Chapter 19: Unveiled

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following. Each notice makes me happy, and as RL stinks right now, I'll take what I can get.

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

Trigger warnings: POV Stockholm syndrome/PTSD

I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Ten years after The Blackout

Miles knew something was wrong the moment he saw the carefully blanked look on Bass' face. It didn't occur to him that it might be Rachel.

Bass looked into his eyes and said, "I've got some bad news for you, my friend."

Miles raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and Bass just said, "I can't. It's better if I just show you."

Miles stomach clenched. He didn't know what was wrong, but his stomach figured it was bad.

Bass led him to a quiet storeroom, and gestured to a stretcher with a body underneath a mostly white sheet. Miles waited, wondering who lay beneath it. Bass threw off the sheet, revealing Rachel.

Miles felt the earth fall out from beneath him. His mouth filled with saliva, and he swallowed hard, trying not to puke. He studied her scratched face, twisted wrist, bloody hands and elbows, the fact that she was wearing her wedding band again – he didn't remember when she had stopped wearing it, but she had sometime during the past year, before he left – anything to avoid looking at the lopsided way she was lying, her closed eyes, her unmoving chest.

Inhale, thud, thud.

Exhale, thud, thud.

Inhale.

Miles said, "What... What happened?" His voice was thick, full of rage, full of grief. He went to go touch her, to say his good-byes, when Bass engulfed him in a hug.

Bass said, "I'm sorry man. This is all my fault. Yesterday I told Rachel that you and Nora were coming back today; I thought she'd be pleased. Last night she garroted her one of her guards – the other guard was in the bathroom, I have him in for questioning – and leapt from a third-floor window. If I hadn't told her you were coming back… it's all my fault."

Miles caught Bass carefully studying his face, and Bass stepped back, kindly throwing the sheet back over Rachel's broken, lifeless body.

Bass continued, "She had that with her." He pointed to a small bag sitting on a chair in the corner of the storeroom.

Bass studied Miles and said, "Let's get you something to drink."

Bass grabbed Rachel's small pack and placed a firm hand on Miles shoulder. He guided Miles from the room. Led him to his office. Sat him down in his chair. Poured him a glass of whiskey.

Miles drank a slug of whiskey, watching a concerned Bass watch him, his mind a tangled mess of confusion and bewilderment.

When Bass handed him Rachel's pack, he went through it, a quarter of his mind cataloguing the contents. One clean shirt and some socks. Several pieces of jewelry and nibs of trade-weight gold. One butter-knife sharped with determination to a useable edge. One plastic bottle filled with water. A few dried, old rolls and stale cheese. One slim book on Krav Maga. Miles leafed through the volume; along the side, in Rachel's crisp slant-y hand, were notes on the practicality of the various kill techniques. Rachel had been planning this for quite some time.

Miles' tangled mind only got more knotted. But since when? Things were going so well. He had come to a decision about his feelings for Rachel, and then she off and dies in an escape attempt! Was it an escape attempt or was it suicide? Was it 'cause of Nora? Did Bass do something to her? Why?

Miles took another gulp, rejoicing in the familiar burn. A constant in an ever-changing world.

Miles studied Bass closely and said, his voice as sharp and as brittle as obsidian, "What did you do to her Bass?"

Bass blinked and said, "Nothing. I didn't touch her, didn't talk to her – until yesterday – didn't threaten her, didn't countermand any of your standing orders 'bout her."

Bass' tone took on an edge of anger, "I didn't pander to her like you did, but I sure as hell didn't kill her."

Miles stared at his whiskey. Bass was telling the truth. The pure and simple truth. But why would Rachel leap from a third-floor window to escape? Why would she try to escape in the first place? Was it an escape attempt? Was it suicide? Why would she do either? He wasn't keeping her as a prisoner, not really. If she asked to be released he would have let her go, he told himself. He would have respected her wishes despite his feelings. He tried foisting the blame off on to anyone but himself, but he knew in his heart of hearts it was. He should have let her go years ago.

Fifteen years after The Blackout

Two nights after their escape from The Tower, Rachel lay on the hard, clay-rich soil, curled up in Miles' long brown coat. They had lost almost everything except Aaron's backpack and a couple of stolen rifles, they would have to barter or steal everything they would need in order to get to Texas. They didn't really have anything they could barter, and she knew her daughter would be against stealing from the innocent – not that there were any innocents left.

…And into my garden stole/ When the night had veiled the pole:…

Rachel heard Miles walk back to camp. He had a very distinctive footstep, neither a firm stride nor a simple walk. After a few moments of inner debate, Rachel crawled out of her coat-cocoon and draped it over Charlie's sleeping form. She walked over to the boulder Miles was sitting upon, and joined him.

Miles quietly asked, "Can't sleep?"

Rachel replied, "Nope."

Miles asked, "You okay?"

Rachel replied, "Nope."

Miles turned and looked at her. Rachel kept her face serene, "Miles, you've been treating me like a damn wilting flower. I'm broken, but not that kind of broken. I'm not going to shatter if we go several extra miles a day."

Miles replied soothingly, "I'm sorry, it's just that…"

Rachel interrupted, "And I'm not gonna throw myself off of a cliff if things don't go my way. I'm a big girl; you've been pussyfooting around me all day. I know you're still mad at me, and in the immortal words of William Blake 'I was angry with my friend:/ I told my wrath, my wrath did end.'

Miles looked confused, but she knew it was for show; he wasn't nearly as culturally illiterate as he liked to make it seem. She had read him quite a few of Blake's poems over the years, and he had liked and understood them. Rachel settled into the boulder, she could outwait Miles. He wasn't as impatient as Bass, but he didn't have her endurance.

One thousand, four hundred, and thirty-five breaths later, Miles exploded, "I can't accept the fact that you left Nora to die without batting an eye! A woman who had been nothing but helpful to you, and had helped your daughter enormously! And you looked Charlie straight in the eye and ignored her pleas. I'm not sure I can trust you with your own daughter."

Rachel grimaced, not sure he wasn't wrong, and asked instead, "Why did you help Charlie?"

Miles smiled a wry grin she could just faintly make out in the starlight. It was amazing how clear the stars were in the thin desert air with no light pollution.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/ In the forests of the night…

Miles said, "I wasn't gonna, not at first. Who was she to me? Just Ben's daughter, your daughter, pieces of a past I was trying to erase with alcohol-induced brain damage. But the fierce way she stood up to me, demanding that I help 'cause we were family... And then she came back to help me. She reminded me of you. She had your hair, Ben's chin, and most importantly your eyes. Your crystal-clear blue eyes that used to be so joyful and free."

Rachel thought, Bass was right; he is a huge sap.

Miles continued, "I stayed for those eyes too. I watched them take the weight of the world upon them, like yours. I watched become fierce, like yours; judgmental, like yours. Both you and Charlie now have hard and guarded eyes. I never wanted that to happen. I just want your eyes to stop being so calculating, so world-weary."

Rachel thought, Nora was right; he does love me.

…Love seeketh not Itself to please,/ Nor for itself hath any care…

Miles asked softly, "What did Bass do to you?"

Rachel turned and looked at Miles, as gently as she could, she said, "Not tonight." She placed a hand on his shoulder and switched subjects, "I can't promise I won't hurt Charlie, but with your help, I promise to try harder to be a better mother."

Rachel stood up from the boulder, and felt Miles' eyes follow her back to the camp. Aaron's watch was supposed to start an hour ago, but she never heard Miles wake him up as she lay staring up at the stars, trying to get to sleep.

...Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/ In the forests of the night…

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