Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Seriously, it's a problem. I need a job.

A/N: Here we are again. I promised that I had plans, and you guys hung in there and waited patiently. This chapter and I… we did battle. I'm still not sure that I emerged victorious, but at the very least it was a draw and I decided to set it free. A little dramatic but it is 2 am.

So, angsty!Julia makes an appearance, sorry about that. She would NOT be quiet, and demanded to have her say. And we get a bit more concussed!Charlie, which is surprisingly fun.

Julia Neville sat in the dim study, alone and furious with herself, her husband, and her captor. She felt crushed by a helpless, bone-deep sense that Miles Matheson had well and truly outplayed them. She was afraid of him, and that pissed her off.

She knew anger kept you strong. Julia had spent her life living with and fighting fear. For one thing, anyone who said they hadn't had a few moments of debilitating fear in the weeks after the blackout was lying through their teeth, in Julia's opinion. But she had known fear long before the lights went out. Her mother's boyfriends had been a revolving door of loud-mouthed, smelly men with a tendency to anger easily, especially when a smart-mouthed little girl tried to assert her right to privacy or the television. She'd learned to control her anger, to be invisible, and scraped the grades so she could go to college far away from that life. There, she found Tom, and settled into a life with a nice man who had a steady job and a son they both loved.

Was her husband occasionally a bit of a coward in the first eight years of their marriage? Sure. But did she prefer that to the bullies of her youth? Definitely. She could be strong enough for both of them.

She shifted, testing the cord Matheson had used to bind her hands and legs to the heavy oak of the sofa in Tom's study. It held fast, and she slumped, frustrated that she could do nothing while Tom lived a lie to keep her safe.

He'd only ever wanted to keep her safe. Tom often told her the blackout had saved him from the life of a coward, but she knew it hadn't changed anything fundamental about who he was. After all, most bullies were, at their hearts, cowards who had discovered that there were others weaker than they. He was hers, though, and she believed fiercely in him, even if she had to look away from the pleasure he took in the more vicious parts of his job.

Now her Tom was on his way to lie to General Monroe's face – not that she didn't believe he could pull it off, but she did wish he had more vision than to simply cave to Matheson's demands. And Jason, her sweet Jason was upstairs, still healing from the beating he'd gotten at the hands of the militia. All she'd been able to learn from gossip and Tom himself was that there was a girl involved, and it burned her motherly heart to the core to think that he was punished so harshly for being young and stupid because of a pretty face.

When the door swung open, she tensed, expecting Matheson to be back with bad news. It hadn't been nearly long enough for the time limit to have expired.

"Mom," Jason breathed. "Are you hurt? Are you ok?"

"Oh, sweetie," her breath caught on a sob of relief. "I thought for sure he'd have… I didn't know what he'd do, once he knew you were here."

He came over and looked at her, checking carefully for injury. She bit back a watery smile.

"But how did you get away?" she looked around nervously. "What are we going to do? We have to get news to your father."

Jason froze for a moment, and she saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed whatever comment had sprung to his lips first.

"We can't go for Dad," he said finally.

"What are you talking about? How did you get past Matheson?" She was missing something important, and time was of the essence. "Untie me, Jason." Why wasn't he moving?

"I didn't," he stated simply, his hands clenched at his sides. "He knows I'm here."

Understanding, a cold hard ball of it, settled into the pit of Julia's stomach. She felt nauseous from its sudden appearance. She knew this boy's face intimately, despite the long stretches of military assignments recently. She knew his moods, his fears, his childhood dreams. And she knew when he was lying.

He was not lying to her now.

"Jason," she knew her voice sounded stern, like the teacher she'd been once, long ago. "You need to tell me what is happening. You need to tell me right now."

Tears sprang to his eyes, and the ache grew bigger. She told herself it was foolish, he would never, never betray his family. It was not an option. Something else, there must be something else.

"You have to understand, this isn't about you at all," he started.

