A/N: Sorry for the long time between chapters. Life has been really busy and this was kind of hard to write. I must have rewritten it half a dozen times, trying to find a good balance between juvenile antics and total angst. I hope I've finally nailed it. I think there are only one or two chapters left for this tale. Having a hard time deciding the ending though. I have a couple different ways I want to end it. So, I can either just pick one, and hope for the best, or I can kinda do a Clue the Movie kind of thing, and give you all the endings… Thoughts?

As always thanks for the comments and likes

Monroe was laying on his bedroll, his arm thrown across his arms, trying his best to ignore his new roommate. His back was not happy with him for laying on it, but he was just pigheaded enough to not let Miles see. He knew Charlie would have had no way of knowing Miles would catch them, but he'd wondered if she hadn't planned locking on Miles down here with him in all along. How else would she have gotten the drop on him? But then again, it was easy to fall victim to someone you'd never thought would turn on you. Experience had taught him that. Hurts, don't it? he thought to himself.

Miles was using the bag of stuff Charlie had thrown down as a pillow. Every so often he groaned just a little louder than necessary to make sure Monroe knew how miserable he was. "Will you quit whining?"

Miles adjusted the backpack beneath his head again. "Just can't seem to get comfortable. Guess I'm getting too old to be sleeping on concrete. Now if I had a blanket or something..."

Monroe thought about this for a second. He knew Miles was going to keep bitching just or the sake of keeping him awake, unless he gave him one of the thin blankets that made up his bedroll. "Yeah, not happening, pal. You left me handcuffed to a wall for over a day and you want to whine about a blanket?"

"I'm not the one trying to make history repeat itself. You needed a little time out to think."

This was all really too much. "You really are a self-righteous asshole, you know that?"

Miles considered him for a moment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Monroe sat up abruptly. Was he really that stupid? "You're kidding me, right? The whole militia and republic were your fucking idea, Miles. You asked me to back you up, so I did."

"Hey you wanted it as much as I did, Bass," Miles protested.

"Just keep telling yourself that," Monroe rolled to his side, his back to Miles, dismissing him. He knew it was probably a mistake but, was counting on Miles to keep his distance because of Charlie. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Miles was rolling him over and punching him right in the face. He swung back out of instinct, catching Miles in the jaw right before the bastard had a chance to retreat to his side of the cellar.

Grabbing his nose, he stared at Miles. "What the hell, man?"

That was how Charlie found them a short while later, Monroe holding a potentially broken nose, Miles nursing a slightly swollen jaw, in the midst of an epic glaring contest. She'd only been gone a few hours, but the thought of them beating the hell out of one another had made sleep impossible. She'd come down the stairs with food, holding a shot gun.

"What are you going to do Charlie, shoot us?" Miles snapped.

"If you move, yes. It's rock salt by the way, so don't think I'll hesitate." Monroe cocked an eyebrow at her. So she'd picked up a new trick from their time with the bounty hunters. "Hurts like hell, but it won't kill you."

"Oh, Charlie you are full of surprises," Monroe chucked.

"You have no idea."

Monroe couldn't resist. He knew he was playing with fire, but he was still annoyed about being sucker punched. "Oh I'll bet," he said in one of his most charming, seductive voices.

"Oh, knock it off," Miles whined. Success! Having hit his mark, Monroe nodded towards the bag she was carrying.

"So what'd ya bring me?" He sounded like a little kid. She tossed the bundle down.

"Breakfast, boys."

Miles eyed the bundle with suspicion. "Any chance you brought something to drink?"

"Nope."

"Listen kid, you want dickhead and I to talk, bring whiskey. Lots of whiskey."

Charlie considered Miles for a minute. He was practically begging her. "Listen Charlie," Monroe contributed, "some things, you just can't say sober."

Well, she thought, at least they've managed to agree on something. She let out a sigh. "See to his back, Miles and I'll think about it." She backed her way up the stairs and locked them in once more.

Miles let out a groan an picked up the bag of bandages. "You heard her. Let's get this over with." Monroe started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked over. "I swear she'd better brig me some booze after this."

Monroe unwound the bandage and turned his back to Miles. The idea f Miles playing nurse was almost worse than when Rachel tended to him.

Miles removed the gauze strips, dropping them into a small pile. The redness had abated around the slashes that gene had drained the morning before, ad he could see where some of them were scabbing over. After being used to break Miles' fall last night, nothing had broken back open. Miles assumed that must be a good sign. He couldn't resist an when he went to clean the wounds with the vinegar solution, he kind of slapped at Monroe's back with it.

"Watch it asshole. Take it easy would you?" It took all of Monroe's willpower to not turn around an deck him.

"Oops, sorry." Miles' voice dripped with false innocence.

"Just hurry it up."

Miles let out a laugh while he applied the salve. "Why in such a rush, Bass? You got somewhere to be?"

Monroe just ignored him and waited impatiently for Miles to literally slap the fresh gauze on his back. He refused to let on how much Miles' nursing skills stung.

