A/N: Background info: Miles was shot by one of Monroe's men right after that swordfight in 1.10 (sorry, but Miles represents Jacob Marley, so he had to be dead, but because he represents JM, he's not gone). Charlie, Rachel, and Danny were recaptured before they could make it out of the power plant and were brought back to Monroe in time to see Miles shot. Shortly after, Monroe made Charlie marry him (to further keep Rachel in line).

The events of 1.15 didn't happen, so Emma's still alive and Monroe doesn't know about Connor, but the assassination attempt in 1.17 still happened, Jeremy's dead, and so are Aaron and Nora (killed in one of Monroe's attacks on the rebel bases after they made it out of the power plant). But since this is "A Christmas Carol", none of them are really gone either ;)

This is my first fic, hope you like it. :D

Scrooge & Marley (& Associates)

Sebastian Monroe stood just inside the doorway of the small maintenance workshop he'd had set aside for Rachel Matheson. He'd come to hate visiting her and did so as little as possible anymore, but it had become necessary to check up on her. He'd been getting complaints from Randall Flynn that she wasn't finishing repairs fast enough, so in his desire to avoid seeing her, he'd made several attempts over the past few days to motivate her indirectly. First, he'd had her CD player taken away, leaving the CDs behind for the sight of them to taunt her. When that didn't work, he ordered the woodstove removed from the workshop, hoping the cold of Philadelphia in December would get her to work faster so she'd be allowed to leave sooner, but that hadn't worked either. Not even the looming presence of the guards constantly watching her; who were obviously tired of being cold, got her to work faster. He was already tired of it and he'd only been in the room for a minute! He'd finally realized he would need to be more direct if he wanted to motivate Rachel Matheson, hence this 'visit'.

Monroe had his arms crossed over his chest, watching Rachel repairing an amplifier; slowly. The five he had kept breaking down since they'd been made from parts that'd sat around fifteen-plus years collecting dust since the Blackout, and he'd made it her job to keep them and all the gadgets Flynn and his team provided him with up and running. With the arrival of Flynn and John Sanborn and the others they'd brought, he didn't need Rachel anymore, and he certainly didn't trust her with any new projects. But he did need her to ensure Charlotte didn't try to leave him, so Rachel would just have to do menial tasks until he figured out something else for her to do.

He was eager to begin conquering the other Republics and needed all his amplifiers ready to go at a moment's notice. He hoped they would all surrender as easily as the Georgia Federation had. He'd only needed to threaten to detonate a dirty bomb in Atlanta. Dropping warning leaflets from a functioning helicopter had been the only show of force necessary, though he would've gone through with it if Kelly Foster hadn't surrendered so easily.

"Good morning, Rachel; so nice to see you. How've you been?" he drawled, moving from the door to stand at the end of the workbench where Rachel was working.

Rachel's only response was to throw down the screwdriver she'd been using down onto the workbench. Bass was sure she'd meant it as a veiled threat in light of what she'd done to Dr. Jaffe a few months before; but he pretended not to notice; he couldn't let her think she had any affect on him.

She sat on her stool with her head down, shoulders slumped, and her hands in her lap trying to rub some warmth into her exposed fingers; her heavy coat making her posture seem worse than it was. She wasn't looking at him; she almost never did anymore; not since Miles' death seven weeks before.

With the thought of Miles, his mind flooded with images from that horrible day: seeing his brother shot in front of him, the sound of his swords clanking on the floor as they fell from his hands before he slumped lifeless to the floor; the guard who'd shot him dropping when Monroe shot him; Charlotte falling to her knees in despair; Rachel wailing and fighting the men holding her to get to Miles... Monroe wanted to run from the workshop, to go anywhere else where he could be alone, or better yet, to Charlotte for the comfort only she could give, but he needed to stay in control in front of Rachel, and the men present.

He was able to regain control quickly, but he was glad she wasn't facing him since he was sure the loss of control had shown on his face. He took a few steps toward her to loom near her personal space, as he often did to intimidate her. He started lazily toying with the screwdriver where it lay on the workbench, implying his own veiled threat. To anyone watching, he would've appeared distracted, but he was watching her carefully. Her eyes darted to the screwdriver only for a fraction of second and then to him; 'Message received,' he thought.

