"Come on, Miles. What are you going to do? You can't just let me rot down here!"

At this point, Monroe was thoroughly irritated. He'd been sitting in this storm cellar, chained to the wall for the better part of a day. Unlike the one they'd stayed in briefly after their rescue attempt at the old high school in Willoughby, this one was empty. Many of the old farm houses in the area had root cellars that had been converted into storm shelters long ago. The house above this one was newer, and had likely been built shortly before the blackout. The cellar had been built with one purpose in mind: protect the pervious occupants in the event of a tornado. The walls were solid concrete, and if Monroe had to guess were probably a foot thick. Steel bars were embedded in several spots along the walls. Their intent was probably to secure supplies or even people during a severe storm. Stele grates secured the windows, allowing ventilation, but no means of escape. At one point, it appeared that they could open inwards, but they were screwed shut now. No doubt Miles had his hand in that. Even if he could manage to get himself out of the handcuffs that held him to the bar, he'd need something to remove the screws in order to escape. And, knowing Miles as he did, Monroe was willing to bet that he'd removed anything that wasn't bolted down. Even the floor looked like it had been swept. The question was, why?

"Miles! What the hell? You're just going to hold me prisoner?"

Again, he was rewarded with no response. Monroe knew he was up there somewhere and could hear him. He tried again.

"I know you're up there, Miles. I can practically hear you brooding."

At last, the door to the cellar opened. Miles squatted down in front of the stairs, rather than coming all of the way down.

"Will you shut up?"

"Not until you explain why I'm down here!"

"Think about it, prick."

"Oh, come on! Either let me go or shoot me. It's getting cold down here," he whined.

"Don't tempt me!" The voice that replied most definitely belonged to Rachel.

With that, Miles disappeared and the door slammed shut. Monroe could hear the bolt sliding home, locking him in.

He slid to the ground, wincing as the concrete walls scraped down his back. It had been well over a week since that last night in Puesta del Sol, and the damn slashes were still breaking open. The whipping had been severe, and his back was in shreds. Had Connor kept going much longer, he very well could have killed him. Indeed, he had been very close to passing out when it had ended. As poorly as his back was healing, Monroe was starting to worry about infection. Infection was always a concern when clean bandages and antibiotics were rare, valuable commodities.

Monroe sat there, reflecting on his current situation. Since the tower, this was the fourth time he'd found himself in captivity. Guess I'm getting too old for this shit, he mused to himself.

They'd only been back a few days. They had returned to find the town in chaos. A typhus epidemic was ripping through the town, caused by the patriots. Rachel had managed to turn it around on the bastards after he and Miles had raided a patriot compound and found out what had caused it in the first place. It hadn't made sense. Typhus was spread by lice. It shouldn't have ransacked a town so quickly. A refugee camp, definitely. A camped army, sure. But, in a town with basic sanitation? Never. It turned out that it wasn't even exactly typhus. It was something the government must have engineered prior to the blackout. It looked like typhus, but it sure as hell didn't spread like it. The bacteria had been injected into oranges. According to Rachel, real typhus couldn't spread that way.

She had been smart, he'd give her that. After they had stolen the patriots' supply of vaccines and antibiotics, she had used what he and miles had found to contaminate the patriots' food supply, and then they had been able to treat the town. The patriots were slowly dying in their own quarantine camp, unaware that while they suffered, the town was slowly on the mend. A fitting end for those bastards.

Shortly after he and Miles had returned from their raid, Monroe had been rewarded for his assistance with a blow to the back of the head. When he awoke, he was here, handcuffed to this damn wall. He had no idea where Connor was. The last time he'd seen his son, Connor had been headed into Willoughby to help those left bury their dead.

He dozed off, sitting there with his arms suspended above him. When he woke up, it was fully dark. It was the sound of the door opening that had woken him. He heard voices whispering above and strained to hear what they were saying.

"I don't like this, Charlie!" The voice came from Gene.

"He won't hurt me, Grandpa." Ah, so Charlie was up there too.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know he won't. But, he might try to escape, so close and lock the door behind me. I want to talk to him, alone. Come back in an hour or so."

"If he tries anything, you won't be able to get out." Gene's voice sounded worried.

"He won't."

With that, Charlie slowly appeared down the stairs, using a lantern to light her way. The door closed behind her. She paused for a moment to listen, and didn't move until she was sure Gene was out of earshot.

"Well aren't you trusting? Didn't miles teach you anything?" He sneered.

