A/N Begins immediately post comic series "Endgame". If you have not read that first, you probably should.

The metal of the seat creaks under him as he rocks. The old Ferris wheel hasn't moved on its own in decades, but this is where Charlie always brings him to talk about the important stuff. He hates this stupid Ferris wheel. He doesn't understand what it was even for – not really. Charlie had explained it with wonder in her eyes once, but he just thinks it sounds terrifying. Most of the stories from the old days scare him. The thought of all those machines moving and humming – it makes the hair stand up at the back of his neck.

He is only fourteen, but he is pretty sure that if the power ever does somehow turn on, he won't be happy about it. Kids his age don't miss electricity. You can't miss what you never knew. The truth is that it's not even electricity that scares him – not really. If the only stories he'd been told were about exciting carnival rides, maybe he would yearn for it. Charlie has told him the other stories though, and it is the Nano bullshit that bothers him the most.

Don't misunderstand. He's not afraid of what he knows. He is brave. Tall for his age, he can fight and win against experienced fighters. He is a talented tracker and a crack shot on the range. He can hold his own in any real life scenario.

His name is Monroe. Monroe Matheson. He was named after a man he's never met. Depending on who tells the story, Sebastian Monroe was a beast, or a friend, or a savior. Whatever he is, he's not here.

Neither is Miles. Not anymore. Miles was the one who had named him Monroe. Roe (that's what they all call him – always have) misses that snarky old bastard. He misses him so much that his heart clenches, so he brushes thoughts of Miles aside.

"Suck it up, Matheson." He mutters to himself as he gets up and heads to his house. Charlie has given him a choice and now he has to make it. He calls her Charlie. Miles was always Miles. She explained it once. "Family is what you make of it. Sometimes it's blood that ties you to someone. Sometimes its not. Mathesons don't need titles. Rachel was my Mom but she was also an unstable woman who saved the world only after also destroying it. I had two dads and Danny was my brother, but in another sense so was Aaron. Life is easier if you just keep it simple. Mathesons don't need titles…"

So, they've never used them.

When Charlie sat him down on that stupid Ferris wheel the other day, she'd told him her story (again). This wasn't the first time she'd shared her tale. Charlie liked to tell him how it all started – how they got where they are. History is important to her. She never wants anyone to forget.

When she'd finished, she'd told him her news and that was when his heart had fallen. She was leaving, probably for a while. She'd given him an option – even if it went unsaid. He could stay in Wisconsin with the familiar, or he could embark on an adventure with her.

He has decided to follow her of course. He's not sure it's the right decision, but it was an easy one. If nothing else, following Charlie on her search for Bass Monroe will be exciting and new. He's nervous about the journey ahead – all except for the train. He is not excited about the train. He'd much rather be on a horse. Roe shakes his head. No way to get where they're going on horses – not if they want to get there anytime soon.

Roe watches from behind the corner of an old building as Charlie walks toward the train station, a leather bag thrown over one shoulder, her bow held loosely in one hand. He watches as she disappears inside the train car before making his way to the back of the train and jumping on board the ancient caboose.

Leaving behind everything you've ever known is a big deal, but he can't stay here anymore. Not without her. Not without Miles. He'll miss the others, but he can't imagine life without Charlie. Besides, he needs a change of scenery. He knows his disappearance will cause some grief at home. He can't dwell on that.

She had told him that if he stayed, they'd see each other again. She told him that she loved him and always would. She promised she'd be back.

She said she'd always come back. "It's what Mathesons do." She said. You could fill a book with the shit Charlie says about Mathesons. That's the only title that matters to her.

Roe thinks about Miles again and wipes angrily at a tear that falls. Bullshit. They don't all come back. Miles didn't. What if she doesn't come back either?

He carries the names of the two most feared Generals of the Republic Era. He isn't the type of guy who will just sit back and wait for shit to happen. He does what needs to be done.

This is also what Mathesons do.

He isn't supposed to know where she's going – where they're going - but he does. He's good at listening. He doesn't talk much and sometimes people forget he's there. She thought he was asleep when she was whispering with the skinny guy with red hair. She'd called the guy Petey, but Roe is sure that the guy's name doesn't matter. It is what he had to say that had gotten Charlie excited.

"Down on the Mexican coast, just south of Matamoros. He lives in a little village near the beach. Raises chickens and shit."

"You're sure it's him?"

