Chapter 15: A Broken Heart

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

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

Some dialogue taken from 1.20, written by Eric Kripke & Paul Grellong.

Trigger warnings: POV Stockholm syndrome/PTSD, canonical major character death, allusions to self-harm

I don't own the characters or Revolution – if I did Nora wouldn't have died, and the science would be better. I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Eight years after The Blackout

Rachel was lying in front of the fireplace, playing a game with Miles. She was having a good time, not thinking about anything but how pleasant it was. Then she heard one of her guards cough. She tensed, and the reality of her existence crashed down upon her.

She was locked in the bedroom of a temperamental man, dependent solely on him for protection from a capricious and violent man. She had armed guards on her door and a good day was one where she had the freedom to walk – escorted – three blocks to a library and chose her own books. But then again, she had a soft bed, three meals a day, water for baths, and the sometimes remarkably genial company of Miles.

The FBI pamphlet on hostage situations warned about Stockholm syndrome. The syndrome was the paradoxical phenomenon where a hostage and their captor develop a sympathetic bond, which happened in 27% of prolonged hostage situations. The pamphlet went on to say that it happened more frequently during long, intense incidents when the hostage can't escape, is dependent on the captor for basic necessities, is isolated from any other people, the captor has the capability to kill the hostage, and the captor exhibits kindness towards the hostage. It went on to say how law enforcement officers should encourage the development of Stockholm syndrome because it improves the chance of hostage survival.

But that didn't really apply to her case. Miles really wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't let Bass hurt her again. He had felt so bad about the whole tooth thing, and he had only done it to protect her from Bass doing something worse. He had never told her this in so many words, but she knew it was true. She wasn't imagining it in some sort of evolutionary defense mechanism to ensure survival after being kidnapped by a 'cave-man' from another tribe. Miles really cared about her. Her situation might meet all of the criteria, but that didn't mean she had Stockholm syndrome, did it?

Rachel felt an intense urge to find out why Miles was keeping her in his rooms, why he was keeping her at all. Rachel asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Miles looked down at the board and examined his moves. Rachel suppressed a smile – as adorable as that was – it wasn't the time.

Miles looked back up at her and she continued, "I mean this…" she gestured at his room, the fire, and the remains of the dinner.

Miles licked his lips. He was thinking hard about something. Eventually he replied, "I just want to take care of you."

Rachel retorted, fear robbing her of caution, "If you care so much about me, why don't you let me just go?"

Miles sighed and 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. She had missed the first letter, but even walking she should get to Chicago in plenty of time to be able to pick up the second letter Ben would leave her telling he where he and the kids were. If she told Miles, he might let her go. Ben might welcome her back after all this time. She'd be able to see her baby boy, and Charlie. But even if Miles let her go home, even if Ben welcomed her back, what would she do? She couldn't help them, she thought with despair and more than a touch of shame. She would only lead Bass to them. Rachel didn't want to think of what Bass might do to them. Miles couldn't protect all of them.

Miles must have read her mind. He 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 did the math. She had just missed her daughter's thirteenth birthday. Her baby boy was nine and her daughter was a teenager. Here she'd been, living in this gilded cage, hardly noticing the passage of time, while out there she had missed her son's birthday, two of her daughter's, and more than likely her daughter's coming of age. She was despicable.

Miles tried to turn her attention back to the game, but she couldn't abide herself. She rolled over and stood up; she excused herself and fled for the bathroom. She was the worst mother in the world. She broke down, no longer able to keep her self-disgust in. Huge sobs wracked her body.

She had told Ben that she was doing this for the children. He would be better suited to keeping them fed and safe, and she'd be better suited to keeping Miles off their backs and away from the truth. But she hadn't thought about Danny in days, Ben and Charlie even longer. She hadn't been setting up the pieces of an elaborate gambit, she was just being. She didn't deserve to go on. She had thought her kids were her reason to keep living, but as soon as she was offered a comfortable living situation, she forgot all about them. She was detestable, repugnant, revolting. Her stomach turned with self-hatred. Her mouth filled with saliva and her stomach clenched. She hurriedly made her way over to the old-fashioned toilet and heaved up her fancy, ill-gotten dinner.

She slammed her fists against the tile floor, wishing for a fast way out, battering her fists against the unyielding surface until they were bloody, trying to break a tile, trying for an easy out.

As she lay on the cold tile floor crying, she rubbed salt into her wounds, thinking about all the misfortunes that could have befallen her sweet baby boy, her happy little girl, or her dependable husband. She heard Miles leave and lay crying until the cold tiles had sucked away all her strength, tears, blood, and body-heat. She crawled up, and threw herself onto the bed, incorrectly thinking that she'd never fall asleep. She was wrong; she was asleep within minutes.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Miles was stalking through The Tower. Rachel was in here somewhere. So were Charlie and Aaron, and hopefully Nora, he hadn't seen her since the bizarre water-slide thingy. She had to be safe; she couldn't have been swept downstream. Miles couldn't stand the thought that he might lose Nora again, not after what she had just been through. The only acceptable idea was that she was relatively safe somewhere.

He heard a gunshot. Not a coil-gun whirr-explode-y, but an honest to God gunshot. Must be militiamen. He followed the sound; saw a busted open door, and a militiaman choking Charlie. He gave the man a nice case of knife-through-throat syndrome.

