A/N: Merry Christmas, happy late Hanukkah, or just yay for breaks from school, lots of snow, and family time. I'm sorry for the slow update. I was hoping to do one a week, but I had a few editing jobs I had to do this week and then I was bridesmaid-ing all weekend! Individual comments at the end, as usual. And as usual, you are all absurdly kind and wonderful.

Back to the story. I bring a few more characters we haven't seen yet in this chapter! That's why it's so, so long. Sorry!

A/N 2: Woke up this morning certain that I'd done something terribly wrong, and realized that I'd put the sections in the wrong order when I posted last night! Oops. This is why we need sleep, kids. Fixed now.

"Explain to me one more time how this could have happened."

Sebastian Monroe's voice was deceptively quiet in the ornate room. He was surrounded by his top officers, men who had put their lives on the line for his republic countless times. And he was furious.

Major Tom Neville had arrived at the same time as two Colonels who had been stationed across the river. Jeremy Baker was already inside, his blond head bent over a map on Monroe's desk, no sign of his trademark smirk. Neville had politely allowed the other two to enter first, willing his hands to stop shaking as he imagined pummeling the daylights out of Miles Matheson. 11 hours to go.

Now he was waiting awkwardly, having saluted and been waved to the side. Monroe had his target for the moment. The man in question was pale as a ghost, soot-stained, and stuttering excuses about chain reactions and gunpowder reserves.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Monroe growled.

Oh, Tom really hoped the poor man was out of his mind enough to answer that question in the affirmative. That would at least lead to a nice public execution, something to distract the general and the public.

But no, instead there was groveling and more excuses. Tom fixed his gaze on the window opposite his current position and tuned out.

"I cannot listen to this nonsense for another second," Monroe cut in, drawing Tom's attention back to the conversation. "Jeremy, show our babbling fool of an Armory commander to his new temporary quarters, please."

Baker allowed himself a small smirk and saluted before pushing the terrified man out the door.

Silence reigned for a few seconds while Monroe stared off into space, seeming to collect his thoughts. Tom decided to take the offensive.

"Sir, what steps have been taken? Should we be looking at our soldiers stationed at the Armory?" he asked, pleased with the cool confidence he heard in his voice. He had every right to be in this room, speaking his mind. Julia thought he should be in the big chair, but at the very least, he felt himself to be Monroe's equal.

"Ah, Tom, yes." The general's blue eyes swiveled to his face. "Thank you, by the way, for joining us. I was about to send out a search party." Monroe quirked a small smile, oblivious to the shudder that passed through his officer. "I presume you were delayed at the scene?"

"Yes, sir. It is rather chaotic," Tom nodded sharply and kept his tone bland. Better to not blather, he thought, ignoring the twist in his gut.

"Indeed." Monroe walked over to the map that he and Jeremy Baker had been looking at earlier. Tom craned and saw that it was, in fact, rough blueprints of the building currently aflame. "The odd thing is, unless poor Gerald is lying through his teeth to save his skin," he paused and looked around the room for dramatic effect, "the room where the explosion started is on the top floor, the restricted access portion."

At least Tom didn't need to act out his confusion. He legitimately had no idea how the gunpowder had been triggered.

"Only three people have that key," the grey-haired colonel sitting in the wing chair volunteered.

"Exactly so, Ron," Monroe looked pleased that someone had followed his logic. "Myself, our erstwhile Gerald, and his second-in-command Sergeant Harry Williams. Williams was on duty inventorying weapons at the research facility. He has produced his key, as has Gerald." He pulled a shiny silver key from his pocket and let it dangle. "And this is mine."

"So, not theft," Tom began reasoning out loud.

"Do I have to explain everything?" the general snapped, clearly done playing games with his lieutenants. "If he's right and the damn explosion started upstairs, someone had to have enough explosive know-how to rig a blast that would blow through the two floors above the gunpowder reserves."

Tom leaned closer to the blueprints, considering. "And possibly the roof."

Monroe's eyes widened and then quickly narrowed in concentration. "The damn roof. What's the narrowest street next to the armory?" The group settled on 23rd Street, and was searching for a street map when Baker walked back into the room. He was brought up to speed, but instead of joining in on the search, he walked over to Monroe and crossed his arms.

"You know who this is," he said firmly. Tom raised his eyebrows. Talking like that to General Monroe was generally asking to lose a body part.

Monroe paused in his pacing and glared back at Baker. "We have no proof," he snapped. "Strausser wasn't even sure she had rejoined the group."

"It's Nora Clayton, and that means Matheson is here," Baker pushed ahead doggedly. "General, we need to take precautions."

