A/N: This chapter took me longer to finish than I realized. The back half of it was already written, but the first half was hard. I kept catching myself going on long tangents trying to describe what has been going on with everyone after arriving. I have lots of material for that, but I ended up doing it a different way (hence the little "flashbacks") Hopefully it gets the point across without boring to tears where the action starts (bear with this, yes I promise… There is action!). Also, please forgive me in advance for Gene's new alias. I really couldn't resist. I figure if Miles can steal a name from Stephen King, well Gene can steal his from a different source. Haha! Please let me know what you like, don't like. Etc. It helps with future chapters if I know where to improve!
The spring piglets have come. Monroe is indulging himself with spending a few hours with Charlie. It's Sunday, and Daniel insists that this is the day reserved each week for light work, spending time with family and going into town. "Aww..." Charlie says as she looks at them.
Monroe raises a brow at her, "Really?" Still, he can't help but think that the way her face softens as she picks up a piglet is appealing. She's usually so pragmatic of a person that watching her like this is a welcome change.
Charlie sets the piglet back down. "Come on, Monroe. They're kind of cute. Like little curly-tailed babies." She turns to face him, still smiling.
He subtly shifts closer to her. "If you say so," he laughs as he leans his arms on the gate. She turns around, copying his posture. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, which he finds strangely exciting. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he does not move.
"Why isn't that one with the others?" Charlie suddenly says, pointing to the corner of the pen. Her features break out into a look of concern.
Monroe's gaze follows her finger to see a small little piglet quite a ways from its littermates. "Looks like the runt. The others won't let it near the mother."
Charlie understands what he's not saying. The runt will probably die. "Poor thing," she murmurs as she walks away.
Later that night, Aaron gets up to use the outhouse. As he goes through the kitchen he is met with a strange site. Monroe sits at the table. A very tiny piglet, wrapped in a towel is in his large hand; a feed bottle is in the other. "Um… That's a pig." He says.
"Thanks for clearing that up, Captain Obvious," Monroe says as he turns his attention back to the little animal. It greedily takes in the formula that Daniel told him to make. He knows the animal's odds are still slim, but Charlie had seemed so sad at the idea of the thing not making it.
"Okay then… So we have a pet pig now. Good to know," Aaron stammers as he makes his way out back. A few minute later when he returns, Monroe is just finishing up. It seems weird to see a grown man cradling a pig like it's a baby. "So, what's with Wilbur here?"
"Runt of the litter. Mother wasn't feeding it, so I figured I'd see if I could save him," Monroe explains. He's set up a little pen of sorts on the kitchen floor. He sets the piglet inside it. He'll move it to the barn in a few days, but he wants to keep an eye on it.
"So did Charlie name it yet?" Aaron has figured out why Monroe is trying to save the pig. Having known Charlie since she was a kid, Aaron is very familiar with her secret love of animals.
Monroe rolls his eyes at Aaron. "Shut up," he says with just a hint of humor as he picks up the feed bottle. He doesn't notice the blue eyes that are watching him from the dark living room.
Charlie looked over at the man that sat next to her on the bench as he gently guided the horses. It was early June now. It was hard to believe that they'd been here for only four months now. Somehow it seemed a lot longer. They had all settled into life on the farm quite easily. Monroe had reassumed the identity of Daniel's nephew, Michael Andrews. In public, she now went by the name Nichole, an as far as anyone knew she was his wife.
She'd protested that one at first, but Daniel had gotten her to see the logic in it. After all, Monroe was the father of her children and the locals would find it easier to believe that she was left behind until after she gave birth. It also helped to explain the way "Michael" showed up on the farm only to disappear and then show back up again later.
Gene was introduced as her grandfather, but had taken on a new name as well. The name Gene Porter was buried and replaced with Jack Shepherd. Gene had come up with that one on the fly. Monroe had almost lost it when he'd been told about Gene's new alias. "What? It was a great show, and the character was a doctor," Charlie's grandfather had insisted.
