A/N: BOOM. Ok. So, I needed to rethink a few things, and watch the end of Downton Abbey, and cry tears. I now have a plan, and an endgame. (I sortof had that before, but it needed work.) I still have no beta or person looking this over but me, so mistakes are likely.
I'm going to try and wrap up this story before the show comes back on (which is March 25). So, yeah, updates will increase dramatically in frequency!
Also, this story has 100 reviews, which is crazy. You're all wonderful and patient and fun! Hellos at the end, as usual.
Oh, and I haven't said it in a while, but I don't own this. Trust me, they wouldn't be taking 3 month hiatuses if I did.
They'd been walking down a deserted side street for about ten minutes when Charlie picked up her pace and caught up to Miles.
"Do you think this will work?" she asked, for what he was certain was the thirtieth time. She hurried to explain when he just looked at her. "It's just, there are so many things that could go wrong. If Aaron doesn't make it to the gate, or if Nora's stash isn't where she thinks it is. And what about you?"
"Kid," he said, finally breaking in on her questions, "it's the best idea we've got."
"But what if they just shoot you?"
"Oh, trust me, Bass will want a chat first," he smiled grimly. "Unless Strausser's running the show, they'll have questions for all of us. The only one I'd expect to be shot right away is Junior Neville."
She was silent for a moment, processing that. Miles watched her carefully. He felt comfortable with his read on the Neville boy, but Charlie was more of a mystery. Sure, she'd jumped in front of the kid a few times when Miles would have been happy to just get rid of him. But did that translate to something deeper?
"Does – does he know that?" she asked hesitantly, looking back up to meet his eyes.
"He knows the policy on desertion and rebels," Miles said, keeping his pace even. "I didn't trick him into anything."
"I didn't mean," she paused and grimaced. "It's just an awful lot of danger for him to jump into like this."
Miles hummed in agreement and held up a hand, halting the group so he could check the next cross street for possible militia or witnesses.
When he motioned them forward again, she was ready with another question.
"Do you think he's for real?"
"Do you?" he asked. "Not to be blunt, but I'm pretty sure he's not doing this for me or Danny."
She blushed. Ah, so she does know that.
"I remember most of what happened last night," she admitted, "but not everything. By the time I figured out that he was seriously joining us, he'd gotten your approval and there wasn't really time for me to question his… motives."
"And yet I got such lip when I sent him off to rescue Aaron," Miles mused.
She blushed again. "I was – it seemed like a big risk, and just, I thought, it's just…"
Her sentence stumbled off into incoherence, and Miles held up his hand.
"Yeah, I get it," he said knowingly. Clearly, his niece had hit her head hard enough that she was now worried about the muscle-bound Neville boy. "So I'll tell you what I told him: this is no place for teenage, uh, crap. If you make me babysit you, I will not hesitate to handcuff you and Aaron together."
"Miles!" Charlie's glare was pure teenage annoyance, and Miles had a moment of silent grief that his brother wasn't the Matheson on the receiving end of it.
Then he glared right back. "I mean that."
"Not to interrupt this touching family moment," Nora said from behind them with a laugh lurking in her voice, "but we're almost there, aren't we?"
He looked up and saw the brownstones giving way to the familiar brick buildings of old Philadelphia. They'd been carefully working their way through the residential areas around the once bustling tourist center that had housed the Liberty Bell. It was now, of course, the nerve center of the Monroe Republic. Bass had liked the sense of history; holding court in Independence Hall had appealed to the people, and to his budding megalomaniac side.
"Yeah, so we are."
They were half a dozen blocks from the periphery that would have soldiers manning checkpoints at every possible entry. The final meeting point was an old garden, locked and forgotten, about two blocks from their position. If Jason wasn't there, they'd have to move on assuming that he'd never made it out of the center of the city.
"Smith, pick up your damn feet!"
