A/N: Second Chapter I'm posting tonight, so if you scrolled right down to this one, you missed a chapter. I decided that I didn't want to use flashback format in this story. I've used it in most of mine (it's a cheap trick to advance the story and insert dialog here and there, I'll admit it), but since I've gone this far without it, I didn't want to start.

And so, this chapter has an interesting format… Other than the first section, which is told through Harris' point of view (and this will be the last time he appears as an active character, fyi. He's still mentioned, once or twice but that is about it, so say goodbye to our fun friend—although he's not dead, he's just a busy young man—he gets replaced with another minor oc in the following chapters). The rest of the chapter is basically the same event, told through the perspectives of 4 different people. For clarity's sake, I've made sure to point out who's point of view you're seeing before it starts, since formatting on both ao3 and ffnet won't let me use page breaks and formatting lines.

On another side note, all of remaining chapters, including this one are fairly long. I decided to do it that way so I didn't have to break it up and drag it out that much more (I have a feeling a few of you would kill me if I did…) And, there's a lot more dialog in them than I'd intended (and more than I am usually comfortable with writing— it's the descriptors while they're talking that make me nervous about it. There are only so many eye rolls and sighs and staring in shock and awe you can write before you feel like a ninny). Anyway, without further ado…

The Middle of July…

Harris was walking from the capital building to his own modest apartment. He'd be leaving for Nashville in the morning, so once more he had to go pack. He was officially tired of these trips. It'd only been a few months, but they were exhausting.

He was waiting for a wagon to pass so he could cross a street, when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. "Shawn?"

Harris turned around. He'd know that voice anywhere. "What's up Boss?" he said with a wry grin. He took in the sight of Monroe. He looked like hell—better than he had in Nashville to be sure, but like hell all the same.

"Just seeing the sights," Monroe replied.

Harris laughed. "Why is it I don't see you as being much of a touristy type?"

A few minutes later, they found themselves in the pub down the street, sharing a glass of whiskey just like they had countless times before Monroe's son had gotten him to ruin it all. "So what are you doing in town?" Harris asked.

"Here for a job," Monroe told him. He paused to signal the bartender for a refill. "Blanchard offered me work and it's not like I've got anything better to do."

"What are you doing?" Harris asked, fully expecting it to involve the Rangers in some way.

"He offered me a spot in that new university he convinced Congress to let him open."

Harris almost choked on his whiskey. "You? A teacher? As in term papers and final exams and the like?"

"That's about it."

"I'd have figured something at the Ranger academy would have been more up your alley," he confessed.

Monroe laughed as he signaled to the bartender for another drink. "Oh he offered—twice actually. Apparently he feels a bit bad that some of his rivals led to all that mess in the first place."

Harris raised a brow at that little tidbit. "So why did you turn him down?"

He took a drink and looked at his former secretary over the rim of his glass. "I've been fighting one thing or another for thirty years. Don't you think it's about time I had a career change, Shawn?"

The younger man remained skeptical, earning him a roll of the eyes from his former employer. "So, where did you go? No one heard from you for months."

Monroe sat back in his chair, hesitant. "I wandered for a bit, landed back in New Vegas. I did a little boxing for a while and then Blanchard made his offer, so here I am."

Harris didn't believe that was all to the story for a second. He knew Monroe well enough to know that he was leaving a lot out, but he decided to let it slide. It was clearly a topic that the man did not want to discuss, and by the looks of him he could only guess why.

He had the looks of someone that was just getting over a rough time or long illness. He certainly looked happier than he'd been when they'd last seen each other, but he looked just shuttered enough to make Harris really wonder. He'd known him when he was okay, and he'd known him when he was quite insane. This was something different entirely, like there was a deep wound that was just beginning to heal.

Of course, he'd tried to find Monroe when his duties allowed it after the takeover. He'd kept an ear out and had asked around when Blanchard had sent him (rarely) to other parts of the Republic. At one point, he'd even paid someone to see if they could find news of him—not that it had been all that effective. The few leads that had come in had amounted to nothing, and he eventually accepted that Monroe simply didn't want to be found.

Wanting to spare Monroe some embarrassment, he changed the topic and went on to talk about what he'd been doing for Texas. As the afternoon went on, they had a few more drinks and shared a few laughs. The longer they sat there, the more nervous Harris started to get. He knew that he had to talk to Monroe about Charlie's change in circumstance, but he didn't quite know how to bring it up.

"What's on your mind, Shawn?" Monroe had obviously picked up on his increasing unease and just blurted the question out of nowhere. "Whatever it is, just say it."

