A/N: Sorry for the delay. I had to re-write the last half of this like four times before I was happy with it. It kept ended up being like 5k words of dialog. I instead half-assed it with another flashback… More notes at the end. (P.S. I wanted to get this up before work, so I'm sorry if there are any errors…)

Despite Monroe's best efforts to put the past five weeks behind him, his body just couldn't accommodate him. Gene had warned him from the get go that it would take time to build his strength back up due to the deplorable condition they'd found him in. It had been mentioned more than once that Monroe should consider himself lucky to even be alive and that he needed to take his recovery – and Gene's orders seriously.

It was bad enough being stuck in bed and feeling like shit. But it seemed that every time he looked up someone was shoving food in his face (and reminding him that he'd lost some weight) or popping their head in to check on him, or asking him how he was feeling.

Miles stops to see him on his way down the hall. He's been doing this every half hour or so – as if he didn't have some work to do somewhere. Monroe had just woken up the previous morning. Monroe wonders if in that time Miles has worn a canyon into that damn hallway. "Hey buddy, hanging in there?" Miles says. "Need anything?"

It wouldn't be so annoying, but Rachel has just checked on him three times in the past hour as well, and Gene has been in the room twice today. He's surprised they aren't all bumping into each other face first in their efforts to baby him. Charlie is busy, but has made an effort to bring the kids for a short visit (okay, he hadn't minded that so much – just the way she hovered to make sure he didn't suffer an untimely death by toddler). The only person that hasn't made him feel awkward was Daniel. The old didn't even enter into the room. Just stopped in the hallway outside the door and mumbled something about slackers and taking naps. That at least had made him laugh (which hurts a little still).

"I'm fine, Miles. I'm sure you have better things to do than pester me all day." Monroe tries to be nice about it, but his patience is wearing thin.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I could –"

Monroe finally has had enough. "For fuck's sake, Miles. I'm not a goddamn invalid. Go find something to do, and leave me the hell alone!"

Since he'd first followed Charlie from the Plains Nation to Willoughby he'd been buried under six feet of dirt, drugged to the point of looking dead and then later almost blown halfway to kingdom come and left with a traumatic brain injury. Even those two instances combined hadn't resulted in the hovering they'd done in just the first two days since his rescue.

And, if they weren't babying him, they were tiptoeing around him, as if everything they said or did could send him into having an "episode."

He's been home for three days. The twins have already been put to bed. Charlie has decided that he needs to be cleaned up a bit – meaning he needs a haircut and a shave. Monroe agrees more to placate her than anything. Besides, his beard is much longer than he finds comfortable. It's back to the length it was when they were endlessly on the run in Texas. He prefers a cleaner goatee. If he only shaves the rest of it once a week or so, well Charlie thinks the scruff is kind of hot, so it gives him an excuse to be lazy. But this is too much and it itches like crazy.

He is sitting in the rocking chair. Charlie has already trimmed his hair so it's not such an unruly mess. Now she's getting ready to shave him. As she gets the soap to lather, she innocently comments on how her step-mom Maggie used to perform this same task for her father. She sounds happy as she recalls the memory.

She checks the blade on the straight razor to make sure it's sharp. "Crap, forgot the water," she says. Charlie steps out of the room for just a few minutes, returning with the water she's had warming on the stove. Normally, he just lathers and shaves, but it's long enough that it's too coarse. She places a warm, wet towel on his neck and jaw to soften the hair.

The second the material touches his face, he's suddenly transported to another place in his mind – one where a wet towel is not just the innocent first step in shaving. Before Charlie can even pick up the shaving soap, he abruptly sits up and flings the towel away, breathing heavily. He stammers some excuse or another – he's not even sure of what he tells her.

Of course, she isn't buying it. They both know exactly what has happened. He concentrates on is breathing again, waiting until he's calmed down enough to speak. Charlie is watching him with concern. "I'm fine. Look, you've been waiting on me hand and foot all day. Go relax for a while. I'll do it, okay?"

Charlie hesitates for a few seconds. She knows that this is difficult for him and that he's embarrassed over the incident. She leans over and kisses him lightly before she goes about setting everything within his reach on the nightstand. She disappears for a couple of minutes, returning with a small stand up mirror so he can see what he's doing. After giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, she leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Monroe just stares at his face in the mirror for a long time. He really does look like shit and is starting to look a bit closer to his age (not quite, but enough to be annoyed and depressed about it). He spreads the soap in his face and slowly works the blade over his skin. Charlie returns a little while later to collect the water, soap and razor. If she notices that he's nicked himself a few times with his still unsteady hands, she's courteous enough not to mention it.