He picked it up and began rolling it around in his hand, "Mr. Flynn tells me you're not making your repairs fast enough. The Plains Nation is ripe for the taking," he pointed the tip of the screwdriver to the amplifier in front of her as he continued, "I need all my amplifiers operational now, Rachel."

She didn't answer, but she finally looked at him. The way she stiffened made something occur to him, "Why does it take you so long to repair one amplifier?" He leaned in a little closer, against the workbench. "I should think you'd be in a hurry to get out of here." He made a sweeping gesture with his empty hand to indicate the room and the corner where the woodstove had been. "It's because you think it'll delay my plans, isn't it?" Her shoulders slumped a little lower, and his suspicion was confirmed. "Soon all the other Republics will hear I have power. The outcome will be the same whether I have four amplifiers or five; they'll still fall, Rachel. Hell, I probably only really need one, so dawdling won't stop me, Rachel." Even though he knew the last part was probably true, he needed to know they were all working.

She sighed wistfully, "I miss Charlie and Danny," she said, changing the subject and completely ignoring everything he'd just said. She spoke so quietly that if he were any farther away, he wouldn't have heard her. She hadn't been allowed to see either of her children since Miles' funeral and he and Charlotte's wedding a few days after. "How are they? No one will tell me."

That had been one of his orders - that only he could tell her about Charlotte and Danny. "They're good, Rachel," he said smiling, but there was no warmth in his voice.

"You haven't hurt them?" There was panic in her voice now, but she was trying to hide it.

"I wouldn't hurt my own wife, Rachel..." Rachel shuddered slightly, apparently noticing he hadn't mentioned Danny. He was being honest; he wouldn't hurt Charlotte. Though he would do whatever was necessary to Rachel or Danny. He supposed that would hurt Charlotte's feelings and make her hate him more, but he wouldn't actually hurt her.

"I want to see them," she said firmly, apparently wanting proof they were indeed 'good'.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her stool to fully face him and continued, "Please, Bass, it's Christmas Eve. Can't I see them today? It's been years since I got to spend Christmas with them."

He'd forgotten what day it was; he'd pretty much ignored all holidays since Shelley... 'No!' He wouldn't let his thoughts wander again.

He was sure she was up to something, like planning an escape, but he needed all his amplifiers functional and the things he'd tried hadn't made her work any faster. Letting Rachel see her kids felt too much like rewarding her, but if the proverbial carrot worked, it'd be worth it and it might make Charlotte happy too. "OK, Rachel; If all five amplifiers are working," he gestured, using the screwdriver, to the amplifier she'd been working on and the other one behind it waiting to be serviced, "by dinnertime, I'll consider it," he said dismissively.

"They will be," she said, sitting up straighter.

She was definitely up to something. He gave her his fake smile again, "Good, I'll leave you to it then."

With that, he handed her the screwdriver, put his now cold hands in his coat pockets, and turned to leave the room, flanked on either side by his guards.

On his way out, he caught sight of something moving outside the window out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to see what it was, it was gone. 'Must've started snowing,' he thought.

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That evening around dinnertime, Bass sat at his desk in his office reading field reports from Georgia while he waited to find out if Rachel finished her work; the takeover was going well. Charlotte was lounging on the sofa, leaning back against one of its arms, looking bored and idly playing with a tassel on the pillow she was holding. Usually, unless there was an official function, they had their meals alone in their quarters, but he'd had her brought to his office incase Flynn had good news. He wished he could pass the time by joining her and doing what they normally did whenever he'd have her brought to his office, but he did not want Flynn walking in on that, so he occupied himself with the reports.

He'd thought about having her wear the uniform he'd had made for her that matched his, down to the M-insignia collar pins for her visit with Rachel, just to see the look on her face, but decided that'd be too much, so he just asked her to wear something nice. She chose a simple dark green dress. He chuckled at the thought of Rachel's face seeing Charlotte in the uniform which made Charlotte look up, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said grinning at her. He watched her long enough to see her shake her head disbelievingly and then look down at her lap, then went back to his report.

Ever since Miles died, Charlotte had lost a little bit of the fire that'd made Monroe want her from the moment he met her, but today, she seemed really down. He allowed her to see her brother every day since she seemed to be the only person who could keep his asthma attacks at bay. He wondered if something happened with Danny earlier.

He finished reading and decided to talk to her. "What's bothering you, Charlotte?" he tried to sound caring, but wasn't sure she'd believe he did. He stood up and went to her.

