A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for the comments and likes. This is my first fanfic so they are really very appreciated. Next few chapters will involve other characters interacting with Monroe (I'm not calling him Bass – yet. To me, Bass is pre-blackout Monroe. He has to get there before he's allowed to be that). Family seems to be a big motivator for his character, well the Mathesons are a family, so he's going to have to deal with them all, whether he wants to or not. After that, I swear more Charloe. Warning, I envision the relationship between Miles and Monroe to be a little on the juvenile side. They are, after all brothers. And sometimes brothers bicker, no matter how old they are. I've decided that this will be my source of comic relief to keep this from being a total angst-fest.

I have several more chapters written and will try to type them up and update them when I can.

When Monroe next awoke it was just past dawn. The suns first rays were shining through the grated window across from him. The light blinded him for a few seconds when he first opened his eyes. Well isn't this lovely? He thought to himself. His hands were numb, having been suspended above him while he slept. He slid up the wall slowly, suddenly very grateful for cloth bandage Charlie had wrapped around him. It had seemed like overkill at the time, but at least it offered him extra padding. And, despite the fact that it was the ugliest shirt in Texas, the one she'd given him was at least clean and warm. His old one was so stiff with filth, it probably could have stood up on its own.

He flexed his fingers, waiting for the feeling to come back into his hands. When the pins and needles shot from his elbows to his fingertips he had to bite down an urge to yelp. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. It crossed his mind that perhaps he shouldn't have cuffed his other hand until after he'd slept. Since she wouldn't know about it until she saw him, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. It still would have gotten his point across and he'd have been a hell of a lot more comfortable.

This was not starting out as a good day. He was stiff and sore and he had to piss. He didn't have to wait long before he heard someone approach. The door opened and miles started down the stairs.

"Good morni-" Miles broke off abruptly when he almost tripped over the pack Monroe had thrown onto the stairs the night before. Monroe couldn't help but laugh. "Watch out Miles, someone put stairs there," he snickered.

"Dick," was the only reply he got.

"Miles, you've gotta let me out of here."

Miles looked at Monroe, noticing the change in wardrobe and the bandage poking out above where Monroe had given up with the buttons.

"You're stupid if you think I'm going to believe you've given up that easily, Bass."

"Not at all, Miles. I just have to piss," Monroe replied with mock sweetness.

Miles rolled his eyes. "Hey, Gene!" Miles called, clearly irritated. Gene slowly appeared down the stairs. He looked tired, still unwell. Monroe knew that he'd caught whatever it was that the patriots had infected the town with. The drugs that they'd found at the patriot compound had worked, but the illness had definitely taken its toll.

Miles tossed Gene the keys to Monroe's cuffs and raised his pistol, pointing it directly at Bass's chest. "If you try anything, I will shoot your sorry ass."

"Relax Miles. I'm not going to take out Papa Smurf here."

Gene led the way up the stairs, with Miles in the rear, never taking the gun off of Monroe. They led him to the side of the barn so he could relieve himself. Monroe raised an eyebrow at them.

"A little privacy?"

"Nope," was the only response he got.

"Suit yourself," he muttered before turning away to take care of business. He smiled evilly to himself. It was Miles' fault really. He was being an asshole and refused to back up, convinced that this was all just a ruse for Monroe to escape. Which, if he had any intention of doing, he probably could - especially if Miles hadn't been practically hanging over his shoulder. But Monroe had made his decision and was willing to put up with this little charade a bit longer. Might as well have some fun while I'm at it. So, he turned slightly and pissed directly on the toe of Miles' boot. It was childish, true. But it also gave him just a little satisfaction to watch Miles leap back, almost crashing into Gene, who was trying his best to will himself anywhere but there.

"Watch it!"

"I told you I needed some privacy," Monroe replied, desperately trying not to laugh.

"Really funny, Bass. What are we in kindergarten again?"

"Well that's what you get for stealing my crayons." Monroe had meant that to be funny. He hadn't counted on the brief hint of pain in Miles' eyes when he brought up the old memory from the day they had met over forty years ago. Granted it hadn't involved urinating on shoes. It had been a chocolate milk attack at snack time, which resulted in them getting so soaked that they were sent to the nurse's office to get cleaned up. The nurse had insisted that they make up before she would let them leave her office, and they'd pretty much been inseparable from that day forward, until that night Miles tried to kill him.

Not liking the direction his thoughts were taking, Monroe finished and walked past Miles and Gene, heading back towards the storm cellar.

"You two coming or do I really have to shackle myself?" He called over his shoulder before heading down the stairs. He stood in front of the bar the handcuffs were attached to.