Monroe wasn't about to admit he agreed (his appreciation for that particular show had been closet at best), but it took him weeks to stop making random references to islands and smoke monsters and saying things like "What's wrong, Jack? You're looking a bit… lost". Of course Charlie never quite figured out why Monroe thought it was so funny, but she'd never quite gotten his sense of humor anyway.
Aaron and Priscilla simply changed their last names to Phillips. It was easier on them because Priscilla hadn't been known to the Patriots at all and Aaron had only been known in small circles. With Horne dead, no one would be looking for him now.
All things considered, life on the farm was pretty good. Danny and Angie were growing like weeds and were happy and loved babies. Not only did they have the love and attention of Charlie and Monroe, but Gene doted on them. Even Daniel spoiled them. Having lost his own grandchildren in the Atlanta bombing, Danny and Angie were almost surrogates for him now.
Charlie and Monroe had found a comfortable balance between work and their roles as parents. Priscilla watched the twins in between feedings while they both worked around the farm, but whenever they were in the house they spent as much time with Danny and Angie as possible. After the evening meal they'd gotten into the habit of stretching out on the living room floor with them, encouraging them to crawl (which Charlie was convinced would happen any day now). They just enjoyed being parents.
Charlie hadn't thought she'd take to this quiet life so well, but she was actually starting to enjoy it. She'd even taken over the daily workings in the dairy at Daniel's urging. Monroe did whatever else needed to be done around the farm, usually dragging Aaron along as a pack mule or slave labor. The friendship that had sprung up between the two men was almost bizarre. Monroe would act like Aaron was incompetent, whereas Aaron was convinced that Monroe was just an idiot. But, they got along well enough (much to Charlie's constant astonishment), especially when alcohol was involved.
Priscilla was more than happy to take over the bulk of the work in the farmhouse, which suited Charlie just fine. She'd never planned on cooking and cleaning as a lifestyle choice anyway. When the weather was decent, Charlie would bring the twins with her to the dairy. Monroe had paid a guy in town to make a wooden playpen of sorts for her to put them in while she worked. The local kids still came to help on the farm, and they always seemed to find a reason to visit the dairy and take turns playing with them.
Gene and Daniel had become good friends almost from the get go. They were close enough in age that they shared the same generational memories. Daniel's gruff manner almost seemed to compliment Gene's more formal one. It almost reminded Charlie of the friendship between Miles and Monroe.
The dream is an old one. He's had it countless times. He is in Iraq again. The roadside bomb goes off. He watches in horror as half his unit is taken out in an instant. Suddenly, he is back on base again. In his mind, he knows that only a few days have passed. A message is waiting for him when he arrives. He has to come home: there's been an accident.
He turns around in a panic to see that he's in Jasper again. He sees himself in the mirror. The same dark suit and tie he'd worn. He turns away from the mirror and he's suddenly at the gravesite, surrounded by mourners. The parish priest concludes the same service. Closing his eyes, he reopens them to find himself in his parent's house. The same people mill about the living room, approaching him to offer their condolences.
The scene fades and it's night. He's at the cemetery again. In his hands are a bottle of jack and his father's 9mm. He looks down at the graves. In reality, the headstones would not be erected for another six months. The ground needs time to settle. But this is a dream; they are already here. He reads the names one by one. But something is wrong. There's one stone to many. The fifth name stares back at him: Matheson. He realizes then that he is completely alone. He raises the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot echoes in his ears as he sits up in bed, sweating and trying to catch his breath. He looks around wildly as his eyes adjust to the dim moonlit room – their room. Panting, he feels Charlie stir beside him. It's been years since he's had this dream. The last time was just a few days after a rebel set off a bomb in a restaurant in Philly.
His nightmare has woken Charlie. She sits up and gently places her hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she says, trying to get his attention. "Hey, are you okay?" she tries again. Her concern is evident in her tone.
He turns to look at her and sees the worry etched on her face. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. Not yet trusting his own voice, Monroe nods at her. She lies back down, drawing him down with her. He settles back down on the pillow. Finding it damp from the sweat, he reaches behind himself and flips it over.