"Listen, there's something I've got to tell you…"

Hours later, Shawn Harris all but dragged a very inebriated Bass Monroe to what he hoped was the right house. His friend was barely functioning by the time Harris had asked him where he was staying. It had taken Monroe several tries to even tell him where he lived, as drunk as he was.

Harris managed to get him inside without incident, the key confirming that he'd found the right place. He'd made enough noise to send the next door neighbors outside to investigate. The husband had rushed forward to help him, and within a few more minutes they dumped him unceremoniously on the couch.

Harris stuck around long enough to get an assurance that the neighbor and his wife would keep an eye on his friend and make sure he was alright and didn't do anything stupid. He'd found paper and a pencil in a drawer in the kitchen and took the time to jot down his apologies and then took off for home. Harris had a buzz himself, and he still had to catch a train in the morning.

Rachel…

Rachel Matheson was just finishing up with the dinner dishes when she heard a tentative knock on the front door. Her father was busy checking on a patient and Miles had gone to the bar for a drink with the locals. When Charlie didn't answer it and the knock came again, she dried her hands on a dishtowel and went to answer it.

She opened the door to see Monroe standing there. "What are you doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest in obvious disapproval.

"I'm here to see Charlie," he said, his voice quiet and eyes downcast.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said as she took a step back and reached for the door, intent on shutting it in his face. "You need to leave."

He stopped the door from swinging shut with his foot. "That's not your call to make, Rachel."

"Oh, I think it is. Now get out of here before I send someone for the sheriff," Rachel snapped.

"Mom, stop." Charlie's voice could be heard from somewhere in the house. "I'll talk to him."

Rachel's mouth formed a thin line. She narrowed her eyes at him, the threat there obvious and then went back to the kitchen to finish her chore. She kept an ear open just in case Charlie needed her help, but eventually she heard her daughter's footsteps retreating down the hall, followed by Monroe's several moments later.

She didn't want to leave her daughter in the house with this mad man any longer than she had to, but she wasn't equipped to handle things if they escalated. Tossing down the dish towel, she took off out the back door and headed down the street.

She ran as fast as she could to the center of town and burst through the door of the bar. Miles was sitting at the bar alone, having a drink. "He's here," she panted as she tried to catch her breath.

Miles turned around. "Dammit. I'll be back," he said to the bartender as he shot up off the stool and out the door.

Rachel slapped a few diamonds down to pay her boyfriend's tab and left. Instead of heading straight home, she went to the clinic, where her father would just be locking up for the evening. He'd been staying a bit later during the summer hours as the days were longer and it was just now getting dark.

She ran into him at the door. "Dad, Monroe's here. He's at the house with Charlie. Grab your stuff, just in case there's trouble," she warned.

Charlie…

She heard the knock at the front door, but her hands had been full at the time, so she left it for her mother to answer. Through the open door of her bedroom, she'd heard his voice and knew exactly who it was.

Charlie felt the blood drain out of her face. If he was here, that meant that Harris had talked to him; it meant that he knew and was coming to confront her about it. She was so tired as it was and as she slowly walked down the hallway, Charlie felt dazed. Just as she entered the living room, she heard her mother threaten to get the sheriff.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie intervened. "Mom, stop. I'll talk to him."

She waited for Rachel to get out of the way and then opened the door. He looked a little worse for wear—he was a bit leaner than the last time she'd seen him and still wore the dust from the road. Wherever he'd been, it was obvious that he must not have been in town long before knocking on their door.

It took Charlie a few minutes to recover from seeing Monroe again before she finally remembered to speak. "What do you want, Bass?"

Monroe…

Monroe's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for someone to answer the door. He was both dreading and hoping that Charlie would be the one to open it. He knew he was intruding and that if it was anyone else, he was more likely to have the door slammed in his face than speak to her.

If it was Miles, well he may very well end up with a fist or the barrel of the gun in his face instead. Of all the people that it had to be, of course, it was Rachel. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke to her. Even with all the animosity between himself and Charlie's mother, he was still too embarrassed to look even her in the eyes.

Of course the woman knew damn good and well why he was here, and it was bad enough to come begging—worse still to have Rachel Matheson be the one to witness it. Finally, Charlie had shown up and now he stood and looked at her.

She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes and her hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. Gone were the tight jeans and tank top she'd preferred so long ago, her old style having been replaced with one more comfortable.

Monroe froze the moment he saw her. Tired or not, he still lost his head the second he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when he realized he'd lost the ability to form words.

"What do you want, Bass?" she asked. Charlie's voice didn't carry the same venom her mothers had. Instead, she sounded flat—as weary as she looked.

"I came to see her," he replied, barely speaking above a whisper.

Charlie blinked, and donned the best mask of confusion that he'd ever seen. Really, if he was an outside observer, he'd probably give her a standing ovation. "See who?"