Jason crouched, hidden behind the remains of a rusted out dumpster. He had been waiting for this militia company to get out of his way for the last 15 minutes, getting more and more worried as the time slipped away. The guilty Smith, in what looked like a private's uniform, was in the rear of the group, and apparently Jason wasn't the only one who wanted him to move faster.
Instead, the entire group halted in front of his position while the captain lit into his lagging soldier. Jason winced sympathetically when he heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. He'd been on the receiving end of "instructional punishment" plenty of times himself. The tirade continued, but his attention was pulled to the two men guarding the supply cart as they swapped complaints under their breath and waited it out.
"Captain's in a fair mood, eh?"
"Hell, I'm in a mood. Pulled out of bed in the middle of the night and force-marched off to Willow Grove? Horseshit."
"You know everyone's on high alert after the armory."
"Couldn't we keep high profile prisoners a little closer to base, though? 14 goddamn miles."
"Shut up or you'll be the next Smith, idiot."
The conversation ended when the captain shouted the command to move out, and Jason shrank back into the shadows, trying to make sure he was totally hidden until the street was quiet. High profile prisoners? He couldn't remember ever being told that there was a separate location for prisoners – just the main prison, on base.
Oh hell, it was a trap.
The horizon was paling in anticipation of dawn as Jason jumped up, his heart racing. He had to get to Charlie before she walked into an ambush of well-rested, well-prepared militia and an empty jail.
Erupting out of the alley at full speed, he tripped over something lying in the middle of the street and went down hard, just getting his hands in front of himself before he hit the pavement. With a frustrated snarl he looked down at the offending obstacle and his eyes widened. The straps of a supply pack were wrapped around his right leg.
Jason disentangled himself and moved to the side of the street, quickly assessing the contents inside the militia-issue bag.
Rations, about three days' worth. A small container of ammunition. A bar of soap. And three sets of uniform blues, all with the name "Smith" stitched onto them. With a brief apology to the hapless private who was going to be extra miserable until he was re-posted to base, Jason re-closed the bag and hefted it across his back.
Time to go. There was a plan bouncing around in his head, and he always thought better when he was moving.
Major Tom Neville could feel the rage pulsing, pulling at the leash he had on it. The idiot Matheson boy, full of foolish ideals and that innate goodness that just irritated him, was keeping him from his wife and son. The twelve hours had to be close to over, but he wouldn't be able to go to Julia and Jason himself. Damn Monroe and his paranoia.
As the long night had ticked away, one endless second after another, he'd known his options were extremely limited. If he sent another soldier to check on his family, he ran the risk of Monroe finding out that he'd kept Matheson's presence from him. If the household staff did show up, despite his hasty, late-night requests that they take the day off, the same risk applied.
No, this was something he had to do himself. But Monroe's orders still held, and so he watched the sun rise with an itch in his veins that he could not allow himself to scratch.
He'd come so close to tipping his hand to the blond boy who sat in the interrogation room to his right. All he'd wanted to do was rage and hurt and punish anyone who stood between him and Julia, but the way Danny's eyes had widened and then immediately narrowed had reminded Tom that he was handing ammunition to the enemy. So he'd stormed out and taken a quick calming walk around the secret research facility, leaving two men guarding the door.
After finishing his first annoyed loop of the main floor, he changed course abruptly and took three sharp lefts and the stairs to the basement. Walking wasn't helping. He had the urge to go poke at the tiger herself.
She was there, working, using the power generator to listen to a jazz album. Tom paused in the doorway and rolled his shoulders, the strangeness and familiarity of music in the air hitting him like a punch to the gut.
"Are you just going to stand there and listen or did you need something from me, Major?" Rachel Matheson's voice was strikingly even, and she didn't bother to lift her blonde head from the work she was doing. Still, he knew her weak spot, and forcing her to expose it would distract him from the beast of rage with which he still wrestled.
"Oh, I'm just taking a break," he said smoothly, putting on a smile and coming into the room. "Your son and I have been… disagreeing on a few things."
