Chapter 11: Blowback

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

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

Some dialogue taken from 1.16, written by Melissa Glenn.

Trigger warnings: Allusions to Non-con, POV PTSD, 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-and-a-half years after The Blackout

Rachel woke up to a warm, heavy mass on top of her. She flailed her arms and legs. At least she tried to. They were immobile. Rachel grunted and tried to get her eyes to open. They were crusted closed with sleep.

"Ggggnugh" she grunted, struggling to get her body to obey commands. She forced her eyes open and saw a white plaster wall. She looked down and saw a thick quilt on top of her. The quilt was tucked around her firmly – swaddling her like a baby.

As Rachel's befogged mind tried to understand how this had come to pass, Miles' face appeared in her field of vision. She flinched in startlement. Miles made soothing sounds – like she was a spooked horse or something – and the face retreated a bit.

Rachel studied the haggard face. There were dark bags under his eyes and his beard was at least three days old. His hair was teased into a wave – likely from sleeping on it.

Rachel blinked and tried to free her arms. She couldn't, she was just too weak.

Rachel looked back at Miles, who seemed to be studying her intently. Rachel tried wetting her mouth and eventually rasped out, "Why am I swaddled like baby?"

Miles smiled at her, and dragged a chair to sit in her field of vision. He said, "I didn't want you to get cold."

Rachel's mind refused to process that statement. The last time she'd seen him months ago, he'd slapped her silly, and turned her over to Bass; now, he tucked her in so she wouldn't catch a chill?

Rachel struggled to free her arms in an attempted to avoid thinking about that, and the third time was the charm. She lifted her right arm out from beneath the covers and was shocked at how emaciated it was. She could see the interplay of various muscle groups beneath her skin.

Miles interrupted her reflection, and asked, "Do you want some stock?"

Rachel nodded and Miles disappeared from her vision. She could hear him tell someone to get some more chicken stock, and a faint feminine voice responded with a 'yes sir'.

When Miles returned, Rachel asked, "How?"

Miles licked his lips and said; "Bass starved you for 18 days."

Rachel had the strength to nod her head; she knew that – not the exact number of days, but the rest. Rachel tried again, "How?"

Miles said, "I've had you for 5 days. The doc says it'll be a while before your muscles can recover from cannibalizing themselves."

Rachel tried a third time, this time managing to say, "How come?"

Miles stared down, his deep brown eyes cloudy with some unnamable emotion, and said, "You're part of my family. You're Ben's wife, I shouldn't have trusted Bass to stay within the limits – not with you. I'm sorry."

Rachel's brain refused to take the derivative of e^x and get e^x, but soon she was saved from the mental turmoil by the arrival of a young private with a bowl of stock. Miles propped Rachel up onto some pillows and began spoon-feeding her. Rachel's focus was single-minded and intense, but once her initial hunger was satiated, she said, "I can feed myself."

Miles quirked an eyebrow at her, and infuriated, Rachel grabbed the spoon from him. Or at least that's what her central nervous system told her arm to do. Her arm lifted a few inches off of the quilt. A wave of shame crashed into her, leaving her face red and her eyes teary. She was so weak, so revolting; why should she even try to recover?

Miles must have caught some hint of her feelings because he murmured, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay. You'll get stronger. Soon. Just you wait."

He stroked her hair, and she leaned into the comforting motion. She slipped back into slumber with shocking ease, letting the calm of non-REM sleep claim her.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Miles stared at the empty bottle of whiskey – the sound of the steam engine had stopped awhile back, when the bottle was half empty.

At least Charlie had the decency to lock him in with some alcohol. He snorted, yeah, real decent. Everyone was rediscovering what a shit he was, and reacting as if they hadn't known. The past few months were the exception, not the rule. Nora should have known. Charlie could be excused for not truly knowing, but Nora should have known he was a selfish, dictatorial dick, and nothing but a dick.

Nora thought he had changed. He had tried to change. But you can't teach a 46-year-old dog new tricks. Nora had changed, had moved on from being who she had been, had found a new purpose, but she wasn't as fucking old as he was.

He knew she wanted him to fight her, to beg her to stay, but she was safer in another unit. Try as he might, he just couldn't protect her from himself, from the blowback of being in his life. It would be better if she just left.

Miles flashed back to Rachel, after all of the years he had kept her safe from Bass, he had ultimately failed. Like he had told Charlie, there was nothing Bass wouldn't do, no bond he wouldn't break, no line he wouldn't cross. Fuck. Miles punched the bench. Bass had shown him Rachel's broken body, had hidden her away from him until the botched assassination attempt. Had kept her for years, doing God only knew what to her – Rachel still wouldn't tell him, so it couldn't have been all lollypops and teddy bears.

Bass had killed Ben. Had taken Danny. Had used Danny to get Rachel to talk. Had used Emma and their hometown as hostages. Had held a gun to Emma's head, using her as a human shield. He had killed Emma. Who knew what he'd do to Charlie or Nora if he got his hands on them.

Miles had to be this guy – The General – to protect them. He had driven them away, but if that was the price he had to play to keep them safe, then he'd pay it a thousand times over. Miles remembered the tailspin he had gone into after Rachel's 'death.' Only Nora had kept him from completely self-destructing. He didn't think he could keep it together if he had to see Charlie's or Nora's broken bodies. Or Rachel's again.

He was so tangled when it came to Rachel. He wanted her, wanted to protect her, but he had failed to protect her so many times that the person she needed protecting from the most was herself. He couldn't protect her from herself. He had tried that. He had tried to give her a reason to live. He knew he shouldn't have given in and kissed Rachel, but she looked so vulnerable, so broken, so desperate, he needed to show her that there was something worth living for. He told himself that it wasn't at all like before, that even if she hadn't welcomed the kiss at first, she had gotten into it, and that he wouldn't have done it if Ben were still alive.

He replayed Charlie's condemnation, 'Miles, you're holding a gun against his daughter's head, so you can blackmail him into making a disease. How is this any different than what Monroe did to my mom?' Well for one he wouldn't be keeping the guy and his family for years, or at least he hoped Foster wouldn't. But she deserved to know the awful man he was. It hurt him to be the one to show her, but she did deserve the truth.

It had skewered him in the heart to see that hurt look of betrayal in Charlie's eyes, but her look of disgust as she locked him in froze him to the quick. He wanted to be a better man, to live up to her expectations, but they were too fucking high.

He would do almost anything for her, but not that… He listened, he heard – no, more felt – the bump of another ship coming along side the stalled steamboat. Was it another militia checkpoint? He heard the pitter-patter of little feet in great big combat boots clomping along the steel of the boat.

Fuck, Charlie needed him, and had locked him in here. It would be her own damn fault if she got herself killed. How was he going to get to her in time?

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