"Think very carefully about your next words, son," she interrupted, terrified that he would say something he could never take back.

Jason stood and walked a few feet away from her then. His pacing was soothing to her frayed nerves. He never paced, so she took it as a sign that he was unsure, that he could be persuaded, calmed back into good behavior.

"Don't worry," she cooed. "Whatever he's threatening, we'll figure it out together. You don't have to do anything." He didn't respond and she shifted, trying to keep him in sight as he moved.

"You know, in a way, though, it is your fault." He was looking at her again, but his dark eyes were dry. If she could just touch him, remind him what family really meant, Julia thought, surely he would stop. "You were so careful, when I was young, to tell me about strength and courage, and standing up to bullies."

"I don't want to hear this." She felt, for the first time today, that she might actually break apart.

"And then, when I got older you had… moments. Moments when you needed to separate yourself from what Dad had done, what he had become," Jason's voice was firm and confident. Julia looked down and saw her hands were shaking. "You would come to me. I was 10 years old, and I knew all about how he frightened you sometimes. How he reminded you of the men from your childhood, the bullies in the bedtime stories you told me."

"Do not talk about your father that way," she pleaded. "I was wrong, I didn't mean that. I was scared because the world was changing. He had to change with it, can't you see that?"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "So I was always aware, you made me aware of the difference between justice and vengeance. And this year, the things that I've been told to do, that my father has ordered me to do, that is not justice."

"Jason, please," she begged. But she knew his face, and it was set in a conviction that he hadn't had when he'd first walked in.

"You know, I'm scared," he admitted softly. "Because I love you, and even Dad. I don't want this to tear us apart; I don't want to have to choose."

"Then don't! Just don't," she whispered. "Not for Miles Matheson. Not for some girl you barely know."

He closed his eyes, and she knew it had been the wrong thing to say, bringing up the girl.

"But you and Dad made a choice, before I was old enough to understand. You chose to agree with Monroe's methods, his philosophy, his brutality." He gave her a long, searching look. "I remember when Dad first joined the militia, how happy you were. I asked why and I've never forgotten your answer. Do you remember?"

"Jason," she knew she was a broken record, but her son was about to walk out the door and become cannon fodder for the Monroe revenge machine. "Please, I'm begging you, just stop."

"Mother, I know you remember."

And she did. It had been an answer to her prayers, when Tom and Sebastian Monroe had found each other. "I told you, I said 'He'll use up his anger at work now, and come home happy to us.'"

Jason nodded. "How fucked up is that?"

"Don't you judge me, young man," she snapped, pride and desperation straightening her spine. "You have no idea how hard it has been to keep this family together, to keep your father from falling to pieces and taking you with him."

"You're probably right," he said evenly, "but give me some credit. It was just the three of us. I noticed things. And you like being a major's wife. You play politics well, Mother."

"You ungrateful little fool," she whispered. "I played politics because I had to - do you think your father can do that?"

"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," he said quietly. "Because I know I've had the best possible situation you could make for me. And I do love you. I just can't agree with you anymore."

"Jason!" she tried to stand, but the ropes pulled her back down to the sofa. "Don't be an idiot. They're using you. You're just a way in, you're disposable to them."

"I'm so sorry, Mother," he said, laying a hand on her head and kissing her hair from behind the couch. "I really am. But you taught me to fight for what I believe, and I don't believe you, or Dad, anymore."

Nora kept half an eye on Aaron pressed nervously against the side of the house as he watched for patrols and she worked on the back door lock of the Nevilles' house. It had taken almost an hour to find the house. Miles had said he'd wait for them, but he must be skittish to leave the door locked. Her head filled with the many dire possibilities; she'd disagreed with the whole Neville-centric plan from the start, as Tom Neville had always creeped her out. In her opinion, the further they could stay from him, the better.