The morning after the shaving incident, Charlie had left him to his own devices rather early. He was fine with it. Even boredom was better than being watched like he was going off the deep end. Monroe knew she was just worried and it he felt a bit guilty for not appreciating it more – if she didn't love him, she wouldn't have been so concerned. Still, it wasn't helping him get past it all. He needed something to do, not constant reminders of what he went through.

He was just finishing up breakfast when Daniel shuffled into the room, not bothering to knock. Under his arm were several leather bound volumes. The old man sank himself into the rocking chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Need to get Sam Graves in town to make me a few more of these for the porch. Nothin' like a good rocker," he comments idly.

For the most part, Daniel has stayed away. Monroe knows it isn't a lack of caring. It's just his way. Daniel has to know that Monroe had enough people buzzing around him with concern as it was. "What's new old man?"

"Damn goat got out again yesterday. Had me a fine time watching your friend Miles chase it around like an idiot," He cackles.

Monroe couldn't help but laugh. So that's what earned him a reprieve from Miles' pestering the previous afternoon. "Sorry I missed it. At least now he understands why I hate that stupid animal." Monroe briefly wondered if Daniel hadn't had something to do with Dickhead's most recent attempt at freedom. "So what's with the paperwork," he asked, gesturing at the ledgers that Daniel had set down on the nightstand.

"Maybe I'm just getting to old for this shit, but I can't seem to get these damn things to balance this month." Daniel picked up the one on top and handed it over.

Monroe took the ledger and opened it up. "Okay. I guess I could take a look." Daniel normally kept meticulous records on everything. Food stores, feed, animals, funds. At any given moment he knew exactly what the farm had on hand, right down to every last wedge of cheese.

Daniel had insisted a few months ago that Monroe take a look every now and then, just so he could learn the system that he used. The numbers in front of Monroe looked like they were in Daniel's handwriting, but the similarity to his work ended there. "Holy hell, Daniel. What did you do? Let Miles get ahold of these or something?

Daniel shrugged innocently. "I might have had one too many when I did them last month. Stressful time, you know. Mind earning your keep and fixing them?"

It wasn't like Monroe had anything else to do, so he'd agreed to work on it. For the most part, there were just minor mathematical errors or places where Daniel must have misread a number. Each of these added up to create one giant mess. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even notice Charlie stopping by to collect the remnants of his breakfast on her way out to the dairy.

Later when she was finished with her work, she ran in to Daniel on her way back to the house. "Why is Monroe redoing all of your books?" she asked.

Daniel spoke low as they were headed inside together. "I might have made a few mistakes. I'm a bit busy overseein' his chores for the time being. Might as well keep him occupied."

Charlie realized then what he'd done. "Thank you."

Daniel stopped for a second. "Man's got more than his share of pride, girl. You might remember that. Hard enough having your body all broke down – take it from an old man who knows a thing or two about it. It's even worse if everyone acts like you're made of glass."

Charlie stood there in the yard and watched Daniel hobble out of sight. The crusty old farmer never ceased to amaze her. Later when she'd brought Monroe something to eat for supper, she found him fully dressed for the first time since he'd been back. He was seated in the rocking chair with his feet propped up on the bed and one of the heavy ledgers in his lap. Every so often he'd scratch out a set of numbers and replace it with new ones. The small eraser he'd started with had long since worn away. "Still working on that?" She asked.

He looked up from the pages. "Yeah. I might have been annoyed at him for fucking these up on purpose if I hadn't found an actual honest mistake too."

"How did you figure it out" She asked with a laugh as she set the tray down on the dresser.

He had just finished tallying a column of numbers. Setting the pencil inside to mark his place, he slapped the ledger shut. "Really? No one is this bad at basic math. I take that back – Miles is even worse." He set the ledger aside and took his feet off the bed before she bitched at him for it. He started to rub his neck where it had become stiff from leaning over the ledgers all day.

"So you going to tell him he's busted?" She asked as she crossed the room to stand behind him.

Monroe thought about it for a second. It really had been a strangely sweet gesture. "Nah. He was just trying to give me something to do so I wouldn't go nuts with boredom."

Charlie brushed his hand out of the way and took over kneading the knot in his neck. He let out a satisfied moan in response. "Feel good?" She couldn't help but last.

"Nope. Not at all. You've got ten years to stop doing that," he said with one of the first smiles she'd seen in days.