Monroe held his steady gaze for almost a minute before breaking eye contact and walking calmly around the desk to his chair. The entire room watched him lower his tall frame into it, waiting for the inevitable explosion that always accompanied Matheson's name.

But he was eerily calm. "Ron, you will head the Armory team. Jeremy, Tom, go and secure the prisoners."

"General, sir, what about your safety?" Baker began, only to be cut off by the icy cold Monroe.

"We're done. That's an order, soldier."

Tom glanced at the general's hands methodically twisting a dagger deeper and deeper into the wood of his desk. Maybe he wasn't quite so calm. Aware of the volatility lurking behind the smooth exterior, he hastened to comply.

"Yes, sir!" He snapped off a salute and turned to leave the room. Baker did the same.

"Oh, and Tom?" The door was inches away, he'd come so close to making it out of the room. "Send word to Julia that you'll be late for dinner. I want you with the boy until this is resolved."

Miles was pacing the kitchen, aware that he was annoying the other two people currently standing in the relatively small space. He'd already checked the cabinets, but found no hidden bottles of single-malt. Figures.

Aaron spoke first. "God, I miss refrigerators." He grimaced at his own incongruous statement, grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter and tearing off a hunk.

"The whole range of electronics, and you're stuck on food?" Miles snarked.

"Who cares what he's stuck on?" Nora hadn't uncrossed her arms since they entered the room. She looked positively lethal, just the way Miles liked her best. "Miles, we did our job. What the hell happened here?" She shot him a supremely disgusted glare.

"Nothing happened," he growled. "I followed the plan, Charlie passed out, and Junior Neville reacted the way I told you he would. Then you showed up and brained him with a goddamn frying pan."

"He was alone, plotting with his mother!" she spat back. "Yes, you clearly had everything under control."

"Now wait, I didn't hear him plotting," Aaron cut in carefully around a mouthful of bread.

Miles rolled his eyes. "No, you just hit him with a blunt object."

Nora stood, silently furious, and Aaron shrugged and started poking around the cabinets. Miles took a few calming laps around the small room, finally coming to a stop by the back door. He peered out for a few seconds, watching for any movement. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, and he knew he'd have to be the one to break it.

"I made a call," he said finally, turning back to face them. "We are a walking disaster; we won't get within a mile of Danny at the moment."

"Aaron and I did just fine at the Armory," Nora snapped.

"Which is great, except that they have five more weapons depots, and we still don't even know where to start looking for my nephew." Miles crossed his own arms, staring her down. Nora might be volatile and stubborn, but logic would usually filter through that hot head eventually. "Charlie's a liability on her best day, Aaron's not exactly a trained fighter, and you and I can do a lot of damage, sure, but we're up against the best he's got."

Aaron made a noise of protest, and Miles waved him off. "Look, you have your moments; I just don't want you in hand-to-hand or aiming a sniper rifle."

"Fair," Aaron nodded, which made Nora scowl. "What? It is fair."

"So, instead of going to a local rebel base or finding our old friends – you made the call that Tom Neville's lying ass of a son was the right addition to our merry band?" she asked.

Ok, so much for logic. Miles sighed.

"On paper, it doesn't make a lot of sense." There was a pause as he tried to put his gut certainty into words that she would understand. "But you have to see – he's young, he's smart, and he doesn't buy the bullshit that Neville and Monroe have been feeding him. And he's crazy about my idiot niece."

That got Aaron's attention. "What? Wait, isn't that a good reason to keep him as far from her as possible?"

"Normally, yes, with swords and arrows to back up the 100-yard restraining order." Miles allowed himself a moment to visualize a giant, booby-trapped fence around his stupid, innocent, foolish niece that still believed that people were good and that good guys would win. "But not only can he get inside information, he will also watch her when and if we can't."

The mood turned serious for a moment. "You both know that there's a huge probability that we don't come out of this alive," he said softly. "So I wanted to give the kid a fighting chance."

Aaron swallowed hard and looked down at the food he'd been collecting with a slightly green tinge to his skin.

Nora's face softened infinitesimally. "You're a damn soft-hearted schmuck now, Miles Matheson," she said flatly. "I hope it doesn't get us killed." She let that settle in the quiet room before she turned to leave, saying, "I'll watch the front."

The door swung shut behind her, and Miles looked over at Aaron, who was shaking his head.

"What?" Miles was getting damn tired of disapproving looks.

"Oh, nothing." Aaron nonchalantly sliced a chuck of cured meat off the roll he'd found and then continued with an innocent tone that made Miles grit his teeth. "I just wouldn't necessarily have let the entire conversation pass without asking her how she managed to pull off the most public defeat of the Monroe Republic in its home city. You know, if I was hoping to make out with her later."