Monroe rewrapped his back and put his shirt back on. Miles was kicking the used gauze into a pile. Laughing to himself Monroe grabbed the food while Miles was distracted and retreated to his side to dig through it. Having momentarily forgotten about breakfast, Miles sat back down and stared at the door, having decided to go back to ignoring Monroe and praying for booze. He was abruptly reminded about breakfast by the small apple that hit him in the side of the head.

He whipped his head around, his eye shooting daggers at Monroe who was innocently digging through the bag, another small apple gripped between his teeth. "Prick." He grumbled. Monroe responded by hitting his chest with a chunk of bread, followed by a missile of dried meat. "A food fight, Bass? Isn't that a little juvenile?"

Monroe took a bite out of the apple and shrugged. "Don't know what you're talking about. I was just trying to share."

They sat in silence and ate. Miles was just considering the benefits of throwing his apple core at Monroe's head when the door opened. Charlie set two bottles down on the second stair and closed the door again. Monroe jumped up and had his hands on the bottles before the bolt outside slid home. "Play nice!" They heard from above.

Monroe looked the bottles in his hands for a second. He cracked a grin as a wicked thought popped in his head. He then thought better of it, and walked over to Miles and slapped one of the bottles in his hands.

He retreated to the opposite wall and sat down with his prize, crossing his ankles on front of him casually, like he always lurked in a storm cellar with his booze. He tipped the neck of the bottle towards Miles in a mock salute and took a long drink. "Well at least if I have to be stuck with you down here, I can do it drunk."

"Uh huh," was the only reply he got as Miles brought the bottle to his lips. They drank for a while without talking. When Monroe finally started to feel the warm glow of a nice whiskey buzz he finally spoke up.

"So why'd you sucker punch me? Which one of my many sin was it?"

Miles considered his bottle while he answered. "Charlie, you idiot. What were you thinking?"

Monroe looked away, not really sure how to respond. He knew he'd crossed a line with that. He'd crossed many lines with Miles over the years, but this was probably the biggest. Miles loved the girl as much as he would if she was his own kid, and Monroe had gone and slept with her.

Miles spoke up again, this time almost shouting. "She's my niece Bass! My niece!"

"I know!" When he realized he'd shouted back, Monroe took a breath and closed his eyes, "I know."

"So why did you touch her then?"

Monroe considered refusing to answer, but what good would it do? He didn't have any illusions that they'd be back to being best buds after everything that had happened. Hell, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be Miles' friend after how bad he'd screwed him over with Connor. But, f they were all going to survive, they had to work together. he knew she wanted them to work it out. As right now, he wasn't inclined to deny her anything. He sighed deeply, trying to find a place to start. A way to explain.

He felt he at least owed Miles an explanation. He studied the bottle in his hands for a few minutes, trying to find the right words. I'm not good at this heart to heart shit, he thought to himself. While Monroe sat there trying to think of what to say, Miles watched him closely, reading him. A part of him wondered if Monroe was stalling so he could think up a good lie.

Monroe took another deep drink. "Seriously, I never planned on touching her. I won't lie to you, I've thought about it. Who wouldn't? She's hot and smart and the girls got some brass. Not to mention she's probably the one person on the continent that at least pretends to not want me dead. But I wasn't going to go there."

"So why did you go there, Bass?"

"It's complicated, okay? First of all, it just sort of happened. She came back down to check on me, and I said something stupid. She got pissed, so I tried to fix it, and one thing just kind of led to another."

Miles set his bottle down for a second, and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Monroe suspiciously. "What you do mean, came back down?"

Monroe began to tell him about his first night in the cellar and how Charlie came to him. He told him about her offer, and what it had meant. How it got him to think about what he was about to do. "She was right, you know. Even if I got it all back and handed Connor the keys to the kingdom, he'd still hate me. He'd probably put my previous leadership to shame. He's still messed up. He doesn't want anything to do with Monroe 2.0. He wants the monster, because that's what he relates to. That's no life for him. But, he's all I've got, and the second I tell him there will be no republic, he will probably walk. All she did was remind me that there was still something here for me when that happens."

Miles cocked his head and stared at Monroe, not quite sure if he was going to believe him or not. "So you've decided to replace your son with sex with Charlie?"

"It's not – It's not like that. I care about her, alright. And for some reason, she thinks my sorry hide is worth caring about too. Doesn't matter anyways. I know there can't be anything there. I'll watch my kid walk, and I'll help you fight your little war with the patriots. We're all probably going to get killed at any rate."

"So you expect me to believe that Charlie has just swooped down here and single handedly managed to save you from yourself?"

"Why not? Worked for you didn't it? And besides, what makes you think I give a damn what you think anymore, Miles. I owed you an explanation because she's your niece and we've got 40 years of history here. But I get it; we're not BFF's anymore. Haven't been for longer than I realized." With that, Monroe stood up. Either whatever they were drinking wasn't proofed very well, or he was losing his tolerance. He blinked as the world started to sway just a little. He got his balance back, and made his way to the other side of the cellar.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh a hike. Where do you think I'm going? Hafta piss, dumbass. I'd stay put if I were you. Hate to get your boots all wet." He laughed as he said it, thinking back on his juvenile prank the previous morning.