"Nice shirt. Where'd you get it?" Miles finally spoke.

Monroe froze for a second. So Miles hadn't sent Charlie down last night. She'd come to him on her own. He hesitated for a second, knowing that Charlie was basically caught. Before he could respond, Gene spoke up.

"I brought it to him."

Miles turned to Gene, startled. Technically, it hadn't been a lie. Gene had brought Charlie, who had brought the shirt. Close enough.

"You helped him? Why?"

"Because I am a doctor and I took an oath to heal people. I've already killed the man once, haven't I? I wasn't about to let him die of infection down here. And, if you'll excuse me I need to look at his back. I couldn't see what I was doing last night."

Monroe repressed a laugh at that, hoping Miles didn't notice. Miles gestured for Gene to carry on. Monroe turned around and unbuttoned the shirt. Gene quickly removed the cloth bandage and peeled up the layer of gauze Charlie had used. There were a few slashes that Gene didn't like the look of. They were just a bit to red for him.

"In the light please. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

Monroe complied and walked into the stream of light coming in from outside. As he did, Miles caught a glimpse of his back. He grimaced at the sight of it. He hadn't seen it since the morning after. Some of the slashes did look pretty bad. Gene examined him for several minutes before he spoke.

"Some of these need further attention. I'll need my bag. I left it right outside."

"I'll get it. Bass if you try anything…" His words trailed off, leaving Monroe to fill in the blanks.

When Miles was out of earshot, Monroe turned to Gene. "Now it's my turn to ask. Why are you helping me now?"

"Because you did help save my life. And considering I turned you in and killed you, I guess it's the least I can do. Plus, she asked me to.

Monroe merely nodded and turned back around as Miles headed back down with Gene's bag. Gene set it down and started rummaging through it, pulling out the supplies he needed. Pulling out a candle, he handed it to Miles, instructing him to light it.

"You might want to sit down. This is probably going to hurt – a lot," Gene warned him.

Monroe sank to the ground. Gene stuck the tip of a knife into the flame of the candle and then squatted down behind Monroe to work on the mess that was once his back. He pressed the tip into the sides of the worst slashes, causing yellow ichor to ooze out of them. Infection was beginning to set in, but it was superficial at this point.

"You're lucky I'm getting to this now. A few more days and you'd be in trouble."

Monroe didn't respond. He was too busy concentrating on now screaming his head off or passing out. The pain Gene was inflicting was almost as bad as the initial whipping had been. Before that night, Monroe had experienced pain. He was a strong man, no doubt about that. But, nothing had quite prepared him for the sensation of the whip falling repeatedly on his back.

Miles noticed that Monroe had gone a bit pale, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. His conscience got the better of him and he pulled out his flask, handing it to his former friend. Unable to talk, Monroe nodded and took a long pull off of the flask. Miles reached for it back, but Monroe's grip on it tightened. Miles almost staid something snarky about sharing, but he realized Monroe kept it more as a distraction than anything else.

Gene finally finished digging with the knife and moved on to cleaning the slashes with more of the salt solution he'd had Charlie use the night before. Monroe let out a hiss as the burning sensation added itself to the throbbing one. After finishing with the antiseptic, Gene started applying the salve, before finally covering his back with a fresh layer of gauze and wrapping the cloth bandage back around him.

Gene turned to Miles. "If you don't want him to die down here, this should be done a couple times a day for the next few days. These should have been taken care of sooner. "

"Gotcha. Lock him up. I've got shit to do." He turned to address Monroe then, "I'll bring you something to eat later." He then headed up the stairs, leaving Monroe and Gene alone. Monroe smiled in spite of himself as he slipped Miles' forgotten flask into his pocket.

"Who would have thought helping me would be your and Charlie's dirty little secret?" Monroe mused as he put the shirt back on.

"My granddaughter wanted me to tell you that she knows what you did after she left. Whatever that means. She seems to think you've decided to reconsider your plans for the future."

"Well, I've had plenty of time for self-reflection lately, haven't I?"

Gene turned to look Monroe in the eye, his face betraying his exasperation.

"If you've decided not to rebuild the Monroe republic, why didn't you just tell miles?"

"One, because he wouldn't believe me anyways. Two, because he's not winning this one."

"Well, when do you plan on telling him?"

"When he gives up and lets me out of here."

"You'll be down here a long time with that attitude, son."

"Yeah, well nothing like a good staycation huh gramps?"

Gene rolled his eyes and headed towards the stairs. When it came to their former friendship, Miles and Monroe both handled it with the grace of toddlers.

I'll be back later to change those bandages.