"Nothing," she said resignedly, putting the pillow down and shifting her position on the sofa so that she was sitting against its back as he moved to sit beside her.

He could tell she was lying. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, "If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I help you?" He leaned closer and kissed her temple. He really did want her to be happy.

Before she had a chance to answer, if she was going to, he didn't really know, there was a knock on the door. He turned his head in time to see it open for Mr. Flynn. The guards had been told to send him right in, or Monroe would've been angry at the interruption, though he was still annoyed since Flynn was keeping him from getting an answer from Charlotte.

Flynn walked into the office, coming to a stop across from the sofa. "Good evening, General." Noticing Charlotte, he added, his tone noticeably more cheerful, "Ah, good evening, Mrs. Monroe; so nice to see you; how lovely you look tonight," he gave her that sycophantic smile that Bass always wanted to punch right off his face. Charlotte looked at him but didn't answer as if she hoped not saying anything would make him go away. "You asked to see me?" he asked, turning his attention to Monroe. At least he'd learned not to sit down until he was asked to.

Charlotte seemed just as annoyed as Monroe was and it made him smile to himself. Not wanting to talk to the man any more than absolutely necessary, he got straight to the point, "Did she finish?"

"Yes; all five amplifiers are operational."

Monroe was pleased, but wanted the man to leave yesterday, "Thank you. That'll be all. Send in Wright on your way out," he said curtly.

"Good evening, General, Mrs. Monroe," he said nodding slightly at each before heading for the door.

As Flynn was walking away, Charlotte leaned closer to Monroe. "He really creeps me out," she said softly so that only he would hear.

"I don't like him either," he said just as quietly, kissing her on the temple again. "But he's very useful. Because of his help, I didn't have to fire a single shot to take Georgia." She scoffed. "I should think that'd make you happy that I didn't have to kill anyone in the process."

"You didn't need to take Georgia at all." Now there was some of the fire he loved!

He chuckled softly. "That's a debate for another time."

Monroe looked up to see Sergeant Wright standing at attention in the same place Flynn had stood, waiting to be acknowledged. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go tell Diaz it's on." Wright nodded, turned on his heel, and left the room. After his talk with Rachel that morning, he'd made arrangements that if she finished her work, for Danny's guards to be ready to take him to Rachel's quarters at dinnertime.

Bass turned back to Charlotte, she was looking at him suspiciously; she knew Diaz was one of Danny's regular guards. "What's wrong with Danny?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

Bass chuckled, "Nothing." He removed his arm from around her shoulders and took her hand, "Actually, I have a Christmas present for you," he said smiling. He stood, pulling her up with him.

He put his arm out for her to take. She looked unsure, but she seemed to be catching on.

As they were walking out, he thought he saw something move near the display cabinet by the door. This was the third time that day and it was really getting on his nerves. First the 'snow' outside the workshop window - he'd later found out it wasn't snowing - and then at lunch, he thought he saw someone standing in the corner of his quarters. 'Must be a trick of the candlelight.'

They walked into another section of Independence Hall where the guest quarters were, taking the long way to give Wright time to give Diaz the signal, to the hallway where Danny's quarters were and stopped near his door. Charlotte tightened her grip on Monroe's arm, but he could tell she was excited rather than scared and he patted her hand and smiled at her.

The door opened to reveal Danny and Sergeant Diaz. Charlotte and Danny smiled nervously at each other as he came out. Sergeant Wright also came out of the room to join the group. Monroe allowed Danny to walk next to Charlotte and they held hands as they headed farther down the hall. "What's happening?" Danny asked his sister.

"I'm not sure," she glanced sideways at Monroe then turned back to Danny, "something about a Christmas present." Monroe chuckled softly; she really did amuse him sometimes.

They stopped at another door at the end of the hall flanked on either side by two guards like Danny's. She let go of Monroe's arm as he moved to take a key out of his pocket. Charlotte looked up at him; she was almost smiling, which made him smile. He couldn't help himself, it'd been so long since she'd even come close to smiling; he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. She kissed him back automatically.

He unlocked and opened the door and walked into the room, Wright and Diaz entering behind him. Rachel was sitting on the far windowsill staring out the window. She looked up, when she saw them; she smiled broadly and bounded over to her children who'd also ran to her, ending up in a group hug near the middle of the room. After a long moment when nobody said anything to him, Monroe began to feel offended that his act of kindness was going unnoticed. "A 'thank you' would be nice," he said indignantly.