She massaged his neck for a few more minutes before stopping, placing a kiss where her hands had been, she turned to grab the tray from where she'd left it. He took Charlie by surprise when he suddenly pulled her into his lap. Her initial reaction was to stop him and remind him that less than a week ago he'd been found on death's doorstep, but she remembered what Daniel had said. She settled herself against his chest instead. It really had been a long time since he'd held her like this. "I take it someone's feeling a little better?"

Monroe started to kiss her behind her ear. Charlie closed her eyes and gave over to the sensation. He always seemed to know just the right places to touch and kiss her. Fuck it, she thought to herself. She slid off his lap and sat down on the bed. She could see the disappointment in his eyes. With a challenging smirk, she kicked her shoes off and stretched out on the bed.

Monroe took the hint. They laid on their sides facing one another. As soon as he joined her, Charlie pressed her lips to his. They spent a long time just exploring each other's mouths. He brought his hands up and cupped her face. "God, I missed this," he whispered against her lips as he plunged in to taste her. Charlie tugged at his shirt and pulled it off of him. His bruises were fading. She was reluctant to touch him at first. "I promise I won't break."

Charlie rested her hands on his chest. Despite the lost weight, his muscles were still firm beneath her touch. He started working on the buttons to the flannel shirt she wore. When he reached the last button, he slowly slid the material off her shoulders. Impatient, she wiggled out of it and tossed the shirt behind her; her bra did not last much longer. He cupped and kneaded her breasts, stroking her hardening nipples with his thumbs. This never ceased to drive her wild.

Charlie's hand flew to his zipper. It had been so long since they'd had this that she'd given up any pretense of taking her time. Finally getting his pants undone after fumbling with his zipper, she reached in and wrapped her hand around him. He was hard and eager for her touch. "Goddamn," he groaned as she ran her hand up and down his erection. He undid her jeans and yanked them town. His fingers found her center. She made mewling sounds in the back of her throat as he stroked her there. Fully aroused, she kicked her jeans completely off. "Eager?" he asked with a chuckled.

"Maybe," she panted with a smile as she used her feet to edge his pants further down, freeing him. She wrapped one leg around his hips to open herself for him. They remained on their sides due to Monroe's injuries. The position added to the intimacy of the moment when he entered her. They made love slowly, clinging to one another; his tongue delving into her mouth. Charlie arched her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.

As they both found themselves coming closer, she managed to find a moment of rational thought. "We should start being careful," she said in between kisses. "If we don't, we could wind up in trouble again," she reminded him.

He was fighting to keep himself under control. That warning did ring in his mind, sobering him for about two seconds when he realized that he didn't care. He didn't want to stop. "Would it bother you all that much?" he asked her, panting.

Charlie realized what he was asking her. She surprised herself with her answer. "No," she whispered as she claimed his lips and let herself go. A few minutes later she began to come apart, convulsing around him as she called out his name. Monroe's thrusts became more urgent. She gripped him tightly in the aftershock of her own orgasm when he stilled with one last thrust and spilled himself inside her depths.

In the aftermath, they laid there together as Monroe kissed her lazily. Slowly, their hearts stopped pounding and they caught their breaths. Charlie started to get stiff so she lowered her leg, effectively forcing him to withdraw from her. Reluctantly, Charlie rolled away and out of the bed. "And where do you think you're going?" He asked, watching her from under his lashes.

"I'm going to get our kids ready for bed," she said as she pulled herself into her jeans. "And you are going to eat your dinner, which is probably very cold by now." Charlie stumbled around the room looking for the rest of her clothes. Once dressed, she headed for the door.

"If you're going for the 'I'm pretending I wasn't getting laid' look, you might want to fix your hair," Monroe called out, stopping her. Charlie blushed as she ran her fingers through her locks in a vain attempt to untangle them. He laughed from his vantage point on the bed. Giving up, Charlie rolled her eyes at him before disappearing.

Monroe caught himself dozing off so he forced himself up and found his pants before he hobbled over to the dresser to retrieve his dinner. It was indeed cold. Having been prepared by Rachel, it wasn't like it had been that good in the first place. He never understood how a woman that was smart enough to destroy the world could be so incompetent when it came to cooking a basic meal.

He was just settling back down with the ledgers when the door opened. Danny and Angie raced in, now ready for bed and happy to see him. Charlie watched with a smile on her face as he let them climb all over him and did his absolute best to rile them up (of course). "I swear, you are such a big kid," she accused lightheartedly as she went to put the madness he was creating to an end.

When Charlie came back after getting them to sleep, Monroe was already waiting for her in bed. She quickly undressed and extinguished the lamps before joining him. The moment she crawled into bed, he pulled her to him.

