A/N: I'm sorry again for another long delay. Our characters needed a lot of closure, and it was not easy to write. Plus, with my work schedule, I kept having to stop writing mid conversation, and when I went to pick it back up, the flow just got stilted, so I kept having to re-write them. Anyway thank you all for sticking with me thus far and I hope you enjoy ( I know, another chapter that's heavy on the dialog, apologies).

Monroe stomped off through the fields back towards the barnyard. On the way, he considered holing up in the still house for a while. Suddenly getting plowed seemed like an excellent idea. He paused by the structure for a few minutes, tempted. With a sigh, he got moving again. As much as he'd enjoy the numbness a good buzz promised, he had work to do.

Instead, he headed towards the toolshed. He yanked the door open, letting it bang against the frame. He'd been meaning to sort through it since before that fateful trip north. He started dragging things out, setting aside broken and dull tools to be dealt with later. If he happened to be throwing things around a bit more than necessary, well there was no one around to criticize him for it at the moment.

The commotion eventually drew Daniel out of the house. "So I take it you know," he said calmly as he approached. Monroe threw a broken shovel out of his way, enjoying the satisfying bang as it struck a tree stump. He glared up at Daniel before turning back to emptying out the shed. "Don't give me one of your death stares, boy. It wasn't my place and you weren't ready hear it."

Monroe pulled a crate out of the shed and crouched down in front of a pile of smaller tools to sort through them. "Not ready to hear my son was still alive? How do you figure?"

Daniel nudged the shovel out of the way with his toe and took a seat on the stump. "I wasna there when they found you, but I heard enough about it. Whatever cocktail they were giving you messed your head up pretty bad – and you were still bad off the day they brought you home."

Monroe didn't see how one had to do with the other. "It's been two weeks, old man."

"And you needed that time to work on healin'. You couldn't even move for days and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, you still got a ways to go. Part of you is still back there, Sebastian. Still bein' tortured and drugged and god knows what else they done to you."

Giving up, Monroe pulled himself out of his crouch and sat down. He hated to talk about the aftereffects of what the Patriots did to him; hated to face it, but he couldn't deny it either. "I know," he said, resting his forehead on his hand. "It's getting better though."

Daniel stood up. "I'm not sayin' they was right; not sayin' they was wrong either. What I'm tellin' you is that their intentions were good and you need to understand that."

He started to head back to the house, stopping only to offer one last comment. "War's comin', whether we like it or not. We're all gonna have to make choices that we don't like. Until then, try and make what peace you can."

Monroe watched Daniel's retreat until he disappeared. He stood up and grabbed the crate. He turned towards the shed to put it away when he almost dropped the thing, fumbling with it before it slipped from his hands. In front of him was someone that couldn't have been there. "I'm losing my fucking mind," he said aloud.

Not knowing what else to do, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He willed what was obviously a hallucination to go away. He slowly opened them again, but she was there all the same. His long dead sister stood before him, looking just as he remembered her. "You're not real. Angela is dead," he said to the image before him.

The apparition shook her head, but didn't speak. "No, I buried you twenty years ago. You can't be here."

"Remember your bargain," she said.

Despite the fact he knew it couldn't be real, Monroe couldn't dismiss the ache in the pit of his stomach at seeing her now. "What? I don't understand."

She took a step backward towards the open shed. "You made a bargain. Don't forget it." Before he could respond, the image of his sister was gone.

He cautiously entered the shed, expecting to see her in the shadows inside, but it was empty. He set the crate down and turned around. Aaron stood in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" He snapped. He knew it was uncalled for, but Aaron couldn't have come up on him at a worst time.

Aaron had witnessed Monroe's conversation with the thin air. "Well, I thought I'd see if you wanted help. Sorry for interrupting."

The words had the desired effect –he felt guilty. "Look, I'm sorry okay? Weird day."