The door finally popped free, and Nora tapped Aaron on the shoulder, indicating that she was going in first. He nodded, and she slid into the dark kitchen. She palmed a kitchen knife, happy for the extra weapon, and headed for the door with a small beam of light showing underneath. Aaron had come in behind her, but she continued to shush him. She wanted proof of the "safety" of their safe house before they started any conversations. She saw him pick up an iron skillet and smiled grimly. He was catching on.

The door opened onto a short hallway with a 90-degree turn that led to the front door, she assumed. Nora crept down the hallway, careful to keep her footfalls light. She heard voices, but it wasn't Miles or Charlie talking. Still, that voice was familiar. It bounced around the back of her mind until a face jumped into her head to match it. Nate. The militia kid they'd hauled around with them for a while. Otherwise known as Jason Neville.

"You play politics well, Mother."

She was close enough now to catch snippets of the conversation when their voices were raised. They were coming from a room near the front door, which was standing open and lit by a few candles. She could just see silhouettes of the boy, standing, and a woman sitting on the couch.

"Jason! Don't be an idiot…"

Shit, that sounded like he was about to be a hero. And if the plan was working correctly, Nora grimaced to herself, the only person here to be a hero against was Miles.

"…you taught me to fight for what I believe…" She strained to catch the rest of what he said, but it was lost as he seemed to turn away from the door. Why was he walking around free? Where the hell were Charlie and Miles?

She looked at Aaron, and sent him to take a position behind her. No way was she letting this punk threaten all that they'd worked for. She had some scores to settle with Miles Matheson, and they required him to be alive and in… working order.

Jason walked through the door and she thought for a split second that he looked sad, before she rushed him and got the knife up against his throat.

"Don't. Move," she whispered.

"Jason!" his mother was yelling from inside the room. "Don't you touch him! Jason!"

"Nora, right?" he said carefully, eyeing the edge of the kitchen knife. "Listen, you don't understand."

"Oh yeah, and you're going to explain it to me, are you?" she dug the knife in a little deeper, drawing blood. She idly noted the healed over bruises that showed along the side of his face. "I don't think so."

Mrs. Neville was still yelling threats of what she would do if Nora hurt him. Upstairs, a door banged open. Now that she had him, she needed to secure him somewhere.

"Aaron," she started, looking in front of her for any sort of cord to use in tying him up.

"Everyone just calm down," Jason was saying.

"What do you want me to do?" Aaron asked at the same time.

Overwhelmed with the noise, Nora looked over her shoulder at Aaron for a moment, and Jason moved fast, ducking out of her hold and twisting her wrist until she dropped the knife. She hit back, kicking hard with her foot and hearing a grunt of pain as she nailed him in the ribs. He didn't let go of her arm, so she couldn't dive for the knife. Her brain registered two sets of footsteps on the stairs as she grappled with the bigger, stronger young man.

"What the hell?" That was Miles, she thought with some relief, glancing up involuntarily and catching his gaze as she fought to get close enough for another kick.

"Stop it, you guys, stop it!" That sounded like Charlie. Nora felt Jason turn to look up at the sound of her voice. Then she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye and ducked out of the way, grinning, as Aaron took advantage of the break in the action to swing the iron skillet at Jason's head. He went down hard and his mother screamed.

Charlie had been having the weirdest dream. She was in Philadelphia, staying with the Nevilles as their guest. Everyone was dressed in suits and gowns. She had her own room, a maid to clean her clothes, but was stuck wearing that awful one-shouldered dress from the poppy plantation. And then Jason was there, and he was kissing her, but then he looked at her head and sent her back to her room with no dinner. And then everyone started yelling.

She came jolting awake as the noise registered. A woman was screaming "Jason" somewhere downstairs. Charlie met Miles' startled eyes; he looked like he'd just sprung up from a seat on the floor. Without waiting for instructions she swung her legs over the side of the bed (Jason's bed, her groggy mind suddenly registered) and was wobbling through the door before Miles could finish an order that she stay put. She hadn't realized she could move that fast at the moment.