The next morning, Monroe woke up to find her already gone. By the sounds coming from down the hall, it couldn't have been that late. He stretched out, wincing as some of his sorer muscles protested. It was possible they went a little overboard the previous night, not that he was going to complain. He crawled out of bed and went searching for clothes. He was determined to escape confinement today or die trying. He was in too good of a mood this morning to let anyone stop him.

She settles her back against his chest. It has been so long since he's held her like this at night. She's missed this more than anything. She'd gotten so used to it that when he was gone, she never seemed to be able to get comfortable.

Monroe remains awake for a while, trying to work up the nerve to say what is on his mind. "Still awake?" he asks her softly.

"Nope," Charlie sighs happily. "Fast asleep, out like a light, dead to the world."

"Liar." He kisses the back of her neck.

Charlie turns in his arms and looks at him sleepily. "I would be asleep if you would stop talking."

"Listen Charlie," he hesitates. Taking a deep breath, he starts again. "I wanted to-"

"Yeah?" she is starting to get a little worried. He's suddenly very tense.

"I, uh – dammit." The way she is furrowing her brows in confusion and worry is only making this harder on him. "God, I am such a tool," he mutters. Still, he can't help but laugh at himself. "I suck at this."

Charlie starts to take pity on him. He really has suddenly turned into a bundle of nerves. "Whatever it is, just say it," she says gently.

He braces himself. "I'm not doing this very well." Charlie gives him a look that clearly shows that she concurs. "Marry me," he finally blurts out.

She blinks in surprise. That was what he's been trying to say this whole time? "The whole town already thinks we are." In other words, they're as good as married now.

No, that wasn't anti-climactic at all. "I mean for real. Our real names, officially. Be my wife," he elaborates.

Charlie smiles at him. "Of course. Yes, I will marry you." Their lips meet. "And yes, you are a tool and you suck at proposing."

Monroe shakes his head at her. "Thanks a lot." He rolls her off of him and leans over, reaching for the nightstand. "Hold that thought." He rummages through the junk he keeps in the drawer (much to her irritation). Finding what he's looking for he rolls back over to her. In his hand he holds a small leather pouch. He unties the string at the top and turns it over. A thin gold band with a small diamond falls out.

"Where did you get that?" she asks, astounded.

"I'd been working up to asking you before all hell broke loose. I couldn't very well get it in town – enough people still think we're already married. I had Avery get it when he went to Somerset a few months ago." Monroe slips the ring on her finger.

She reaches over and lights the lamp on her own bedside table so she can see it better. "How did you know it would fit?"

He tips her chin up and gives her a lingering kiss. "You're a very heavy sleeper, and I'm just that good."

Monroe was almost done lacing his boots when Miles poked his head in the room. It was almost breakfast, so it was time for his daily morning pester. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply. He did not like what this implied about Monroe's intentions.

"I'm getting dressed," Monroe shot back. "And then I'm leaving this room."

Miles leaned up against the door frame. "Oh no you don't. You trying to get me in trouble here?"

Monroe stood up and walked over to the door, determined. "Move," he challenged.

Miles responded by crossing his arms over his chest. "Not a chance, pal. Gene said at least a week."

"And Gene can kiss my ass," Monroe replied. He was not willing to back down. If he was well enough to get laid, he was well enough to eat breakfast at the table like a normal person.

Miles was just as stubborn. "Not happening, Bass."

Monroe raised a brow at him. "Oh, you'll move. Because if you don't, I'll climb out the window the second your back is turned. I will probably hurt myself doing it. Then you really will get in trouble." As he waited to see if Miles would call his bluff, Monroe did his best to ignore the fact that he was already starting to feel a little unsteady on his feet.

Miles stared him down, trying to strengthen his resolve, but they both knew he'd cave. With an exaggerated sigh, he moved out of the way so Monroe could leave. He stayed right behind his friend, just to make sure he made it down the hall in one piece. This obviously irritated Monroe, but as far as Miles was concerned, he could go to hell.

The journey to the kitchen took a lot out of him but Monroe considered it a minor victory. Rachel was still making breakfast. The second she saw the both of them, she shot miles a deadly look. "Now see what you've done," Miles said under his breath. He knew he was going to hear it later.

With an exasperated sigh, Rachel set a cup of coffee down in front of Monroe. He took a sip, frowning. "Aaron puts whiskey in it," he pouted.

"Too bad. Aaron's still not back yet," she snapped. "And you should still be in bed."

Monroe ignored her. "So where are the others anyway?" he asked Miles.

Miles looked at him sideways. He still found it bizarre that the two men had become friends. "Half the group came in last night. The others should be back today or tomorrow. Missing your new shadow?"