"We both know you won't hurt me, so save it."

"What are you doing here? For that matter, what am I doing here?"

"You haven't figured that out yet, Monroe?" She asked. She sounded surprised.

"Would I be asking if I had?"

She looked at him for a long minute, and eventually let out a sigh. She set down the pack she'd been carrying on her back and took a step towards him. He stared at her warily as she reached towards his hands with a key to unlock the cuffs. Finally free, he rubbed at his chafed wrists while she spoke.

"Miles is calling this an 'intervention', whatever that means. I'm calling it curing you of stupidity."

He thought about her words for a second before it suddenly dawn on him that Connor must have mentioned the republic. He hadn't been there when it all fell apart, and Monroe hadn't exactly had the time alone with him to explain to Connor that their plans were not exactly going to leave them in the Mathesons' good graces. He had known Miles was a founder of the republic and its militia. He must not have realized that he'd been instrumental in its destruction as well.

"So what are you doing here? And where is my son?"

"Being kept busy. Don't worry, he doesn't know you've been put in 'time out'. He thinks Miles has you doing recon on a patriot camp. He won't expect you back for days. He was a bit pissy over the fact you didn't take him though." She smirked at that as she motioned for Monroe to turn around. He stared at her, obviously suspicious.

"Do you want to get an infection like Miles had or not? Turn around and take off your shirt."

"Well, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, all you had to do was ask," he quipped snidely as he complied. She lightly smacked his back in retaliation, causing him to wince.

"That's what you get. Sit down. You're too tall and I can't reach."

He sank to the ground in a crouch as she kneeled behind him with a bundle of supplies next to her. She started to slowly peel off the filthy bandages, occasionally causing him to hiss in pain when they pulled. There was some healing, but even in the limited light she could tell that between travelling and raiding the patriots, he'd opened them up multiple times. The deepest of the slashes were still even oozing.

"Why are you here? Why are you helping me?" It almost came out as a whisper, so she had barely heard him.

"A show of faith."

He had to chuckle at that. She'd thrown his own words back at him. He remembered when he'd said them after helping her all those weeks ago.

"You helped me once. Figured you at least deserved my returning the favor," she continued.

Charlie began to dab at his back with something that quite frankly burned like hell. He jerked away from her at the offending substance's contact. "Damn. What the hell? That hurts!"

"It's salt water and vinegar. Grandpa said it will clean them and help prevent infection."

"And I'm sure he knew it would burn like hell too."

"Probably was the added bonus." She finished cleaning, earning an occasional hiss of pain. She then started applying a salve on his back. It soothed the burning at least, whatever it was. She then started covering his wounds with real gauze.

"Where did you get gauze?" he asked her casually. It had been years since he'd seen any real sterile medical supplies.

"Patriot medical kit."

"My aren't they resourceful? You'd better wet them, or they won't stick." He was such a horrible patient, and he damn well knew it. He always had been.

"Just shut up and let me finish."

He waited impatiently for her to finish laying the gauze, and then reached for his shirt. Charlie knocked his hands aside and pulled out a long cloth bandage. It resembled an ACE bandage, but it was white. Unused, by the looks of it. Yes, these patriots were definitely resourceful. She began wrapping it around his back and chest. The bandage would keep the gauze in place. He felt her breath on the back of his neck as she reached to bring it back around. He clenched his jaw and tried to chase a rather inappropriate thought out of his mind. He had little success. He closed his eyes and willed her to hurry up and finish before his body caught up with his mind. When she'd finished she sat back on her heals to study her handiwork.

"So why were you planning on taking it back? Is that was all of this was about? Saving me? Coming to Texas?"

He turned to face her, scooting so that he could rest his head against the wall. His position allowed him to face her, but it also gave him the excuse to avoid her gaze. So here it was. Part of him wondered if Miles had sent her down to interrogate him. He thought for a second about lying or simply shutting her out. But, the tone of her voice stopped him. Even if Miles really had sent her, she seemed to honestly want to know.

"No, it didn't start out that way. I just kind of wandered after the tower, you know. I don't really even know how I ended up in New Vegas. I was just stuck. By the time you and those bounty hunters showed up, I think I was just kind of waiting for someone to recognize me, put an end to it all. There was nothing to keep me going."

He glanced at her now beneath hooded eyes. Her own eyes were wide, like she was surprised at the openness of his answer – or at the desperation he'd implied. She waited a minute, and then gestured for him to continue.