Charlie awoke with a start, nameless panic clouding her sleepy mind. She reached to where her weapons usually were next to her head. Instead, she came up with soft sheets. The dream she'd had was gone, a faded, fuzzy memory that left only residual fear. It took a moment to calm her breathing as, slowly, the events of the night came back to her.

Miles breaking into the Nevilles' house. Going up to Jason's bedroom. Feeling safe and able to finally sleep. Jason and Nora fighting. Aaron hitting Jason with a pan. Warm pajama pants.

She blushed, embarrassed by how pleased she was to remember the last one. And hadn't there been kissing? Surely she hadn't imagined that.

"Charlie?" Jason sounded sleepy and concerned. "What's wrong?"

She swallowed a few times, as even more memories rushed back. Not just kissing, she'd definitely snuggled up to him. She'd been dizzy and he'd been so big, and warm and sturdy… Cut it out, Charlotte. This was totally unacceptable. Miles would be furious if she trusted Jason. In fact, where was Miles? Why was Jason alone with her in his bedroom?

"I, uh, nothing. Bad dream," she said shortly, hoping he would leave her alone. She needed to think.

But, no. He was up and coming over, a question in his brown eyes and no hint of deception on his face. But you didn't see it the first time, either, she told herself sternly.

"How are you feeling?" He reached toward her head and she drew back, instinctively nervous to have him touch her again. His eyes narrowed, but he pulled his hand away.

"I'm fine," she muttered. Why was this so awkward? What did she care if he was being nice to her again – she knew better this time. He'd thrown her off one too many trains.

He watched her for a minute and then smiled slightly. "Well, I can see you're feeling better," he shook his head. "You were far too cuddly last night."

Charlie felt her face go hot and she was sure she was lit up like a summer tomato. "I had a head injury," she said sullenly.

Jason watched her blush spread across her face and down her neck. He was relieved that she was acting more her prickly self, even if it did give him a pang to think of how nicely her head had fit on his shoulder last night. He glanced at the clock in the dim pre-dawn light. About an hour until Miles had said he'd be expecting them, good. There was enough time to talk.

"Listen, I've had a concussion once or twice myself," he said calmly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it leaves behind a jumbled mess of memories."

"Well gee thanks, Doc, but I don't really need a checkup right now." The stubborn look on her face was adorable.

Jason pressed ahead. "That means you probably don't remember much of what was said last night. And," he watched her eyes dart to the door hopefully and a scowl color her face when Matheson did not appear, "that means you don't know that I'm joining you."

He had her attention now. "What are you talking about? You're militia. You can't just swap sides."

"I'm branded, like you," he said tightly, still burning over that revelation. Charlie glanced down at her wrist, and he could see the moment when she remembered that conversation flit across her face.

"But I haven't agreed with my orders for most of the year, and, and the time had come to make a choice." And yeah, maybe his choice had something to do with the skeptical blue eyes holding his gaze, and maybe he just couldn't bear the idea of their ragtag group taking on Monroe against such unfair odds. But she clearly didn't need to know that.

"So go join the rebels," she said, sitting up straighter and pushing her hair back across her shoulder. "Why do something that puts you directly in the path of your father?"

He looked at her, amazed at how quickly she had unconsciously accepted his decision and moved on to the problem of how he should follow it through. Miles was right, she was far too trusting, despite her best efforts to the contrary.

"Let's just say I'm," Jason hesitated, not wanting to sound weird or creepy. "Uh, I'm looking to make up for some of what my father and I have done." He'd seen the love and desperation on her face in that train car. Her brother was clearly the most important person in the world to her.

So he would get Danny back for her. And if they lived through it maybe someday, with no head injury necessary, she might look at him with just a little of that same depth of feeling.

"But I begged you to help us in Pennsylvania," she said. "When Danny was there, and we could have taken him without Monroe even being involved."

She didn't ask it, but the question hung there between them: so, what changed?

Danny Matheson was bored. It had been two days since he'd left his cell. Sure, they shoved him food through the bars and he had a little drain for his bodily fluids, but he was smelly and cramped and so utterly bored.

He'd heard the rumblings of thunder a little while ago. It had reminded him of a science lesson from a few years ago. Aaron's had insisted that you always count the time between the flash of lightening and the crash of thunder to judge the approach of the storm. Danny, of course, could see nothing in here.

He hadn't even had the chance to take his frustration out in anymore impromptu fights, like he had when Neville had been transporting him. The guards were under orders to leave him alone, he guessed, because they always ignored his catcalls and jibes.