Rachel and Danny just stood there looking at him, but Charlotte turned to face him and spoke up, her tone more placating than grateful, "Thank you, Bass."

He moved to stand in front of her. "You're welcome, Charlotte." He took her face in his hands and bent down to give her another kiss, this time more lingering, making it a point to show Rachel as much PDA as he felt he could in front subordinates. After all, Charlotte was the First Lady; she deserved to be treated with respect. He couldn't see Rachel's face but he could sense the daggers she was looking into him; he laughed to himself.

He broke the kiss, but kept his hands on her face. "Since it's Christmas and she finished all her work, I decided to let you and Danny spend the night with your mother." He turned to Rachel moving one hand to Charlotte's shoulder, the other to his side before continuing, "But, Wright and Diaz," he gestured to the two men standing near the door, "they'll be staying in here watching and listening to everything. So, if you say anything to confuse or turn Charlotte or Danny against me, or plan an escape... they'll take them out of here and it might be years before you see them again - if you see them again. Is that understood, Rachel?"

She nodded weakly, "Yes," she whispered.

He turned back to Charlotte and leaned close to her ear, "I'll miss you." He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and let it linger there. "Enjoy your visit. I'll see you tomorrow." Turning to the others he said, "Good night, Danny, Rachel," dismissively. Putting his hands in his pockets, he turned and went to the door.

"You can have their dinners brought in now," he said to Wright before closing the door behind him.

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Hours later, near midnight, while Charlotte was visiting her family, Monroe found himself alone in their quarters for the first time since before their wedding. He sat in the armchair by the fireplace reading a book, trying not to think about her, but it wasn't working. He knew it'd only be for one night, but he missed her. He was tempted to go get her, but decided against it. It would just make him look weak if he couldn't make it one night without his wife.

Neither of them enjoyed their first night together; he didn't threaten or force her, but she gave in, likely out of fear he'd hurt her family. But, a few days later, everything changed; he found her holding a picture of he and Miles that she'd found in one of his drawers. Initially, he was angry that she'd gone through his things, but he saw the look on her face, she was so sad he just couldn't stay angry. She asked him about the picture; it'd been taken the last time they were on leave together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, not long before the Blackout. He'd found himself telling her about that trip, about his family, Shelley, and how Miles was all the family he'd had left and how much he missed him. By then, they were both crying and holding each other, and it just sort of happened; she'd let herself forget who he was for a while and just accepted the comfort he'd offered her. Since then, they'd become each other's drug of choice to numb the pain of their shared grief. Deep down, he knew she didn't love him, but being with her was the closest thing to love he'd had in years, so he accepted it. He and Charlotte had gotten so lost in each other, that when Randall Flynn arrived a week after the wedding, Monroe made him wait for almost a week before he'd see him; Flynn finally threatened to take his help to Georgia instead.

He was tired, but still too wound up to sleep. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ease the slight headache he'd had all afternoon. Finally giving up on the book, he put it down on the end table next to the chair and got up to get a drink from the sideboard. He suddenly felt like he was being watched, as if he was no longer alone. He looked up and caught sight of the grandfather clock, but it wasn't the time he saw; it was Miles' face watching him - glaring at him. He gulped down the whiskey and tried to put it out of his mind; obviously, he was just seeing things, like he had been all day. After he downed that glass, he poured another and downed that one in one gulp too. He was still upset over his brother's death, that's all.

He turned to go back to the chair to try the book again, determined to ignore his paranoia and concentrate this time, only to see Miles' face again in the flames in the fireplace. He threw the empty glass still in his hand at it and it shattered against one of the andirons. He heard Miles' voice coming from somewhere in the room, "You missed, prick!" Now he knew he wasn't just seeing things; he was loosing his mind.

He turned around to see if he could find the source - maybe one of the guards had come into the room - and saw Miles, floating in the middle of the room near the ceiling. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he died, but there were chains with padlocks and keys attached to some of the links wrapped around his shoulders and waist and hanging down to the floor. "What do you think of the chains? They were Aaron's idea; actually, this whole 'Scrooge' bit was. I think they're a bit much, but Aaron insisted on authenticity..." He may be dead, but his sarcastic wit was alive and well.