Monroe swallowed, nervous and just a little mortified that it really came down to this—she'd rather play dumb than tell him the truth. "I ran into Shawn last week. He told me."

She took a tiny step back as she nodded her understanding. It was clear that she was a little taken aback that he'd found out, as if she hadn't expected it, or at the very least hadn't expected it so soon. "What do you want with her?" Charlie asked. If Monroe didn't know any better, he would have thought that she almost sounded afraid of him now—not that he didn't deserve it.

"I just want to meet her," he insisted. "Please, let me see my daughter." He held his breath and waited for her to decide. It had taken every ounce of his courage just to knock on the door, and now that he was standing there before her, he almost lost his nerve while he waited for her to think about it.

Eventually, Charlie stepped back to let him in, her silent assent left for him to decipher. She immediately turned and walked down the hallway, disappearing from sight. Monroe hesitated, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself before following.

He found her in the last room on the left. She was just bending over a cradle when he caught up with her. He watched in silence as she picked up the sleeping child and carried her over to where he patiently waited. She was almost to him when the baby began to stir.

Bass looked down at his daughter. Her tiny head was covered in unruly dark curls and she looked up at him with the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. "Can I—can I hold her?" he asked, terrified that Charlie would deny him.

"Okay."

Monroe set down his pack. As an afterthought, he unstrapped his sword and gun belt and took off his jacket, setting them down atop his worn backpack. Now ready, he held out his arms. The moment he had her, his eyes welled up and a smile broke across his face.

When the baby fussed a little, he swayed back and forth, calming her. "How old is she?" he asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

"Four months. She was born March nineteenth." Had Monroe looked up he'd have seen the surprised look on her face at the way he handled her.

"What's her name?" He kept his voice low, not fully trusting that he wouldn't crack.

"Bethany. Her name is Bethany."

Monroe blinked back a few tears. "That's a beautiful name. She's beautiful."

He knew he was running out of time. Charlie wouldn't tolerate his presence here for much longer, and it was only a matter of time before Miles showed up. He was positive that he'd heard the front door open and close again just as soon as he'd stepped into the hallway. Knowing Rachel, she had probably snuck out the second he'd disappeared down the hallway in order to fetch him.

The thought of handing her back almost broke him, but he knew it was time. He stared down at his daughter one last time, committing her features to memory and then handed her back to her mother. "Thank you," he rasped quietly.

Charlie sat down in the rocking chair and began to rock the baby back to sleep. She'd just been fed and changed right before Monroe had shown up and she'd just put her down for the evening. Her former lover watched them both in the dying light for several minutes. He stood there until Charlie put the baby back in her crib and then locked eyes with him. Taking the hint, he picked up his things and backed out of the room.

"What are you going to do?" Charlie asked after she gently closed the door. She still sounded afraid of him and Monroe knew deep down that she was worried he'd try to stick around or take the baby.

"I uh—I won't bother you. I just wanted to see her one time."

"And?" she asked. She could always read him, and Monroe flushed at the fact that she'd done so now. Of course there was something else.

He reached into his bag and dug around for a minute. He pulled out an envelope and a metal chain. "Can you give her these one day, when she's old enough?" he asked.

Charlie held out her hand to take his offering. The envelope wasn't sealed—he'd left it that way, knowing she'd read it before she'd even consider keeping it, let alone giving it to her child. His having left it open was his way of telling her it was okay. He wouldn't expect any less of her and would do the same if the situations were reversed.

She held up the chain he'd given her to get a better look at it. On it were two metal plates—his marine dog tags. It had been almost two decades since he'd worn them as a marine, but had kept them all these years as a keepsake. It was the only personal belonging he'd had on him in Colorado when he'd run from his own men in Colorado.

She looked at them for a moment before flicking her questioning gaze to Monroe. "It's all I have of who I was," he explained sadly as he turned away and headed down the hallway. He'd never felt as humbled as he did when leaving now. He felt like he was abandoning the only blood he had and the woman he'd loved enough to create her with—and he knew he didn't have a right to either one.

"When did you get back?" Charlie asked from behind him as Monroe reached for the doorknob.

"About ten minute before I knocked on the door," Monroe told her. He dropped his hand and turned to look at her one last time.

"You'll be staying in town for a few days, then?"

Monroe almost detected a hint of hope in her voice, but he knew it was too good to be true. "No. I'm leaving at first light. I have to get back to Austin; I'm starting a new job in a few weeks and I've got a lot to do to get ready for it."

"Oh."

Did she just sound disappointed? The way she said it him pausing at the door. That one little syllable, not even a word really was enough to help him work up the courage to finish what he'd started. "Listen, I'll stay out of your way. I know you don't need me around—she doesn't need me around, but I'll send some money when I can."