While he was gone, Miles thought about everything Bass had told him. So the fucker has feelings for Charlie. Rachel is going to kill him. Hell, she'll kill me to for good measure. He still didn't quite believe that Bass was going to give up on Connor so easily. He'd just have to keep an eye on him. Some of the things that he'd said had disturbed Miles. His plan was to use their past friendship to knock some sense into him. Stick him down here a few days, let him cool down and reason with him. So far, the whole damn thing had backfired, and the only one Bass seemed to care to listen to was Charlie.

Miles was starting to think that Bass had passed out back there, when he shuffled back into the room. "What, did you fall in?" he said with a smirk. All he got in response was a glare. "So what are you planning on doing then?"

"I'm not going to touch her again, if that's what you mean." Liar! He thought to himself. Well, at least I'm going to try not to, his inner voice amended. "Patriots need stopping, so I'll fight with you. And I'll protect her, even if it kills me. But, when all of this is over, if I'm still alive, I'm done. Walking away. Retired, get it? I'll find some hole to crawl in and I'm gone."

"Just like that, huh?"

"It was easy for you. You just walked away from your precious republic and left me to try and pick up all the pieces. And yeah, I know everything I did from that point forward was completely and utterly fucked up. I get it. I went crazy. Kept thinking if I kept it together, you'd come back and everything would be just fine." He laughed in spite of himself. "Well, it's not easy for me. I have to work at it. Every time I pick up a sword, I have to remind myself that I don't want to be that guy anymore. And it's always a battle to put it back down. I don't want to live like that, Miles." He stopped to take a drink. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease a slight headache that hand formed there. I'm tired. Tired of all of it. The blood, the death. Tired of being the monster that you created."

Miles stood up. Looking up at Bass with a head full of whiskey was starting to make him dizzy. "I created?"

"Yeah, you heard me. How many times did I ask you to walk away? Tell you that it wasn't our job to police everyone? But you didn't listen. You just decided someone was guilty and started shooting."

"Hey, I'm not the one that started slaughtering camps," Miles rebutted, stepping forward. Between the alcohol and the past, their tempers were starting to flare.

"No, you just wanted to take their guns and food and leave them to get attacked or starve. You pestered me for weeks to raid that camp. And, I wanted nothing to do with it. I just wanted to be with my wife and raise my kid. But no, you had to keep pushing." They were standing toe to toe now, eyes shooting daggers at one another.

"Then why did you do it? That's how this all started, Bass."

"You didn't even wait for them to get cold in the ground before you started in on me again. Reminding me about how I still had you, and we needed an army if we were going to survive. Maybe if we'd had better food, more supplies she'd still be there. I was grieving, you asshole. I was out of my head, and you took advantage of that to get what you wanted." He reached out and shoved Miles. Not a punch, he was a bit too drunk to probably land a good one, so instead he reverted back to third grade and just shoved him instead.

"I was trying to keep you distracted. I didn't want a repeat of the last time you had to bury someone. I never told you to kill them!" Miles couldn't believe it, but he'd just shoved Bass right back.- hard. What the hell are we doing? He thought to himself as Bass hit the wall behind him.

Their conversation ended abruptly when Bass charged him, and a fist fight worthy of any grade school playground ensued. They were drunk enough that more punches missed than connected. At one point Miles tripped and they found themselves on the ground. They resorted to basically what amounted to wrestling. Bass had him pinned, and they laid there for a second panting. They were drunk, and they weren't kids anymore. "You give up?"

"Oh, get off me dickhead." Miles scowled.

Bass rolled off of Miles, trying to catch his breath. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just the absurdity of it all, but he started laughing. Miles gave him a dirty look before he joined in, slowly getting to his feet. He walked over to Bass and looked down at him. Miles considered kicking him just once while he was down, but instead extended a hand to him and helped him up. He bent down and picked up the whiskey bottle Bass had discarded before their scuffle, and handed it to him before sitting down next to his own. They sat there a few minutes, drinking in silence before Miles spoke up. "Listen, Bass. I'm sorry. I should have known you weren't in your right mind when I asked you about that camp the last time. I should have stopped you, made sure you were okay."

"It wasn't all your fault Miles. You put the idea in my head, but I knew better. After Shelly, I just stopped caring, and before I knew it, things had gotten out of hand. I don't know how I got that messed up, went that far."

They spent the rest of the night dealing with their problems the only way they knew how: Drinking themselves stupid, telling very horrible old bar jokes and getting into another shoving match, before agreeing to just get over it, and never discussing the past again. "Miles, we sound like a couple of morons. Let's just call it over and move on?" Bass had said right before he finally passed out.

"S'okay," Miles had slurred in response.

When the sun started to rise, the door opened up. Rachel had finally gotten Charlie to tell her where Miles had gone. She'd rushed over as fast as she could, convinced that Bass had hurt Miles in some way. Instead she found them snoring loudly, sleeping off a very large amount of whiskey. In the dim light, she could see the bruises forming on their faces. "Retards, she said under her breath before heading up the stairs. She left the door open and simply walked away. This whole stupid idea of his has gotten out of hand, she thought to herself. It was time to stop messing around and get something done. The patriots weren't going to wait for them to continue playing Jerry Springer. They had work to do.