Chapter 6: Truth Be Told

- Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following. Each notice makes me happy!

Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

Some dialogue taken from 1.12 – written by David Rambo & Melissa Glenn.

Trigger warnings: POV torture/Aftermath of Torture

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 stared at the glowing fairies frolicking about the Coleman lantern left in the tent. On some level she knew they weren't fairies, merely moths, but as long as she could watch the fairies, her mouth bothered her less.

Gradually, the fairies turned back into moths, and the brief respite from agony faded. Rachel could tell that the morphine Miles had given her was wearing off. She wondered if Miles gave all of his prisoners morphine, or if there was a shred of human feeling left in him for her. It didn't matter, morphine or no, she wouldn't talk. She thought about all of the suffering and death she had indirectly caused. This was her penance.

As her liver continued to flush the morphine from her system, Rachel thought about the concept of penance. She had been raised by two agnostics, but had been baptized and had taken a class – not quite a confirmation, but something similar – prior to her marriage to Ben, for Ben's father and their church. Mr. Matheson had been pretty Catholic and had even pushed his eldest son to consider the clergy when he was growing up. Ben never had the heart to tell his dad that he had stopped believing long ago, and they have even had Charlie baptized for him.

Rachel wondered if Miles still believed; she had seen that he was still wearing his St. Michael medallion, tucked underneath his militia uniform. He had rarely taken it off, even during sex, but hadn't wanted to talk about it. Rachel had had to look it up online. Much later Rachel had asked Ben if he had a Saint's medallion, and he had shown her his St. Benjamin medallion, tucked away in a box of childhood mementos.

The seeping hole in Rachel's gums ached but it was minor in comparison to the shooting, shivering pain sent by her ravaged root nerves. Rachel wondered if faith would be a comfort in a time like the present, but decided with all the blood on her hands; hell-on-earth or biblical hell, it was all the same.

Pain, moths, and gloomy musings were Rachel's boon companions until Miles opened the tent flap. Rachel wanted to spit a mouthful of blood at him, but knew it would hurt her far more than it would him.

Miles was accompanied by the ubiquitous corporal, who was carrying a chair. He set it down in front of Rachel's and left the tent.

Miles sat down and earnestly said, "The morphine seemed to help a lot, but it should be about out."

Then Miles got grave, "So, you have a choice… more morphine, or another tooth."

Rachel blinked at Miles – the residual morphine, or some byproduct of the crude preparation, made it hard for her to focus on Miles' face – it seemed like he didn't want to do this, to be here. She dropped her head, and thought it was odd. If he didn't have the stomach for torture, she was sure there were plenty of others in the militia who did. 'The General' could just delegate.

Rachel painfully whimpered something – she wasn't quite sure what it was herself – and Miles leaned forward and said eagerly, "Tell me, where is Ben?"

Rachel steeled herself and muttered, "Another tooth, no matter what you think of me, I won't betray my kids."

Miles rocked back into his chair – Rachel could hear the chair creak – and was silent for a moment. Rachel couldn't see his face, couldn't see what he was thinking, couldn't try to plan a counter-move. Miles said somewhat harshly, "I won't hurt your kids. They're my niece and nephew, my family."

Rachel lifted her head up and forced her pupils to focus, she repeated, "Another tooth."

Miles let out a gust of air and was silent once again. It felt like several lifetimes passed, each moment Rachel's molar nerves becoming more and more painful, when Miles asked, "What about the power? Can you turn the power back on?"

Rachel whimpered once more, she and Ben had planned out several misdirections that might work, but plan A was to play dumb – keep silent – and hope he'd lose interest. Rachel's plan D was to die before destroying the world again, but Ben didn't know that.

Rachel muttered through the pain, "Yes, I can turn the power back on." She hung her head in real pain and mock defeat. She heard Miles softly mutter, "Thank you God" and the ordered the corporal by the door to fetch some more morphine and some whiskey.

Rachel murmured, "Paper, and a pen." Miles repeated this request in a shout. So it begins, thought Rachel.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Miles' mind was in a fretful loop. He'd been keeping them at a hard pace ever since he'd seen the devastated hospital that was once the Rebel's "Echo Base." He thought it was funny that the Rebels were using Star Wars names; they must think pretty highly of themselves. Miles' chief concern was locating the tattered remains of his – no, Ben's – family.

Miles knew Nora was trying to keep him calm as she led Jim and him to another base, but her reassurances really didn't help. Miles stomach was a tangled knot of vipers. The snakes had killed and eaten the butterflies miles back. Dusk fell, as they were getting close – or so Nora said. Miles smelled smoke from a mile away. As they grew nearer he saw several campfires.

Miles was more relieved than he wanted to admit to himself when he saw Aaron. Aaron and Nora exchanged a few words as Miles scanned the clearing. He couldn't see them.

Miles interrupted, asking Aaron, "Where's Rachel and Charlie?" Miles followed Aaron's eye-line to see Rachel standing alone by a campfire. Miles frantic mental loop was calmed, as were the snakes in his stomach. Rachel was safe. Oh how Miles wanted to go to her, hold her, let her cry into his shoulder. But it was his fault she was grieving her son; she wouldn't want to commiserate with the likes of him, even if she had begun to forgive him again.

Miles watched Charlie approach her mother. Miles watched them talk; he studied their body language intensely, trying to make out what they might be talking about. He hoped they were mending the rift between them. A rift he caused by him taking Rachel away from her family. Jim was right; he was a fucking wrecking-ball.

Miles watched them hug and cry together, comfort each other; he felt awful. He was glad Rachel had her daughter back; he was glad Charlie had her mother, but he was also selfish. He wanted to join in that hug; he wanted to console them, and grieve with them. He didn't deserve it. As he had told Jim earlier, men like him don't get loving families, and even when they inherit them wholesale, all they do is fuck 'em up royally.

Miles couldn't rip his eyes away from the duo despite the pain. Miles thought back to what happened with Emma, with Rachel, with Bass, with Nora, and even to losing Danny right after finding him. It was verifiable. Everyone he ever touched got hurt.

Miles felt Nora's small, warm hand reach for his, and returned its embrace, taking some small measure of relief from knowing at least Nora had begun to forgive him. Miles turned his head slightly, but couldn't bear to look at Nora. He tried to acknowledge her help somehow – to let her know how much her forgiveness and friendship meant to him – but his mouth was too dry, he swallowed, he licked his lips to try to work up some moisture, but in the end he remained silent. Nora always could understand his silences.

Miles watched Rachel and Charlie continue to embrace, Rachel's wedding ring glinting in the firelight, triggering another stab of guilt in Miles' heart. Miles persisted in watching silently as Charlie slipped into a child-like slumber, the cry clearly having been soul-cleansing, and watched Rachel watch Charlie sleep.

Miles wondered, not for the first time, how Rachel was holding up after all of those years with Bass. Each time he brought up the subject, he was shot down. Rachel didn't wake up screaming like Before – which was good – but she hardly slept either. She was different from Before. She no longer was as twitchy as a rabbit, but was more all-eyes like an owl. The flashes of irritability and troughs of apathy were the same though. He just wished she saved her anger for him; Charlie didn't deserve it. Miles crept away from the peaceful yet melancholy scene thinking, God; I'm like the anti-Midas, everyone and everything I touch turns to shit.

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