"It was just a dream," Charlie murmurs as she rests her head on his shoulder and sets her hand on his bare chest. She can feel his heartbeat – his pulse is still racing. "Just a dream," she repeats again.
Staring at the ceiling, Monroe covers her hand with his own. He takes the comfort she offers without question. It's moments like these that remind him why he loves her. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asks him after several minutes pass.
He turns his head to look at her again. In the dim light, she is beautiful. Her hair is spilling around her like a halo. This isn't something he can share. "It's nothing. Just a dream," he repeats her words. He takes a risk and lightly presses his lips to hers. Much to Monroe's surprise, she kisses him back.
Their lips move tenderly together for several minutes. He is too vulnerable in the aftermath of the nightmare to risk another rejection from her, so he doesn't push it any further. She gently pulls her lips away. "Go to sleep," Charlie whispers. Instead of rolling over like she normally does, she drapes her arm over him. This is rare. Most nights end with him waiting for her to fall asleep before pulling her into his arms.
She never complains when she finds herself in his arms in the mornings. In fact, she usually looks happy in those first few minutes before they get up to start their days. But she always pretends it hasn't happened once she leaves their bed.
It has gotten to the point where he's started to give up entirely. There is only so much rejection a guy can take, after all. It's only when he makes this known that she usually seeks his embrace the way she does now. He always seems to find a way to do something stupid to screw it up: mention the change in her behavior towards him, kiss her one time to many. This usually sends her back to square one again. The cycle of drawing him in and then pushing him away is maddening. But he's been patient with her. He knows his past is making it difficult for her to allow something more meaningful to develop, and he has just enough self-loathing not to resent her for it.
Because of this, he knows he's taking another risk. She'll make him pay for it later, he's sure. But, the images from the dream are compelling him to say it. "I love you," he whispers to her. She doesn't respond in kind. He knows better than to expect that. But, instead of her normal punishment of shutting him out, this time she gently kisses his shoulder and squeezes his hand gently as she closes her eyes.
Her breathing evens out a few minutes later, indicating that she has fallen asleep. He watches her for a few minutes. This time the dream has disturbed him more than it ever has in the past (and the last time he's had it, it sent him after a rebel's children). This time the first name on the headstone was different. It had always said "Miles Matheson" when he'd had the dream in the past. Tonight, it has said something different. Tonight the extra tombstone said "Charlotte Matheson." It is a long time before sleep finds him again.
Monroe tried very hard to keep his gaze on the road before him, rather than look at the woman sitting next to him. That dream had been only a week ago, and it bothered him still. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. He wondered if Charlie felt it too. She'd been especially quiet over the past hour or two.
They were on their way back from town. The winter wheat would be ready for harvest any day now, so they had decided to get one last trip into town done before they were overwhelmed with work for the next several weeks. After the wheat, the barley would be ready to come in as well. In short, life was about to get hectic for them.
Charlie had elected to come along. The kids would need new clothes soon and there were a few other things that she'd said she'd wanted to pick up while in town. Priscilla had come with her to help with the twins while he took care of his business in town as well.
The presence of the "Andrews Family" in town no longer raised any eyebrows. In the past several months, they'd gotten to know their neighbors better. Monroe had gone out of his way to help any of the neighboring farms when he could. Daniel had once said to him, "Those that lends a hand last." And he had been right. If they were going to stay in the area indefinitely, they would have to form their own ties to the community. They couldn't just rely on the respect Daniel commanded to get by.
Seeing Monroe as a family man had also gone far to dissipate any suspicions of his real identity. No one would ever be able to associate Sebastian Monroe with a wife and kids. He'd been demonized too much over the years for anyone to believe he was capable of such a human thing as family. For the most part, they were now on good terms with most of the people in town. Even the original little "vigilante squad" he'd met his first day in town seemed to have lost their distrust of him. This was partially due to the fact that one of them, Avery Carter, was one of their closest neighbors.
