A/N: Initially this story went right towards it's rather long conclusion, but enough people had commented that they were interested in how everyone would interact after the smoke cleared that I decided to expand a little. Most of these conversations were only referenced to initially and were not described in detail (again, this was supposed to be a simple store at first… damn my love of complexity…) The only scene that I'd originally written was the first one. A warning in advance- this is dialog heavy. There is one important confrontation that is obviously missing. It will come later, I assure you.

I'm not sure when I'll get the next chapter out. Right now there is a lot of chaos going on where I live (St. Louis) and we're just close enough to it that we may have to book it for a few days until the dust settles (if it makes its way further west down the highway, that is) just to be on the safe side. Well, that and my kid's school is closed until further notice. Hard enough to write with one kid home, two kids home makes it almost impossible. So, if nothing comes soon, please forgive me all. As always your comments and support are awesome!

One hour after the attack…

Harris made everyone stay put until he heard back from the other squads. When he was sure that Monroe was safely in his quarters and the men that had made the mistake of following Connor were either apprehended or dead, he gave the all clear.

Those that had been locked in their quarters were already freed, most of them never having woken up to discover that they'd been confined in the first place. It seemed that the only error Connor had made in his plan was involve Miles Matheson. He should have known that Miles wouldn't just shoot him. There was too much history there and he'd already failed to do it once.

He now escorted the former general to the western wing of the residential half of the compound. He'd wisely chosen a suite of rooms as far from Monroe's quarters as he could get while still following orders. If it was up to him, Matheson would have gone with Connor to holding and interrogations on the other side of the city.

Miles walked in front of him, his hands on his head. He had no plans to try to escape or attack Monroe further, but he couldn't blame the kid for not trusting him. It was obvious that his reputation had preceded him. "So you're Bass' little enforcer, huh?" he asked as he continued to saunter down the hallway with all the bravado he could muster.

"Actually, I'm his personal secretary," Harris snapped, prodding him with the gun a little rougher than necessary when Matheson snickered at his job title.

"Same thing," Miles said, smiling at the captain's irritation. "So how did you land the gig? Were you just a bigger snitch than the other applicants, or did you have to take them out first?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I just happened to deliver a message and he started having me run errands. I just never went back to my unit," Harris explained. "I'd never even met him before then."

"Trust me, he probably had you vetted months before hand," he mused. "Bass isn't the trusting type."

"That'd be kind of hard considering I'd only been in the city for a few days. You obviously don't know him that well, Butcher." He made a point to use the old moniker, almost sneering at it. Yes, he was very familiar with his captive's reputation. He hadn't enlisted until after Monroe had revamped the Militia, but he'd grown up in the old republic. He'd heard of the things Miles Matheson had done.

Miles stopped walking and took the risk of being shot to turn and face him. "I've known Bass since we were five years old. I think I know him a bit more than you do; and you wouldn't be defending him now if you'd lived in the Republic before."

Harris got him moving again before he spoke. "I'm from Ohio. I know very well what the Republic was like, and I can see the difference now. That's why I enlisted."

Miles was surprised at this. Granted, Ohio didn't have it bad as a lot of places had. Wisconsin and Michigan had seen the worst that the Militia had to offer only because they were so far removed from Philly and the men that had led the forces there had been more corrupt than the rest. Still, live wasn't exactly a picnic in Ohio either. In fact, the only places that seemed to avoid most of Monroe's wrath up until the last year or so were Jasper and Philly itself.

Until the night that Monroe had betrayed their hometown, he and Bass had made sure the Militia knew that Jasper was off limits and exempt from taxes. Their attachment to the town had given them an advantage over other towns, and in fact they'd even made sure it was protected. And Philly, well that was always Bass' baby. Miles may have started the whole thing, but when it came to the historic town, once Bass had adopted it as his new home, he'd put all his energy into restoring it. Independence Hall had been chosen because of his love of the history within its walls.

"You must have just shot up through the ranks," he commented. Bass was never one to promote lightly. Even Jeremy had only been a captain, and he'd been second in command over the entire Republic after he'd abandoned Philly.

"Yeah, well I'm a hard worker," Harris replied, his tone more clipped than ever.

They'd reached the end of the hallway and had stopped in front of a door on the left. "I get the feeling you don't like me much, Captain."

Harris opened the door and shoved Miles inside the room. "I thought you were supposed to be his best friend—brothers or something. I've heard what happened the night you tried to kill him and now you've done it again. That's not how I treat my friends."

"Bass isn't capable of having friends; not anymore," Miles had to laugh at that. As far as he was concerned, this kid before him was just naïve and hopped up on the power that his position within the Republic gave him. It would only be a matter of time before he found himself shot for his loyalty. Connor may have lied to them, but he still wasn't convinced that this version of the republic would prove to be much different from the last.

