A/N… Of course, our hero is his own worst enemy. This chapter explores is paranoid tendencies… By the end of this you're all probably going to be saying "Why is why not always so mean to these guys?" I promise that this is a catalyst for a happy ending in the end. This chapter marks where the storylines split quite a bit. This had been headed one direction, but after my other fix (which, apologies is still not on off), I decided that the endings were too similar.

Initially, this was to explore not his paranoia, but his depression and tendencies towards self-harm. Instead of the chapter ending the way it does, Monroe was going to get dragged off by friends and family for a little sabbatical and then disappear, only for everyone to find out that he'd given it all away before it was too late. But, since I had him doing that in my extra fix (albeit for different reasons entirely), I decided to alter this ending and hence this chapter came out.

So, bear with me and I promise to get everyone where they need to be for a happy ending. On a side note, Miles and Rachel kind of take a back seat for this next chunk of story in a sense that they were never major characters in it to begin with. Although there is one chapter that is totally romance (strictly platonic) mile that exists to a) provide very much needed comic relief and b) help wrap things up in what (I hope) is an awesome way.

Little by little, things began to slowly settle down. The nation was still in shambles, but having someone by his side to help him muck his way through it made things a hell of a lot easier on Monroe. Reconciling with Charlie definitely had a positive effect on his disposition, for one thing, and he got more done when the people around him weren't spending so much time scurrying out of his way.

Charlie had badgered him into at least talking to Miles (she knew better to expect any type of gesture towards her mother). It hadn't been easy for either man, and true to their natures they'd come up with an uneasy compromise: Miles wouldn't kill him for sleeping with his niece; Monroe wouldn't kill him for believing him capable of Connor's lies and trying to act upon that belief.

Miles had tried to take a things a small step further by offering to help clean up the mess that he'd helped to create, however Monroe wasn't quite willing to trust him that far. Charlie had done her best to convince him otherwise; if anything, Miles' assistance would lessen his burden further, but that was one thing he refused to budge on.

He was willing to share an occasional drink with her uncle, and maybe he would eventually forgive him for the betrayal. Involving him with the daily running of the Republic was just a bit much. What he didn't tell her was that he had a small fear that the Tribunal would not take kindly to him bringing Miles on board. Once he'd changed things and given them more power, he was stuck in the precarious position of having to let them wield it and subjecting himself to their whims.

He was already butting heads with them when it came to his son. The only loose thread from the last month remained his trial. The Tribunal was pushing for it to begin so that the matter of his attempted coup could finally be resolved, but Monroe had been stalling as long as he could. He knew that it could only end one way. The outcome was inevitable, but he was still grasping at straws. He didn't know if he had it in him to sign his son's death warrant when the Tribunal convicted him of treason.

Charlie urged Monroe to get it over with. She told him that he'd never find any peace as long as it loomed over them. The Republic couldn't move on with this last piece of the puzzle still unresolved; he couldn't move on either.

Thirty-two days after the attack…

Monroe sat at his desk, still worrying over the issue when his newly appointed secretary came in with a stack of dispatches. He saluted and then left without a word. With a sigh, Monroe started to pick through them. Although Harris was a perfect fit for his new position as head of security, he missed the easy rapport they'd had when he'd held his previous position.

One of the items in the stack was a lot larger and heavier than the rest. Curious, he opened the package. Inside were a newspaper and a letter from Frank Blanchard. He read the letter first and then, with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach picked up the paper. ..

Charlie went to Monroe's quarters to join him for lunch. When she found them empty and no evidence that he'd been there yet, she went down to the office he was now using on the other side of the compound. It was the one that he'd only once used for formal occasions, but he'd recently moved everything there. At her insistence, he'd agreed to keep work at work. It had been an interesting transition, but he'd found a way to make due.

"I thought you were going to take a break," she said upon entering. She stopped short when she saw the strained look on his face. "What's happened?"

Monroe held up the newspaper that Blanchard had sent. "This was published just two days after Connor made his move," he said flatly.

"What?" Charlie grabbed the pages from him. The headline had chills running up and down her spine. Eastern Republic in shambles after attempted coup.

She scanned the article in disbelief. It was all there in print—Connor's attack on the compound, Miles and Rachel's involvement. The article went further to delve into the nature of her previous relationship with Connor, and then went on to describe hers with Monroe.

In it, Connor was rumored to have told a follower that his father's poor judgment in elevating Charlie to his second in command and heir to the Republic had been the motivation behind the attack. The article painted Monroe as an idiot and her as nothing more than a manipulative whore that had gone after both men, eventually pitting father and son against one another.

"How did they even find out about the attack this fast?" She asked as she lowered the paper, letting it slip from her fingers back onto his desk.

"Exactly, Charlie." He was livid and had been fighting his temper since he'd first read the letter and article. "One minute, you're telling me you can't find any evidence of a larger conspiracy, and then the next, Frank Blanchard is sending me this? If there wasn't anyone else involved, then what the hell is this then?"

Something about the tone he was using caught her attention. "I don't know."