Monroe laughed a little. Jealous much? "Maybe a little. At least he's not afraid to drink with me. Then again that's probably because Priscilla doesn't bitch about it when he does." He looked to see if Rachel was actually listening. "That, and Priscilla can actually cook."

That earned him a burnt biscuit to the back of the head. "Ow! You could hurt someone with those things. Or kill them if they tried to eat one." Another one hit him in the shoulders.

Charlie stepped into the kitchen with a squirming child under each arm. "What is going on here?"

Monroe looked up at his bride to be, smiling. "Your mother is trying to kill me with her cooking." He was pegged again. "Okay, that one actually hurt," he whined. "See, now I really do need that whiskey."

Rachel looked pissed. She stomped over to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. "Fine, the two of you want to drink yourselves stupid? Be my guest." She slammed the bottle down on the table.

Monroe picked it up and nonchalantly added some to his coffee before handing the bottle off to Miles. "Why yes we would, thank you."

Rachel went back to the stove, looking like she was ready to murder someone. Charlie held her breath and counted to ten, ready to yell at them both. She opened her mouth when Rachel suddenly burst out laughing and sent another homemade hockey puck sailing at him. "You really are horrible, you know that?" Monroe turned in his chair and sent her an innocent look as he took a sip of his now perfect coffee. "And so are these biscuits," she admitted as she threw the last one at him. This time, his reflexes kicked in and he caught it.

Charlie rolled her eyes as she looked around the room. Miles just sat there with a shit eating grin on his face. He was more than a little amused by the exchange. She passed Danny over to his father. "Am I the only grown up in this family?"

Miles took a drink straight from the bottle. "Probably. But look at the bright side Charlie. A few months ago, she'd be throwing something pointy at him instead."

After several more days of lounging about the house, Gene finally gave him the all clear to slowly get back to work. He wasn't at a hundred percent yet, but he could at least get to the stables and back without getting dizzy or winded. Determined, he had bitched and moaned until Miles had agreed to train with him. If the Patriots were this close, he needed to be back in fighting shape. Whether he liked it or not, war was coming. He wouldn't go seeking trouble, but when it came to him, he had to be ready. For once in his life, he finally had something good to fight for.

Aaron and Priscilla had gotten back the day before.

Monroe is sitting on the couch finishing up Daniel's ledgers while Danny and Angie toddle about the room. He's managed to barricade them into the room for the time being – not that it will last. The back door opens. He hears Miles' voice drifting in from the kitchen. Miles was supposed to be mucking out the stable today (Monroe had loved the look on his face when Daniel had asked him to do it), so either he'd decided to shirk out of it or something was up.

The additional voices suggest the latter is the case. Monroe sets the ledger aside, his interest now piqued. He's just standing up when Aaron and Priscilla emerge from the kitchen with Miles behind them. "Well look who's back from vacation. Did you have fun?" He says as he greets them.

He holds out a hand to Aaron, but the bigger man pulls him into a bear hug instead. "You're okay!"

"Ow! Yeah I'm fine." Monroe says as he pats Aaron on the back. He's crushing him a little. "Okay, Aaron. Too long…"

Aaron releases him. "Sorry. I kind of made that awkward, didn't I?"

Monroe gives Priscilla a quick hug in greeting and then stoops down to pick up Danny who has decided to play with the ledger he was working on. "Yeah, just a little bit," he says as he sits back down.

Miles is snickering from behind. Having seen Aaron and Priscilla arrive, Charlie and Rachel have come inside just in time to watch the exchange. They are trying to keep straight faces.

"Look at you Aaron. All big and bad taking on the Patriots now," Monroe says as everyone takes a seat.

Miles disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bottle and some glasses. Friends making it home is always cause for a drink – well, at least for the three alcoholics in the room (Miles has really enjoyed living on a farm with its own still house). "So how did it all go?" he asks as he pours the whiskey.

Aaron accepts the glass Miles offers him. "Took the whole compound down. I got to admit it, it was kind of fun – like rummaging through a strangers junk at a garage sale."

Charlie was playing with Angie on her lap on the floor. "How much of it did they manage to load up?"

"All of it," Aaron says. "As far as anyone in the area will be concerned, they were never there. He said they'll put it to good use. We destroyed the stuff they used to – you know…" He doesn't want to say it out loud. He doesn't know what effect the ordeal has had on Monroe. Uncomfortable, Aaron change the subject. "So anyway, they'll be back and ready to set up by the end of the week. Avery and the sheriff rode in with us this morning, along with everyone else from town."