"Well, I'm his friend. Charlie is too. He's worked his ass off trying to make this country something to be proud of. You'd have seen that if you'd just come and let him show you, rather than bringing that backstabbing little shithead here. And now? You may have just ruined everything we've all been working so hard for. The second he found out that Connor had escaped, he hasn't been the same. I have a feeling that you know just as well as I do that after what you've done, it's only going to get worse."

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of three guards that would be charged with keeping the Mathesons securely in their quarters. "Your woman will be brought here when the Doc clears her. Any attempts to escape will be viewed as further aggression towards the General and you will be shot."

Eighteen hours after the attack…

Charlie had stayed by her mother's side until she woke up. She knew that as soon as she was deemed well that Rachel Matheson would be joining Miles in what amounted to a very comfortable jail cell. She was sure that the only reason Miles hadn't been carted off with Connor was because of his connection to her. Not even his past with Monroe would have saved him if he wasn't her family—not this time.

As it was, the doctor would be arriving any minute to check her a second time and if the way she was pacing Charlie's office was of any indication, she was going to be just fine. "How can you just sit there?" Rachel said as she came to a stop in front her daughter. "He's got Miles locked up. God knows what Monroe's going to do to him."

"Will you calm down? He's not going to do anything. He knows that Connor tricked you both. Bass won't let him be harmed," Charlie said wearily as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was killing her now. The past eighteen hours had been an absolute nightmare.

Four hours after the attack…

Charlie knocks on the door to his quarters gently. When he doesn't respond, she hesitates and then opens the door. She finds him standing by the window, looking out as the sun slowly creeps up above the horizon.

He turns at the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to get ready to defend himself. It is only the small voice of reason in the corner of his mind that reminds him that if someone was going to attack him, they wouldn't be knocking first.

He sees her standing there, her concern evident. He doesn't move, just waits for her to approach him. "Did you get your arm looked at?"

"It's fine," he says, his hand coming up to rest over the wound. He doesn't realize that he's winced a little at the contact.

Charlie goes to see for herself. She unbuttons the wool shirt and pulls it off his shoulder. His arm is bandaged haphazardly. She unwinds it. A line of stitches are only half finished. She looks up at him questioningly. "Well obviously the Doc's been here. Why did he stop?"

"Because I told him to get out. I'm fine," he says.

"Sit," she tells him. The last thing they need is for him to die of infection because he's stubborn. The doctor had left what he'd been using in his haste to escape. She grabs the decanter and uses what's left inside to sterilize her hands. She goes to work in finishing up the job.

Other than the occasional grunt when the needle pierces a bit too deeply, he doesn't react or recoil as she works. She's definitely not as skilled as the doctor, but she'd had to patch someone up here and there during the war and she can get the job done. She goes into his washroom and grabs a small towel and uses it to dab at the wound with more whiskey when she's finished. He hisses as it makes contact.

Finished she rewraps his arm with the bandage. Their eyes lock as she finishes. "Thank you," he tells her, almost whispering. "I've got a lot to do and more to think about. Go take care of your mom, okay?"

His words and tone are not unkind, but she knows when she's being dismissed. She leaves him to do as he asks. With her family being involved, she knows that she's the last person he wants to be around right now.

"How can you even think about defending him?" Her mother abruptly stopped pacing and crossed the room, taking her daughter's face in her hands. "What has he done to you?"

"Can you hear yourself? This is why I didn't tell you where I was going. Why can't you get it through your head?" She jerked back to free herself. "I knew what I was doing when I got on that train. He hasn't hurt me and he hasn't threatened me. I've been free to go home the entire time, but I chose to say. I'm here because I want to be."

"How can you be so blind, Charlie? He's dangerous; unstable." Her voice was shaking with emotion. "Did you completely forget what he did to me in Philly?"

"This is different. He's different. We've been working so hard to straighten the Republic out. All he wants is to do things right this time around; to make up for the past and just maybe be forgiven."

Rachel turned away, sickened by what she was hearing. "Some things can't be forgiven, Charlie."

Fed up, Charlie stalked over to Rachel and grabbed her by the shoulders, whipping her around. "If he's not worthy of forgiveness then neither are you or Miles. He fights so hard not to be that man—and that's why he deserves a second chance."

Rachel shook her head, stubborn as ever. "He's pulled you into his madness. He's had problems for a long time, Charlie. It wasn't just the blackout."

"What are you talking about?"

Rachel almost stopped herself, but she was so desperate to get Charlie to understand that it wasn't only her hatred for the man that had her concerned. She told her daughter about the deaths of his family and where it had taken him. "He tried to kill himself. The only reason he didn't get discharged from the Marines for it was because your dad and I called in a favor with a friend in the DOD to keep it off his record. We tried to get him help afterwards, but he refused. Some people just don't want to help, and you can't force them."