"News doesn't travel this fast—added to the fact that there are only a handful of people with ties to Texas that know about you and Connor—even fewer that also knew about you and me," Monroe rose out his chair and leaned forward on the desk as he spoke, "… you expect me to believe that this is all just a coincidence?"

Charlie refused to let him intimidate her. The tactic pissed her off to no end. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"It's all too convenient. You spent months worming your way in, throwing yourself at me—you even admitted it. Then, a week after you finally get me to cave, your family helps my kid escape and then helps him try to kill me?" He snatched up the paper and threw it at her. "And now the entirety of Texas knows about it just two days later?"

Charlie took a step back, "Bass you know I didn't have anything to do with this." Her voice was shaking, but he couldn't tell if it was fear or outrage.

"Do I? Apparently, I don't know jack shit anymore," Monroe said, his accusation hanging coldly between them.

"You're losing it," she said with a shake of her head. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"The more I think about it, the more it makes sense." Monroe was holding on to the very last shred of his control. He turned and grabbed the decanter on the sideboard behind his desk, hoping another drink would steady him enough to stop him from doing something rash.

"It never made sense that Connor would try something with so little to back it up—but not if you were in on it the entire time."

"He tried to kill me too, remember?" Charlie snapped. The conversation was getting out of hand. She knew it, and deep down, Monroe did too. Still, they were both helpless to stop it.

"Maybe not. Things are obviously not what they seem. One thing's for sure—you seemed so worried about them, way more than you ever were about what they tried to do." Monroe tossed the drink back and slammed the glass down, cracking it and cutting his hand. He didn't even feel it.

"They're my family. I can be worried about them and still hold them accountable. I can love them and still be loyal to you." Her eyes welled up with hurt and rage.

Charlie's tears only enflamed his temper further, and he lost his battle against it. "Get out," he snarled.

"Bass—" Charlie began, hoping to calm him down so they could talk about it rationally.

Monroe cut her off. "I said, Get Out!" he bellowed.

Charlie just stared at him for a second, before turning and fleeing out into the hallway, letting the door slam shut with a resounding bang. Monroe dragged a hand through his hair. Picking up the decanter, he intended to pour another drink. When he looked down at the shards of glass on his desk, he stopped. He threw the decanter at the door as hard as he could, watching in slow motions as it exploded into pieces, soaking the wood.

As angry as he was, there was a small voice inside his head again, desperate to be heard, and try as he might, he couldn't quite banish it. You've really fucked up this time, moron. Monroe sat back down, slumping in his chair in absolute misery.

He was torn between his natural inclination for suspicion and his feelings for Charlie. If he was wrong, he'd just lost one of the few people in the world that actually bothered to give a damn about him. If he was right, he'd never had her to lose.

Harris barged in an hour later. "What have you done?"

Monroe looked up, his eyes flashing in renewed anger. "Watch yourself, Captain."

The warning was ignored and Harris stepped over the broken remnants of the decanter and went straight for it. "Are you fucking insane? How could you accuse her like that? You know she's innocent. I don't know what game Connor was playing, or how that reporter knew about the attack, but I do know that Charlie has never betrayed you."

"Shawn, I'm warning you. Stay out of it," Monroe said, his words clipped.

"No, somebody needs to say it. You're paranoid and you're driving yourself crazy with it. I get it, we don't know who to trust and it's hard to believe he had so little help, but all of this was Connor. He lied to Matheson, you saw the letter yourself. If you're not careful, your own paranoia is going to cost you everything."

"I'm already losing everything. Because of that article, all aid from Texas has been suspended. Congress is debating whether or not to call in all the debt I owe them." He tossed the letter that Blanchard had sent with the article. "This was a friendly warning from Blanchard. Because of the attack and the fact that they found out I've been fucking my kid's ex, Congress is questioning my ability to lead and are afraid that the Republic won't recover. It's only a matter of time before the Tribunal comes to the same conclusions."

"But it wasn't her," Harris insisted. He loomed over Monroe, desperate to get through to him. "You really hurt her, Bass. She didn't deserve that from you. She's turned her life upside down to be here with you—to help you when no one else would. She's loved you enough to put up with your bullshit all these months. She deserves better than what you've just done to her."

With that, he stormed out of the room. As far as he was concerned, he was off duty for the rest of the day. He couldn't stomach the look of Monroe at the moment, let alone stand guarding over him. He immediately went to go check on Charlie. He'd left her crying in her quarters.

When he answered her muffled assent that he could enter, she was busy packing her things. "Don't go," he practically begged. "He was wrong and he'll see it when he calms down. He needs you now more than ever."

He took the time to explain the latest developments with Texas. Clearly she would see that the Republic collapsing was bigger than any one of them. Charlie shook her head sadly. "I can't help him anymore. He doesn't need me, he needs a fucking shrink. He's gone insane—he's every bit of the monster he was in Philly, and there's nothing I can say or do that will pull him out of it. I'm going home."

She went over to her desk and grabbed a folded piece of paper. "Give this to him for me? Just, make sure we're already gone before you do."