Charlie straightened a little. "We don't need your money," she replied proudly.

He held his hands up in surrender, feeling her sudden anger at the suggestion. "I know you don't. I told you, I won't bother you or make a claim for her, but she's still my daughter. I've a right to see that she's cared for." He'd been able to give his son nothing but pain before his death. Monroe couldn't bear to do the same with her. "If you ever need anything, I'll be in Austin," he added as he dug into his pocket and produced a scrap of paper.

Charlie took it from him and looked down to see the address he'd written down. He could see the internal struggle and a part of him wondered if she was going to burn it the second he left. Then again, if their situations were reversed, that would probably be what he'd do. Instead of offering further argument, she stuck the paper in the front pocket of her jeans.

Monroe turned back to the door and opened it. "I never meant to hurt you, and I'm so sorry about everything ," he said as he stepped out onto the porch. "Thank you for letting me see her."

He didn't bother to turn around, or wait to see if Charlie had a response. The sun was just done setting, but it wasn't dark enough to hide the fact that he was losing control of his emotions and the occasional tear managed to escape and trace a path down his cheeks. He dashed them away and did the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life—he walked away.

He only made it half a block before he ran into Miles. Wisely, he crossed the street, rather than meet him straight on. "What are you doing around here, Bass?" Miles called.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving—and I won't be back," Monroe replied, his voice sounding pathetic to his own ears.

Miles…

As he made his way to the house he shared with Rachel, Gene, Charlie and little Bethany, Miles was torn. A part of him really wanted to see his brother and make sure he was okay; however, was more inclined to get his insane former best friend as far away from that baby as possible before he did something stupid.

Monroe had lost two children already. The idea of having a third one out there may push him over the edge, and that thought terrified him. Or it could be the one thing that helps him pull it together. Did any of us think of that?

When he was just a few blocks away, Miles slowed his pace to give them a few minutes together. Even if Monroe flipped, he knew that the man would never hurt Charlie and there was no way he was getting out of town without passing him by. Surely there was no harm in giving them five minutes of privacy.

He was almost home when he ran into Monroe on the street. In the darkness, he could see that Monroe obviously carried no baby, so that was a positive sign at least. What wasn't so positive was the way that Monroe had crossed the street the second they'd seen one another. To Miles, that meant Monroe had done something he knew would piss him off.

When Miles asked him why he was around, the man's reply was so forlorn that it had him worried. What happened in that house? He hurried the remaining distance and ran into Charlie in the doorway, where she stood with tears coursing down her face.

"Charlie? Are you okay? What did he want?"

Charlie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "He just wanted to meet Bethany. He's gone now. He said he wouldn't bother us." she said as she turned and fled to her and Bethany's room.

Charlie…

She laid face down on the bed and silently cried until she fell asleep. The next morning, when she knew he was well on his way to Austin, she pulled out the letter he'd left for Bethany. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before opening it up and reading it.

As I write this, I've never met you. I don't know when you were born, and I've never heard your name. I just found out about you a few days ago, and in the morning, I'll be in Willoughby, hoping to hold you just once.

By the time your mom gives this to you, you hopefully will have had someone good in your life that you've called your father—someone who will have been better at it that I could have ever been.

I'm not a good man—I'm not even a decent one. I used to be, but that was so long ago that I barely even remember what it felt like. So much has happened between then and now.

I just wanted you to know that the reason I wasn't around wasn't because I didn't want to be. It wasn't because I didn't care or didn't want to stick around. Even though I haven't even seen you yet, I already love you so much it hurts.

And that is why you've never seen me or heard my name. I don't know when your mom will give this to you, but I know she'll have waited until the time is right—when you're old enough to understand that sometimes being far away is the best way to show someone you care.

I love you and your mom both more than I can ever say, and it's better for the both of you that I've stayed away—this way, I can't hurt you. Even though it has to be that way, know that I'll always be thinking of you and hoping you are well and happy.

I know that your mom will raise your right and that you will have grown up smart, and beautiful and perfect, just like her. That's how I'll always see you in my head. Even though you didn't know it, I was always with you—I was there when you took your first steps and said your first words. I was there when you graduated school and fell in love for the first time (I was that invisible guy threating to kick his ass if he ever hurt you).

I will always be with you. I love you, and I'm so sorry I couldn't be there.

Your Dad.

Charlie carefully folded up the letter and placed it back in its envelope. She put the dog tags inside and carried it over to the desks in the living room. In her own bold script, she carefully wrote out her daughter's name on the front before sealing it with wax on the other side. When the seal cooled and hardened, she put it in a box of keepsakes in the closet, resolved to keep it as long as it took for Bethany to be ready for it.