Charlie's heart ached for him. She'd seen the graves in Jasper when they'd followed him there with Georgia. She hadn't asked Miles how they died, nor did he explain how much it had damaged him. She went over to her desk and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "He's asking now," she said as she handed her mother the letter he'd sent her the previous fall.

Rachel hesitated and then began to read it. She noticed the difference in the handwriting right away, much faster than Charlie had. In her years of captivity, she'd read more than one missive from him. He'd always been so precise and disciplined in everything he wrote—it was as if every word was chosen perfectly to get the effect he wanted. This was just a chaotic mess in comparison.

Charlie saw the fight go out of her, so she tried once more. "He might have said he was looking for an advisor, but you can't tell me you don't see this for what it was—he was looking for a friend; someone to keep him grounded. He's begging for help here, even if he doesn't say the real reason why."

Rachel truly looked at her daughter for the first time since she'd woken up. She saw what was really there and it scared her. She'd seen that look on her face before. She'd worn it when she'd talked about Jason Neville once. "You care about him?"

She took the letter back and carefully folded it up. She didn't know why she'd kept it, but for some reason she had and it was important to her. "I do," she confessed as she put the letter away. "We maybe had something too, but he backed off when Connor escaped. And now this… This may have ruined any chance of getting it back."

They were cut off by the doctor's return. The examination he gave Rachel was, of course just a formality. Anyone could see that she was going to be fine. Her concussion was mild and she was well on the mend.

Within the hour she was taken to Miles. With Levins' betrayal, Monroe had decided to leave Harris in charge of security for the time being. At his recommendation, their leader had allowed Harris to appoint one of his aides as his new secretary. The private was a friend of Harris' and he trusted him implicitly. This left him free to handle his new duties.

Harris stood in the doorway now and watched as Rachel was led away. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm sure it's just for a few days." He looked at her sadly. Over the past months they'd become good friends and he hated the fact that both she and Monroe were both hurting. He also hated that he was now in a position where loyalty to her would be a betrayal to Monroe and vice versa. Still, Charlie would understand and get over it. Monroe, on the other hand needed all the loyalty he could get right now.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Your uncle is fine. He—"

"Not Miles. I sure he's getting by. Knowing him, he's somehow managed to convince his guards to get him a bottle of something and is cooling his heels in wasted bliss. I meant Bass."

Harris came in the rest of the way, shutting the door to block their words from reaching curious ears. He flopped down on one of the chairs, propping his feet up on the other. He'd been on the go since he'd been woken up by Mary and was beyond tired. "He's not good. He was already driving himself nuts with Connor… Now? I know he kind of pushed you away, but maybe you should try to talk to him again. You always could talk him down better than anyone."

Charlie rubbed her eyes, willing them to remain open. "Shawn, it's better if I back off. It's my family that's done this. He needs time to process it all."

He got up then and went to the door. He still had several things to take care of before he could go off duty for a few hours. "I hope you know what you're doing. You know he misses you. You didn't see him a lot after he went back into hiding, but I did. He's been miserable, even if he's too much of an ass to admit it." He left her to mull that over, hoping she'd at least consider it.

Thirty-six hours after the attack…

Miles stared out the window to their third floor room and watched the city go about its business. He'd been on edge for the past day and a half. He'd been questioning everything. The animosity that they'd seen from the guards trumped what it was the last time tenfold. There were a handful of men that truly had believed in the last Republic, but for the most part the Militia's loyalty had been based in fear. Now, they seemed to genuinely want to support their leader in a way they hadn't before.

This made him truly wonder what was going on. Obviously, Connor was nuts. The question was how much did the apple fall from the tree? Monroe's "issues" had always been rooted in his own fear of being alone. After his family had died, he'd clung to Miles as a way to survive and cope. After Shelly it had been more of the same but his response had been more extreme. Since Miles had wanted to raid their neighbors and form an army, he'd gone all out to give it to him. It had been like he was afraid if he didn't throw himself into it that Miles would disappear to do it himself and Bass would have been all alone once more.

When Miles had woken up one day and realized that they'd gone too far, he'd truly believed that his brother had died long ago and had been replaced with a power hungry monster that felt human life held no value. He hadn't thought that there was a piece of the original man still in there somewhere, desperate to be found. The way that he'd forsaken his plans with Connor to follow them with Davis had given him hope for the first time in years that Bass wasn't beyond salvation after all.

When he'd retaken what was left of the Militia and formed the new incarnation of the Republic, that hope had faltered. It had been utterly destroyed when Bass had taken the south as well. He'd been so quick to believe Connor that he hadn't considered the validity of any of the other rumors crossing the Mississippi about order rising from all the chaos the Patriots had left.

Now, he didn't know what to believe. Of course, Rachel was still convinced that he'd somehow brainwashed Charlie and any claims that he'd been trying to do things the right way are just a cover. And she'd been vocal about it to the point where he'd considered gagging her at least twice. The last thing he needed right now was a frightened mother's hysterics.

