Chapter 3: Breaking Point
- Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting. Each notice makes me happy.
Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
Some dialogue taken from 1.11 and 1.17 – written by Anne Cofell Saunders & Paul Grellong
Trigger warnings: POV PTSD/Stockholm syndrome
I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.
Seven years after the Blackout
Miles directed the wagon to Ben and Rachel's homestead, Rachel quietly sitting beside him. He knew she gave in too easily; Rachel never gave up without a fight – she was spunky, a trait mostly wasted on Ben. She must know Ben and the kids were in hiding, but Miles needed some direction, some starting point.
Miles searched the house, looking for any signs that Ben would be returning to the homestead or coded messages indicating where they might be heading.
Rachel simply stood beside the wagon, watching, waiting; giving him the heebie-jeebies.
Miles asked her, "Where's Ben?" She gave him a small, secret smirk that turned ice cold when he continued, "Where's your family?"
Miles knew he had found a weakness, not that he'd truly use it, but it might help if she thought he might. He walked down the steps, giving his men an order to search the woods.
Rachel told him softly, "Don't bother. They're long gone."
Miles purposefully stepped into her personal bubble, looming over her, and asked, "Where?"
Rachel gave a small shrug, and meeting his eyes evenly replied, "I don't know. I don't know if I'm ever gonna see them again. But it's worth it, to keep them safe from you."
Miles studied her resolute face and asked, "Can you get the power back on, Rachel?"
Rachel face was carefully fixed and she replied softly, "No."
Miles asked a follow-up question while still studying her closely, she was trying to hide something, but what, "But Ben can?
Rachel responded, "It doesn't matter. You will never find him." She took the offensive and continued, "You think we haven't heard the stories?"
Miles was a little pained by the idea that she and Ben had heard all of the stories, some true, some rumor, most a bit of both, exaggerated for effect. If General Matheson was feared above all else, then he could win more battles by psychological warfare and waste fewer lives on both sides.
Rachel continued, "General Matheson, the Butcher of Baltimore. You think that we're going to give you the ability to kill more people? You are a monster."
Miles could hardly control his expression. It hurt to hear her call him that.
Rachel pressed on, "We are ashamed to call you one of our family." That was a low blow. She knew how high he held the bonds of family. Far more than this spoiled, only-child, without an extended family could ever understand. For why else had she jumped from brother to brother and back again?
Miles snapped; he grabbed Rachel's throat and pushed her against the side of the wagon, her body panting beneath his in a familiar manner. She brought her hands up, but did not struggle in his grasp. He wondered if she had any happy memories of this sort of situation, or if they were all poisoned.
Miles looked down at the familiar flushed face and replied, "That's not what you used to say about me." Rachel looked down, away from his face, reluctant to meet his eyes, but when she finally did, Miles licked his lips, taken aback by the searing fire within them.
He was a bit ashamed, he shouldn't use force with this woman, and released his hold on her throat; thumb stroking the soft underside of her chin, trying make up for his behavior. He lightly rested his hand on her heaving breast, her cuffed hands fluttered like little birds trapped against his chest.
Miles struggled for control over himself, his libido, and said, "So you thought you could just bat your eyes at me, and I'd roll over. Take you away instead of Ben, that right?"
Miles studied Rachel's serene face, looking for some sign that there was more to this, some better explanation. He was disappointed and continued, "Rachel, I cared about you. I did. Always thought you felt the same way."
Rachel looked sad, and semi-guilty, and Miles was relieved. Ah ha, he got something out of her! But the words out of her mouth next squashed his triumph.
Rachel said, "We were kids. We had a cheap… and ugly fling, and not a day goes by that I don't regret it." Rachel met his searching eyes levelly.
Miles silently argued with her statements. She might have been a kid, a college co-ed, but he had just returned from a tour in Iraq. There was no way he was a kid. The Iraqi sun burned it out of you, if an IED didn't rip it out of you first. And she might call it an ugly fling, but she had instigated it. Rachel and Ben had broken up over some fight about what graduate school Ben should apply to, and Miles wasn't 100% sober at the time. Now the other thing, now that was shameful.
Her piss-ant explanation and her even stare pissed him off, how dare she judge him! Miles went to threaten that glare right out of her.
