Chapter 4: So It Begins

- 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 stormed through the militia camp like a green-bellied thunderstorm – liable to turn into a destructive twister at any moment. On the edge of his senses he could feel his men approach and then turn aside, suddenly aware that their urgent business could wait.

When the message arrived saying that they had located his brother and his wife, Miles had told Bass that he could do this. That he was the only one for the job. Bass hadn't been sure, had wanted to send Major Hudson, but Miles insisted. He knew his brother. His brother was a dreamer. A dreamer who somehow knew that the power was going to go off and never come back on. A dreamer, and a family man. But instead of his brother, he had ended up with Rachel – not as easy of a nut to crack.

Miles strode into the interrogation tent past the two armed guards. He glanced around there was Corporal Mayer and Rachel – firmly tied down. Good. He nodded a dismissal to the corporal. After one quick scan of Rachel and her bindings he turned to the wash station. After such a pointless wild-goose chase what he really wanted was a stiff drink, but he couldn't stop now. Bass and the Republic depended on him. Miles thoroughly washed the road-dust off of his hands, shook the excess water off, and wiped them on a clean bit of cloth.

Rachel exclaimed, "You son of a bitch."

Miles replied, not turning around, and shook his head slightly, "You left me no choice. All you had to do was tell me where Ben is."

Rachel replied levelly, "I can't. I don't know."

Miles sighed; fuck, this wasn't going to be easy, anyway she played it. He turned from the jerry-rigged wash-table and eyed Rachel. She was tied to a chair, her hands behind her, her feet tied to the chair legs. Miles knew she got feisty when riled; who knew if she'd try to kick him in the 'nads again.

Miles knelt down in front of Rachel and placed his hands upon her knees, stroking her inner knee softly, coercing her to give in. He said, "Rachel…" and waited for her eye to meet his, he wanted to use every tool in his toolbox to convey the truth of her situation to her.

Miles continued after staring into her eyes for a few moments, "You know how bad this is gonna get for you? Do you think I care? About this?" Miles licked his lips, his eyes glancing downward to her slim frame; if he could scare her into talking then he wouldn't have to hurt her, but he was afraid she would try to call his bluff, and learn it wasn't.

Miles continued on, "Whatever we had?" He paused, "That we're family?" He looked up into Rachel's poker-face, and continued, "Because I don't." He shook his head. They stared at each other, hoping the other would swerve, yield, in this messy game of 'chicken.'

Miles couldn't swerve, he had promised Bass that he could do this; he could get the information out of Ben to turn the lights back on. They needed to the get the power back for the Republic, for all the families in the Republic. And if he failed, God only knew who Bass would put in charge of getting the information out of Rachel – there were some pretty messed up I&I officers, or Corporal Strausser. She might be spoiled and manipulative, but he did still have feelings for her, and she would fare far better in his hands than in Strausser's.

However, neither swerved.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Rachel woke to Miles shaking her arm; she managed to suppress her involuntary impulse to fend off this male presence. It was dark. The nebulous darkness was comforting, was familiar.

Miles was crouched beside her bedroll and declared, "It's almost dawn. We should hit the road."

Rachel knew they had many miles to go before reaching John Sanborn's house; she nodded and told him, "Just a minute, I need to pee."

Miles nodded, whether it was in permission or merely acknowledgment, Rachel didn't know. She wasn't his prisoner anymore! She wasn't his anymore! She suppressed her annoyance and crawled out of her blanket.

Rachel stepped out of the woods, her business done. The pre-dawn gloaming was slowly lightening around her. The moisture hung in the air in tangible form, a cold cloud of mist. Crickets, frogs, and other little creatures of the forest were singing their courtship tunes, attempting to make a connection before the sun rose and awoke the birds.

Rachel noted that Miles had packed away her blanket – she knew he wasn't intentionally being paternalistic – and carefully stepped around him to board the wagon. Despite the many hours spent in his presence yesterday, she just couldn't endure the thought of him being too near.

Rachel felt the weight of Miles' gaze upon her; she adjusted her shirt, trying to cover up any exposed skin – especially her back. He asked, "We ever gonna talk about… you know, this?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Rachel replied calmly, desperately wanting to stop this conversation, no confession, before it happened.

She attempted to avoid eye contact with Miles, with her brother-in-law; with the man she once considered family. However, her willpower failed her and she gazed up into Miles' face; so similar, yet so different from Ben's. Same strong chin, same proud nose, more expressive eyebrows and familiar deep brown eyes…

Miles must have taken her scrutiny as permission to continue, and attempted to explain, "Rachel, I saw a body." Rachel studied Miles' eyes yet again; she broke contact, the phrase Words are wind on her mind, a phrase from Before; a phrase that seemed most suitable for now.

"It was you," said Miles. Rachel glanced back into his eyes once more. She needed to wrest control over this conversation, now.

Miles affirmed, "You gotta know that I – I would never, ever have left if I thought you were alive." She felt the sincerity and conviction he was squeezing into each word, yet she commanded herself to look away, not wanting to see it in his eyes as well. Her self-command failed her – as per usual – and their eyes met. His self-loathing was transparent beneath her scrutiny.

Miles continued, finally asking the question she knew had been weighing on his mind, "All this time, with Bass, did he hurt you?"

Rachel fought with herself. He wasn't asking about mere torture; he was asking if Bass crossed the line Miles swore never to cross. She fancied saying something flippant; she didn't want to tell Miles the truth – he didn't deserve the truth – or to give him the absolution he so desperately craved. She decided that getting into the wagon and saying nothing would be the best course of action. She just didn't have the fortitude to have this conversation right now, or maybe ever.

Miles reached out and seized her arm; Damn. Rachel quelled her unconscious urge to drive him back. Rachel could tell that his need to explain was not yet quenched, and hitting him wouldn't accomplish anything – except hurt her hand. Though a nice shin-scrape might do the trick.

"Hey. Everything that happened, it's all my fault. All of it. And I will never be able to make it up to you."

Rachel was torn. It was so imperious, so patronizing, for Miles to take all the blame. On the other hand, it was his fault, if he had just let her go, none of that would have happened. She focused her mind on all of the time she had missed with her children, on her husband whom she would never get to see again, with her family. She silently concurred with Miles; no he would never be able to give her back those years, those missed memories.

"And I'm sorry," Miles said simply.

Startled, Rachel looked up into his dark eyes for a dozen quick heartbeats. Miles slowly leaned down; Rachel could feel the heat and guilt roll off him in waves. She wanted to fight back, she wanted to forgive, she wanted to let this to happen, but she couldn't.

She swallowed hard, and after a few breaths she simply couldn't stand it anymore, "Step back," she commanded, trying to gather some control over something in her life, "please."

After a half-dozen rapid heartbeats, Miles reluctantly released her arm and stepped back.

Rachel was relieved. She might not be able to control herself, but luckily she could use Miles' guilt to control him. That gave her more control of her own destiny than she had had in many years. Rachel walked past Miles and climbed into the wagon; she felt his eyes rest upon her.

She fiddled with her wedding ring as she waited for him to board and set off. She knew there was several hours of travel left to reach John's house, and the sooner they got the weapons, the sooner she could return to her children. The sooner she would no longer be alone with this man – a precarious situation on many levels.

- Author's Note: This second scene was what inspired me to get back to writing fan fiction after almost a decade away. I just had to figure out what was going on in Rachel's head. I hope you like it. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)