A/N: I am very sorry for the long delay guys. Thank you to anyone that's still with me at this point. The holidays are always nuts in my industry and it makes for long shifts and extra shifts, which left little time for writing—especially when I had a one shot and another multi fic thrown in there too. Which, btw the extra fic I posted on ao3 will be up on ffnet in the next week or so once I've reformatted it and done some corrections (the corrected version will be up on ao3 too hopefully).

Writing that story changed the ending of this one, because I felt the very ends had just enough similarity that it would have taken away from this one. I spent weeks trying to figure out where I wanted this one to go and finally think I've got it right and I'm happy with it, even though it ended up taking this story somewhere I hadn't expected.

This chapter isn't very long, considering the wait, but the happy news is that this story is completely written and typed out. I will be posting 1-2 chapters a day until it's finished (a total of I believe about 22k words! Yikes!). It really depends on how much proofing I get done in the meantime. So, there will definitely be no more long delays because it's complete.

As a heads up, there are a few dark chapters ahead, but I really wanted to explore the General Monroe we knew in season one a little, and I had initially intended this story to deal with Monroe's mental instability and suicidal tendencies. This didn't go as deep into that as I'd initially planned, but I think it's a better story for it. You may consider the previous chapters part 1 of this fic. The next several are really part 2, and the final few chapters are really part 3 (they go off in a direction and take Monroe and Charlie to a place I hadn't expected until I got there).

Thanks again to everyone that's commented and given loves to this, and I know I still owe (and am dying to give) comments and love to a lot of stories out there. I'm still a lot behind.

Seven days after the attack…

Monroe sat in his office, going over reports that Charlie had sent up for his review. Right from the start, he'd recused himself from the investigation. He hadn't wanted the witch hunt that had occurred the last time Miles tried to kill him in his sleep, so instead he'd taken a step back and had allowed Charlie and Harris to take over. Of course, he was still apprised of every development, but it all went on without his interference.

They made sure that there was a complete written record of all interrogations and that at least one member of the Tribunal was present at all times. It was the only way to avoid the same types of rumors and accusations that had circulated in the aftermath of Miles' betrayal in Philadelphia.

The latest report didn't tell him anything new. As far as they'd been able to discern, Connor had very little help. The guards in Jasper hadn't been involved; they'd just been complacent with what was essentially babysitting duty. Connor hadn't been exactly incarcerated, after all. He'd just been on house arrest to keep him out of trouble.

House arrest had even been too strong a term for it. He'd been allowed out of his mother's home to run errands, have a drink or two at the local bar and so on. He'd just been subject to a strict curfew and had not been allowed private company—not even a hooker.

Their job included making sure that he didn't go out at night and that he stayed in Jasper. Since he'd made no attempt to escape in all the months he'd been there, they hadn't expected that he'd try at all. Miles had no problem getting him out, but then again, Miles knew both the house and town perfectly.

He was setting the report aside when Harris came in. "The Tribunal has just finished interviewing General Adams," he said as he sat down to go over the minutes with him.

"And?"

"He implicated Colonel Gray as being one of Connor's backers. One of his men found a letter between them that suggests the attack on the Rebels had been orchestrated by your son to increase the instability up north—a distraction," Harris explained.

"But that was months ago," Monroe pointed out as he rubbed his temples. He'd been going all week on very little sleep and his head was pounding. None of it made any sense. "How would that help him now?"

"Maybe his own attack was delayed? Or, maybe he was looking for something more long term." In reality, Harris' guess was as good as anyone else's. He and Charlie had looked at every angle, and from what they could tell, there was nothing there.

"There had to be a bigger conspiracy," he insisted. "Otherwise, what was the point?" Indeed, that was the burning question that had been keeping him up at night for the past week. Why attack when there was no hope of winning? Granted, there was no way to uncover everyone involved, but this was shaping up to look like a minor inside job. If that was the case, he'd never had a hope to hold on to the Republic, even if he'd managed to kill both him and Charlie.

Harris watched Monroe closely—he could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He didn't look good and every day it seemed to be worse. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he said after several minutes of silence.

