Chapter 14: The Telling
Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing.
Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
Some dialogue taken from 1.19, written by David Rambo and Jim Barnes.
Trigger warnings: POV Stockholm syndrome/PTSD, Rated E for POV Rachel-craziness
I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.
Eight years after The Blackout
Miles was staring at the board, trying to figure out the best play. He was sitting on the fireplace rug in his old suite in front of a backgammon board. Rachel was lying on her belly, her bare feet idly kicking in the air. Miles had started coming over with boardgames a few months ago. He had remembered that Ben and Rachel used to play some massive war boardgame –Warhammer or Risk, something like that. He had thought it was odd Ben had been so against him enlisting, but enjoyed playing war games.
Miles couldn't find such an elaborate game, but Jeremy did have a chessboard, and he had a deck of cards from Before. The games were the latest idea in his personal war against Rachel's depression. He had tried chess, she creamed him, checkers, too boring, poker, he creamed her. Then he had found an old backgammon board in a market. Miles had had to teach her, but she learned quickly, and they were now well matched.
Rachel asked, "Why are you doing this?"
Miles looked back down at the board. He had used his roll of a 6 and a 1 to split his rear-guard. One man made it to the safety of a troop, but his lone man was now vulnerable to attack. But he really didn't see a better course of action, and sometimes you just had to leave the rear-guard exposed.
He looked up at her. Rachel continued, "I mean this…" she gestured at his room, the fire, and the remains of a steak-and-potatoes dinner.
Miles licked his lips; he just wanted the best for Rachel. To keep her safe, to to to restore her to that spunky woman he once knew. He also knew that he'd best not say any of these things. Rachel might lash out and say something they both would regret – residuals of her PTSD.
Miles instead said, "I just want to take care of you."
Rachel retorted, "If you care so much about me, why don't you just let me go?"
Miles sighed. Bass wanted him to let her go too. Bass had asked him why he had kept her around if she didn't know anything, if he refused to admit he had any feelings for her. Bass couldn't understand that Rachel was the only person who didn't see him as 'The General.' Hell even Bass expected him to be 'The General,' made demands on him. But being him wasn't a walk in the park, and Miles liked the dinners with Rachel where he could forget that he was him for a bit.
Miles replied evenly, "Let's say I did let you go, where would you go? What would you do? It's not like you could go home again."
Rachel bit her lip and glanced down briefly. Miles ignored her reaction. If he noticed her reaction, that would mean he would have to acknowledge that Rachel did know how to find Ben. If that were the case, he'd have to question her again. Bass still had an unholy fixation on turning the lights back on.
Miles told himself that the reaction was only her missing her kids. Miles said, "Your kids are fine. They have Ben to look out for them, and Charlotte has got to be what, thirteen, fourteen? They're fine."
Rachel turned a sickly, white color, and Miles cursed himself for bringing up her kids. He tried to change the subject by saying, "Your turn," and gestured at the board with his chin.
Rachel stood up and excused herself. Miles watched her walk to the bathroom and shut the door beside her. He heard wracking sobs and then a retching sound. Miles was torn, he wanted to help her, but then again it was her own fault. They were having a fine evening until she started questioning his intentions. He gathered up the pieces and packed away the game. They were done for the night.
Fifteen years after The Blackout
With men exploding left and right around her, Rachel did the only sensible thing, she grabbed a boot-knife off of a dead man and dove for the secure bunker she knew was located just off the hallway near the elevator on Levels 9 through 11.
While ducking around exploding bodies, she jimmied her cuffs loose with the boot-knife. Her hands free, she reached the bunker door and its keypad. She knew the bunker on Level 9's code was the first 6 digits of pi, and the bunker on Level 10's code was the first 6 digits of e. Logically, the bunker on Level 11's code should be either the first 6 digits of phi (the golden ratio) or the first 6 digits of the square root of 2. She went with her gut and typed 161803. The bunker door unlocked and she shoved the heavy door inwards. Before she could swing it closed and lock it, a gloved hand appeared in the crack. Damn.