"Yeah, even surrounded by chickens, I'd know Sebastian Monroe anywhere." Petey displays a wrist scarred with the same M that she is marked with as well. "Conscripted when I was twelve. He came through the camp I was in. Pompous son of a bitch. Smiled at me, but not with his eyes…." Petey's voice fades as he loses himself in memories from long ago. "It's him Charlie. I swear to you, it's him."

She nods curtly, "All right then." Charlie tosses a small bag of diamond chips into Petey's lap. "You know..." She pauses thoughtfully, a slender finger absently stroking the dagger at her hip. "If you are lying to me, I'll slice you from ear to ear?"

Petey swallows thickly and nods. "I swear on my Mama's grave, I found Monroe in Mexico."

Roe closes his eyes when Charlie glances his way. He doesn't open them again until Petey is long gone, and Charlie is pouring over a map. The glow of candlelight smoothes the fine lines in her face. Charlie is thirty-nine years old, but in this moment she looks far younger. He watches her eyes dance as she studies the map. For the first time in his memory he sees a glimpse of what she may have been like before….

Before the world fell apart and she lost everyone she loved. In the flickering candlelight, he sees a side of Charlie he wants to know better.

This is the moment when he knows he will follow her. He will follow her wherever she goes.

Charlie knew Roe would follow her. Knew it in her bones, but she wanted it to be his decision. Needed it to be his choice. She wanted him to have the chance to stay home in Wisconsin with everything and everyone familiar.

She knows it's selfish, but she's glad he chose her.

Charlie pretends not to notice when Roe sneaks onto the steam train she rides from Milwaukee to Boston. She pulls aside one of the train workers and pays for Roe's passage on the first day.

"The teenager back in the caboose? Kid thinks he's a stow away. Humor him?" She smiles at the young guy who works for the railroad as a steward. Charlie doesn't flash that smile much these days, but when she does, she doesn't hold back.

The steward blushes but nods in understanding. "Yes, I can do that."

"Make sure there's some food lying around for him to grab? Maybe a blanket and a pillow? I'll pay for everything."

"Of course, Ma'am."

Charlie scowls at the 'Ma'am', but shrugs it off. "Make sure he's safe and you'll get a bonus in Boston."

"A bonus?" The guy asks hopefully, the blush returning.

Charlie's smile fades, "Not that kind of bonus, you dick."

"Oh, of course. Sorry Ma'am. I'll keep him safe." The steward scurries off and Charlie settles into her seat to relax and enjoy the scenery that flies by. It's easy in moments like this to reflect back on the years that have passed in a blur. She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander over the familiar faces of those she has lost. Miles and Rachel, Ben and Danny, Nora and Maggie. Aaron.

Bass. It always comes back to Bass.

Before Bradbury, where everything went to hell and the world as they knew it ended again…before Rachel and Connor and Aaron had died, there had been the Patriot War.

It was there, amidst the bloody battlefields of Texas, where Bass and Miles had mended their friendship again. They had flourished together in ways they never could have done apart. Watching them fight in sync is still one of Charlie's most cherished memories. The power and the sheer joy they'd brought to their partnership – it had been electric.

Magical.

Fighting alongside them had changed her perspective. She'd denied it – even to herself - at first, but in time it became clear that she didn't hate Monroe anymore. In fact, the hate had gradually morphed into curiosity and then interest and then desire. He hadn't picked up on it, which had both aggravated and amused her.

One night, she'd had enough. Enough of the waiting for him to get his head out of his ass. Enough of the confusing eye contact that lasted far too long. Enough of being alone and knowing she wanted to be with him. Enough of watching other women throw themselves in his direction. Enough of watching him take some of those women up on their offers.

Enough.

They'd been fighting near the Mexican border for weeks, and not doing well. Finally, a decisive battle had been won by the Texas Generals and everyone in the camp was celebrating.

Charlie had watched as a drunken cadet named Miller had taken a swing at Monroe when he wasn't looking. Clearly the kid's muscles were far larger than his brain. Bass had flattened the upstart without breaking a sweat, but had managed to get a cut across his forehead in the process. Charlie had dragged him away before he could kill the idiot.

"Let me stitch up that cut." She said, leading him to his tent.

He shrugged, "Whatever. I've had worse."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, but you are bleeding into your eye. That can't be pleasant."

"Didn't know you cared so much, Charlotte." He teased her with a wink of his clear eye.

"I care." She shoved him down onto his narrow cot. "Sit down. I'll get the stuff." She came back with a bottle of alcohol, a needle and some thread. He was leaning back against a couple of pathetic little pillows he'd stacked against the headboard. He looked like he was falling asleep.

"You wanna scoot closer to the edge? "She asked.

