Disclaimer: I own nothing from Revolution.

Author's Note: I usually don't explain my fics beforehand, but what the hell. Season 1 I was a huge Jarlie shipper- I thought that they were just so adorable together. Season 2 happened and I got hit with the Charloe stick (HARD). That being said, I still feel like Charlie would need to face her history with Jason before she got with Monroe… So that's what I'm hoping to bring you! It's not fully formed in my head yet, so I can't guarantee exactly where this'll go, but I'll cross my fingers and see where this goes…

xxxxx

Charlie had been trying to settle an argument between her mother and Monroe when it happened. Actually, she had no interest in settling the argument, but she desperately wanted to break it up. Partially because they were drawing attention throughout the camp and partially because she couldn't stand to hear what they were saying— most of all, she couldn't stand the fact that lately she believed what Monroe was saying was right.

xxxxx

Earlier…

"They were just children, Bass! I grew up with their families, and you just slaughtered them! There's no way to justify—"

"I'm not looking to justify anything, Rachel. There's no justification, it's just war. And if it wasn't them, it'd be us."

He leaned in closer, his blue eyes flashing with menace. Anyone who didn't know him would have been frightened by that look- most people who did know him would be downright terrified. Rachel, on the other hand, had suffered through Bass's temper when he was at his very worst. She had seen firsthand how his grip on sanity loosened. She was his captive when it was particularly bad. Because of that, she took everything he threw at her whenever he got it in his head to blame Rachel for everything going wrong with his Republic- something that happened more often than either of them were willing to speak of.

He fancied himself a gentleman, even then. He never touched her inappropriately, or put her through the kinds of tortures other prisoners experienced. She was his guest, he would say. Out of affection for her, loyalty to Miles… He would go on about how virtuous he was being, but she could see the rage simmering just below his cold, polite mask. The moments when he would truly snap were rare, but Rachel had experienced them herself. At times she could still feel his hand around her throat as he brought her close to whisper threateningly in her ear. She wasn't sure, even now, how close he had actually gotten to killing her. It wasn't exactly something they talked about.

Rachel tore herself out of the past as Bass continued speaking, in hushed tones. The lower volume was a warning sign for her—when Bass was losing control, he gave the appearance of just the opposite. When he was out of his mind with grief or rage, he was predictable. When his words were low and even, that was when it was time to panic. She knew exactly what he was capable of, but Rachel had given up being afraid of Monroe some time ago.

"But most importantly, I don't need to listen to your bullshit any more, Rachel. Look around. I've got two dozen men under my command. I don't need to put up with your sobbing to get shit done anymore."

Bass started to move away, but Rachel spoke up, unwilling to let him have the last word.

"You don't have all of them."

As he paused, she expected to see his eyes flashing back at her with the usual malice. Instead, he looked around the camp appraisingly.

It was true- despite the reappearance of the clan and news of Duncan's demise, Charlie's men were still loyal to her. They seemed to respect her, though Rachel had to admit she was a bit hesitant to ask why. She had seen her daughter fight as of late- she saw the coldness that had crept into her eyes, a bit more every day. Rachel saw so much of herself, of who she had become in her daughter. It terrified her to think what Charlie could have done to earn the respect of these battle-hardened clan members.

Monroe turned back to her and nodded slightly.

"Gotta admit, I was surprised about that." He chuckled a bit before continuing, practically whispering, "Shouldn't have been, though." He returned to his previous volume, though his voice was still low and even. "With or without them, Rachel, point remains. You don't want to be involved in this, pack up and go. Maybe you can track down StayPuft and work your damn brain trust at taking down these sons of bitches- in your kind and polite way."

That one stung more than he could have realized. The only reason she had gotten involved in any of this started because she was trying to keep killing out of war. Though she initially objected to getting involved with the nanotech project, Ben and the group swayed her by appealing to her patriotism and maternal instinct—though they didn't realize how many nights she couldn't sleep, wondering if anyone in particular was being shot at halfway around the world.

Gone were the polite, indoor voices. "Dammit, Bass! There is no reason you have to go to such extremes! I wasn't asking for anything drastic- just to wait until Miles came back. Instead, you got my father SHOT!"

Bass refrained from rolling his eyes. He knew she still blamed him and him alone for the death of Danny and perhaps Ben as well; now she was well on her way to citing him as the cause for every injury a member of her family endured.

"Jesus Christ Rachel, are you kidding me? We went when we were ready. We won. It's over. And a group this size, they could have found us any minute. We had to get them before they got us."

xxxxx

As the argument first started growing heat, Charlie was further into the camp, sparring with one of Duncan's guys. She hadn't caught this particular mercenary's name yet, but he seemed to be in charge of Duncan's clan when they first arrived, and he certainly seemed to have caught an eye for her. They were exchanging quips and jabs in the makeshift sparring ring—there were a few times Charlie would normally have gone in and finished it, but she toyed with him a bit; she told herself she wanted to see what he could do. After the second time the merc called her sweetheart, she heard her mother's voice shouting Bass's name, and figured that was the perfect time to end things.

The merc shoved Charlie lightly. Instead of playfully fighting back as she had been, she let herself drop to the ground and swiftly swept her legs under his. Before he could react, she was straddling his stomach. Quickly she pinned his wrists down with one hand, then used the other to put her blade to his throat. He could have easily removed her hold on him, probably thrown her off of him entirely, but his eyes were on the knife which he knew she hadn't been holding just a second ago.

"Don't call me sweetheart." She said, flashing him a glare that him holding back a gulp. She held him there for a second before she smirked down at him, the ice in her gaze gone in that instant. She quickly rose up and reached out to help the blonde man to his feet.

"Guess we're done here." She said as she walked off toward her mother and Monroe's growing scene.

"I'm gonna want a rematch!"

Charlie paused and turned around. He was wearing one of the biggest shit-eating smirks she had ever seen. She couldn't help but chuckle as she nodded back at him. With a quick wave, she was off again, this time at a quicker pace. She was pretty sure she could tell where the other man's eyes were as she made her way through the camp, but she chose haste in favor of her usual threats.

"—we had to get them before they got us."

Not this again. It had been three days, and Rachel couldn't just drop it and move on. Well, that wasn't so surprising—Charlie certainly came by her own stubbornness honestly, and not only from the Matheson side of the family. However, there was nothing new to be added to this argument, and going in circles would get them nowhere.

"Mom? Look I know that you're not happy with how things happened, and I wish there was another way too, but we're fighting an enemy with— what the hell?"

Bass and Rachel turned to see what Charlie was reacting to. At the edge of camp Connor was walking up. Behind him was Jason Neville, holding a gun carefully on him.

xxxxx

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