Her hand froze in the motion of reaching for a tool, just for a moment, and he greeted the rush of power like a drowning man gasping for air.
"If you hurt him I won't help you," she said, holding the even tone of voice but betraying her tension in the way she bit off each word.
He was tired of looking at the back of her head. It reminded him of Julia's bright hair, and he didn't want to think about Julia right now. He needed to re-establish order in the world. Tom circled the workbench so that he was facing her.
"Oh, but if you won't help us we'll just kill him," he said with an easy grin. "And really, any alive is better than all dead, wouldn't you say?"
She came at him then, a blowtorch clenched in her fist and he just managed to knock her hand to the side as the flame sputtered and died, too far outside the range of the little power-giving necklace. He used her momentum to sweep her legs out from under her and pinned her to the floor with his knee in her back.
"Now Rachel," he said soothingly, "is that any way to ensure that Danny has an easy night? You're just giving me ideas."
Her hand went limp, letting the blowtorch roll to the floor. He picked it up and stepped away, letting her stand and walk back to her bench. He might enjoy prodding her own helpless fury, but he didn't want to be reported to Monroe for manhandling the general's favorite prisoner.
"Just came to say hello, then?" She was looking at him now. That infuriatingly calm voice, which had always grated on him, was belied by the murder in her blazing eyes. Funny, he thought, how her son had mastered that look without seeing his mother in person for most of his life.
He weighed the useless blowtorch in his hand for a few seconds, and then tossed it back onto the table. It relit, and she had to bend to turn it off. He moved to the door, content that for now, the rage was hers to fight uselessly. He should really just leave it at that.
"Not hello," he said, deciding that he didn't care. They were so protected here that even if Matheson did make it in, he'd never leave alive. "I came to say goodbye."
Rachel stared at him openly, her face revealing an unusual flash of confusion, before her bravado returned. "Going away, then? I can't say I wish you well."
"Remember your timetable," he suggested, "and you might even see your son again before it's all over."
He nodded to the guard outside the room to secure the door as he left, feeling her eyes burning into his back until he climbed the stairs. Much better. He almost felt optimistic. They'd pick up the renegades soon, there'd be a few executions and everything would be as it should again. Maybe he'd go to the mess hall and see if there were any apples left.
The kid was late. Charlie had managed to force Miles to wait so far, but he wasn't going to listen to her for much longer. The guards were about to change shifts and Aaron knew their best chance of sneaking into headquarters would slip away if they missed that.
"Miles." Nora's voice was hard, but so low that Aaron couldn't make out her words as they talked on the other side of the overgrown garden. He glanced at Charlie, who was vibrating with tension and probably seconds from storming over there, demanding that they be reasonable, or noble, or that Miles again do the impossible. Aaron reached out and touched her arm.
"Better let them have it out, Charlie," he said on a sigh. "Everyone's just on edge."
"But what good is keeping to the timetable without Na-, Jason here to get us in?" she asked urgently. "The whole plan falls apart, Aaron."
"And that's why you're pacing like a maniac, right?" he asked. The look he sent her was sympathetic, and a bit sad. Charlie couldn't hold his stare for very long.
"He should have been here by now," she said, for a moment allowing the fear and worry to creep into her voice. He could see that her mind kept being pulled back to worst cases: her father in the dirt, Maggie bleeding out on that diner floor. "He should have beaten us here, all on his own."
"Charlie," Aaron pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. "This is all very confusing. One minute he's a spy working for his father, and the next, you don't want me to hit him with a frying pan and Miles invites him to join us on our totally-not-doomed attempt on Monroe."
"It's complicated," she said shortly. "You know that."