Monroe looks up from his whiskey. "How many people went with you to raid them?"

Priscilla speaks up. "Almost everyone we've recruited and then some."

Monroe thinks about this for a few minutes. There must have been fifty or more soldiers at that compound. More if he counted Truman and some of the other higher-ups. They'd only managed to recruit a dozen men with any fighting skills and maybe fifteen more that had no hope of defending themselves in a fight. How the hell did they manage to take out that compound? He decides to leave it for now. He wants to think it over a while longer before he forces Miles and Charlie to give him some answers. "It's good to have you home," he tells them.

Monroe and Miles had just finished sparring in the paddock. Miles had gotten the upper hand a few times, but considering how long he'd been down and out, Monroe hadn't been surprised. Still, it was good to get back in it; to be active. His endurance was still lacking, but at least he was steady on his feet and could swing a sword.

"Ever think we're getting too old for this shit?" Miles asked as he leaned against the fence, trying to appear that he wasn't winded.

Monroe laughed as he picked up his jacket. "Maybe you are. Me? Still in my prime. Just look at the young piece of ass I'm about to marry." When Miles sent the rock hurling at him, he managed to duck just in the nick of time.

"That's my niece you're talking about, asshole." Miles still laughed in spite of himself. They headed out of the paddock and back towards the house.

Monroe decided that he'd waited long enough. He stopped in his tracks and held an arm out to block Miles' progress across the yard. "How did you manage to take out that compound? There were fifty, sixty guys there. We had what, fifteen maybe twenty, tops?"

Miles sighed. "Let's take a walk, Bass." He did an about face and headed towards the fields. They walked for a while, passed the winter wheat and barley that they'd planted in the fall. The rest of the fields would be fallow until spring. The fields at the back of the property were a bit lower than the rest. Daniel only used them in drier years because the creek had a tendency to flood into them otherwise.

The fields were busy with activity. Tents were being set up and there were men everywhere. "We told you we had some help; made a few friends. These are our new friends."

They headed down towards the camp. As Monroe looked around, he could see some of the Patriot tents that had been repurposed. He took a few deep breaths, trying to remind himself that he wasn't back at the compound – these men were just making good use of their supplies in a world where good tents were harder to find. The men that came and went were all wearing camo. He studied one of the men that walked by. The pattern identified the uniform as U.S. Army. This struck him as odd.

What the Patriots wore closely resembled old Navy khakis, but even those were just variations. And this had made since. They'd been hiding in Cuba and Gitmo was a naval base. The patterns on these uniforms were too perfect. They had to be pre-blackout and from the looks of them, official. "What the hell?"

"They just all arrived this morning," Miles explained as he led Monroe through the camp. He flagged down one of the soldiers. The young man looked very familiar to Monroe – he knew instantly where he'd seen him before.

"He was there – with the patriots. He's one of them." He quickly squashed down the panic that started to rise. He would not let himself lose it here. "What the hell is he doing here, Miles?"

"Bass, this is Corporal Scott Walters. He was there. He was also the one that sent word that you were still alive," Miles told him calmly. He turned to the corporal now. "Where did you set up the command tent?" Corporal Walters pointed them in the right direction and then turned to go back to his duties.

"General Monroe!" he said as they walked away. Monroe turned to the man slowly. Normally when someone called him that these days it was done quite derisively, but now this was not the case. "I'm sorry that it took so long for us to get you out of there. I couldn't blow my cover and it took a while to get a message out safely."

Monroe nodded to acknowledge the man as he turned back around and followed Miles. They entered a large tent on the other side of the camp. Much to Monroe's surprise, Rachel and Charlie were already there. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?"

Charlie met him at the entrance to the tent. She grabbed his hand and led him over to the man seated at the table in the middle of the tent. Rachel took it upon herself to introduce him to the man. "Bass, this is Thomas Donovan." The man was wearing what was once probably a very expensive suit. It was worn with age now. The man was maybe in his early sixties and looked tired but determined all the same.

"Nice to meet you. Who the hell are you?" Monroe asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being the last in the loop.

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He slid it in front of Monroe. It was an old twenty dollar bill. Confused, Monroe picked it up and held it up to inspect it. He didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for when he saw it – stamped to the right of Andrew Jackson it said "SERIES 2012". To the right of that was a signature. Thomas L Donovan, Secretary of the Treasury.

Monroe looked up at the man before him. "What does this all mean?"

Donovan sighed in exasperation. "I thought Government class was required for high school graduation nation-wide. Didn't anyone pay attention?"

Mile laughed. "In Bass' defense, if I remember correctly he spent the entire semester trying to sleep with the girl that sat next to him in that class. What was her name?"