Harris sadly accepted it before leaving her to finish packing alone. He was halfway to his own quarters when he changed his mind. He stomped back over to Monroe's office, kicking the door open, and taking grim satisfaction in the fact that Monroe jumped a little at the sound.

"She's leaving you," he said. "You're not going to get another chance to stop her."

Monroe's heart broke. He wanted to go after her, but knew it wouldn't make any difference—that and the darkness inside of him was practically screaming that her flight only proved that she'd betrayed him. Determined that he'd survive the day at all costs, he shot out of his chair.

As always, his security detail was stationed just outside of the room. "Come with me," he told them as he headed across the compound with Harris following behind them. When they entered the main entrance of the residential side, he stopped.

He ordered two of his own personal guards to grab a few extra hands to collect Rachel and Miles. "Bring them to the main gate immediately."

He continued on, stopping just outside of Charlie's quarters. "See to it she's fully packed and at the main gate in the next fifteen minutes," he said before disappearing down the hallway.

He waited for them outside by the gate. When everyone was present and accounted for, he stared them down coldly. "Charlotte Matheson, you are stripped of your rank and are officially discharged from the militia. In other words—you're fired. Any claim you once had as next in line for the presidency has been revoked.

"Harris and his men will personally escort you all to the train station. I don't care where you go, as long as it's on the other side of the river. If you're ever caught within our borders, you'll be tried as spies and for your involvement on Connor's attack against the Republic."

Monroe narrowed his eyes at Charlie as he finished his cruel farewell. "I never want to lay eyes on anyone with the name Matheson again."

He turned away from them, heading back inside the compound. He didn't even want to see their reaction to his words—and he didn't want them to see him fall apart. It had taken everything he'd had to follow through with it and he didn't think he'd keep his resolve if the saw an ounce of regret from Charlie or Miles (he knew better than to think Rachel gave a tinkers damn about being ejected back to Texas).

He headed directly to the Tribunal's wing of the compound and barged into the chairman's office. "My son's trial begins tomorrow," he informed the man before fleeing to the privacy of his own quarters.

While Monroe hid himself away, Harris did as he was ordered. There hadn't been a train scheduled to depart, so they had to wait for one to take on coal and water. This departure would only carry the three unwelcomed guests as they made their way back to Texas.

"I'm so sorry," Harris told Charlie right before she boarded. "He's not himself right now, and he knows it. This is probably for the best. I know he doesn't want to see you hurt—you know it too."

Charlie gave him a hug. "Take care of yourself, okay? Shawn, I swear if he gets worse you'd better get the hell out of there. You can always come to Willoughby if you need to."

"I'm a big boy, I'll be just fine," he said sadly. "And don't worry; I'll take care of him for you."

Fighting the urge to cry again, Charlie nodded. "Thank you, Shawn." A quick hug later and she joined her family on the one passenger car that was hooked up to the engine. Harris stood on the platform until the train was gone from sight.

As the sun set in the west, Monroe sat on Charlie's bed. The room having grown dark, he raised the bottle he held to his lips and tried to drink the pain of the day away. Shortly after Charlie had stormed out of his office, he'd calmed down enough to look at everything from a different angle.

Of course, she hadn't leaked that story. He knew better, but the fact that his thoughts had immediately gone in that direction terrified him. It had been like watching himself through a foggy window as the peace and hope he'd felt over the past days had been torn from him.

He'd already made the decision to send her away before Harris had come to tell him she was planning to leave. She'd just made it easier. In the end, it didn't matter what he knew or believed. What mattered was the Republic and the people within it.

If Charlie remained in Nashville, it would only be seen as proof that the article had been right. He'd only shown her the newspaper, not Blanchard's letter. Congress suspected that she was involved in Connor's coup. If there was any hope of showing Texas that he could get things back under control, he couldn't have her by his side while he worked to stabilize the country.

He didn't know how he was going to do it without her, but he had no choice now. Besides all that was the fact that he knew what was happening to him—he knew who he was becoming. He didn't want her to see him that way. Who would? He'd only hurt her further. Today had only been accusations and a screaming match.

What would happen the next time? As soon as he'd come down from the high of his rage, he'd remembered what happened to the last person that was stupid enough to remain close to him during such a fit. Poor Jeremy had stayed with him through the bitter end, and where had that gotten him? No, it was better that she was gone and Miles right along with her.

He was more afraid for them than he was anything else. He finally accepted it—the darkness he'd been trying so hard to keep at bay was a part of him and he could only hold it back for so long. Once it took back over and he snapped, they'd only be in his blast radius. It was far kinder for them to be sent packing and hate him for it than it would be to hurt them when the General inside took him over.

Lost in these thoughts and in his own sorrow, he continued to drink until the room began to fade and the ceiling spun above him. He woke up the next day on the floor, having fallen off the bed as he'd passed out. The room was sweltering and the sun was high in the sky. He stayed on the floor until the events of the previous day came rushing back. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to get up and retreat to his own quarters to get cleaned up—his son's trial would already be under way…