"Nah, I'm good." He didn't even open his eyes. Charlie fumed. Clearly he was teasing her. He never took her seriously. Fuck that. The time had come to be taken seriously.

"Fine. Let me get one more thing. I'll be right back."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." His eyes were still closed, but he was grinning.

Charlie returned in a moment, "Sure you don't want to move?" she asked.

"Yup. Feels good right here."

"Well, all right then." She said, knowing that there would be no turning back from the move she was making. No way to misinterpret this particular gesture. Charlie took in a deep breath and crawled onto the bed. She paused for a moment before moving close and straddling his lap.

Bass's hands moved lazily to her thighs, and that's when his eyes – even the blood filled one – flew open in shock. "Charlie, why are you naked?"

She shrugged, "Wasn't sure you'd notice."

"I'm noticing. Jesus, Charlie what if Miles comes in here? Or your Mom?"

"What if they do?" Charlie clearly did not care. "All I'm doing is giving you medical attention."

He grimaced as she pressed an alcohol soaked rag to the cut. "Naked medical attention is not the same."

"Whatever." She refused to meet his eyes. "This is gonna sting a bit." She said before bringing the threaded needle to his forehead.

"I don't care. We need to – ouch."

"Told you it would sting."

"Hurry up already. This is a bad idea. We need to talk about this."

"You want to talk? Nobody's stopping you. Talk." She leaned in closer, pretending it was to see the stitches better. It's wasn't. Her nipples brushed lightly against the leather of his jacket, and she smiled.

He noticed the mischief in her eyes, and suddenly something occurred to him. Something he'd never even considered before. "Charlie?"

"Yeah?" She looked into his eyes then and she could tell he'd finally figured her out. Her breath hitched.

"Do you like me?" he slid his hands slowly around to cup her ass.

"God, you're a moron." She rolled her eyes as she finished the last stitch and wiped at the remaining drops of blood with the rag.

He leaned up, his breath hot on her collar bone. She shuddered slightly as her nipples hardened into little pebbles. "You didn't answer my question. " His voice was rough with tension.

"Monroe, I'm sitting on your lap and I'm buck naked. If you haven't figured out that I like you by now, how are words going to help?"

He smiled then as relief washed through his body, "Well hell. You could have told me sooner."

"What difference would it have made?"

"Well…" he said, leaning closer to press his lips to the curve of her breast. "We wouldn't have wasted so much time before doing this."

Charlie pulled back with a smirk, "So Monroe, does this mean maybe you like me too?"

"Jesus Charlie, can we talk later?" He pulled her close, sucking lightly on her throat.

"Thought you wanted to talk?"

"Not anymore." His tongue flicked out to taste a dusty nipple.

Charlie sucked in a breath, "But you didn't answer my question."

He looked at her then, really looked at her. "I've liked you – wanted you, for a long time in the same way a kid wants a Ferrari…you know, from a distance and without any hope in ever taking it for a drive."

She kissed him then and it was intense and passionate and everything either of them had secretly hoped it could be. Tongues and lips and teeth melted together into an explosion of raw need. Charlie moved against him, searching for friction. He reached between her legs from behind, probing between wet folds, plunging digits into her core.

Bass broke off the kiss, pressing his lips to her ear, "As much as I'd like to take it slow, Miles could really walk in any minute – "

"So you want me to stop?" She began to move, slowly rubbing her swollen pussy against the bulge in his pants.

"No. No stopping. Just lift."

She did as he asked, though her thighs shook with anticipation as she watched him unbuckle and unzip. He lifted his hips as well, just long enough to pull his cock free and position himself perfectly. Charlie bit her lip, mewling softly in appreciation at the sight, before lowering slowly.

"Sweet Jesus." He whispered as she sheathed him inch by inch. Charlie began to move up and down, coating his thickness with her juices. They both heard it – a flurry of activity outside his tent. "Faster." He panted. She obliged, speeding up as much as she could. He grasped her breasts and squeezed hard. She was so close and reached down to flick her clit with a fingernail. A few more times up and down and she was finished, coming apart all around him.

Charlie was shaky and unsteady. Bass yanked her hard to his chest, pulling out with a growl as he emptied himself on her back.

"Holy shit." She muttered breathless.

"Better." He said, kissing her temple.

"Better than what?" she asked.

"Driving a Ferrari. THAT was way better than driving a Ferrari – "

She was grinning at him when they heard noises again, and one of the noises was most definitely the voice of Miles Matheson.

"Shit." Charlie jumped to the ground and gathered her clothes, dressing quickly. Bass figured they had a minute, so he watched her as he zipped up, memorizing everything about her in that moment.

