"True friends stab you in the front." - Oscar Wilde

"Mathesons NOT welcome here." –sign on the door of Bass Monroe's bar

"Texas sucks at executing assholes." –sign on the door of Miles Matheson's bar

Willoughby Texas – 3 years after the war with the Patriots (Texas won)

Bass is leaning against a table toward the back of his dingy bar, talking to some regulars. The air is heavy with the swirl of cigar smoke and the heat of a late summer day, but the drinks inside the 'The Republic' are cool and cheap. Bass is laughing at something one of his customers had said when the front door bangs open. He glances up and sees Charlie Matheson standing there, the sun shining behind her.

"Shut the damned door, Charlotte. You're letting in all the heat." Bass frowns at her. "What do you want, anyway?"

"This thing between you and Miles has got to stop!"

"Did he say he's going to stop?" Bass cocks an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Of course not. He's just as stubborn and determined as you are."

"Then again, I have to ask, why are you HERE?" Bass's voice slices the air like a knife.

The customers chuckle into their beers quietly, not wanting to ruffle any feathers. The Matheson/Monroe feud has become legendary in Willoughby. In the six months since Miles returned from out west and promptly opened his own bar across the street from Bass's beloved 'Republic', the locals have benefitted greatly. The price wars have saved them money and the crazy antics on both sides of the street have served as the primary source of entertainment in the otherwise sleepy town.

"Why am I here?" Charlie growls and stomps over to where Bass stands. "Karaoke, Bass. KARAOKE!"

Bass tilts his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Miles is going to try to beat your ladies night with karaoke at 'The Resistance'."

Bass is thoughtful. "Not a bad idea, actually. Music?"

Charlie crosses her arms and huffs air between pursed lips. "He's going to play his guitar if he knows a song. Otherwise, it's a Capella."

"And this bends you out of shape, why?"

"He's already signed me up to sing. Me!"

Bass chuckles and his eyes sparkle. "That is bad. You can't sing."

Frank Blanchard comes up the aisle and leers at Charlie. "Are ya gonna dance while you sing? Cause that would get me across the street for sure."

Bass frowns at this. "No. If he's doing this to offset my ladies night, that's Friday. You're mine on Fridays, Frank."

Blanchard shakes his head. "You and Matheson and your stupid schedules. You won't even talk to each other but you have all of us on a set rotation like we are serfs in your kingdom."

"Don't rock the boat, Walnut. It works like this and it keeps people from feeling they need to take sides."

Charlie stomps her foot. "No more sides, damnit! Talk to him! This isn't just the singing. It's the scheming and the tricks and the constant competition to piss each other off. You are like children and it's time to end all the bad blood. I can't take it anymore!" She throws her hands in the air in disgust. "You guys used to be best friends. What happened?"

Bass turns and walks to the bar. "Maybe a better question is what didn't happen?."

"You know what? I don't care anymore. Just fix it!" Charlie yells before stomping out the door.

Later that day, the dinner hour is closing in and Miles is cleaning glasses with a questionable looking cloth. He glances up when Charlie sits at his bar. He doesn't say anything but pours her usual. She shakes her head and stares at the scarred surface of the bar, picking at a broken chunk of Formica.

He sighs disgustedly. "What?"

Charlie shrugs.

"Don't give me the fucking silent treatment. Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

"Not giving you the silent treatment. Just a lot on my mind. Wandered all over town for the last hour, thinking." Charlie squares her shoulders and tilts her head to the side. "Wait. What are Cheerios?"

"Oh hell." Miles picks up the glass he'd left for her and downs the amber liquid within. He grimaces. "That's awful. Too watered down."

"You know if you would stop trying to undercut Monroe at every turn, you would be able to sell real drinks for real money. No water."

Miles shrugs. "Why do you care?"

"We used to all get along. With Mom gone…" She pauses as Miles stiffens. Ever since he'd returned from Idaho without Rachel, he's been different. Distant. Sad. More persnickety than usual. She shakes her head. "Sorry. It's just you and him used to be important to each other. Don't you miss that?"

"No." Miles narrows his eyes. "Do you want a drink or not?"

"Not. " She stands and heads for the door. "I wish you'd give him a chance. Whatever he did, it was all a long time ago. He's a different guy now. I think he wants to be friends with you again."

