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The night the patriots came, Charlie and Rachel had made dinner together, rushing around each other to stir the gravy or poke at the venison. Miles found himself standing in the doorway, cracking a smile at the sight of them getting along. It had been tense ever since Charlie showed up with Bass, shoving herself in front of him when Rachel put him at gunpoint.
Everything was getting better, despite the situation with the patriots. Bass, Gene, Rachel, Miles, and Charlie shared the house; Miles deemed it safe enough for Bass to come for a few days to figure out details to take out the patriots. Everyone was doing their parts; Miles stood in town, fiddling with the apples in a fruit stand with eyes focused on the guards, Charlie staying back with Rachel, concocting a few things to better the chances of the plan, Bass planning, and Gene keeping the house in place and unsuspicious.
They crowded in what used to be the living room, TV long since thrown out for other things, mashed together on the couch or in rocking chairs, chatting around and nearly choking on their food at Bass' or Miles' inappropriate jokes, which was promptly followed by a whack in the back of the head by either, or sometimes both, of the Matheson women.
Rachel complained of a headache from sniffing in fumes all day and turned in, Miles not far behind, leaving Gene, Charlie, and Bass to pick up dishes and lock the doors.
Bass was practically swaying as he scrubbed the dishes, so Gene took over and pushed Bass to the couch, saying he needed his beauty sleep, which all Bass did to counter was snort and grumble about his face being pretty enough, landing face first onto the cushions and snoring not even a minute later.
Charlie laughed silently as she dried off the last of the plates, sleeves rolled up and hair pushed back. Gene did too, chuckling and shaking his head. Just as Gene went to climb the stairs, a rap at the door stopped him in his tracks. He looked over at Charlie, who just shrugged and went over to look through the windows.
Her eyes went wide, looking to Gene and mouthing, 'patriots'. They didn't know she was here, so she hid behind the couch, on which Bass still lightly snored on, better if he didn't know what was going on, and kept quiet as Gene cleared his throat and opened the door.
"We have a warrant out for the execution of Charlotte Matheson and Sebastian Monroe."
Gene started stuttering, not risking looking back. Charlie jumped up to a crouch immediately, shaking Bass awake and yanking him behind the couch with swift movements.
"Run," was all she could get out before the dozen of soldiers pushed past her grandfather, catching sight of them both immediately.
Bass scrambled to his feet and ran to the back door, not bothering to check behind him for Charlie, there was no time.
Charlie was right behind him, almost tripping over his feet, when a a dulled sound hit her ears before a bolt of pain ran through her thigh and she collapsed to the ground, grabbing at a counter to pull herself up in an earnest attempt.
It was too late, hands hauled her to her feet by the armpits harshly and pulled cold metal around her hands, half of the soldiers running past to catch Monroe.
Miles and Rachel, the gunshot alarming them both awake, ran down the stairs, sword and baseball bat in hand. Gene was pulling at the soldiers, begging and pleading, but one of them restrained him.
Miles started to fight, before realizing he was dangerously unarmed. Charlie begged for him to cut it out, that it would only cause further damage, so he complied, dropping the sword and trying to process what they were doing.
When everything settled, the soldier holding Charlie stepped forward with his hands clenched together behind his back with false sympathy playing on his face.
"Charlotte Matheson and Sebastian Monroe are to be executed. Orders from Truman himself. Also orders for the arrest of Rachel Matheson, Gene Porter, and Miles Matheson."
At that, six soldiers stepped forward and cuffed them, not without a decent fight, of course, but they had guns, one of them at Charlie's temple, which shut Miles up immediately.
Two guards with flags stitched on their shoulders slid the doors open, eyes not straying from directly in front of them as taught.
Must be nice, Charlie thought, to know what you stand for. She wasn't afraid of death, not anymore. Had you asked her a few years back, when she believed there was no reason for violence and wouldn't kill a person for a Klondike bar, not that she knew of them, she would say she'd give anything to live and would cower at the thought of dead silence.
But she's seen things now, enough to change her mind. For death is something to be thankful for, especially when the option is taken away and you're forced to live through the torture.
Not saying she wouldn't sucker punch every damn patriot in the building to live, but there are obstacles in the way that she's too tired to climb.
They never found Monroe, he was too far gone for them to catch, or so they thought. He actually just climbed a tree right in the back yard.
They sat her in a bank vault until daylight, 9am exactly, for the town to gather into the building and sit to watch the execution of a traitor, patching her up so that she looked decent, but not giving her a crutch.
Miles, Gene, and Rachel were put in the second room, first row to watch the injection, hands shackled to their waist and feet loosely cuffed, enough to walk, but not enough to run. Miles glared at every soldier that he saw, slicing their balls off millions of times over in his head. Rachel shifted in her seat, eyes searching for a paperclip or a hairpin or /anything/ to get out and save her daughter.
The rows in the first room are near empty, only few low ranking patriots and citizens that knew Gene or Rachel came. Charlie lifted her head, standing tall and proud, even though her life's about to come to an end and she's nearly toppling over with each step. /This isn't how you wanted to die/, she thought. /Why not a bullet in battle? Something, anything but this./
The second pair of doors crept open, and every pair of eyes locked onto her as she walked, hands cuffed and leg limping, four soldiers trailing behind her with passive faces. Miles, Rachel, and Gene stood, and the officer holding them allowed it.