Charlie had just shoved her bare feet into her boots when Miles walked in. "What's going on? Heard you got in a fight?" He walked toward Bass, noting the bandage on his forehead.

"It was nothing and Charlie took care of me."

"I think you have a concussion, Bass. Better sit tight." Miles sounded worried.

"I'm fine. Why do you think I have a concussion?"

"Cause you look like a dim-witted fool with that stupid grin on your face. Must have hit you pretty hard – was it Miller?"

Bass nodded, glancing over at Charlie with a wink when Miles turned to face her.

"I'm going now that Monroe is all – um – better."

"Did she hit her head too?" Miles had asked as Charlie fled.

After that, they'd gotten together every chance they could – discreetly of course. Both were always worried what would happen if Miles or Rachel found out. They maybe shouldn't have worried about it so much. Miles had eventually discovered them, but it was the night before they got to Bradbury, and other than rolling his eyes – he'd not responded at all.

Then everything happened and Monroe was never the same again.

The last time she'd talked to him, they were lying in a musty smelling bed in an old hotel in Montana. They were fully clothed. This had not been a night of passion. They had held each other silently, each lost in their own internal hell.

As dawn began to break, Charlie had finally spoken, "You're leaving." It hadn't been a question.

"I can't stay."

She understood, but she hated him for leaving her. Hated the weakness that drove him away.

Later, she would reconsider. She would try to find him. It would take years of false leads and false hope, but once she put her mind to locating Monroe, she never stopped looking.

Charlie is brought out of her daydream by the steward. He looks nervous.

"What?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Your –uh – friend or uh – brother?"

"Yes?"

"He just stole three bottles of our best whiskey. Do you want me to confront him or…?"

Charlie grins. Her mind flicks to Miles. He would be so proud of Roe. "I'll cover it." She hands him some diamond chips and the relief is palpable on his face.

The train ride to Boston takes four days. Charlie is one of the last to reach the platform. When she gets there, Roe is waiting. He grins at her and wraps an arm around her shoulder, "You knew I was there all along, didn't you?"

"Who taught you to track? I knew you were following me before we ever left Sylvania Estates."

"You aren't mad?"

"Nope. Did you tell anyone?"

"I left a note." He shrugs.

"Of course you did." She shakes her head, but she's smiling. "Come on Kid. We have a ship to board."

"A Ship?" he sounds a little nervous.

"Don't worry. It's wind powered." Charlie laughs a little. His fear of motors has always amused her. "Gonna take us a month or maybe three, depending on the breeze, but I knew you wouldn't want to take a steamer."

"You really did know I was coming, huh?"

"I hoped, Roe. I hoped."

The locals call him Mister Bass. They don't know his history - who he was or what he's done. They don't know of the battles he's fought or the nation he'd led. They don't understand the loss that finally broke him and sent him in search of something else.

They don't really care.

They know he's a loner and that he stays at his little beach cottage most of the time. They know that he raises chickens and sells eggs in the farmer's market on Thursdays. He reads. He surfs. He meditates. At dawn he can be seen on his stretch of sand practicing Tai Chi.

At sixty-three, he is in better shape than most men a third of his age. He keeps his salt and pepper curls cut short and his beard – now completely white - neatly trimmed. He is tanned to the point of frequently being mistaken for a local.

The truth is he's not really sure - even now after all these years – why he ended up in Mexico. Maybe in the beginning, it was to find a piece of Connor. Maybe….

It's difficult to remember. It was all so long ago.

After Bradbury, Bass had gone to see Nunez but the old bastard was dead and nobody even remembered Connor Bennett. Drug Cartel turnover is pretty high.

Bass had traveled farther south and east for a while. He had no destination in mind, other than deciding he wouldn't mind seeing the ocean again if he lived long enough to make it that far. He drank and fought his way across the eastern half of the country, and nobody was more surprised than he, when he ended up in the tiny coastal village of San Galena, still very much alive.

He'd sat on the beach, watching the Gulf and drinking tequila. When a man had approached him, Bass had used hand signals and the few words of Spanish he knew at the time to determine that the man owned one of the cottages along the beach and would be willing to sell it. Bass had pulled out a bag of diamonds (the winner's purse from a recent fight) and handed it over without ever going inside.

He needed a quiet place to drink himself to death and this seemed as good a place as any.

But one thing Bass Monroe never was very good at was dying. After three weeks of guzzling tequila, he gave up.