Aaron recalled the first time the Nano had appeared to him as the dead. He'd seen Ben Matheson bleeding on the floor. It had been a thoroughly disturbing experience. "Let me guess, trying to decide if you've just seen a ghost or if you're just crazy instead?"

Monroe's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

"You get used to it. It's neither, by the way. You've just had a chat with the Nano. Creepy isn't it?"

Monroe suddenly felt lightheaded. He sat down on the stump he'd been using as target practice earlier. "They can do that?"

"They can see what's in your head, remember?" Aaron was curious. The Nano never reveals itself without a reason. "Who did you see? What did they say to you?"

Monroe shuddered as he recalled the way she'd appeared. "It was my sister, Angie. She died a long time ago – with the rest of my family before the blackout. She told me to remember my bargain." It suddenly hit him. He knew what they Nano meant. "It was a threat, wasn't it? I had two sisters – why else would it show up as the one we named Angie after?"

Aaron bent down to pick up a few rakes that Monroe had drug out of the shed. "If there's one thing I can tell you it's this: Whatever the Nano say, listen. Think about what they can do – and they hate being ignored."

They worked in silence until the shed was put to rights. By the time they'd finished, Monroe knew what he needed to do. He did his best to fight back the growing unease at seeing his sister's image. The threat was clear to him – Go back on his end of the bargain, and the Nano could very well go back on its own. He slowly worked his way back to Donovan's camp.

Monroe had plenty of time to think on his way through the fields. It didn't make sense to him that they were setting up a permanent base outside of Providence. It wasn't a strategic location for one thing. For another, once his identity became common knowledge it could very well hurt Donovan. People would associate the would-be president with one of the worst war criminals the continent had ever known. It was political suicide.

He quickly found the command tent. The guard outside gestured for him to enter, almost as if he was expected. Donovan was still there with Miles and Connor. Charlie and Rachel were nowhere to be seen. Miles walked up to him as he entered. "Bass, I'm sorry –" he began, keeping his voice low.

Monroe cut him off. "I know." They would have to leave it at that for the time being. He shot Connor a look that said they'd talk later. He could sense the underlying resentment the young man carried towards him. They still needed to clear the air about a lot of things, but now was not the time. "So obviously you've got some master plan, otherwise you wouldn't be setting up shop here, nor would you have bothered risking your men to save my hide," he said to Donovan.

"That's right," Donovan acknowledged. "If we're going to get Texas to do more than keep an eye on things, we need men. They aren't going to do all of our work for us."

This was nothing that Monroe didn't already know. "The question is where do you plan on getting them?"

Donovan sat down behind his desk and started rifling through some papers. "That's been the problem up until now. With their reprogramming centers, Davis can turn out fifty soldiers per camp per month. From what we can tell, there are nine camps fully operational scattered throughout the east. There are at least five more in the works."

Monroe thought about this. 700 men per month didn't seem like a lot. Not when his militia had once been over ten thousand strong. But they were at a disadvantage here. The Patriots could pull their recruits from pretty much anywhere, willing or not. Donovan didn't have that luxury. He had to get people to follow him willingly. "What about deprogramming the recruits? Converting them?"

"That's the plan eventually," Donovan explained. "They can be ordered to disregard their previous instructions and then deactivated by their handlers. They can't be reactivated without their number having been read. All we have to do is tattoo over them." He indicated Monroe should take a seat. Once he'd complied a file slid across the desk towards him.

Monroe picked up the file and scanned its contents. It seemed that at least Donovan had done his homework. "That's still going to take more men than you've got. If your math is right, some of these centers have hundreds of soldiers guarding them; the biggest one has over a thousand men assigned to it. We got lucky in Willoughby. They camp had to stay small to keep it off of Carver's radar."

Donovan pushed away from the desk and got to his feet. He pulled out a map and unrolled it on the desk. "And that's why your son was able to convince me to order your rescue." He pointed towards several locations on the map. "Shortly before Corporal Walters sent word of your capture we received a report. There are rumors of two garrisons of your former militia still holed up. We don't know their exact numbers or their condition, but it could give us help we need."