"And, after I escaped them and found those bounties, I figured that I had found at least something to do. I needed something to work towards and I knew that if your mom got captured, it would kill Miles… and you. So, I decided to help."

"Me? Why would you care?"

He ignored her question. He wasn't quite sure how to explain it, so it was easier to just pretend she hadn't asked it. Instead, he continued.

"So there I was, trying to help and make amends with the Mathesons, and what did it get me? No one wanted my help." She opened her mouth to respond to that but he continued, again ignoring her. "The whole time I had to sit and listen about how much of a son of a bitch I am. But, I got it and I stuck around. And I got arrested and sentenced to death. And, I was even okay with that. But there I was about to die for all my sins. You know, down to the very end I was still begging your uncle to forgive me? I just wanted him to be there, and all he did was throw it all in my face. I was prepared to die, if it made up for some of the shit that happened between us and all he could do was stand there and remind me that after being friends for thirty-five years, the last five left nothing there."

"But you didn't die. You're still here," she coldly reminded him.

"Well maybe I shouldn't be," he snapped back. He hadn't meant to make that admission, and the startled look on her face showed him she definitely hadn't expected it either. He instantly regretted those words."

She started to ask him why, but he cut her off.

"I had given up any hope of ever finding my son until that night. You know what the last thing I begged Miles for before they took me to the courthouse? It was to find my son and protect him from the goddamn patriots. I didn't know until then that Miles even knew he existed. He could have just said he'd do it and left it at that, let me die in peace. Instead, he just couldn't resist slapping me down with the fact he'd known about Connor longer than I had. Son of a bitch had to rub it in, make it hurt. So yeah, when I woke up in that farmhouse, I decided I was done. Miles has already severed that tie."

"So you just figured you'd find your kid and be president again, just to slap Miles back? What, are you five?"

"No, that's just the added bonus. I didn't plan on Connor coming here. Charlie, I hadn't even planned on coming back. I figured he would have a life wherever he was. I just wanted to meet him before I moved on and the patriots actually killed me. One last thing on my bucket list."

"Your what?" She missed that reference, once again reminding him of how young she really was.

"Never mind." After meeting up with you I tried so hard to be a good man again. I used to be one, once upon a time. I know I never got close, never will. But, I'd like to think I was a little better at least. But, that's not who Connor wanted. He was sitting pretty with his little cartel buddies. So, I offered him the only thing I could think of to get him away from there before he got himself killed."

"The republic…"

"The kid was raised by someone who is, believe it or not, worse than I ever was. He's power hungry and stupid and angry at me. If it wasn't for my existing, he'd still be in Jasper. Emma wouldn't be dead. He blamed me. Still does. He didn't want a father, so I offered him power. It was just a tactic at the time, Charlie. You've got to believe that. He didn't even take the bait."

He gestured at his back. "There's the proof. But when Miles came to rescue me and I didn't leave, he decided to help me escape. I guess there must be some good in him after all. Guess he gets it from his mother," he added bitterly.

"If you seriously want me to believe you, answer me this: Why did you decide to go through with it?"

"Because if I don't, I'll lose him."

"If all he wants is power instead of you, who cares?"

"You still don't get it, do you Charlie? Pretty much everyone I've ever cared about is either in the ground or wants to put me there. My folks, my sisters – dead. My wife and baby? Dead."

Again, that startled look. She didn't know about them, didn't know him really.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Why would you? Miles sure as hell isn't going to tell anyone. Might make him look bad if I looked like I wasn't always such a monster," he said bitterly. Your family pretty much wants me dead, and one of you will probably end up killing me once Miles decides I'm not useful. Don't you see? Connor is the only one I have left?"

Charlie reached out and cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"That's not true."

"Excuse me?"

"At least, it didn't have to be true. Maybe it still doesn't."

"Charlie, I…"

Now she cut him off. It was her turn to talk. She needed him to listen, and mentally willed him to understand.

"I know Miles feel like shit for whatever was said in the bank that night. You know he will never say it out loud. It's not his way. But you didn't see him that night, before we found out my mom had saved you. He was a mess. "

It was Monroe's turn to stare at her, wide eyed and intent. He forced himself to finally look away. He didn't fully believe but he wanted to so badly.

"I was a mess too, " she added it so quietly that he almost missed it.