He decided to shoot himself but found that he had run out of ammo. This had actually made him laugh a little. He'd been shooting at the gulls while quite drunk the week before, and had forgotten to buy more bullets.

He considered slitting his wrists. After all, he did still have his swords, but the thought of all that blood reminded him of Shelly and their baby from all those years ago, and he just couldn't.

He didn't have any pills and was too strong a swimmer to drown himself.

So, he went to the village market in San Galena and picked up a box of bullets. Bass went to the front counter, waiting in line with townsfolk. The whole thing was surreal, but it became even more so when the ancient little woman in front of him turned and said, "Hi Dickface."

Bass had stared at her open mouthed for a moment then glanced over his shoulder to see who she was talking to. Nobody stood behind him in line. "Why did you call me that?"

"Don't know." She'd laughed cheerfully. "Just had a thought in my head and went with it." In perfect English, the old woman introduced herself to Bass as Esmerelda. She claimed to be ninety-seven and said she had been a seamstress in the village for six decades. He hadn't been unfriendly, but he did have somewhere to be, so he'd left without asking her anything more. He'd paid for his sad little purchase and was back on the street when he heard her call out again, "Don't forget the graveyard in Jasper. If you didn't do it then, why the fuck would you do it now?"

Hearing those crass words from the sweet little old lady was jarring, but not so jarring as the other thing…

Only one person on Earth knew that Bass had considered killing himself all those years ago in that graveyard and it wasn't Esmerelda. Bass didn't know how it had happened or what the old woman's deal was, but the message was received loud and clear. When he got back to the cottage, he shoved the bullets in a drawer, dumped out all the bottles of tequila and whiskey that he'd acquired and went for a walk.

The walk took him down the coast about a hundred miles. He didn't say a word during the entire journey other than ordering food in little cantinas along the way. He mulled things over. He fought with himself. He was pretty sure he'd lost his mind, but eventually he turned around and went back to the place he was starting to think of as home.

The problem was - now that his goal in life was to live it rather than end it, he didn't know what the hell to do with himself.

Bass toyed with the idea of getting into politics or starting a new republic but found he just wasn't interested anymore. He almost headed back north to find the Mathesons. He missed Miles. He missed Charlie. He loved them both (in vastly different ways of course) but he didn't want to bring them grief, and he was afraid he was good for little else. Miles deserved a fresh start. Charlie deserved a life not tied to an old broken man. And neither or them deserved to be the next person to die just because they loved Bass.

He wasn't sure why he was in Mexico but he had become convinced of one thing. It was good for him to be alone. Anyone who loved Bass, died. This had come to him like an epiphany and after that, Bass promised himself then and there to never let anyone love him again.

In the end, Bass kept things simple. He bought twelve chickens, a rooster and a stack of books about yoga and Buddhism. He painted the cottage. He bought a bed and a table. He started drinking hibiscus tea and meditating. He found and refinished an old surfboard. He settled in and became a part of the San Galena community – a mostly silent part, but he was content with what he had.

Over the years he continued to visit with Esmerelda whenever he might see her in town. There were three other times where she seemed to be channeling Miles, and had messages for Bass. He wondered for a half second if Miles was dead and somehow speaking to him from the grave, but Bass was sure that wasn't the case. He was confident that he would just know when his friend was truly gone.

No, this weird cosmic messaging system was either a supernatural link for a lifelong friendship or the goddamned Nano wasn't totally dead and had decided to play games with them. Either way – Bass found he enjoyed the odd comments that came from the mouth of a withered old lady, but which included words he would only have ever expected from Miles himself.

He'd been living in Mexico for more than a dozen years when he woke up one morning and knew that Miles was dead. If someone asked how he knew, he wouldn't be able to say exactly. It was an emptiness – a new open wound in his soul. Bass felt like the world was suddenly smaller and it was smaller because his friend wasn't in it anymore.

Bass didn't cry. He didn't react outwardly at all. He swam until his arms ached and then he floated on his back, staring into a clear blue sky.

Bass missed Miles – had missed him every day for all these years. He missed their friendship and their partnership and their brotherhood. When he'd left Miles and Charlie behind, he'd known in his heart he would never see either of them again. They both deserved better than he could ever give them. They deserved happiness.

He hoped Miles had found some.

Bass's mind drifted to Charlie, but he slammed that door shut tight. He'd come to terms with leaving Miles behind but his heart still broke when he thought of Charlie. Bass took a deep breath, suddenly overcome by the knowledge that somewhere out there, the woman he still loved was grieving the loss of yet another parent.

He'd gotten a grip and swam back to his house. Life would go on, for now anyway.