The only mystery in his monotony was the person they'd brought in last week, locked in a cell at the beginning of the hallway. His was at the end of the long room, so he hadn't been able to see anything when they'd brought the person in. He'd heard a fair amount of crying since, but all that had told him was that the person was scared. A guard had said "she" one day when they brought the food, so he thought it was a female.

His thoughts drifted to Charlie, and he shook his head. His big sister would have been yelling his name as they dragged her in, and she would never have stayed in a corner crying. Danny couldn't actually remember a time when he'd seen her cry, now that he really thought about it. No, the sad, quiet person wasn't Charlie.

A door clanged at the other end of the hall. He perked up, smashing his face into the bars in case he could see anything. Whoever it was stayed in the entrance. There were some low voices, and then another door closed loudly, leaving the cold makeshift jailroom in silence.

Danny sighed, and slid back down to the floor. They'd chosen his prison well – he was completely unable to hear or see anything. He had resigned himself to another few hours of mental geography quizzes when a small, thin voice interrupted his thoughts.

"They've all gone."

He scrambled to his feet, trying to see who was speaking. It still wasn't Charlie, or his newly-discovered mother. The mystery prisoner!

"What, all of the guards?" he called back.

"Yes, but I think they locked the door." There was a pause, and then the voice continued. "I'm Eve."

So it was a girl, he thought, pleased with himself.

"I'm Danny," he said, thinking a moment too late that he probably shouldn't give his real name. He was never going to get the hang of this life. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," her voice was very quiet, and he had to strain to hear it. "They've only, they just made awful jokes. But I haven't seen my dad in days. They're making him do something, because I'm here." The last two sentences came out in a quiet rush, as thought she'd been thinking them over and over for days.

Danny grimaced sympathetically. He was pretty sure his mother was strong enough to take on Monroe himself, but he knew that his being there was making it hard for her. He hated being a pawn.

"I'm sure he's fine," he offered a little weakly.

"I'm not," she said. "The last few days, the guards keep looking at me funny. And they had been letting me write to him before. To keep him working." He heard her sniffle and then she fell silent.

"Well, I hope he's ok," he said. There wasn't much else he could say. He waited a few minutes, always alert for the sound of the door opening. Finally, the silence had stretched too long for him. "Where are you from?"

There was more sniffling, and then she answered, "Ohio. But we lived in Chicago, before."

Danny drew in a breath to respond, but the scrape of the lock turning had them both moving away from the bars of their cells and assuming an appropriately normal (in Danny's case, bored) position.

Eve, from Ohio. Danny settled into his bench and started constructing a picture in his mind of what Eve might look like, and why her family had gone all the way to Ohio after the blackout. Finally, something to occupy his mind.

What had changed? It was a question Charlie needed him to answer if she was ever going to be able to trust him.

Jason thought back to the train, to bursting in and finding his father with a gun to a blond boy's head, and Charlie looking both murderous and terrified. He'd grabbed her as a reflex, needing to keep her close and controlled in the face of his father's rage. And he was damn glad he had, because he'd looked into his father's eyes that day and known that he really would kill her, just to show he could.

His entire world had shifted then, buffeted by two separate realizations. The first: he'd known in that moment that he wanted keep her safe and far from the reach of his father and their like. The second had taken longer, but it had started with that act of disobedience, grown when he'd overheard Monroe send a butcher on a mission to slaughter her, and only cemented when he'd talked to his mother a few hours ago. The militia wasn't keeping the peace anymore, it had become the monster.

"It just…" he considered telling her, really confessing that she had spun his life around until nothing made any sense anymore. And then he chickened out. "A few things happened, starting on the train and ending with this," he gestured to his mottled, bruised skin.

It didn't feel like enough, so he tried to explain. "I've been following orders my whole life."

"Not since I've known you."

"Yeah, well, you have a tendency to throw off my nice orderly plans," he said ruefully. He felt himself flush (again? The second time in a day? He was doomed.) and stood up, pointing to their packs sitting side by side on the carpet. "Speaking of which, we have about half an hour before your uncle wants us ready to go."

She slid out of bed reluctantly and grabbed her jeans, which he'd folded neatly and put on top of her pack. "Right, well. If you've already got Miles on board, I don't really have much say, do I?"

"Not really," he grinned.

She glared and pointed at the door. "Out so I can change. I haven't had a door since we almost all died at the heroin dealer's house."

"The what?" Jason blinked. "You have got to bring me up to speed."

"Out!"

He moved toward her, and she backed up a step, her eyes wide. He held his hands up in an unthreatening gesture.

