Chapter Text
Chapter Two
Bass looked on as Miles locked up the Neville kid, body automatically guarding his brother's back, though he didn't think Jason was truly a threat. He watched the youth a little sadly, this young man raised by his army. Jason had once been one of his most promising soldiers, a star on the rise, pride of his ambitious father and trusted agent of the Militia.
But then Bass had sent him after the Mathesons.
After Charlie.
Bass knew everything he needed to about Jason's defection just by the way he had looked at Charlie, standing there by the gate with their guns on him but barely able to tear his eyes away from her. In a way he didn't blame the kid. He knew from personal experience how hard it was to resist that Matheson pull.
“Bass.” Miles voice broke through his thoughts and Bass suddenly realized he had drifted too far. Shaking himself, Bass pulled himself back to reality. Miles was standing in front of him, looking at him with eyebrows raised. The Neville kid was chained to one of the metal supports, silent and passive, his eyes staring out into the darkness blankly.
“You good?” Miles demanded, annoyed. Bass rolled his eyes, reholstering his gun.
“Just thinking about Austin,” he replied, though he had in fact not been giving a single damn about Austin. Carver could get eat alive by piranhas for all he cared. “We're gonna have to go in fast and light.” Miles nodded in agreement and, glancing back at Jason, motioned for Bass to follow him. Bass did, and together they moved farther into the shadows of their safehouse.
“You, me, Nipples...”
“And someone to watch him,” Bass added, trying to ignore how easy it was to fall back into his old rhythm with Miles, planning and plotting, the one finishing the though the other had begun. Just like the old days.
“Two someones,” Miles corrected, just as Bass had known he would. “I don't like the fact those Patriots bastards could have him zombified right now and us not even know it.”
“Connor and Charlie?” Bass suggested, because they were the obvious choice. He might have hesitated once on Charlie's name, given the history between her and Jason, but he knew her. He knew that if Jason got activated, she would do what had to be done. Whatever other shit was going on, Bass trusted Charlie to have his back, for as long as he was on her side.
Bass suddenly realized that Miles hadn't replied. He turned and looked at his brother and saw that Miles was frowning.
“What?” he demanded.
“Maybe we should bring one of the mercs instead,” Miles replied slowly. Bass looked at him for a moment, confused.
“What, instead of Connor? The kid's proven himself, Miles, you've seen it, he's a fighter.” Miles frown deepened, and he shifted, hand coming up to rest on his sword hilt in a gesture of unease Bass knew all too well.
“Not instead of Connor.” Bass stared at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. Then it dawned on him.
“Charlie? You want to bring some unknown merc along instead of Charlie?” Miles' hand was practically wringing his swords neck at this point and Bass knew he was desperately wishing he had a bottle of booze.
“I just think that maybe Charlie needs a break,” Miles replied, though he wouldn't look at Bass as he said it. “Needs some time to rest.”
“Time to rest... what the hell are you talking about, Miles?” Bass demanded, incredulous. Miles glared at him, and suddenly Bass got it.
“Rachel, this is all Rachel, isn't it? She lost her shit because Charlie came to the training camp and now you're trying to put Charlie under house arrest or something to appease that – ” Bass bit off what he was going to say, knowing that it would not be helpful. Miles wouldn't look at him again, and Bass knew he was right.
Fury swelled up inside him. He could still feel Charlie's shaking body in his arms, could still hear the grief and pain as she talked about her mother. And now Rachel was trying to manipulate Miles into forcing Charlie to spend more time with her?
“She's not a child, Miles,” Bass snapped, fighting hard to keep his rage out of his voice. Miles didn't know what had happened up on the catwalk, which was very beneficial for Bass' continued health, but he still knew that this bullshit was wrong. “She's a fighter, and a damn good one. You leave her out of the action and you're killing her, more than if you bring her. What the hell has gotten into you? First leaving Charlie behind when we went to Mexico, now trying to again.”
“Well the last time I sent her out, she got chained to a bed in a whorehouse and almost raped,” Miles growled, finally turning his dark eyes back on Bass. Bass flinched, the memory to Charlie being wheeled by chained like an animal slashing across his mind. But he forced it back, refusing to let the what-ifs torment him.
“No, last time you sent her out she stared down a powerful warlord, pulled off a heist, got betrayed, escaped, saved the life of said warlord, me, and my kid, and earned us mercs on top of all that.” Bass listed off the events with sharp, pointed precision. If it weren't for Charlie, he knew he never would have made it out of New Vegas alive. She was the one who had saved all their lives and he was damned if she wasn't going to be respected for it.
Bass suddenly realized Miles was staring at him.
