Monroe sat going over the treaty from Texas. The thing had sat idle at his desk for well over a week and he had finally worked up the energy to read it. He could only put his job off for so long. To the side he kept a list of concerns he had and things he wanted to amend. The first thing he'd listed at the top of, before he'd even read a word of the document before him was written in all caps and underlined for emphasis… FOOD!

A knock interrupted his work. "Come!" he called out, his standard greeting, to be sure. Sally, the compound's housekeeper entered. "Good afternoon, General. I was just checking to see if you were ready for luncheon," the matronly woman asked. As housekeeper, it was her job to ensure that the residential section of the capital ran smoothly and assigning tasks to and overseeing the maids and other staff. She took her job very seriously.

Luncheon? Why does it have to be so damned formal? Still, despite his recent aversion to formality, he was starving. "Just bring me whatever's lying around the kitchen."

"But sir…."

He looked up from the pages he held. "Sally, in case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a nationwide food crisis. Formal meals for all staff, myself included are suspended until further notice."

"Sir, if we don't use up what's in the larder, it will just go to waste," she argued.

Monroe pinched the bridge of his nose. Another day, another thousand problems, another migraine. "Then go through it and send whatever we can't use right away to whoever can." He gave her a severe look. "I mean it. No more five course meals, no more catered staff meetings. Nobody eats it all anyway. Just bring me a sandwich or something."

She nodded her understanding and backed out of the room, slightly offended. It was her job to manage and arrange all of those five course meals and catered staff meetings. Granted, she'd always thought them to be a little on the extravagant side and it would make her job a lot easier to not have to organize three formal meals a day for the general, not to mention the ones for the ranking militia that worked in the other side of the compound, but she'd always taken pride in those meals.

She went to the kitchen and found herself personally putting together a simple meal for the leader of their nation herself as the three cooks that worked under her under her took inventory of what was in the pantry. She was just about to send the plate up to him when a missive arrived via a much winded looking private.

Sally,

In addition to the instructions I have already given: as is policy, all employees will still receive meals while they are on the premises, however from now on all senior staff will share the same fare as all entry level staff, myself and all advisors and officials included.

Meal plans should follow the same quantities and quality as the standards for garrisoned militia. If it's good enough for the men and women charged with protecting our borders and maintaining the peace, it should be good enough for the rest of us.

All meals should be adjusted accordingly and leftovers shall be delivered at the end of each meal to the orphanage on South Main. It has come to my attention recently that this facility has not been able to procure supplies to meet their current needs. There should be more than enough available staff to see that this is done three times a day, seeing as how they will have less to do in the kitchen from here on out.

Harris will supply you with any information you need in regards to making this transition. I have appointed him as my personal secretary effective immediately and he is at your disposal in all things regarding the running of both my personal residence and the capital. Any instructions regarding changes to this or any other policy should be taken as having come directly from me.

Gen. S. Monroe.

Monroe had just received the plate from Sally and had dismissed the poor nervous looking maid. Am I really that scary? He took his lunch and the treaty over to the small table in his private quarters, intent on working through lunch. A general does not eat at his desk. It's crude. He barely had his ass in the chair when another knock came to the door.

He sighed in irritation and with one last forlorn look at his plate (that ham sandwich had looked so good), he went back into his office with the stack of papers in hand and sat down behind the desk. In an attempt to look busy, he started flipping through the treaty once more before responding. "Come!"

"Sir, a response to your letter to Ms. Matheson has arrived," Harris said.

He glanced up and saw that the young man's hands were empty. "Well?" he asked after a moment. "The response?"

Harris merely nodded and went back to the door. Monroe raised a brow, confused. When nothing happened he shrugged and turned back to the treaty. He heard the door closing followed by footsteps on the hardwood floor. "Okay, Monroe. You've got five minutes to show me what you're trying to do and what you want with me. I'll hear you out—just this once," she said as she leaned on the desk before him.

Monroe set down the treaty and slowly lifted his gaze. There she was, looming over him. The look on her face told him she was trying very hard to look a lot more irritated than she actually was. "Charlie," he greeted her cautiously.

"Jesus, Monroe. You look like shit," she murmured as she straightened. And he did too. His hair was a mess and entirely too long (he'd forgotten to send for that barber), and he wasn't in his full uniform. Indeed, if Charlie would have only turned around, she'd see his shirt in a ball hanging halfway inside the wastebasket. He'd tossed it there every morning for the past week when it had been returned to him laundered and ready. He could no longer stomach the thought of wearing it, and only did so when it was absolutely unavoidable, but on a side note- his aim was getting much better.

There were also dark circles under his eyes, indicative of his ongoing insomnia and the stress that came with his job. "Don't you sleep?" she added when she noticed them.