They were just passing Avery's farm when they were both brought out of their thoughts the sound of a scream, followed by a gunshot nearby. Charlie and Monroe both looked at each other in confusion. When they reached the cutoff that led to Avery's farm, Monroe slowed the horses. "Dammit," he said under his breath as he guided the wagon down Avery's drive and flicked the reins to bring the horses to a trot. He had a bad feeling.
They were met with chaos as the wagon came to a stop in the main yard. Avery and one of his farm hands were checking their hunting rifles while an older woman tried to prevent Avery's wife, Jenny from breaking out into hysterics.
Charlie gave Monroe a meaningful look, clearly indicating that she didn't want to get involved. They were supposed to be lying low. Monroe ignored her and jumped off the wagon. "What happened?" he asked as he approached.
Avery finished loading the weapon and snapped the barrel in place. "Sons of bitches took my girl Sarah." Charlie had since joined them. Monroe locked eyes with her for a second. She didn't like what she saw there. Sarah Carter was Avery's youngest daughter.
Monroe watched as three more farmhands approached with rifles of their own. "How long ago? Do you know who they were?"
Avery inspected their weapons as he spoke. "Ten minutes, give or take. They were bandits, I guess – dressed funny. All leathers and the like. She was out in the orchard. They killed one of my guys and drug her off. Other man out in the field tried to fight 'em off but he was outnumbered."
Monroe considered this for a second. "They have tattoos? Like lines or stars or something?" One of the farmhands was holding a rag to his bleeding arm. He nodded at this question. "Sounds like a warclan, but I don't know what they'd be doing this far east. They had a few show up in Texas, but that was a lot closer."
Charlie started to look worried. "You think the Patriots sent them like they did in Willoughby?"
Monroe shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. You'd think they'd be smart enough not to play the same card twice. Only one way to find out."
Avery gave them a strange look. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Monroe dodged the question. "Later. Hold on, I'm coming with you." He ushered Charlie back to the wagon. "Stay here," he said as he reached under the bench and pulled out the sword belt he kept hidden there.
"No way in hell. I'm coming with you," Charlie protested. She walked around to the back of the wagon where Priscilla sat with the twins. Reaching in, she dug out two pistols and a few clips. "If you're going to find them, you'll need me to help track them."
"And who's going to protect the kids if they double back? Priscilla? No, I need you to stay here and keep them safe." Monroe strapped the swords around his waist before taking one of the guns and a spare clip from her. "I'm not as good as you, but maybe I'm a bit better at tracking than I let on." He bent his head and kissed her quickly. "If we're not back nightfall, get the kids home."
Monroe walked back to Avery. "Which way did they go? How many were there?"
The farmer chose not to question him about the swords or the way that he seemed to be about to take control of this rescue mission. There would be time for that later. Right now, Sarah was what mattered, and they needed all the help they could get. "Half a dozen, maybe. They were headed towards the river," the injured farmhand said.
Half a dozen clansmen were nothing, but knowing clans the way he did, Monroe knew that there were probably twice that waiting for them. Monroe nodded. "Well come on then," he said as he headed in the direction the farmhand had indicated. The others followed, happy to let someone else take the lead.
They cut through one of the cornfields in an effort to cut the warclan off. Avery was impressed at the ease which Monroe ran through the field, jumping over obstacles with the grace and confidence of someone that was used to running into battle. They found the clansmen quickly enough, but Monroe had been right. There were a dozen men waiting for them. Normally, six to twelve odds were something Monroe could work with. But clansmen were no Patriots or Georgia soldiers. They were vicious and their hearts were in the kill.
Monroe insisted on waiting until dark before they hit the camp. They'd need to use the darkness as cover. He had the other men stand down while he scouted the camp out. The girl was tied to a tree close to the center of camp. So much for a stealthy rescue, he thought to himself. There was no way to get close to her undetected. He crept back to the others. "We're going to have to go in hard. War clans are nasty. These men are good in a fight. Go for the kill."
Avery furrowed his brows, clearly worried. "What are you going to do?"