Bass' voice shouted over the high pitched whirring of the coil guns – Rachel knew about the coil-guns, they were overly expensive, messy, and exactly the sort of toy the DOD boys had liked to play with Before – double damn.
Bass shouted, "Let me in, Rachel!"
Rachel fought to release his hand and close the door. She shouted, "No."
Bass shouted again, this time more desperate, "Let me in!" He shoved the door open. As soon as Rachel felt her feet give, she released the door and ran to the long part of the bunker's L shaped design. She freed herself of the rest of her cuffs and spotted a pair of scissors on the desk. She palmed them, she knew the little boot-knife wouldn't be enough to seriously injure, let alone kill, Bass.
… In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree…
Her mind red with fury, with hope for finally killing the bastard who killed her son, she dove at him like a high-tension spring just released from a non-equilibrium position. She hoped to drive the scissors between his ribs, into his lung, but her move was too telegraphed. Rachel only had fierce hatred and book-learning on her side. He had testosterone, training, and experience on his.
Rachel was embarrassed at how quickly he had shoved her against the desk. He slammed her wrist against the side and her damn autonomic reflexes released the scissors. He had disarmed her. She had failed again.
Bass had both of her hands pined under his, his wiry form pressed up against her legs so she couldn't kick him, and he shouted down at her, "Just stop it for a second!"
Rachel laid on the desk panting, over-exaggerating her need for oxygen – a bit – half of her mind was planning her next move, the other half fixated on her consistent failure. She always failed – failed at being a mother, failed at being a hostage, failed at killing this man.
Bass licked his lips and exclaimed, "What the hell just happened? Who are they?"
Rachel continued to try to catch her breath. The Tower was at approximately 6,000 feet or something, and damn was the partial pressure of oxygen low. To distract herself from the feel of Bass' body on top of hers, and his questions, Rachel thought of the ways her body was adjusting to the altitude. She was clearly breathing faster, and her blood would likely have more bicarbonate and DPG to adjust hemoglobin's affinity for oxygen. She had spent a week several years ago reading the literature on hemoglobin. It was insane how much time the early biophysicists had spent studying that one protein.
She returned to the present, Bass looming down on her, shouting, "Who are they?" Rachel was silent, running her mantra through her head.
Bass repeated, "Who are they!"
…I was angry with my foe:/ I told it not, my wrath did grow…
Bass eventually gave up on getting Rachel to talk, and carefully released her.
He told her, "No funny business or you'll regret it."
Then he set about searching the room for supplies. Rachel was resolutely silent and watched the TV monitors as he rummaged. She doubted he could find anything of use and she still had the boot-knife. She was patient. She could wait to make her move. They both knew exactly how long she could go without sleep, or food, and she doubted his untested limits could rival hers. She was patient. He had made her that way.
…And it grew both day and night / Till it bore an apple bright;…
Eventually Bass grew frustrated. Rachel knew what happened when Bass got frustrated.
Bass asked her, "So you're telling me you have no idea who these people are?"
Rachel wanted to reply: why do you think I'm watching these monitors you dumb-fuck, to see if I could catch a glimpse of them and know. Not that I'd tell you who they were once I figured it out. But she didn't. Randall might not think highly of her self-preservation instinct, but she knew she wouldn't do anything but piss off Bass and get a black eye for her trouble. She had lived on this knife's-edge for too long. Instead she simply said, "No."
Bass continued to probe, "Are they with Randall?"
Rachel replied honestly, "I don't know. With any luck, Randall is dead." How stupid was he to lead Bass to The Tower, to Level 12? Randall thought he was so smooth, but he couldn't control Bass. Not Bass. Rachel turned her attention to Monroe, wondering if there was another ploy she could use besides the waiting game.
… In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Bass continued rummaging sighed and asked, "How do we get out?"
Rachel smoothly lied, "I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
Bass was clearly glad that she was finally talking to him again, and asked, "Are there any weapons around here?'
Rachel smiled slightly at his peevishness, "I don't know."
