Chapter 5: Repercussions

- 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 1.12 and 1.17 – written by David Rambo & Melissa Glenn and Anne Cofell Saunders

Trigger warnings: POV torture, this *might* be too much for an M rating, I tried to keep it light, but if you think it is too much, I might stop posting here, and continue posting on AO3, because of their free-er Ratings Terms of Service.

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

Rachel observed Miles wash his hands meticulously. She was tied to a chair with her hands behind her in a militia tent. After the incident at her old homestead, they had driven off to meet up with a larger group of militiamen. Miles had led a large troop off to find Ben and the kids and had placed her in the custody of some corporal. The two days in his custody were uneventful – she hadn't been mistreated. Then, without warning, she was dragged to this tent, and hog-tied to this chair. The corporal gleefully told her to get ready for something ominously called 'the talk box' and Miles appeared.

Rachel had acquiesced silently to this treatment by the corporal, but as soon as she was alone with Miles, she exclaimed, "You son of a bitch."

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

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

Miles turned around from the wash-table and stared at her like she was some piece of meat. Miles knelt down in front of Rachel and placed his hands upon her knees, stroking her inner knee softly. Rachel didn't know if it would have been scarier had he stayed standing, looming over her, but it certainly would have been a lot less creepy.

He said, "Rachel…" and waited for her eye to meet his, he clearly wanted to convey his earnestness.

Miles continued, "You know how bad this is gonna get for you? Do you think I care? About this?" Rachel locked her face into a detached, docile demeanor.

Miles continued on, "Whatever we had?" Miles licked his lips, Rachel knew that that was his tell.

He said, "That we're family? Because I don't," he shook his head. Typically this was a sign that someone was telling the truth, but Rachel knew he was a skilled liar, was using a controlled micro-expression to bluff her. They stared at each other, hoping the other would swerve, yield, in this messy game of 'chicken.'

Rachel couldn't swerve; she had to protect her children, and Ben. She would never tell Miles that in six months Ben would leave a coded note for her at the coffee shop of their first date that would tell her where he, the kids, and Aaron, would be living. If she didn't pick up the letter, or return home, he'd leave another one at the carnival of their second date twelve months later. Rachel hoped she could win her way free and lose any possible tail quickly; Ben would continue leaving letters forever, but her memory got fuzzy past their fifth date.

Miles sighed and stood up. Rachel felt a surge of glee; she had won.

Miles walked the front of the tent and called in the corporal. He grabbed the 'talk box' and opened it up to reveal a bunch of jerry-rigged dental tools to Rachel. He handed the corporal a metal lip/jaw retractor and pulled out a ghastly pair of dental pliers for himself.

Miles nodded at the corporal, and the young man levered Rachel's mouth open. Miles loomed in and Rachel thought, oh damn, he wasn't bluffing.

Something of this trepidation must have shown in her eyes, because Miles paused and said, "Okay. Let's try one more time. Where is Ben?"

Rachel averted her eyes. She wasn't gonna give up Ben and the kids over a little oral surgery. If this was to be her penance for what she had done to the world, then that would be that.

Miles nodded at the corporal, and he released the retractor.

Rachel wiggled her jaw back and forth in an effort to relax it, and Miles repeated, "Where is Ben?"

Rachel glared up into the familiar face and quipped, "If you wouldn't mind, my left top molar has been bothering me recently."

Miles stonily nodded at the corporal, and he levered her jaw open once more. Miles loomed in and took the aforementioned left top molar firmly in the grip of his pliers. He waited there for a few rapid breaths and then Rachel's world condensed down to one blindingly painful pinpoint – the nerves in the root of her molar, screaming at her. She screamed along with her poor nerves, any conscious thought vaporized in a blaze of agony.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Miles adjusted the chestnut mare's saddlebags, ensuring his gear was evenly loaded to minimize chafing. Miles hadn't really spent any time with horses prior to the Blackout, sure he had ridden a few times at Boy Scout camp, but since the Blackout he had really come to appreciate horses and their different personalities. The Rebels loaned him the mare, and her saddlebags; he hadn't had the chance to get to know her yet, but mares in general just seemed to like him.

Miles glanced over to the house and saw Charlie leaning against a pillar on the front porch, watching him, watching him leave her just as he had said he wouldn't. Fuck. Miles recalled Maggie's death. How incredibly bizarre it had felt to comfort Charlie; how Charlie's slight form shook in his arms as she grieved. How even though he didn't know the prim British chick, he had felt an aching rawness in his chest at her death, a rawness he hadn't felt in near a decade.

Miles felt a twinge of guilt about abandoning Charlie, but brushed it aside. Miles was helping her revenge Danny's death. She wanted this. He needed this penance. It was his fault. It was his fault Charlie's brother died. Had the rocket launcher not been knocked out of his hands, had he been able to use it, then Danny would still be alive. Charlie would still have her brother; Rachel would still have her son.

Miles turned back to the saddlebags, checking all the straps. Miles sensed Rachel approaching; she asked, "Do you really have to leave so soon?"

"Why?" asked Miles, turning his head to study Rachel – her expression was level, guarded.

"You want me around?" Scoffed Miles, mightily suppressing a flicker of hope that she did, that she had begun to forgive him; that she felt an echo of before.

Rachel, surely aware of the wound she was picking at – she knew he hadn't meant to leave her last time – said, "Not me. Charlie. It would be better for her if you were here."

Mile scanned Charlie moping on the porch, and then looked back at Rachel. It was nice that Rachel trusted him around her daughter. He wasn't sure he would if he were her. Miles' voice was laden with meaning when he asked Rachel, "How have I made anything better?"

He brushed past Rachel. His mind was focused on their past, on the loss of Danny, on his need to attempt to make some sort of amends for the mountain of misdeeds between them.

He went to grab the last bit of supplies he, and Nora, would need to find Jim Hudson. Find Jim and pick up his old life for Danny, and Charlie, and Rachel, and Nora. Walk down the same road as before, but hopefully this time in the opposite direction, not further down to hell. Hopefully, he could avoid becoming the man he once was.

- Author's Note: Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)