Monroe looked up at him. The request sent his mind back in time. Suddenly, he was back in Philly with Jeremy. Poor Jeremy that had been his friend right up until the end—right up until Monroe had ordered him killed for a betrayal that he'd never committed. He remembered Jeremy asking him that same question.

Jeremy had been one of the first to sign up for his and Miles' earliest incarnation of the militia. He'd always said and done what he wanted up until the last few years. It wasn't until Monroe had been absolutely at his worst that Jeremy had started walking on eggshells around him.

"Shawn, just say what's on your mind. When we're alone, you don't have to ask permission," Monroe finally said. When the look on Harris' face suggested he felt otherwise, he felt the need to clarify. "Listen, we're friends. If I ever tell you that you can't speak freely, you either need to shoot me, or throw me in the looney bin."

"Well okay then," Harris said with a nervous laugh. He wondered then if his superior officer realized how off he'd been acting over the past few days. "You look like shit. Maybe you need to take a few days off," he suggested.

Monroe shook his head. "I'm fine, Shawn. With everything that's been going on, you know I can't afford to do that."

Harris leaned forward in his chair. "Why don't you go talk to her?" Charlie had always been the only one Monroe had listened to when someone had to force him to take a break.

"Charlie's made it very clear that our relationship is professional and nothing more," Monroe spat bitterly. "And I'd rather not talk about it."

Harris gave up. He thought they were both being stupid. He knew that Charlie was avoiding Monroe because she was worried that he'd blame her for what her family had done. To give the general credit, he did swallow his pride a little after four days and had sent for her, but Charlie hadn't been able to face him yet.

As far as he knew, she hadn't seen him since the night of the attack and Monroe was not better for it, as she'd thought. He was obsessing and working non-stop. They both knew how he got when he subjected himself to that. Adding that to the fact that they'd come up with so few answers thus far, he started to become more suspicious, and in that was a recipe for a serious problem.

Harris got up. "I'll let you know when we find anything else out. Did you need anything?"

"If you happen to see Sally, have her send a bottle up," was all Monroe said as he picked up a stack of papers of his desk, thoroughly dismissing him. When Harris was gone, he tossed them back on his desk and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the lamplight, which only seemed to make the pain worse.

All hell was breaking loose already. The representative from Florida had high-tailed it back to Tallahassee the morning after the attack. Monroe knew that the deal was off the table, not that he could blame anyone for it. If their situations were reversed, there was no way in hell that he'd get into bed politically with someone that had barely survived being murdered by his own son for control of the country.

On top of that, Harris having brought up Charlie only seemed to remind him how much it hurt to know that whereas she tried to get in to see her mother and Miles almost daily, she basically wanted nothing to do with him. He knew he'd fucked up badly when he'd pushed her away in the week before the attack, but her concern right after it suggested that she still cared at least a little.

The truth was he needed her. She was like his lodestone that helped keep is head on straight. That she'd helped ease his workload was only a small part of it. It was as if her very presence gave him the perspective he needed to muddle through the stress and hell that came with running a country.

Charlie's involvement in the investigation meant that someone had to take over some of her pervious duties. That someone ended up being Monroe. As he took those duties back over, it became increasingly more difficult for him to make it through the day.

The added stress of it all was taking a toll on him, but he had to muddle through. Even without the recent chaos, there were still things that needed his constant attention. A miner's strike in West Virginia; bickering between the south and north over how much of the early crops would be sent to other regions of the Republic; whether or not the Republic could still afford to build that new dam in Ohio. The list went on and on.

Normally he'd have handled the miner's strike personally and delegated the rest out, but he was stuck with all of it. As taxes for the first half of the year came in, he had to review everything—part of the hard currency that had come in would have to go to Texas, but he still had to pay the militia. The same went with the portion of the taxes that were paid in the form of food. How much to keep? How much to pass on?

With every day that passed it seemed the demand and pressure of the Republic just pushed on him further. He felt increasingly oppressed by it and the worse it got, the less he felt like he was accomplishing. Negotiations with the rebel factions had all but ceased and it seemed more and more that at some point the violence there would boil over. He was losing his grip on his country, and it felt like there was no way to stop it.