"Wha-"

"You're the one that doesn't get it. He isn't the only one you have. You aren't alone. Whether he admits it or not, you are a part of our family. And, you still have Miles."

"Not if your mom has anything to say about it."

She smiled at that, "Well, she'll probably still try to kill you, but she's crazy."

He laughed out loud at that statement. He looked at her again, those piercing blue eyes boring into her own. It took him a minute to gather the courage to ask her his next question."

"What about you, Charlie?"

"Not if you try to bring back the republic."

"And if I drop it?" He couldn't help it. He always had been a glutton for punishment.

She didn't answer him. She simply leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his. He reached up and cupped the back of her head, gently pulling her closer. She may have started the kiss but he quickly took control, drawing her in. She moaned quietly into his mouth and instinct took over. He pulled her closer to him, and fully explored her mouth, his hands tangling into her hair. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. In the back of his mind, he knew that as Miles' niece she was forbidden fruit – off limits. But in this moment, he simply didn't care. She'd made it clear that she wanted him, that she actually cared for his sorry hide. He could, at least for a moment stop trying to convince himself that he didn't care about her, didn't want her – and he had wanted her. Since that very moment he'd first laid eyes on her back in Philly, he'd wanted her. But, because of who she was, he'd buried those feelings until now.

He didn't know when she'd stopped hating him, if she actually even had. Quite frankly, he didn't want to ask. He knew that Gene would be back sooner rather than later, so he resisted the very strong urge to take things any further. For the time being he was content to simply hold her and indulge himself with her mouth. They heard footsteps outside, and slowly pulled apart. They heard Gene's voice through one of the grates.

"Charlie?" Gene's voice wafted down to them.

"Yeah, almost done. Don't open the door yet. Give me a minute." She slowly stood up, not taking her eyes off of him. She went back to the pack she'd brought with her and dug out a clean shirt. "Here, your old one is trashed, " she said, handing it to him. He looked at it, raising an eyebrow.

"Plaid? Really?" He joked, taking it from her. He locked eyes with her as he put the shirt on and buttoned it up just a little over half way.

She went for his hand to cuff it once more to the bar. He offered it to her, and for a moment held hers, squeezing it meaningfully. He wanted to say something, but didn't know exactly where to start.

"Thank you. For the shirt, and for…" He trailed off, not quite able to finish. She simply nodded as she closed the handcuff on his wrist.

"There's some stuff in here," she murmured as she handed him the back. She stood on her toes and reached up to press one last kiss to his lips. "Think about what I said. You can still be a better man. I see it in you. That is that man I kissed, not the general. You can show Connor a better way. The Monroe Republic is not what Emma would have wanted for him."

He flinched at that, knowing deep down that she was right. Charlie walked up the stairs then, and banged on the door at the top.

"Ready!" She called. Gene opened the door, and she disappeared. Gene closed the door, and Monroe heard the bold slide home, leaving him completely alone once more. For a split second, he thought that she must have been out of her mind, leaving his one hand free. But then, he recognized it for what it was. Another show of faith, a chance for him to show her what he decided. They both knew that any escape attempt would involve hurting a member of her family – or even worse, hurting her. Charlie must have decided that he would do the right thing and abandon his plans for a future republic. It had been so damn long since someone had expected him to do something right. It was sobering that after everything he'd done to Charlie and her family, she was able to see a man instead of the monster he'd become as General Monroe.

He was almost as good at escape plans as he was at killing. He was sure that there would be something in the pack she'd left him that he could use to free himself. The spoon she'd left to dig at the concrete, or the thin blanket to choke the next person that came down with keys. Either could work.

He sat back down again, and slowly ate the beans and dried meat she'd left him, thinking about what he should do next. Escape or relent? Put his trust in the Mathesons or trust his instincts? Trust Connor to move past the idea of the Monroe Republic and to want him instead of power? Take a risk with her, or the easy way out? By the time he had finished eating, Sebastian Monroe had made his decision. He kept the canteen close so he could ration water. It could be a while before she returned (he could totally see Miles depriving him just a while longer to prove his point). The rest of the things she'd brought, including the blanket, he stuffed back into the pack the best he could with one hand. Before he could change his mind, Monroe deliberately threw the pack towards the top of the stairs. It was now well out of his reach. Then, he pulled at the other set of handcuffs that hung from the bar. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he closed the cuff over his other wrist. He knew when she saw what he'd done, she'd understand his answer. Resolute in his choice, he closed his eyes and left himself drift to sleep.