Bass, annoyed at her slight insolence, slammed the drawer, and shouted, "Really? You don't know? You knew to run straight to this – this, uh, this bunker, whatever, but you don't know anything?"
…And I sunned it with smiles, / And with soft deceitful wiles…
Rachel stood silent – in control. She knew not to annoy him further at this point, but also knew silence made Bass uncomfortable. Silence was her close companion these past eight years, but Bass' not so much.
Bass continued, slightly calmer, "Rachel, your only chance, and our only chance, is if we help each other."
Rachel was not taken in by his diplomatic gesturing; she stood silent, observing Bass.
Calmly, she said, "Why would I want that? I want you to die."
… In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Bass stupidly asked, "So much that you want to die too?"
Rachel was still calm; she was in control of this conversation now, as long as he didn't act too capriciously, "I haven't made that clear?"
Bass studied her face closely. She was still in control.
Bass said, "You're lying."
Rachel unconsciously clenched her jaw. It never boded well, when Bass said that.
Bass, however, turned the conversation in an unexpected direction, he said, "Now trust me, Rachel. I know something about this."
Rachel was a bit curious. Where was Bass going with this? Rachel cocked her head very slightly, her eyes ever-fixèd upon Bass'.
Bass continued, "You know, every so often some poor sap… jumps from a bridge, trying to off himself, but he survives."
Rachel was still in control of the conversation, she told herself. She resolutely watched Bass approach closer. Her hands were in her pockets, the right one grasping the boot-knife in as inconspicuous a manner as possible. She wasn't about to start something right now, not with Bass awake and aware, but if he got too close…
…And my foe beheld it shine, / And he knew that it was mine…
Bass continued, "And when you talk to them after… to a man, they all say the same thing – the moment they jumped, they regretted it, which means the successful ones do too. The moment they open their wrist, kick loose that chair, the last thought that goes through their mind is, 'I made a mistake.'
Rachel remembered her body's reaction to the near-miss, the flood of endorphins, she had welcomed death if it had meant his too, but the body had its own priorities.
Bass was too close. Rachel stared into his soul-less blue eyes and saw a glimmer of a soul.
Bass continued, "So you are telling me, back in the tent with that grenade, you weren't thinking the exact same thing?"
Rachel didn't respond. She wanted his death; her body could go fuck itself. Bass continued a bit peevish, "So how about we actually get out of here alive? Then you can get back to trying to kill me."
Rachel watched him go over to the cabinet she had supposed was a weapons cabinet, he opened it and revealed four guns. Why would they need so many? Wouldn't have made sense to stash some food in the bunker as well? DOD boys and their toys.
Bass rattled at the Plexiglas divider like some ape-man, and Rachel knew she would have to decide on a course of action. Now that he saw the toys, he wouldn't stop until he had one of his very own.
Bass asked her, "You know how to open this?"
Rachel gave him the expected response, "I don't."
Bass slammed his hand against the Plexiglas.
…And I watered it in fears, / Night and morning with my tears…
Rachel returned to watching the monitors. Bass started whaling on the Plexiglas with Cheney's putter – or at least that's who she thought would use this bunker. The Tower was close enough to his house in Wyoming that he could have gotten here in a relatively short chopper ride.
Rachel got some level of visceral enjoyment at seeing Bass so stymied, though she knew he'd start acting out soon.
Eventually, Bass turned to her and asked, "What is this place, anyway?"
Rachel didn't see any strategic value in withholding this information, and it might de-escalate the situation with Bass a bit, so she replied, "V.P. Bunker. Cheney used it. It was his 'undisclosed location.'"
Bass, clearly expecting another 'I don't know,' asked "Are you serious?"
Rachel just quirked her eyebrow at him, letting him decide whether or not she was telling the truth. She hoped he wouldn't take it as insolence. Nothing escalated a situation with Bass quite as fast as perceived insolence.
Bass whaled on the Plexiglas once more before tossing the deformed putter aside, he said, "You know what I think? I think you know how to open this door."