Monroe flinched. As Donovan spoke he pictured Angela's face; the Nano's warning echoed in his hears. 'What are you thinking?" He slowly stood and circled the desk to look at the map.

Donovan did not notice the wariness in Monroe's voice. "The reports indicated that there is one here in New Brunswick. The other is hiding somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan." His finger traced from one location on the map to another. "In order to recruit them, we need you and Miles Matheson."

Monroe backed up, having decided he'd heard enough. "Here's a news flash for you: Right before the bombs dropped, my men were shooting at me. Tom Neville pulled a coup and they were only too happy to follow him. More than likely they'd shoot me on sight - Miles too for that matter."

Miles stopped his retreat from the tent. "We don't know that the word spread past Colorado. More than likely it didn't. You show up, and they'll probably follow. It's worth a try, Bass. And it's the best shot we've got, anyway."

Monroe pulled Miles aside. 'You want me to take command of an army? Do you have any idea what you're asking?" He kept his voice at a harsh whisper.

"I trust you, Bass." Miles whispered back.

He sighed in resignation. "Well that only makes one of us." Their powwow now over, he turned back to Donovan. "I've gotta think about this." Without another word, he turned and left the tent. Connor was hot on his heels, determined to find out what just happened there.

"Hey! What the hell is your problem?" Connor called after him.

Monroe kept walking until he was at the edge of the camp. Away from Donovan's men, he finally turned around. "I'm not going to have a screaming match with you in front of men I might be working with later. We've got a lot to talk about, but I'm sure as hell not doing this sober. You coming?"

They sat in the still house in silence for a while, just brooding into their whiskey. This was not a conversation that would come easily. Monroe knew he had to reach through years of resentment and a lust for power that rivaled his own.

"Donovan is giving us what we wanted; a way to take back what's ours. Wanna tell me why that's a problem now?" Connor asked.

Monroe took another pull out of the bottle in his hands. "Things are different now, kid. I've got a life here, family."

Connor refused to look at him. "The Matheson's aren't your blood.

"Danny and Angie are. They need me here, not out there somewhere turning back into Hitler," he argued.

"What about me, Dad." The title fell off of Connor's lips in a sneer.

Monroe looked up from the bottle. "What about you? You're twenty-seven years old. You don't need me, hell I'm pretty sure you don't even like me – not that anyone could blame you for that."

Connor tried to hide the hurt in his voice to no avail. "I gave up my life in Mexico because of what you promised me. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Monroe stood up and walked to the window. He stared into the darkness for a while before responding. "It was a promise I shouldn't have made. The Republic wasn't exactly a good thing, and there was no way we'd have done any better the second time around. I'm not capable of it."

He turned back around to face his son. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. If I'd have known about you everything would have been different. I don't know why your mom kept you from me all of those years. I wasn't fucked up like this before the blackout – I actually used to be a decent guy. The Republic destroyed what was left of that. You gotta understand kid, I've got a chance to do things right this time; I need to take it."

Connor changed tactics. "So make things right with me and then bow out."

"Not gonna happen," Monroe said, shaking his head. "Even if I wanted to I can't give you what you want."

Connor jumped up. "Why?" He was shouting now, tired of being evaded.

"Because of Charlie," Monroe said, trying to keep his cool.

The answer only served to ignite Connor's anger further. "Because she asked you to?"

"Because it was the only way to save her life," Monroe shouted right back. Connor looked like he'd just been slapped. "She almost died having your brother and sister, and I was given a choice: Get the Republic back or save her. I'd already lost one woman I loved like that. I couldn't lose her too." He told Connor about the Nano and the offer they made – how he'd actually surprised an entity that could read his mind. "I think they actually wanted me to choose differently, like they testing a hypothesis or something."

The silence between them returned as Connor digested what he'd just been told. "You know that sounds crazy, right?" he said after a while.