“What?” he demanded.
“You actually... like her, don't you?” Miles' voice was softer now, almost bemused. Bass had a wild moment of wanting to say 'yeah, Miles, I like your niece enough that I contemplated killing my own son when I saw him kissing her, and then I got her off against a tree because my subconscious was tormenting me with images of what she could have been if you had raised her in our Republic, like it should have been.' But he didn't. His death wish had been satiated in New Vegas, and he had no desire to end this day speared on Miles' sword like a fish. So instead he told the other part of the truth, the part that had been there before Charlie's lips ever touched his.
“I respect her. And I respect her abilities. You did too, once, before Rachel started making you treat Charlie like a five year old again.” Rachel's name was bitter on his lips, and he remembered a single tear sliding down a tanned cheek.
“You can't blame Rachel for being worried about her daughter's safety,” Miles replied, but the words were tired, hollow.
“You mean worried like she was worried when she abandoned her for ten years to come be with you?” Bass demanded, and Miles flinched, just like Bass had known he would. The fire was rising in Bass' chest once more, fed by the feel of Charlie's tears on his shoulder. “Or worried like when she left Charlie just after they buried her brother? You were there for that one, weren't you, Miles? How did that go?” The pain on Miles' face was all the answer Bass needed. “In the Tower, I had to remind Rachel that Charlie was out there. Me. I had to remind her that she still had a child, a living child who was fighting for her life and needed help. That is fucked up, Miles, fucked up in ways I can't even begin to describe.”
“Look, losing Danny was hard on Rachel, alright?” Miles said tiredly, the lines of his face growing heavier. Bass looked at him incredulously.
“Hard on Rachel? Hard on Rachel, Miles? Was it Rachel who came to you and begged you to help save him, after walking hundreds of miles when she had never even left her hometown before? Was it Rachel who spent weeks searching, fighting, killing, just to get him back? Charlie didn't even know how to use a gun or a sword, and she was going up against the Militia, our Militia, Miles, for him, for her brother. She raised that boy, protected him, woke up every hour to make sure he was still breathing, stood between him and a fucking gun, no hesitation, no fear, telling me to pick her, to kill her instead of him. And then, after all of this, she gets to watch him die in her arms. But it was hard on Rachel?”
The words poured out of him like a flood, driven on by the pain Charlie had laid bare for him to see. If she was hurting, than so would the world. Bass would burn it down for her, scourge the earth and let each tear that had landed on his shoulder be a gallon of blood shed by her enemies. How dare Rachel try to manipulate Charlie through Miles? He was the only fucking family she had left, the only one who loved her with everything he had, who saw exactly how amazing she was, this warrior of the new world. And if he had forgotten, then Bass would happily remind him.
Miles was looking at Bass like he had never seen him before. Bass looked back, fighting the inferno in his chest. He would not let Rachel take Miles from Charlie. Bass would burn the world to the ground before he let the toxic bitch destroy the best thing that had ever happened to his brother.
“You talked to Charlie about Danny?” Miles' voice was soft, such a counterpoint to Bass' rage that for a moment Bass stumbled, sliding free of that terrible grip and back into the rationale of reality. He knew that he couldn't tell Miles about Charlie crying into his shoulders, though he wondered viciously how much Miles would care about his psychopathic lover if he knew how much pain she had put her daughter through.
“She talked to me,” he replied, brushing quickly passed that point, as if it didn't matter, even though his heart squeezed at the memory of Charlie's voice breaking on her brother's name. “But that's not the point, Miles. The point is that you need to stop letting Rachel cloud your vision and see Charlie for what she has always been: a strong, capable woman who is a hell of a fighter and as committed and dedicated to this as you are. Anything else is an insult.”
Miles was still staring at him, and there was a such a look of bemusement on his face that Bass was suddenly concerned he had let more slip than he meant to.
“What?” he snapped, self-conscious. Miles seemed to jerk out of his thoughts, blinking, though his eyes still didn't leave Bass' face.
“Nothing, it's just...” Miles' trailed off, cocking his head and looking at Bass as if he were trying to unravel some kind of puzzle. “I've just never heard you talk about, well, anyone that way.” Bass bared his teeth, the semblance of a smile without the warmth of one.
“Out of all the Mathesons that have tried to kill me, she's the only one that's actually pulled the trigger,” he replied, enjoying the way that Miles' eyes flinched as he reminded him of their past. “So yeah, I respect her. And you should too.”
Turning, Bass strode off into the darkness. He could feel Miles' eyes on him but in that moment he didn't care. Let Miles think what he wanted. He was tired of playing by the rules of a world that was long dead.