The hallway seemed a bit crooked to her, and she wondered why they didn't have a house with more straight lines and less spinning, but she made it to the stairs and grabbed the railing, easing herself down a few levels so that she could see what was happening beneath her.

Jason was shaking Nora's arm, and she was holding – no, she'd just dropped a knife. Aaron was looking nervously determined. Jason's mother was screaming in the room behind them. Charlie heard Miles pound down the stairs behind her.

"What the hell?" he yelled, sounding totally baffled.

Charlie's head was throbbing, and the stairs seemed to be moving up and down like waves on a lake. If everyone could just hold still, just for a second, she thought desperately.

"Stop it, you guys, stop it!" she begged.

Jason looked up at the sound of her voice, which was all the time Aaron needed to bean him with a huge black frying pan. He staggered, and then went down on his hands and knees. The screaming intensified and Charlie flinched.

"Goddammit," Miles said, looking tired. "Nora, shut that damn door so Julia can stop serenading us. Aaron, put the kitchen utensil down. Charlie, where are you…?"

But Charlie had already guided herself down the rest of the steps, swinging around the corner as Nora reached for the door. When he'd fallen she'd felt something in her stomach clench, and all she'd been sure of was that she needed to get to him. She dropped to her knees, reaching to help Jason sit up as the woman in the study stopped screaming with a strangled gasp. Charlie was holding onto his shoulders, half to keep him upright and half to hold herself steady, when the cessation of noise drew her attention. She looked up into a pair of green eyes burning with so much anger it felt like a physical force pushing her backwards.

Then Nora closed the door and Charlie took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the shivers racing down her spine. Jason was fighting to clear his head, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands had come up to cover hers. Aaron set the pan down with a clunk, and she glared at him.

"What did you do that for, Aaron?" she asked. "He'd stopped fighting!"

"How was I supposed to know he was actually done?" Aaron muttered.

"You could have asked," Miles answered, leaning over the railing and surveying them with a half-amused expression. "Now she's going to make us carry him up here to recuperate."

Charlie nodded, about to argue for exactly that, but had to blink through another wave of dizziness.

"Sokaycanwalk."

It was barely words, but she smiled in relief when she saw that Jason's brown eyes were open and looking over at her with dazed concern. He squeezed her hands and brought them down off his shoulders.

"You," he made a careful effort to separate each syllable, "are supposed to be asleep."

"People were screaming," she defended herself. "You try sleeping through that."

He stood up slowly, rubbing his head. Miles was watching them both with a raised eyebrow. Aaron and Nora were standing off to the side looking sullen (Nora) and confused (Aaron).

"What happened? I feel like I got run over by a train," he muttered.

"Aaron," Charlie said, "well, Aaron and a big skillet."

"Nice hit, big guy," Jason started to shake his head, and then thought better of it, wincing. "This how you welcome everyone to your team?" He reached to help her up from her seat on the floor. She wobbled a bit and his eyes narrowed. Charlie blushed as vague impressions of strong hands and warm kisses and worry filled her head. She wished she remembered exactly what they'd talked about. What did he mean, he was on their team?

"What? Sorry, since when exactly are you on our side?" Aaron echoed her thoughts, sounding immensely skeptical.

"Yeah, ok, enough," Miles came down the stairs, exasperation written all over his face. "Charlie, you're supposed to be resting. You," he shot Jason a warning look, "make sure she goes back to sleep. We have six hours and counting."

"Miles, any chance you're going to explain what the hell is going on?" Nora said tightly.

"Kitchen," he snapped in response, including Aaron in his command. "Bring the damn pan."

Jason's head hurt, his ribs hurt, and his emotions were downright raw after the confrontation with his mother. He was glad Matheson hadn't made him stay and explain himself all over again. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to do it. He and Charlie made their way back to his room in silence, his arm around her waist to keep her steady.

He paused at his door uncertainly. "Look, there are other bedrooms. I can, uh, open one up for you." He shot a glance at her face and caught a whiff of her hair. "You don't have to stay in here."