"I just want to check your head before I leave you unsupervised," he promised. "No taking advantage." Even if he really wanted to. And even if he suspected that she also wanted to. She had every right to take her time.

"Fine," she said, turning with an eyeroll that looked suspiciously like her uncle's signature expression. Well, behind his badass commanding general look. Jason really wanted to emulate that one.

He walked behind her, close enough that he could feel the sleepy warmth radiating from her body. She lifted her hair up, out of his way, but he shook his head. Then, realizing that she couldn't see him, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Uh, actually, the bump is higher. In your hair."

She sighed and dropped her hair all at once, a shiny cascade that took Jason a bit by surprise. With a deep breath to steady him, he gently parted her hair and felt for the lump that had been so tender the night before. It took a moment before his fingers found it; she hissed when he applied a little pressure. He dropped his hands, stepping back.

"It's, uh, smaller," he said. "So that's good."

"It doesn't hurt like it did," she said, turning to face him. "More of an ache than anything."

For a moment they stood there, about a foot apart, watching each other's faces. Both of their breathing sped up, and he thought she might just close the distance. But she looked away and bent to pick up her bag.

"So you've checked. May I have the room, please?" she asked a little breathlessly.

Jason left. As he sank down outside the door, he couldn't help a small victorious grin. So not all of her attraction to him was based on losing consciousness, then. He could work with that.

A/N – So there it is. I did my best, my friends. Laid some groundwork, got in some insults, a bit of smolder, some Miles thought patterns. And Danny! And Monroe! And poor Gerald.

(Also, I'm dating myself with this, but while writing Pandora threw up Hoobastank's "The Reason" and I got all kinds of Miles emotions. Especially the first verse/chorus.)

Mogget0607: You are right. I am working on that. Thanks!

Summernightscsb: Yeah, Julia Neville gives me the willies on the show too. I hope they take her somewhere cool. Thank you for the vote of confidence. I tried to write from Charlie's perspective this time and Jason just nixed that. So… more introspection.

AndYourPoint: Aw, thanks! The highest of compliments for fanfiction, to be sure.

PixieSky: There will be plenty more comforting!Jason, as he is much fun to write. He just has to convince non-loopy Charlie that he's for real. Thanks!

Bookdiva: The frying pan should have its own imdb page, I mean, it was in LOTR too. Don't worry, I'm terrible at writing angst for angst's sake, I always like it to lead to something better for the characters. Sorry it took so long!

Softballlover298: Yeah, considering how willing he's been to stand up for her, I can't see how he'll be ok with the branding story. So glad you liked it!

Nyah1: He is, isn't he? *noogies Jason*

Soon Baboon: Thank you so much! Oh, I'm an agonizer, that's for sure. Even with this one, I was hurrying to get it out and I feel like it's so jumbled. But I have revised it three times, so it was time to let it go. I hope you liked it!

PP-PhantomPhoenix: Nice, I knew all the cool kids would get that bit in the author's note. Thanks so much for your awfully kind comments. They give me the confidence to keep on trying to write this thing.

Becc-gallanter: Well, I hope you STILL like long chapters, because this was another one. Thank you for the awesome review!

AslanPrincess: Danny! As requested. It IS hard to write him, and especially when he's not really able to do anything. But that may change…

Beth Elia: Shhhh, stop stealing my notes. Momma Neville (I love it) has some bite to her, so I'm looking forward to that.

Inhalelove-exhalehate12: Thank you so much! I do really want to give you guys something worth reading, not just my 2 am raw ideas.

Star46783: Thanks so much! The long chapters are just because I get so carried away and they're all so talkative.

Kotero: Thank you! They have a long way to go before it's safe again, that's for sure.

Readball: Wow, thank you! Sorry for the wait, I hope it was worth it.

Avalon West: I feel like the TV writers are juggling a LOT of storylines, and if they're not careful it means they miss out on little opportunities (like, say, including Jason in the ep!). Thank you very much for the compliment!

KitKat04: I restrained myself this chapter, but I make no promises that Nora doesn't surprise him later. Glad you enjoy the realistic style!

Lovelylola15: Thank you! I'm not stopping, just slow, I promise! I even have a plan all written down for future chapters!

Scifigrl10: Aw, thanks! I hope you like the update!

Cori573: He would, wouldn't he? And then he'd look surprised that it worked. Aw, Aaron. *hugs Aaron, who looks surprised*

Bookdiva: Voila! Just for you.

The rellaysj: Hahaha, well I don't want you stuck rereading old chapters! Here's a new one for you. Thanks so much!