Miles checked on Charlie, she was coughing.

Charlie said, "I'm okay," and pointed over to something else. One quick glance revealed Nora; Nora sitting in a pool of blood, holding her stomach. The pool was too big.

No. Not Nora. Miles threw down his rifle and kneeled beside Nora. Nora's hands were bright red from her gut wound. This was bad.

Nora looked up into his eyes, her face wane, and said, "Rachel went down to Level 12. Militia is everywhere. You gotta go help her."

Miles ignored the self-sacrificing statement, asking Charlie, "We need some meds."

Charlie responded, still catching her breath, "Listen, there's an infirmary, but it's locked.

Miles brushed aside that statement too, Nora couldn't die, not after everything they went through, "Then we'll blast it open."

Nora interrupted, "Listen to me. Go. Go get the power on."

Nora stared into his eyes and all Miles could see was all the people he had hurt, had let get hurt. He had had enough. Not this time. Not again.

Miles said, "No, I'm not leaving you."

Nora said, trying to be strong, "You have to. Miles… Rachel needs you."

Miles paused a moment. Yes, he had an inexplicable bond with Rachel, a debt that could never be repaid, a dark and guilt-tainted love, but he didn't owe her this. Miles licked his lips. Not this.

He leaned down to look Nora in the eyes, and commanded, "Look at me."

She looked at him. She was trying so hard to be strong, but he could see fear and resolve battle in her dark eyes.

Miles repeated, "I'm not leaving you."

Nora accepted it this time. She suppressed a moan as he picked her up. Charlie, now fully recovered, grabbed both rifles and took point. Miles carried Nora through the stucco-ed maze, feeling her life's blood soak his shirt.

He kept on checking her, making sure that she was still breathing, was still with him.

Her breathing grew fainter and fainter. He was losing her. He couldn't lose her. She was his!

He asked Charlie, "How much further?"

She replied, "It's just up ahead." They had to make it in time!

Charlie stopped, glancing back at him. He looked down. Nora was… gone.

This couldn't be happening. He had already almost lost her to Bass. She was so strong. She couldn't be gone. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no."

He kneeled down, placing her down on the floor.

He pleaded, "Nora. Nora."

Miles gently rolled her lolling head towards him. She wasn't breathing. She seemed so peaceful despite the healing bruises on her face. Bruises that Bass, or his men, had given her.

She began to blur, and Miles realized tears filled his eyes. Who had done this to his Nora? Militia? Tower People? He would make them pay. He blinked his tears out of his eyes. Why had God taken her away from him? They had just reconciled and then Bass took her, and Sanborn brought her back. She hadn't yet healed from the torture, how could God do this to her? To him? Miles ran his thumb along her soft cheek.

Tears welled in his eyes. Why take her, not him? He was far more deserving of death, had so much more blood on his hands, so much more black on his heart. His poor Nora. He leaned down and kissed her. Her soft lips still warm, pliable. He needed to remember her like this. Not as a bruised, bloody, body.

He couldn't have her haunting his dreams like that – he had too many ghosts to let Nora become another. He needed to remember her lips, her hair, her breasts, her ass, her attitude, her stride, her heart. He tried to get himself together. He still had Charlie. He couldn't lose her. He knuckled his tears away, fierce determination fixed on his face. He was going to protect Charlie. Find Rachel. Turn on the power. Kill the people who hurt Nora, and bring back the United States for Nora.

Miles loosened his St. Michael's medallion and slipped it over Nora's head. He knew she didn't really believe, but he'd fight for her to get into Heaven, or at least shorten her time in Purgatory.

He turned to Charlie. She too was grieving. He awkwardly gave her a hug and grabbed a rifle.

Miles said, "Come on, we have to turn the power on. For Nora."

Charlie, with the resilience of youth, nodded and added, "For Danny."

They reached the Level 12 landing and went down one of the hallways, not knowing where to go except that Rachel was down here somewhere.

Miles saw two militiamen walk past the end of the hall. He instinctively fired. He didn't know if they had killed Nora – hadn't had the time, or will, to ask Charlie what had happened – but they were in his way.

Once the two targets were eliminated, he ran to the end of hall, tailed by Charlie. They started taking out militiamen. Miles spared Charlie's boy-toy and his father on purpose, focusing on the enlisted men.

Rachel and Aaron ran to them, using their suppression fire as cover. Once Miles could sense Rachel, Charlie, and Aaron behind him, he strategically retreated. He hoped Rachel knew where the hell she was going. He only had so much ammo.

The design of this Tower was stupid, and it was hard for him to watch all of the various short intersecting hallways. He wished the architect were here so he could shoot him. Neville got close. Miles laid down more suppression fire. Miles couldn't sense the others anymore, and picked up the pace.

There. Rachel was holding a large door open for him. He ducked in and caught his breath. He heard the door lock securely behind them. Good. Safe for now.

Rachel asked, "Nora?"

Miles paused and licked his lips.

Charlie retorted, "She's dead."

Rachel looked at him, compassion in her eyes. He couldn't stand it and broke eye contact. She walked away from him. Towards a large screen, a large computer, focused on turning the power back on.

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