Miles opened his mouth, closest to her, to say something, but he found himself closing it and shutting his eyes for a second, not believing this is happening.
Tears slid down Rachel's face, dripping off her chin.
Charlie looked up at her guards, "Can I say goodbye?"
They looked at each other before nodding, uncuffing her so they could at least hug.
Charlie stepped into Miles' arms, resting her head against his chest for one last time. Silent tears dropped into the crown of her hair, making her hold him even tighter.
"I'm sorry, kid. You know that you saved me, right? That- that bar I was working at before you found me, they suspected who I was. I knew it. I was going to run off in a few days. But your stubborn little posse barged through my doors and told me what was right. I've never got to thank you for that." They separated with a kiss on the top of her head.
"Thank you, Uncle Miles, for coming with me to get Danny, and sticking next to me after that. Thank you for teaching me everything I needed to know to survive."
"I should be thanking you. You gave me more reason to live than I've ever had. You deserved so much more."
They locked eyes for a moment more, dark brown onto cloudy blue, and murmered their goodbyes, before her eyes slid to her mom. She stepped forward and dug her head into her neck.
"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I failed as a mother," She gasped into her hair.
That made Charlie pull back until their eyes met.
"You didn't," She argued. "You were the best I could ask for. Better than I deserved."
"Danny would be proud, Charlie."
The execution was quick and effective. Gene obviously wasn't trusted to do the injection, so a younger, less trained nurse did it. It took a few jabs to find the vein in her frail arm, in which everyone in the audience winced after each stab. Miles and Rachel stopped their weeping and watched, Rachel leaning into his shoulder. Miles should've offered encouraging words- but he could muster none at the sight of his niece getting lethally injected for something as simple as bringing Bass into the town.
The doctor had hesitated, needle in his hand, before asking if Charlie had any last words. Sentiment.
At that, Charlotte nodded and pulled herself up to her elbows.
"May I say, this is quite an execution, huh? Stuck with a needle in front of a whole town, only to be dropped into the ground an hour later, no proper burial."
A few soldiers stepped up to punish her, but Truman stopped them, interested in what she had to say. She continued, eyes meeting everyone in the room with ferocious determination to make one last stand.
"Most of you are old enough to remember the stories of the Red Baron, right? Men were named Ace after killing five men in the air. He killed eighty. After a concussion, he tried to fly again, even after it was suggested for him not to. He ended up flying behind enemy lines, too close to the ground. Citizens recognized his red plane and shot at him, piercing him through the chest. Because he's a damn good pilot, he safely landed the plane and bled out with his enemies watching. Now, they might've despised him, but they respected him. They gave him a proper burial and funeral. They were ecstatic that he was no longer their problem, but he was so widely known and respected that they gave him at least that."
Miles had a ghost of a smile on his face, he was proud of her for making a stand. Gene didn't bother hiding it, he had a smile ear to ear. He was the one to tell her that story as a kid, the crackling fire warming them after a cold winter day, wrapping the five year old in his arms, even as it was demanded to let her go, that she was a big girl, but she listened nonetheless.
But Charlie wasn't done.
"So you, you khaki wearing evil sons of bitches, are worse than the enemy of one of the most well known war soldiers. How does that make you feel?"
Truman stopped her there, the guards restrained her and shoved a gag in her mouth. Miles fought against his chains, but stilled when he saw the peace in her eyes.
And there in the lofts, even Sebastian had to crack a sad smile. He'd known she wouldn't leave this earth without making every goddamn soul in the room feel guilty. And, in truth, she had. Somewhat.
Bass had left her. He should've waited for her or fought for her when she was shot, but no, instead he ran. It's something he'll regret for the entire length of his life.
Miles had yelled at her. Many times. For things that she couldn't help but do as a troubled teen, such as following Tom Neville while trying to find out information on Danny. In truth, he was just frustrated.
Rachel had given her the silent treatment. And she had abandoned her for Miles at age nine. They didn't see each other until fourteen years later, in Monroe-ville.
But these are lost to her now as a tear slips down her cheek. All she can think about are the better memories.
Truman even had the decency to look a bit guilty. He was, after all, ordering the execution of a young woman who had done nothing but sit at Monroe's side.
Gene shut his eyes as silent tears slid down his face. Miles stood in horror, frozen in the pews. Rachel didn't bother composing herself. Bass just… sat quietly and reminisced over the few memories they had and what a loss this was to the world. Or what was left of it.
Charlie kept her eyes open the entire time in a fierce determination, even as the young experienceless man jabbed her with a needle.
She looked at her family for a last time, showed them how she really felt in her last moments. No anger, no grudges, no guilt. Peace.
And her eyes drifted upwards. To exactly where she caught a glimpse of a guilt-ridden man hiding in the beams.
She smiled lazily, bright blue eyes blinking rapidly and throat fighting to get her last words out.
"And farewell, Sebastian."