"It's ok," she said quickly. "I… it's nice to know where I am."

He shrugged and eased her through the door. This time, she handed him her jacket, and he sat her on the side of his bed so they could pull off her boots. He looked at her jeans dubiously.

"You ok to sleep in those?"

She laughed, just a little. "No, every night before bunking on the ground, I slip into something a little more comfortable," she teased.

"I'm just," he blinked away the image that brought up determinedly and tried to focus on the conversation. "I meant, do you want something to wear? Something else." He was falling over himself like a 12 year old, he realized with a sigh.

"If you don't want my pants dirtying up your sheets, by all means give me something else." She held up her hands in resignation from her seat on the bed, and then set her left hand down fast, needing the extra support to stay upright. He was about to turn away and dig for options when something on her right wrist caught his attention.

He reached over and snagged her arm on its way down. There it was, in white scar patches from a hot iron brand, the mark of the Monroe Militia. He skimmed his thumb across it, shocked.

"Charlie? When did this happen?" He sank down next to her, still holding her arm loosely in his grasp. She sighed, and then leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. Jason raised an eyebrow at the repeat of her overly trusting behavior – he'd have to remember that head trauma made her cuddly.

"There… there was a recruiting ship," she said softly after a moment. "They were forcing kids to join. We were trying to help rescue one of them, so I went undercover. The officer didn't like my attitude," she chuckled darkly. "So he had me go first. It took two of them to hold me down."

The room was very quiet for a few minutes as Jason struggled to contain the outrage that boiled in him. He remembered his own branding, and the satisfaction he'd felt in volunteering, in not crying out with his father watching proudly during the ceremony. But it had hurt. He bent his head against hers, fighting for calm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't the right thing to say, it couldn't fix what had happened. But he didn't know what would.

"It's ok," she said, trying to fight a tired yawn. "We rescued them all, and burned the ship. That felt good." She opened her eyes and looked down at her wrist sitting in his hand. "It hasn't bothered me for a while."

Jason knew it would bother him for a very long time. He impulsively pressed a kiss to the scar before letting go and walking over to his dresser. He could feel her eyes following him.

"Here, have these, they're old and soft." He tossed a pair of old flannel pajama pants onto the bed. "I'm not sure why my mom kept them, to be honest. They haven't fit in a while."

She reached for them and nearly faceplanted into the mattress, catching herself just in time. "When do I stop spinning?" she asked in frustration, rolling onto her back and glaring at the ceiling.

Jason yanked a shirt out for himself, and crossed back over to her. "You need sleep," he said softly, brushing some hair off her face. "It should be better when you're rested."

"It has to be," she said despondently. "How am I supposed to help rescue Danny if I can't even walk straight?"

"One thing at a time," he deflected, because he had no good answer for her. "I'm going to turn around, and you're going to, you know, switch pants." His cheeks burned, and he silently cursed. He hadn't blushed in years.

"What?" she sounded distracted all right. Distracted and outraged. "No, you have to leave!"

"Charlie," he said with a laugh, "you just fell over trying to turn around. No way am I leaving the room and risking you trying something stupid like standing on your own." He crossed him arms pointedly, and then turned to face the wall. There was a moment of silence, and then he heard frustrated huffing and the sounds of cloth moving. Do not picture what is happening, do NOT picture what is happening, he repeated to himself. That didn't work, so he started in on multiplication tables.

He'd reached 7x7 = 49 by the time the rustling behind him stopped. Then a small, warm pair of jeans landed on his head.

"There," she groused sleepily. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. You're worse than Miles."

Jason took a deep breath, and turned around, her pants in his hand. She was still on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes. She looked small and fragile, but he knew she was stronger than she seemed. He took a minute to just appreciate that Charlie was actually here, lying in his bed, wearing his pajamas.