Monroe shrugged. "What I do best. Don't worry, Avery. We'll get her back." Monroe told them each where to stand. He had two of them circle back to take them on the other side. Once everyone had time to get into place, he took aim and shot the closest man to him, dropping the warrior immediately.
This was the signal the others were waiting for. They began to open fire from their vantage points as Monroe charged in, praying they were decent shots. Two more went down, cutting their number down to ten. This clan was obviously on the run. Only half of them have firearms, but Monroe does recognize a few of those as Patriot weapons. The rest were arms with an assortment of swords and knives.
Monroe drew one of his own blades, wielding one with his left hand as he continued to shoot with the right. He was trying to work his way directly towards the girl. He paused to take cover behind a large tree as several shots came at him. Firing back, he watched the shooter fall. When he looked back to where Sarah had been tied up, she was gone. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he turned to face his next opponent.
Avery and one of the farmhands had shot their way into the camp. Only six men remained. Monroe dodged as a sword came at him from his right. He fought the man off, sending his sword through his gut. He took his final shot, clipping another clansman in the side. When the man didn't go down, Avery finished him off before reloading his rifle once more.
Monroe tossed his now empty and useless weapon aside and drew his other sword. A bullet grazed his bicep, slicing through his shirt and causing enough damage to only piss him off. Another rifle blast rendered that shooter dead as well. As Monroe sliced the throat of another man, he saw one of the farmhands go down. There were only two enemies left. Avery took out one of them.
Monroe swept the last man's feet out from under him and then caught him in the neck with his blade. The edge of the sword caressed the skin under the man's jaw. "Hold you're fire!" He commanded as he stared his captive down. "Up on your knees," he quietly ordered the last clansman. "Hands up!"
Avery and the remaining farmhands came over. "She's not here."
Monroe cocked his head to the side as he regarded the captive. "Where's the girl? Where's the rest of your clan?" The man stared at him blankly, refusing to answer. Monroe's gaze flicked down, noticing a telltale mark on the clansman's wrist. Their prisoner saw this, as Monroe locked eyes on him again. The man's eyes widened in fear as a look of recognition came over his features.
Monroe smiled coldly at the guy now. The girl's safety was depending on him getting him to talk. He had to pull out all the stops, do whatever it took. "You know who I am?" He asked the former militia solder. The man nodded, clearly terrified. "Say it," he ordered, hoping to use that fear to his advantage.
"You're General Monroe," He stammered.
Monroe nodded slightly. "That's right. If you know who I am, then you know what I can do. Start talking. What clan are you from?" He tried to ignore the fact that just for a fleeting moment his captive's fear made him feel good, powerful.
Avery and his men gathered in interest. The farmer leaned in to one of the farmhands. "The second I saw him fight, I knew he was no farmer," he said in a low voice. Monroe was oblivious to this. For now it's just him and the captured clansman.
Monroe shifted the position of the sword and the end pricked the man's skin. A dot of blood formed under his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, clearly terrified of what is going to happen. "Why should I tell you anything? You're going to kill me either way."
Monroe didn't have time for this. He narrowed his eyes at him. "If you tell me, I'll kill you. If you don't, you'll just wish I had."
From his time back in the militia, the clansman knew that Monroe's reputation was for being quick to anger, dangerously violent and more than a little unstable. "We're what's left of the Baxter clan out of Nebraska."
"What are you doing in Kentucky? Who sent you?" Monroe pulled his sword back just enough so that it was no longer poking his skin.
The clansman shook his head. "Sent us? Nobody. The Patriots came and started slaughtering the clans. What was left of us barely escaped. The chased us east. We were headed to Missouri when they started chasing us south again, so we took the long way around. We're headed back north."
"Where's girl?" Monroe waited only a few moments for an answer. When the reply didn't come immediately he quickly sent his other sword in the direction of the man's genitals. "I said, where's the girl? What do you want with her?"
The others watched as the clansman paled. It was obvious that he was convinced that Monroe would actually cut him there. "We were cutting through when we saw her with poor protection. We figured she'd bring a good price in Missouri, that's all. When you attacked us, one of our guys took off with her to meet up with the rest of the clan."