The tender looks and brief exchanges he'd seen between Charlie and his former best friend had him wondering about that as well. When Rachel had repeated what Charlie had told him about her feelings for the man, it had only made it more confusing.

Sure, Charlie was young and when it came to women, well Bass was Bass—but even if he'd been able to convince his niece to sleep with him, she wasn't what one would call the romantic type. She'd left her share of broken hearts behind her in Willoughby. The girl could be naïve, but she wasn't that naïve. Or was she? If she cared about him, maybe there's something to be said for it—not that he didn't plan on kicking Bass' ass for it later.

The door to their comfortable prison opened to reveal Monroe. He was in full uniform and Miles could tell by looking at him that he's about ready to drop. Later, Rachel would tell him that he looked psychotic, but Miles knew better. It was clear that the man was running on empty. More than likely, he hasn't slept since the attack and if what they'd overheard is true, he'd barely gotten a moment's peace since they helped Connor escape.

He entered the room and the door swung shut behind him. His posture was ridged as if he was trying like hell to keep his composure. His detachment was forced, and to someone like Miles, he couldn't hide the turmoil that was beneath the façade. He stared them down for several minutes before he began. "You've certainly caused a lot of trouble."

"Well you know me, it's my middle name," Miles offered cautiously. Monroe may have been hurt more than angry, but that was always when he was his most dangerous. Wounded, he was like an animal and had a tendency to lash out unpredictably.

"I want to know what else you and my son have planned. How many men? Who else is involved?" Monroe was aggressive in his questioning. He only had one shot at this, so he fully planned on finding out what he could.

"Connor said he had a few friends that had been assigned to your security detail. They were supposed to make sure the balcony and one other door were unguarded for a few hours, that's it." Miles decided that he's going to be honest. Connor's hidden agenda gave him no reason to keep what little he knew to himself.

"How did you get him out of Jasper?"

"It was surprisingly easy. One guard at the back, one at the front. We were getting him out of Emma's house, not Fort Knox. Speaking of, you technically own Fort Knox now. How are you so broke?"

"I'm not going to discuss the Republic's finances with you. And there's no way to get into it, stupid. Trust me; Foster tried, I've tried. It was built to go on lockdown if it lost power and the generators failed. All that gold is just sitting there and nobody can touch it." Realizing that they'd gotten off topic, he tried again. "So what was the contingency plan when you got caught?"

"There wasn't one. The plan was to not get caught." Miles said. This was going to get nowhere, so he decided to lay it all out there. "Connor wrote to us; you've read what he said. All we wanted was to get to Charlie and get back out again. I didn't know how he planned on taking over, and I quite frankly didn't want to know."

"You expect me to believe that you just waltzed in and planned on waltzing back out again?" He was having trouble believing that Miles would involve himself without having more control over the situation. He gauged their reactions carefully.

Miles shrugs. "So it wasn't exactly one of my best plans. I went in first to get to you. You were the bargaining chip in case things went south."

"And Rachel?" He'd found it strange that Miles had allowed her to go in separately.

"Connor said his contacts told him that Charlie was being held somewhere on the other side of the compound. One of the guards was to let me know when they got her out. After that we were gone. Anything that happened after that didn't have anything to do with us. Bass, I didn't go in there with plans to kill you. Connor may have thought I was, but I couldn't-"

"You were just going to let my kid do it instead," he murmured, not even bothering to hide how much that wounded him. He turned to go back out the door. He'd found out the one thing he wanted to know—Miles really had just been a pawn, not a planner. He'd let his anger cloud his judgment enough to let Connor use him, but he wasn't behind the attack itself. "You're to remain in confinement for the time being. Charlie and Harris will try to keep your names out of the investigation, but I'm guaranteeing nothing. If the tribunal decides to charge you, I cannot interfere. And I will stand by whatever verdicts they reach, including sentencing. I can't afford to put myself above the law because of family or past connections."

Miles and Rachel watched him leave. They locked eyes, both letting his words wash over them. He wasn't going to harm them, but he wasn't exactly going to protect them either. If he was telling the truth, he was fully planning on letting the legal machine run its course. The fact that there were laws and some semblance of legal system in this new incarnation of the Republic left them dumbfounded.

Before, Monroe had been the judge and jury when it came to crimes against the state—the militia had handled everything else. There'd been no trials, no formal investigations. If you were caught doing something, you were shot and killed. If you had something the militia wanted, they claimed you were caught doing something and you were still shot and killed.

"We may have made a very big mistake," Miles finally said. They'd come east fully expecting to find things just as they'd always been, but Monroe had actually surprised them both. With a heavy heart, Miles went back to the window and resumed watching those that passed below the window. He knew then that he'd destroyed what little chance there'd been of fixing their fucked up friendship.