Rachel made a little squeal – like a dying rabbit – and tried to duck behind her cuffed hands. As she cowered behind her hands, he leaned in and threatened, "That is not the only thing you're gonna regret." Miles could smell a faint hint of lavender coming from her skin. She had always favored the smell. Miles turned and walked away, somewhat ashamed of his behavior; what was it about this woman that made him totally lose his equilibrium?
Fifteen years after The Blackout
Rachel, her kids Danny and Charlie, Aaron Pittman – a stray Ben once took in after The Blackout – Miles, her… her brother-in-law, and Nora his lip-locking buddy were walking away from the annihilated Rebel camp outside of Philadelphia. Devastation she had caused. She had to attempt to mend it, to regain control over something.
Rachel wondered if this was the same Nora as six years ago, the contractor/bounty hunter Miles had been so taken with. Rachel shook herself and fiddled with her wedding ring.
She had just hatched a plan to even the playing field, and give the Rebels power and weapons. She wasn't sure if it was the best idea she'd ever had, but it certainly wasn't the worst, not by a long shot. And she knew from experience you couldn't really fight back when the other person had all the power, especially if that person was Bass. It was within her control to reach John Sanborn's house and attempt to make amends for her actions. For giving Sebastian Monroe power – and functional Blackhawk helicopters – Power.
The sun was beating down on Rachel's exposed neck, giving her goose bumps. Aaron was prying, probing; trying to find out what she knew. After years of experience at walking a knife's-edge between staying true to herself and at the same time not exacerbating the situation, she knew many times silence was the best response. Rachel wanted to lash out with her tongue, or her fists, or hide in a corner. But there were no corners, no safe places – no home to go back to – and it was all her fault. She restrained herself; she had to be strong, for Danny, for Charlie.
They reached the stolen militia wagon. "You know I'm coming with you, right?" Miles stated, interrupting Rachel's anxieties. Mile continued, "Somebody's got to keep you in one piece."
"And, and that's you?" monotonously retorted Rachel – all emotion carefully suppressed, even from herself.
She dared to glare into Miles' eyes for the first time in years. "You're the one who's going to make sure that nothing bad happens to me?" Rachel recalled the time she abandoned her husband and children, to when she gave her sovereignty over to a stony-faced Miles, hoping that the bonds of family – a particularly sacrosanct bond for the Matheson boys, Bass included – and her wits would be enough to protect her. Oh how naïve she was.
"Well it's not a discussion, Rachel," Mile declared, and Rachel – defeated – decided not to waste her breath arguing ineffectually with Miles; it never did any good.
Rachel watched Miles turn to look at his motley crew, and her children, and commanded them, "If you guys see the choppers coming, you run, you understand? Get out of sight."
Rachel turned to the beautiful, tough, suspicious, young woman she hadn't seen in near a decade. "I'm proud of you," she said.
Then she turned to her beloved, frail, little boy turned strapping stranger, "Both of you. I'll see you soon."
Danny laid on the guilt-trip, "Just come back this time, okay?"
Damn. Rachel didn't want to leave her hurt little boy again. Wanted to hold him close and protect him. But how could she protect him when she couldn't even protect herself? She had managed to keep his secret safe for all these years, and now she needed to do this, take charge of something – prove she could do something.
"I promise," vowed Rachel, and then glanced at Miles, the reason she left her family, the reason her son was such a stranger to her, her captor, her protector, "Let's go."
Rachel ponderously boarded the wagon; she sat in the passenger's seat, cognizant to the fact that Miles would never let her drive. She contemplated the trees as Miles sauntered around the wagon and clambered into the driver's seat.
As they drove away, Rachel turned around and watched her two beautiful children, hoping that she would see them once more. The wagon turned, and they were lost in the woods.
Now Rachel was alone with Miles. She felt confined, constricted, cramped. Her mind was going down a path she didn't want it to. She forced herself to breathe normally; hyperventilating wouldn't help, and it would let him know how vulnerable she was. She started silently reciting her mantra, watching the trees pass.
…In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree…
- Author's Note: Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :) Lines from William Blake's A Poison Tree (In the public domain)
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
.
And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
.
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.