"Well hello, Charlie. It's nice to see you too," he replied with a roll of his eyes. She came… I can't believe it, she's here.

An hour later they were sitting in front of two empty plates in his adjoining quarters. She hadn't had a thing all day and when he'd heard her stomach growl he'd immediately sent for a second plate. She'd actually been mildly surprised at the simplicity of the food. She'd expected something more lavish than a ham sandwich and an apple. "So why did you send for me, Monroe?"

He watched her for a moment. His first instinct was to give her one hell of a sales pitch, lay on the charm nice and thick and hope for the best—but this was Charlie. Instead he did something so out of character for him that it shocked them both. He dropped his defenses, cut the bullshit and decided to be brutally honest, no matter how bad it made him look or pathetic it made him sound.

"I need your help," he began.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. She'd seen him visibly retract the wall he always so carefully kept around himself, but still didn't trust his motivation for a second. "So you've said."

"I'm trying to make things right—to make the Republic what it should have been the first time, but I can't do this alone. And I… I don't want to do this at all."

That took her by surprise. "What?"

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze finding something, anything to look at other than her distrusting eyes. "I hate my job, Charlie. I can't fucking stand it."

She got up from the table. His confession had made her uncomfortable and his almost defeated air was making it worse. She looked out the window and watched the people pass by on the street below. "Then why did you go through so much effort to reclaim your little throne?"

Monroe winced a little at the bitterness in her voice, the anger at his audacity. "So I had something to offer the only family I had left. I guess I didn't want to accept that the connection there would always be one sided. It doesn't matter why, what matters is that the Republic exists and I'm stuck with it. Unfortunately, it's also stuck with me."

She turned around to look at him. "Why? If you don't want it, walk away."

"If I do that, Connor will surely come to power and that would be a disaster. You think I was crazy and brutal before? You think that the Republic was the worst possible place to live? You haven't seen anything yet." He raised his voice, not in anger but in utter despair. "He's sick, Charlie. He's sick and crazier than I ever was—and I can't help him. Believe me, I've tried." His voice cracked against his will.

He spent the next several minutes describing Connor's attempts at playing warlord. "If he gets into power it's going to mean wars and hunger and everything else that defined the Republic before the tower, only this time it'll be worse. I had to send him to Jasper and put him under house arrest when he tried to lead an unauthorized raid on the Plains."

"So what do you need me for?" she finally asked, her tone and posture all but demanding that he lay it all out there. She was trying very hard to ignore the emotional "slip." Remember he's manipulative when he wants something, she reminded herself.

Monroe rose and stood before her. Time to lay all my cards out on the table. "Officially, Connor can't succeed me as president, but if something were to happen to me he'd likely end up with the job all the same. For the sake of both the Republic and everyone living within our borders that can't happen, Charlie. I need a potential successor, but for now, I'm just asking that you become an advisor in an official capacity. I need help stabilizing the country. Nothing I'm doing seems to be helping."

"You've got a hundred senior officers that are probably jumping at that chance. Why me?" she challenged.

He should have known that she wouldn't make it easy. "Half of them are holdovers from the former incarnation of the Republic. You saw how the militia ran before. Others are from Georgia. It might have looked like they were so much better, but believe me that the only difference between the Georgia Federation and Monroe Republic was that they had more food. They were every bit as brutal, if not more so. The rest of them are completely inexperienced. You've got more time in the field than the lot of them." He took a step closer. "And, I can't trust them. You on the other hand…"

Charlie laughed nervously as she took a step back. "You think you can trust me?"

"Yes." His blue eyes softened. "At the very least, you'll want to do the right thing; that's how you're built. The rest of them will only try to advance themselves further. You, on the other hand are one of the most selfless and moral people have ever known. Also, I know you'll keep me in check." Monroe lowered his voice and locked eyes with her meaningfully. "It's very hard not to slip back into old habits. I know you'd be able to stop me if that happened."

"And how would I do that?"

"Once you've been here a while and made a name for yourself, I intend to make you my vice president. For one, if I got out of hand all you'd have to do is shoot me and the Republic would be yours to run as you see fit."

Charlie flinched at the suggestion. Shoot him? It was almost like he was begging her to do just that. She could almost feel the desperation seeping off of him. It was just all starting to sink in what he was offering her. He wanted to groom her to lead the Republic after he was gone.

"I'm begging you, Charlie. I can't do this alone—not anymore. I'm terrified of what I'll become if I keep going on the way I have all these months," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Charlie turned back to the window and resumed watching the denizens of Nashville, bustling back and forth as they went about their days. They stood unmoving for quite some time before she turned back to him. "I will stay—for now. No promises though," she said with a resigned sigh as she went against her instincts and caved. She walked past him and towards his office. "Okay, so show me what you've been doing."