"Trying?" Bass said under his breath. That got him an elbow in the ribs from Charlie. He winced. She just happened to get him in a spot that was still sore.

"The Secretary of the Treasury is the fifth person in the Presidential line of succession." Rachel waited for him to make the connection. When he didn't immediately, she explained further. "Jack Davis was my old boss' boss – the Secretary of Defense, who is sixth in the line of Presidential succession.

Monroe finally got it (he really should have paid more attention in that class). "That makes you the President of the United States."

Thomas Donovan is on his way to the airport. He's running late. The driver receives a text message. The next light is red, so he takes the opportunity to check the message. There are only a few people that have this number, so he knows it's related to his job. They do not know it yet, but this message will later change the fates of many.

As soon as the light turns green, the driver breaks several traffic laws and makes the next left. "What the hell are you doing?" Donovan shouts. The driver ignores him. He drives for several more minutes, pulling over in front of a nondescript building. Several agents get into the car. "What is going on?!" Donovan asks again.

"Sir," one of the agents begins, "we've got reason to believe that there will be an attack on American soil and have been instructed to get you to a secure location."

Donovan is taken aback. "An attack? By whom? What about the president?"

"There is no time, sir. We are trying to contact his security detail, but they've gone off-line. It's already begun. All communication with the President and the rest of the cabinet has been cut off," the agent explains further.

"By whom?" Donovan asks again.

The other agent turns around in the front seat. "If what we've been told is correct? The Vice President and the Secretary Davis are planning a coup."

"My God," Donovan says. They drive for an hour and then the power goes out. They are out of Washington at least. They walk for miles, finally coming upon a safe house where they will pass the night.

Over the next several weeks pieces of the puzzle will slowly come together. A lone CIA agent accidently found something that was supposed to remain hidden: The nanite program and the order from the Vice President to covertly release the nanites before they were brought on-line, giving them time to replicate. When he contacted his superiors, he'd quickly found his own life in danger. Someone was trying to cover this up.

Not knowing what else to do, he contacted a buddy of his that worked for the Secret Service. That the Secret Service was ultimately headed by The Secretary of Treasury was what would save Donovan's life. When the rest of communication went down, they could still reach his driver.

They would discover that by the time the power had gone out, the Vice President and Secretary Davis had already disembarked on the U.S.S. Constitution for destinations unknown. The President and the rest of the line of succession were already in the air at the time. Donovan was supposed to be on that plane. It had presumably gone down with the rest.

The Secret Service has discovered that there are agents of this conspiracy everywhere. So they will keep Donovan in hiding. There is nothing they can do but wait as the world falls apart – if the Vice President is involved, they will have to find a way to impeach him. If that happens, Donovan will be President. He must be protected. They watch over the next several years as the nation falls apart and the new Republics and Federations rise from the ashes of what was once a great nation.

Monroe drug a hand through his hair as he took it all in. "That's some crazy ass grassy knoll shit. So all of it – the whole blackout was a conspiracy to take of the government?"

"That's right," Donovan explained. "And they've had a hand in everything since. Even who won the militia wars," He adds meaningfully. "The plan was to let it all collapse and then sweep in to save the day and turn the power back on in the tower. Unfortunately for them, they didn't count on Mrs. Matheson or Mr. Pittman. The tower was the only place it could have been turned back on, so as far as we know, it's gone forever."

"If all of this was so hush-hush, how do you know all of it?" Monroe was still not convinced that this guy wasn't in league with the Patriots somehow. He seemed to know things that even Rachel didn't, and she'd been one of the ones to invent the tech in the first place.

"We've been able to convert one or two of them over the years. We knew what was happening, but they left too many men around for us to do more than watch and wait. It wasn't until Texas declared war that we were able to come out of hiding at all." What he said at least made some sense.

"Okay, I'll buy it. But what about the Vice President? If he was in on it, how'd this Davis asshole get the job of President instead of him?"

Donovan tossed a stack of papers towards Monroe to look at. Most of it was correspondences – all in Arabic with the translations neatly clipped to the originals. "From what we've been able to gather, Davis stabbed him in the back, and had planned to do so the entire time. I was supposed to be on that plane, so no one knew I was alive. Otherwise, I would imagine that Davis wouldn't have ordered him killed yet. Not when there was another person ahead of him."

It suddenly all started to make sense. "That's why Truman was so desperate to find out what I knew. He must have thought we were working with you."

"We were trying to get support down south while Davis was focused on trying to conquer Texas and the Plains. It didn't matter how careful we were, but word got out," Donovan told him.