Rachel blinked and him, and after a few moments of thought, decided to tell the truth, "Yeah, you're right. I do. You're right about all of it. I don't want to die. I want to see my daughter again."
…And I sunned it with smiles, / And with soft deceitful wiles…
Bass, looking a bit shocked at her honesty, asked, "So why don't you help me?"
Rachel retorted, "Because you killed Danny." She thought about her precious baby boy. His development so stunted by his premature birth, by the lack of oxygen his developing brain received, all fixed by the capsule. By Dr. Warren's nanite controller.
Rachel continued, "You – you murdered my son."
Bass tried to pass the buck, as per usual, "Rachel, I wasn't even there."
Rachel snapped, "Don't. You. Dare. Say that. To me! You have always made excuses, but…" Rachel thought about all of his "excuses" for his behavior. He had done it to protect Miles from her influence. That is was for the good of the Republic. That she had made him do it.
She had had enough, "You – not about this. Not this."
Rachel could see the barest glimmer of guilt in his eye. He walked away. She had reasserted her control over the conversation; it had hurt almost as bad as one of Strausser's sessions to air so much truth, but the conversation was hers.
… Night and morning with my tears;/…/ And with soft deceitful wiles…
Bass violently cleared the top of a cabinet. That was unexpected.
Bass said, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen." Rachel suppressed a small smirk, intentions meant so little to her. She and Ben had intended to save the world, look at how that turned out.
Bass continued "I don't know how this got so out of control." Yes, let us see the remainder of your blackened soul.
Then Bass dropped a bombshell on her, "I have a son."
Rachel was pretty damn sure the militia had enough condoms and Plan B squirreled away to prevent any sort of unplanned pregnancy. She didn't think he had had deep enough feelings for any of his 'girls' for it to be intentional.
She waited for him to clarify; he didn't, so she asked, "What?"
Bass continued, "I don't know where he is. I've been looking for him."
Rachel got the picture now, it had been accidental, and the woman had hidden the child from 'The President.' Smart move, who knew how he'd warp a child.
…And what shoulder, & what art./ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?...
Bass continued, "But it makes you wonder… if he saw me… if he knew all the things that I've done… What would he think of me?"
Looking at Bass' guilt was like looking into a mirror. She and Ben had kept so many secrets from Charlie and Danny for this very reason, she didn't want them to know the things she had done, the blood of billions on her hands.
…Every man is a piece of the continent,/ A part of the main…
Bass continued, his thoughts mirroring her own, "You're right, Rachel. I'm sorry. No more… excuses. I know exactly how much blood is on my hands, Rachel."
Rachel felt a few tears roll down her cheeks; she was no longer in control of the conversation. The tens of thousands he had indirectly killed was a pond compared to her ocean. She had calculated it once, when she was in a particularly self-despising mood. The world population when Ford built his first Model T was maybe 1.6 billion. It was 1 billion during the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. The population at the time of Christopher Columbus was 0.45 billion. So, low-ball estimate, she, Ben, Randall, and the DOD boys had killed 5.4 billion people, but she doubted that this 'brave new world' had the carrying capacity of the second Industrial Revolution, so it was more likely she had the blood of over 6,000,000,000 men, women, children, infants, all on her hands. Hundreds of thousands times the number Bass had.
…The world is too much with us; late and soon,/…we lay waste our powers…
She shook herself, tried to tell herself what Ben had told her all those years ago: the only lives that mattered were the ones she could hold in her arms – Danny, Charlie, and Ben. Miles. Rachel tried to focus herself with her mantra. Bass had snuffed out two of the four lives that mattered. Had threatened the other two. He had to pay.
…And I watered it in fears, /…/And I sunned it with smiles…
Rachel watched Bass futilely try to get the Plexiglas divider to open. It was entertaining, and she needed a bit of time to try to regain her rage.
Rachel glanced up at the monitors. Was that Aaron? How had he gotten past the militia? She was so startled that she forgot Bass, forgot to be subtle, she walked over to stare at them. There, behind Aaron, was her jolly, little girl all grown up and independent.