He really, really wanted to kiss her. So what's stopping you, jackass? He gave Miles' warning about 3 seconds of consideration before deciding to ignore it. He was just moving toward her when her arm slipped slightly, and he realized that she'd already fallen asleep.

OK, then. So much for that. Well, he couldn't just leave her lying sideways across the bed. Jason gently reached under her legs and neck, lifting her up to where he'd turned back the covers. He tucked her in, brushed her hair out of her face and then snagged a few pillows and a blanket for himself. As he settled on the floor, his knife at his side and his bow within reach, he caught himself listening for the sound of her even breathing.

This was going to be a long night.

A/N: Frying pans! Who knew, right? ;)

Chances that Miles gets brained with one by Nora next chapter? I'm going 50/50. She has a lot of rage.

I forgot to mention last time around: THANK YOU to all the favorites and follows (there are so many!). I do a lot of following stories on FF myself, to see where it goes when I don't have time/feel like typing a review on my 6 year old phone. So I appreciate you guys.

Crazy wonderful reviewers!

Lovelylola15: Sorry this one took so long. See first author's note about me and the chapter doing battle. Also see: master's thesis which is still not done. I hope you enjoy!

Aslanprincess: Hooray! Always glad to fill a need. Thanks for the encouragement!

Becc-gallanter: Nah, you're MY hero for the super nice review. Danny, I am working on Danny. But this chapter got long, so he didn't make it in. (Darn Julia.)

.csb: Thank you! Jason's one of the more difficult ones to keep in character, since we don't know a lot about him. But I'm trying hard!

Nyah1: Charlie was awake! For a little while. I've never had a concussion, but it makes for a lot of fun writing ideas. I promise all this sleeping won't go on forever.

PixieSky: Haha, here you go! You're welcome, and thank YOU. Thanks so much for the kind words. I do agonize a bit over tone and style.

Bemac: Oh, Jason's such a rule breaker. We already know THAT at least. Mathville! Sounds like one of those educational games I played when I was a kid…

Soon baboon: You're not kidding, writing fluff is AGONIZINGLY hard if you don't want it to be super cheesy. I'm never quite sure I get it right. So thank you VERY much for the kind words. And yeah, for me fanfic is all about the challenge of writing something plausible enough that you don't have to suspend too much disbelief.

Teaguere: This whole "winter finale" thing that shows are doing is so MEAN. Months to wait halfway through the season. Sigh. "None of your business" is now always followed by "Nate" in any conversations between me and my sister. Oooh, Jason in the helicopter? That would be a twist for sure, but I would be sincerely disappointed if they made him actually shoot at them. I think he's pretty far from the "good soldier" at this point, and it makes him way more interesting. Thanks for breaking down the ep with me and I hope you liked this chapter!

PP-PhantomPhoenix: I know, right? At least give us a gratuitous "poor Nate all beat up in bed while Miles kidnaps his mom" shot. I'm sure it has to do with how many episodes they paid JD Pardo to be in, but it drives me nuts when regulars just don't show up in episodes at all. Thanks for reading!

Bookdiva: You review like I review – long and enthusiastic. I love it! So sorry that this took me so long, but I have defeated the chapter and it's all yours now. And you can totally review more than once if you want, I was just teasing. :)

HolaitsCiara: Yes, I did! Thank you for the comments, I LOVE when people get specific about what worked for them. :) I rewrote the babysitting thing a few times, and was very happy with where it landed.

Avalon West: Thanks so much! It was my first nanowrimo, so I was unaware of what a MESS it would make of my last week in November. Oh man, Miles is by FAR my favorite character to write. He's so. Much. Fun.

Softballlover298: Yay for favorites! Yeah, all those headgames going on in this show… and you know Miles is good at them. Thank you!

Bookdiva: Hello again! See, you didn't even need me to tell you. Hope you liked the Chason moments here… it's not going to be super heavy fluff, because, you know, all sorts of stuff is going down around them. But yeah. Jason's adorable.

Cori: So glad you liked it! I love making people laugh.

Shelly: Thank you!