Bass just stood there gaping at the apparition unsure what was really happening. "I'm supposed to be Jacob Marley, by the way, you know, incase you didn't already figure that out," Miles deadpanned.

After few seconds, Bass finally found his voice, "Are you here to kill me?" At that point, he didn't really care if the answer was yes, he was so happy to see Miles, and even though it had to be a dream, he'd go with it, whatever happened.

"No Bass, I'm here to save your sorry ass," he floated down so that he was standing on the floor.

Miles walked, his chains rattling as they were dragged behind him but his footsteps made no sound, over to the sideboard and stared longingly at the whiskey bottle there, Bass turned on the spot he was rooted to to watch him, "Damn! Sure could use a drink right now," he muttered, glaring at Bass.

Bass was still recovering from shock, but realization of everything Miles had said finally began to sink in, "All that stuff I've been seeing all day, that was you." Miles nodded and Bass went on, "Aaron? Why do I know that name?" He paused a few seconds trying to remember where he'd heard, or read, the name recently, his mind working better now. "You mean Pittman?" Another pause, "And what do you mean you're here to save me?"

Miles heaved a sigh "Yeah, Bass; Aaron Pittman. You got him killed when you attacked the rebel camps, oh, and Nora too, by the way," he said with a scowl. "As for saving you, I'd rather let you rot, but crazy as it sounds, you're the only one who can help my family and get rid of those sons-of-bitches you're working with."

Bass ignored the part about letting him rot and addressed the part that was important to him, "What 'sons-of-bitches?" Bas thought about it for a second, "Flynn? But he's helped us, Miles. 'Cause of him, in only a year, we'll have the whole continent."

Miles scoffed and rolled his eyes, "It's the guys he's with, they're bad news, downright evil in fact. Bass, you keep listening to them and they're gonna destroy everything we ever gave a damn about. You need a wakeup call and you need it now! Hence the 'Scrooge' routine."

Bass just stood there not knowing what to say. He didn't trust Randall Flynn as far as he could throw a Sherman tank, but since The Republic was all that mattered to him, he'd ignored his instincts in favor of the advantages Flynn offered.

With Bass's silence, Miles went on, "So... you'll be visited by three ghosts." He sighed exasperatedly, "This is ridiculous!" Miles glanced up at the ceiling, "if you weren't already dead, Aaron...," Miles muttered before continuing his spiel, "The first at 1AM, the second at... aw hell you've read the book, you know the drill."

"You couldn't just tell me what I need to know yourself?" He really wished Miles would stop being so vague. If Flynn really was as bad as Miles was saying, he really needed to know and he'd rather hear it from Miles himself than 'ghosts' he still didn't believe in.

Miles shook his head. "It's not enough for me to tell you, you need to see where you went wrong, and what's really going on, and what'll happen if you keep going the way you have been, or it just won't take and you won't change."

Miles looked longingly at the whiskey again for a moment, glanced up at the clock, and walked back to the middle of the room; again, the clattering of his chains the only sound. "Well, Bass, it's been fun," he scoffed, "but I gotta go now, it's almost time for the first ghost to show up." He snapped his fingers, "Oh, almost forgot; just so you know... all the ghosts are people whose deaths you're responsible for," he smirked.

Bass started toward Miles, moving from his spot for the fist time since his arrival, "No, wait! Don't go!" he said as he fell to his knees, desperation in his voice, his hand moving toward his sidearm. He wanted to join his brother; nothing else mattered in that moment; all Bass knew was that his friend was leaving him again.

Miles seemed to know what he was thinking; his shoulders slumped and he turned to face him, "No Bass! You can't be with me 'cause I'm in Purgatory; apparently," he shrugged, "I'm not beyond redemption, but, at this point, you are; you'll just go straight to Hell if you end it now. Just hang in there one more night. You'll see things differently in the morning... I promise. And well..." he shrugged, "you might see me again."

With that, Miles disappeared and Bass was alone again. A single tear streamed down his cheek.

Not 100% happy with it, but hopefully that's just my insecurity talking. As of right now, This story has a total of 6 chapters and I'm hoping to have them all posted by New Years, but I can't promise that.

PS - Please, if you're not already involved or if you've taken a break/given up, join/come back to our movement on Twitter and/or Facebook to #RelocateRevolution. We need everyone in on this to have any hope of getting Revolution picked up or a movie made to give us closure for our beloved characters!