Monroe laughed halfheartedly. Everything they'd done to him had been for nothing. "And they found out that there was a challenger to the throne, so to speak. They just happened to capture and torture the wrong guy." He turned to Miles. "Truman was awful convinced that you were up to no good. Did you know about them the whole time?" He was praying Miles had not been hiding this from him ever since he and Rachel had shown up.

Miles shook his head. "No, we didn't even know he existed until we were told where to find you."

Donovan cut in. "We found out that Miles Matheson and been working with Texas and had been in part instrumental in getting them to declare war. Our sources found out that he'd headed to Louisiana after the fighting started to wind down, so we followed him there. Texas and California had already stated that they'd go no further east than the Mississippi. We were hoping to use Miles as a go-between to get them to support us further. We sent a squad to intercept them after they'd headed north, but we were too late. The Patriots had already attacked and we found out they were on the run again." Donovan stood and nodded his head at one of the guards stationed outside of the tent, who had poked his head in. "We may not have found Miles, but we did find someone else – left for dead. If his recovery hadn't lasted several weeks, we may very well have gotten here before you were taken."

"Who was it?" Monroe asked, curious now.

"It was me."

Monroe slowly stood and turned around to face the ghost he'd just heard coming from the entrance of the tent. It felt like someone had just kicked the wind right out of him. He just stared for several minutes before he found his voice. "Connor?"

It had been a year and a half since he'd seen his oldest son. Long gone were the remnants of the suit he'd worn on the flight north from Mexico. He now wore a combination of civilian clothes and the camos that the rest of the men save Donovan wore. The long scar down the side of his face was obviously fairly recent. Monroe recalled what Donovan had said – They'd found him left for dead.

"Hey Dad," Connor said, breaking Monroe out of his reverie.

He swiped his hand down his face. He wasn't sure how to react; whether to laugh, cry or puke. So, he picked his old standby. He got pissed instead. He turned to Miles and Charlie. "You knew? I've been home for two weeks and you – you kept this from me?"

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey –"

Monroe shrugged away from her. "Charlie, how could you do that to me? Him, well I'd kind of expect it from." He jacked a thumb towards Miles in indication. "But you?" He'd heard enough and needed time to think. Before he said or did something he'd regret later, he stalked out of the tent and got as far away from them as he could.

When Charlie moved to follow, Miles stopped her. "Let him go," he told her sadly. He knew Monroe better than anyone. He'd need time to calm down before he was willing to see to reason or talk about it. Confronting him now would only hurt them both.

Connor mounts his horse, intending to ride back with them to Providence. The sight of his father, the infamous Sebastian Monroe huddled fearfully in the corner of the wagon, naked and ill is almost too much to take in. Even in Puesta Del Sol he'd held himself high; fighting within a few hours of a whipping that would have sent many to their graves.

"What's wrong with him?" he asks. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Monroe starts to react horribly.

He freaks out, reacting in terror. Muttering the same words over and over. "Not real…"

Miles looks down at Monroe. Rachel is in the driver's seat. They are waiting for Gene. The good doctor has gone with some of the men to raid what is obviously the medical tent. The fighting has stopped. Other than a few prisoners, most of the Patriots now lay dead. They will leave as soon as Gene has the supplies they need to keep Monroe alive until they've found a safe place. "He's drugged," Miles tells them.

As they wait, any time Connor speaks Monroe lashes out. Rachel pulls him aside. "None of us knew you were alive. Whatever they've been giving him has obviously made him hallucinate. At some point he must have come down enough to realize it. He won't be able to accept that you're here until he's come out of it. It could take days."

The decision is made. He will ride ahead and spread the word before doubling back and helping out her. As he prepares to leave, he all but begs. "Don't tell him about me if he comes out of it. I'll tell him myself. See you in a few weeks."

A/N: If I've done my job right, you will have learned that the lone patriot watching as Monroe was waterboarded was Corporal Walters, not Connor as some people suspected. Since Truman knows what Connor looks like, it would be impossible for him to infiltrate the Patriots. However, Connor was the one that came to tell Charlie that Monroe was alive and he was the rider that warned of their approach and the need to switch horses daily.

Also, yes I have played fast and loose with the structure of our government. The Secretary of Treasury really is right before the Secretary of Defense in the Presidential Line of Succession. But, the Secret Service has not been under the Department of the Treasury since 2003 since the creation of Homeland Security. I've decided to just pretend that Homeland Security does not exist for the purpose of this story. Essentially, I'm using the Secret Service as a Device to create an avenue for the real United States to show up.