"Yeah, I know." Monroe laughed in spite of himself. "But enough people have seen what they can do, it's not just me. Rachel and Gene watched those things bring Aaron back from the dead. We've seen them burn people alive. They even fixed my head and brought back all of my memories out of nowhere – not a fun experience by the way."

Connor sighed as he picked up the whiskey he'd abandoned while they were yelling at each other. "You really love her that much?"

"Since the moment I saw her, even if I was too stupid to realize it at first," he said. "I should have told you before New Vegas. I saw you making cow eyes at her before we even left, but I hadn't planned on ever going there. It just kind of happened. I never meant to hurt you."

Connor shrugged. "You just hurt my pride. No one wants to lose a girl to their old man."

Monroe raised a brow to his oldest child. "Watch it, boy. I'm still young enough to still take you out."

"Whatever." Connor chose not to remind him that he'd actually gotten the upper hand in that death match in New Vegas. "So what do you think you'll decide; will you help Donovan?"

Monroe took another drink, enjoying the buzz that was finally starting to settle in. "Maybe. Putting me in charge of an army is not the brightest thing anyone could do, but it may be the only way to finally end this. At least with Donovan, someone will be there to pick up the pieces when it's done. He's a better man for the job than I'd be. Plus, I've got a score to settle with these bastards. Too bad I won't get a chance to settle it with Truman."

"Well, maybe Donovan will let you take a whack at him when he's decided they're done with him," Connor replied.

Monroe's eyes narrowed, his expression darkened. "Truman is here?"

The change in Monroe's demeanor was not lost on his son. "Yeah, they're holding him in a shack on that Carter guy's farm."

"Show me," Monroe said as he stood back up.

It was very late when Monroe stumbled into the back door. Connor helped to hold him upright as he led his father through the kitchen. He'd only been in the house a handful of times, so he wasn't entirely familiar with the layout. He tried to navigate his father as quietly as possible, but he wasn't doing that good of a job. Eventually Miles appeared in the hallway. "What the hell is going on?"

"Will you just help me?" Connor said through gritted teeth. He may have lost some mass during his captivity, but Monroe was still heavy, especially since he'd gone damn near boneless halfway between the still house and the back porch. Connor was still buzzed from earlier in the night, which wasn't making things any easier.

Miles grabbed Monroe's other arm and looped it around his shoulder. Together they drug him to his bedroom. Charlie jumped out of bed when the door opened. The outline of Monroe's limp form had her rushing to light the lamp on her nightstand. "What happened?"

Connor leads Monroe to the shack in question. There are a few guards outside, just to be sure that Truman doesn't try something stupid and make a break for it. "Move," Monroe says coldly as he approaches. "I need to see him."

The guards stand in indecision, but one of them was there when they'd pulled the man before them out of that basement. He'd seen what their prisoner had done. Reluctantly, he lifts the barricade on the door and steps aside.

Truman stands when Monroe enters. He appears no worse for wear. Donovan may be keeping him for information, but he's not been subjected to the Patriot's methods of interrogation. No, Donovan wouldn't go there – he was making it a point to be different than the man he's hoping to usurp. "What's he doing here?" Truman's voice trembles in fear. Deep down he's known this moment would come, but he'd been hoping otherwise.

Monroe leans up against the wall of the shack, his arms crossed casually across his chest. This reminds Truman of another time and place – a trailer outside of Willoughby while the faux typhus raged through the town. "What's the matter Ed? Didn't you miss me?"

Truman notices that Monroe appears to be unarmed. He calms down slightly. He tells himself that Donovan has wanted him alive and unharmed – Monroe wouldn't risk himself to go against that order. "Like I'd miss any other traitor and terrorist," he says with more confidence than he feels.

Monroe makes a tsking sound. "Now that's not very nice, Ed. And here I thought we became such good friends during my stay with you."