"I know – there's a lot about what's going on in the world that I don't know," he said with a grimace. "I don't know why the power went off, I don't know what Monroe wanted with your father, or why Miles ran away from the Militia, not really. I don't know if my wife is alive, or if I'll ever drink a Coke again. But I do know that you have liked that boy from the first day he joined up with us." He paused for a second and grinned. "You were a little mad when you found out he was playing you, but you kept on liking him. You never wanted me to hit him in the head with a frying pan, did you?"
She was blushing, and glared pointlessly at Miles and Nora, heads still bent together. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to save my brother," she muttered, before a thought struck her. "Wait, what did you say about your wife?"
Aaron didn't answer, he wasn't about to get into that story right now. Thankfully, another voice rang through the leafy enclosure, heavy with relief.
"You're still here. Thank god."
Charlie spun to the entrance with a lump in her throat, Aaron's history forgotten. She fought back the impulse to run to Jason, to check that it was really him, that he was all in one piece. It's not like she would ever do something that lame over a boy, not even in her head, she assured herself, swallowing hard. His eyes were warm when they met hers, and she forgot to breathe for a minute.
"Took you long enough," Nora said sharply. "Why the extra time?"
Charlie bristled at her tone, annoyed that she was so obviously refusing to accept Jason after all that he'd done. And then she realized what she'd just admitted to herself – I trust him. After all the lies, she trusted him – so much so that she was irritated if Nora questioned him, even a little. This is crazy, she thought breathlessly, sinking down onto the bench Aaron had just vacated.
Jason shot her a confused look, and she suspected she had let more than a few of her thoughts play out on her face. She smiled weakly, and he lifted an eyebrow and turned back to Nora.
She felt seasick, her stomach rolling with relief, following closely by fear and guilt. She'd been so worried about Jason that she hadn't worried enough about their plan to save Danny. If they'd missed their window, if her brother suffered because she had a crush…
"We have to change the plan," Jason said firmly, setting a large bag at his feet. This had eyebrows up all around the garden.
"No. No changes." her uncle growled out. "If we leave now we can still-"
"Hear me out," Jason interrupted. "I have new information."
"Information acquired while screwing up our old plan?" Miles sounded hard and tired, but Charlie could tell he was listening.
Jason crossed his arms and continued, undaunted by her uncle's sarcasm. "They're not holding Danny at headquarters. We're going the wrong way."
A/N: Some longing looks, some blushing, some action! Some rage monster. And Jason just INSISTED on being in most of these bits. He's so needy.
Onward, lovely reviewers!
CelticCrossings: It's coming back soon! Hope you liked this one.
AslanPrincess: I'm glad my Miles is working for you. He's definitely one of my favorites to write. I do love good sarcasm.
Cori573: I hope this one made you smile too.
Boasamishipper: So, this was NOT faster. I think it was slower. Poop. Neville's bit in this chapter was my favorite to write, which is probably not a good insight into my own head.
PixieSky: I am enjoying Danny's character a lot! He didn't show up much in this because of surprise Rachel (!) but I have big plans for our blond boy. And I managed (finally) to get Jason back with the group. So now he and Charlie can get back to irritating Miles.
Bookdiva: Thanks for the congrats! Big life moment and all that. But eeeeee, I swear I didn't abandon you. I just – there were things, and stuff, and plot that bugged me and endgame to plan… yeah, I don't have an excuse. But I do have story! So there's that.
Kotero: I'm so glad this is one of your favorites! I think the show NOT being on makes it hard to keep momentum in a way, because you have to work from all the old stuff and just wait. Yeah, Aaron's not really great at stealth, poor guy.
Adi blueberry: Ask and you shall receive (a month later, but still!)
Guest: Thanks for the review and the kind words. :)
Scifigirl10: I love your panda! I know, the show is still way far away. But here's some story, and I'll work up the last few chapters faster now.
Letsplaywithfire: you win the "oh I should go finish that chapter" reviewer award. Seriously. I got the notification that you'd reviewed and it definitely got me to sit down and do the final revise on this sucker. So thanks for taking the time to leave me that one little word. :)