somehow this was her fault.

When he'd outlined the changes to Nora yesterday, he'd argued that the plan was simple. Find Charlie a place to sleep off the concussion, get much needed breathing space, get some intel on Danny's whereabouts. Then get out of the house well before the deadline so that any trail is cold by the time Neville starts looking.

Nora had argued that giving Neville extra warning that they were in town was foolish, and that his son had no reason to help them. But he'd had a hunch this Nate/Jason/Neville Junior/whoever was more than hung up on Charlie. Miles knew he might have little to no regard for the rest of them, but every single time it had been a question of Charlie's welfare or his own orders, Junior had chosen her.

It was kind of sickeningly sweet, really. Miles was pretty sure the kid didn't even realize he'd been doing it so predictably. He was dead sure that Monroe and Neville Senior were much quicker to pick up on such weaknesses, and assumed that the fresh bruises and several sore ribs the boy was trying manfully to hide were a result of not being a good enough liar.

"Sir," Jason was talking again. "With all due respect, you need me. You've got too few fighters in the group, and more than a couple of liabilities, especially once you rescue the younger brother."

"For all you know, my nephew's the frigging Hulk," he snapped. But it wasn't likely, he admitted to himself. Ben had never been big on violence; with him as their sole parent, he was surprised Charlie could shoot as well as she was able.

Jason pressed his lips together in a thin line, and Miles realized his comic book reference had probably gone over the youngster's head.

"I've seen Charlie fight, sir," Jason said finally. "She's good, surprisingly so. But not trained, she's just… got good instincts. The way she talks about her brother, I don't think he's had to fight for much."

Miles sighed, and gave him points for being observant. He already knew Junior could fight, and he was very handy with that bow. Who was he kidding? He'd be crazy not to welcome him with open arms if he was genuine. It was time to be done with the games. He'd given the kid every opportunity to back out.

"There are a few rules," his sharp tone had Jason snapping to attention. "1. No weird stuff with my niece. I catch you two being stupid teenagers, you're out on your ass so fast you'll get rug burn." From the half-smile on Junior's face, Miles could already tell he was planning to break this one. God, he was going to have to babysit.

"2. This is no military command. You appear to have a brain, as I said, so I expect you to use it. Know when to follow orders and when not to. 3. Your job, first and foremost from here on out, is to keep my crazy niece alive. This is… more difficult than it seems." He nodded to her still figure across the room. "She'll fight you hard and often."

"I have noticed that, sir," Jason smiled and started to salute, and Miles waved him off.

"Knock off the sirs and the saluting. I'm no general anymore. I'll sit with her for a bit. Go see your mother for yourself," he said, knowing that farewell would be the final test of the boy's will. "Then report back. We leave in a few hours."

Jason nodded and turned to go, but Miles saw his hesitation. "Spit it out, kid."

"I… I never understood how you could do it," he said slowly, "I mean, you're a legend. You and Monroe. You were brothers. How could you walk away from all that? But here I am, for my own reasons, and suddenly it's a lot less crazy." Jason grimaced. "And a lot more complicated." He headed for the stairs.

Miles sat on the carpet, back to the wall, and laid his sword over his lap. "Life always is," he muttered to the silent room.

A/N: Well, there was not nearly enough Charlie/Jason in that chapter (as there was none) but I have plans, people. PLANS! Besides, girl needs some sleep. I hope I didn't disappoint. My sister promised you wouldn't be mad. I can see this stretching out a few more chapters at least if you all are enjoying it.

Now, holy poop, reviewers! You guys. YOU GUYS. I don't even know what to say to the lot of you. What a nice welcome and an enthusiastic vote of confidence! You all totally made my week. Specifically, and in chronological order:

Mae: THANK YOU!

.csb: I hope you liked this part!

Inhalelove-exhalehate12: That's incredibly nice of you. I try really hard to keep the characters believable and just get into their heads a bit more. That's the fun of fanfic for me. That and the "what if" scenarios. :)

Guest: Thank you! I really try to keep them in character.

Soon baboon: Yay for fitting in the backstory! (I was proud of myself.) I was also glad they worked her head injury in a bit in the episode…

IronAmerica: Thanks for the military perspective. It made a lot of sense to me that, especially lacking quick transportation and mass produced medicine, they'd need everyone to have some level of medical training. I do not have a military background, so I took a stab at it and arbitrarily chose officers as being worth the investment. Danny and Neville, huh? We'll see if I can work it in, but it will take some setup.

Guest: Why thank you! Such kind words.

NotTellingAnything: Thanks so much for letting me know!

Avalon West: I did it! 50k. That was grueling. I hope people understand why there was such a delay getting this bit of story out. Let me know how my Miles and Jason bits were. Miles is so much FUN to write.

Becc-gallanter: Voila! Updated just for you.

Godisawesome: Thank you! I hope this part lived up to expectations.

The 39 foreva: :)

Softballlover298: I know, I'm not sure why that's where so much of the fanfic has gone. There are lots of interesting characters and relationships, so I'm looking forward to playing with them! And yeah, no Jason in the whole episode? Not ok.

Lovelikewoe13: Thank you so much!

Aslanprincess: As you wish! (thanks!)

Battygirl123: I wasn't sure, but all the very kind reviews made it an easy decision.

Bubblepops: Thank you! Hope you liked this bit.

FadingChaos: Thanks for telling me!

JunkoAmaya: Yeah, I'm a sucker for getting in peoples' heads. Hope you liked this one.

KitKat04: Aw, thanks! I thought the episode was fun, but so much had to happen!

Queenyuks: Thank you!

HolaitsCiara: Continued! Thanks in large part to such nice comments. I agree, I really wanted them to set Jason up for the next part of the journey somehow. Oh well, now I get to do it.

Bookdiva: So many exclamation points! Thanks so much for your enthusiasm. Seriously brings a smile to my face.

Kotero: Yay! I promise there's more Charlie/Jason coming.

Bookdiva: Heeeey, you look familiar… :)

Nyah1: Thanks so much! Hope you liked this one.

Infinite Legend: Chason! Awesome. I didn't know they had a ship name, but I like it.

Remuslives: Yay for Professor Lupin. Oh, wait, wrong fandom. Thanks so much for the compliment on the writing. After a month of churning out words for nanowrimo, I was glad to take my time on something.

Lost1219: Thanks so much!

Azab: Thank you for the comment. :)

Lady Krystalyn: I was so bummed that he didn't even get a mention! I mean, Miles broke into their house to get his mom… he couldn't bring Jason along for the ride?

Guest: Thank you so much! I hope you keep enjoying it.