The way Monroe has emphasized "friends" sends a chill down Truman's spine. "You didn't get anything that you didn't deserve."

Monroe laughs. "You're not wrong. I've done things to better men than you that you couldn't imagine." He crosses the room, enjoying the way the man is squirming at his implied threat. The shack is small and Truman's ankle is chained to an iron loop in the wall. There's nowhere for him to go.

"The guards outside won't let you torture me," Truman stammers.

"Maybe," Monroe says with a smile.

Truman's eyes grow wide. He starts to back away from Monroe. He only gets a few feet before his back is against the far wall. "What do you want?"

Monroe stops just a foot away from his prey. He ignores the question. "You know, your intel really does suck, Truman. I knew where Miles was, but neither one of us knew anything about Donovan. Funny, isn't it? You went through all that effort for nothing."

Truman is shaking. "I wouldn't say for nothing," he says with false bravado.

"Yeah, somehow I figured that. You got off on it didn't you? Just a little? Watching the infamous Sebastian Monroe brought so low must have made you feel good – powerful," Monroe mocks him. He doesn't give Truman a chance to respond. He reaches out and grabs the man by the throat, whipping him around. Monroe holds him from behind and squeezes his throat. Truman makes a gagging sound as the pressure on his larynx increases.

"Your little spies were right about one thing, Ed. I was in Louisiana, and Charlie was pregnant. It was twins, by the way – one of each. And they're beautiful, perfect." He squeezes harder for a second before slacking off just a bit. Truman starts to struggle, but Monroe holds him in place. "I could just let bygones be bygones for the torture. As you said, I got what I deserved."

Truman tries to swallow, but Monroe's grip is interfering. The door opens behind them. In the back of his mind, Monroe knows that it's Donovan standing behind him, but it's too late to back down now. "You should have killed me when you had the chance, Ed. I told you I'd find a way to take you down. I can get over a lot of things, but threatening my family isn't one of them."

Truman starts to feel dizzy as his lungs burn for oxygen. Monroe only laughs. "I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch." Before anyone can stop him he snaps Truman's neck. He lets the body fall to the ground with a satisfying thud. He looks down at what he's done. A small part of him is screaming in his head. "What have you done?!" the voice says.

Monroe slowly turns around. Truman and Connor are there in the doorway. They've both witnessed Truman's death. After their conversation earlier, Connor has been convinced that his father has gone soft. What he's just seen has shown him just how far off the mark he was. Donovan stands slack jawed.

"You wanted my help, Mr. President? Well you've got it." He gestures at the body behind him. "Consider that an advanced payment for services rendered." He stalks past them and out the door. One of the guards looks winded. It's obvious the man ran back to the camp to get his commander-in-chief as soon as Monroe had entered the shack.

As he heads back to the farm, he is overcome by what he's done. One minute he'd been telling Connor how he'd wanted to do things differently. The next, he's snapping Truman's neck. He feels the bile in his throat. He stops walking long enough to empty the contents of his stomach. After the waves of nausea diminish, he blindly heads back to the still house. He grabs a bottle off the rack. Breaking the wax seal, he takes a long drink, trying to wash away the bad taste in his mouth from puking earlier.

Connor finds him an hour later. The bottle is almost empty. This, on top of what he'd had earlier have left him in a sorry state. He sits on the floor, the bottle dangling loosely in his hand. With a sigh, Connor stoops to pick his father up. He's not even sure if Monroe realizes it's him.

"It always comes back to that," Monroe slurs as they work their way across the yard. "There's always going to be times that I can't fight it."

Connor and Miles dump Monroe unceremoniously on the bed. "Truman's dead," Connor says quietly.

Charlie and Miles both turn to look at Connor. "How?" Charlie asks.

Connor just stares at his father. "He killed him." He watches as Charlie removes his boots while Miles works quickly to get him out of his jacket. "He agreed to help Donovan." Connor adds. Charlie and Miles lock eyes. There's no going back now, they're all in.