"Where are they? How many?" A few minutes later, Monroe had everything he needed to know. He was confident that he'd been told the truth. The man was too afraid of what would happen to him if he lied – and he knew better than to hope Monroe was heading into a trap. Even if they were lying in wait, there was a good chance the former general would still come out on top.
Monroe looked around. "Someone needs to keep an eye on our friend here, everyone else come with me."
Avery knew that if the man was lying, they'd still need him. He was too important to risk him getting away. "I'll stay here. Jim, you know the river better than anyone. You know where this bastard was talkin' bout?"
The farmhand nodded. Monroe picked up a few scattered rifles from among the dead. These rifles would be better than the assorted shotguns and hunting rifles the farmhands carried. He tossed them to the others and gave them a brief rundown on how to use them. "Let's go," he said, letting Jim take the lead.
Avery sat there with his eye on their prisoner, not moving. His mind raced. What was he supposed to do with this new found information? Michael Andrews was a neighbor and in truth, a friend. And if it wasn't for him, there would be no hope in getting his daughter back.
An hour later, Monroe came crashing through the woods with the farmhands close behind him. In his arms was the limp form of Sarah Carter. "Is she...?" Avery couldn't get the rest of the words out.
Monroe nodded to one of the farmhands, who raised his rifle to the one lone clansman. Avery dropped his own gun and held his hands out to take his daughter's still form. "She's okay, Avery. Just fainted." Monroe's words were gentle and his movements careful as he transferred the girl to her father. He turned to the militia soldier turned clansman now.
"You did good," he said right before he drew his sword and ran the man through. Avery flinched when he saw this.
"Why did you kill him? He weren't no threat now," he said in disgusted wonder.
Monroe wiped his blade on the man's shirt before sheathing it. "What did you want me to do with him, Avery? We don't know if that's really the last of his clan or not. There could be more of them up north. If there is, he'd just have told them what happened here." With the red haze of battle gone, he had an overwhelming desire to get Avery to understand. "They'd have come back – but the next time they wouldn't just take your daughter. They'd kill your men and rape Jenny and Sarah while they made you watch. That's what they do."
Avery stared at him in indecision. He turned to one of his men and gave him the slightest of nods. Before Monroe could react, there were three guns trained on him. "Dammit, Avery what are you doing?" Monroe asked.
"I'm sorry Michael, I mean Monroe. But I need time to think about what to do with you now, and I can't let you get away." Avery was no closer to coming up with a solution to this new problem than he was before they'd returned with Sarah safe and sound.
Monroe looked around him. There was a good chance he could still get away. Armed or not, these were farmhands. They were decent shots when it came to hunting, which indeed aided them tonight, but they still were no soldiers. He thought better of it. Avery had become a friend. If he tried to escape, someone was probably going to get hurt. The last thing he wanted was for that someone to be Avery or his daughter. He sighed as he lowered the gun to the ground before taking off is sword belt and handing it over to Jim. "It's a long walk back, I guess we'd better get started," he said, suddenly very tired.
They walked for a good fifteen minutes with Monroe in the lead, hands up. Jim kept a rifle trained at his back. Avery walked a few paces back. "So what are you doing in Providence, Monroe?" Avery asked as they walked.
"Same thing as you Avery. I'm just trying to take care of my family and get by," Monroe said carefully. If he was getting out of this in one piece, he had to keep reminding his neighbor that he was a man just like him. A few minutes later Monroe called over his shoulder. "So you're really going to turn me in after I just saved your kid?"
"We're going to get back and straighten this mess out," Avery replied. Over the past several minutes, Avery had been thinking about how the man before him was the one that dropped the bombs. His brother had been killed when Atlanta was erased off the map, so he bore no love there. But then again, if Monroe had not been there today, he would never have seen his daughter again. Or worse – he would have been killed trying to rescue her, leaving Jenny to grieve them both. His conscience weighed heavily on him as he tried to make a decision as they drew closer to the house and to the moment where that decision would need to be made.