Rachel, without any control, muttered, "Oh my God. Charlie." Had her wish to see her daughter before she died actually come true? On another monitor was Miles followed faithfully by Nora.
…Love seeketh not Itself to please,/ Nor for itself hath any care…
Rachel's world focused down onto those two monitors, to the small pixilated forms of the only two people who mattered.
Bass interrupted her, "Unlock the guns, Rachel."
This astounded Rachel. Why would she unlock the guns for him?
… In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Bass continued, "No matter what I've done to you before," And it was legion. "You've got to believe me – I don't want to let another one of your kids get hurt. I will help you."
Rachel knew him, he would promise her cold fusion if it got him one of those fancy toys, "You're lying."
Bass continued, pressing her buttons, "Oh, you want to kill me so bad, you're gonna let Charlie die?"
… Moving of the earth brings harms and fears,/ Men reckon what it did and meant;…
Rachel looked back at the monitors, Charlie didn't look to be in any mortal danger; yes, she was sneaking around The Tower, filled with people armed with coil guns, separated from Miles, but it wasn't worth the risk.
Rachel, testing him on the terms, asked, "What about Miles?"
Bass looked into her eyes and said, "No promises." Now that, she believed.
Bass continued, "But I will save Charlie, I swear."
Rachel stared into his cold blue eyes, trying to see if he was just using her again, or if she could trust him for a picosecond.
Bass said, "Open it."
Then Rachel glanced back at the monitors; there was an explosion. Her stomach clenched, and she made a visceral reaction, a gut judgment, to trust Bass, just this once. She slid her fingers along the side of the weapons cabinet. She uncovered a keypad and tried 1618. It worked. The dented and divoted Plexiglas divider slid upwards. Rachel grabbed a coil gun and walked to the door, waiting for Bass to grab one of his own.
She unbarred the bunker and gestured for Bass to precede her. Her gut may inexplicably trust him with a gun, just this once, but she didn't trust him at her back.
…In what distant deeps or skies/ Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
Bass glided along in front of her, his gun leading the way. The way his body moved sometimes reminded her of Miles.
She gave him clipped instructions to the position corresponding to Charlie's location. As they neared it, she heard a coil gun blast and the jangle of many metal things falling, clattering.
Rachel heard Aaron's voice shout her daughter's name. She paused in her tracks. She didn't think she could stand having to see the broken body of her other baby. Not after Danny. There was another coil gun blast.
Bass, in his eternal 'wit,' said, "Hello, Charlotte. A 'thank you' would be nice."
…Joys in another's loss of ease,/ And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite…
Rachel hurried forward, desperate to see her daughter. Rachel walked around Bass, her latest deal with the devil over.
She helped Aaron free her little girl, and heard Bass' combat boots walk away. She tried not to think of Danny, or Ben, and very soon Miles. She had to focus on Charlie for the moment.
Once freed, her brave, iron-willed, and stupid daughter, marched off after Bass completely unarmed.
…And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;/ It tolls for thee.
Rachel grabbed her arm. No matter what the deal was, Bass could only take so much provocation.
"No." She commanded.
Charlie fought her restraint, demanding to know where Bass was going and why she had made her devil's bargain. Rachel didn't have time for this crap.
She dragged Charlie and Aaron along, towards an exit. She needed to get her daughter out of here, out of this kill-zone and away from The Tower. Then she could focus on killing Bass and restoring the power. In that order.
…On what wings dare he aspire?/ What the hand dare seize the fire?...
Rachel was on point, leading them to the stairs, when, after turning a corner she was greeted by the sounds of coil guns charging and three men.
Damn.
- Author's Note:Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)
John Donne's
No Man Is An Island
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
.
John Donne's
A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"The breath goes now," and some say, "No,"
.
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
.
Moving of the earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
.
But we, by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion.
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two:
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do;
.
And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like the other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
.
William Wordsworth's
The World Is Too Much with Us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.