"Sure he does. I could tell last week when he let four rats loose in here. I could just feel the love." Miles is scowling as he watches her walk toward the door.

She turns. "Don't you figure that had something to do with you nailing that condemned sign across his front door? Or maybe the time you paid that kid to put fishing worms in his still?"

Miles smiles a little and shrugs. "Maybe."

"You guys are like twelve year olds. You need to make up."

The smile disappears. "No."

"I don't get it. When you left after the war was over, you guys were okay. Then you came back and suddenly you can't talk to him?"

"It was a long way from Idaho to Texas and I was traveling alone. A lot of time to think about everything that has ever gone wrong in my life." Miles shakes his head, his expression grim.

"And?"

"All that bad shit I was remembering? Well, Bass is responsible for most of it."

Charlie turns away so that he can't see the tears that are welling. "He's not the bad guy, Miles. Not anymore and even when he was – "

"Yeah?" Miles asks, his tone defiant.

"Well, he wasn't the only bad guy, was he?"

"There's a lot more to it than you know, Kid."

Her shoulders sag. "Whatever. I have somewhere I need to be." Charlie leaves, the door quietly shutting behind her.

Aaron Pittman had watched the entire conversation between Miles and Charlie unfold, and he takes another drink where he's sitting farther down the bar. "I'm sorry, Miles."

"What the fuck are you sorry for?" Miles's surly attitude is back in spades.

"Should have gone to Idaho with you guys and helped." Aaron won't look up from his drink. "Maybe if I had…"

"Yeah, if you had gone, than you wouldn't have been with Priscilla when she died. You never would have forgiven me for that. Besides, chances are I'd have had to watch you die at Rachel's side. No thanks."

"Maybe I could done something. Maybe I –"

Miles slams his fists onto the bar. "No!" He takes a deep steadying breath. "Nothing you could have done. Nothing you could have helped with. Nothing."

"Fine. I need another drink." Aaron still won't look up.

"Is that why you drink so much these days? You never used to be that much of a drinker. Why do you spend every damn night shuffling back and forth between our bars? Guilt over Idaho?"

Aaron slowly raises his glance. "Idaho? Idaho doesn't begin to cover my guilt. Rachel. Priscilla. Cynthia. Danny. Ben. The fucking blackout."

Miles runs a hand through his hair. "Ah hell. You and Rachel were two peas in a pod. She couldn't stop whining about ending the world and now you are too. It wasn't just you guys. I know you know that."

"Part of me knows that what you say is true. Part of me thinks you're a liar."

"I don't have time for this shit."

"Even if that's true, you don't have to be an ass to me, or to Charlie. Neither of us deserves it."

Miles growls under his breath, but says nothing.

"And she's right, you know. Monroe's not a bad guy. He doesn't deserve the way you treat him.. I mean, it took me a while to see it, but he's kind of okay."

"Kind of okay, my ass. Just wait. He'll do something to ruin your life. He can't help himself. Does it to everyone."

"Seems to be making Charlie happy enough. Hasn't ruined her life yet, has he?" Aaron's defiant glare melts into an expression of total and complete fear as he realizes he's said too much. "I mean –"

Miles takes a step closer. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I'm drunk. Really, really drunk. I didn't mean anything, I swear."

Miles reaches under the bar and carefully pulls a very large knife from the shelf below.. He lays it on the bar in front of Aaron. "Did you ever hear why they called me the Butcher of Baltimore?" His voice drips with barely contained fury.

"Not really." Aaron is staring at the blade which shines menacingly in the candlelight. "I mean, I can guess." He swallows hard.

"If you don't want to know first hand, you're going to need to start talking." Miles picks up the knife and presses the blade gently against Aaron's throat.

Aaron isn't great under pressure even when he's sober. When he's drunk, he folds like a cheap suit. It takes roughly three minutes for Miles to learn enough to know that hating Bass isn't enough.

He's gonna have to kill him.

Miles gets to 'The Republic' and stares at the sign Bass has nailed to the front door. In choppy hand painted letters, it says "Mathesons not allowed". The sign makes Miles even angrier than he already had been and he rips it off the door. He storm inside, slamming the weathered board on the bar. A very pale Aaron Pittman stumbles in behind him, followed by several other curious drinkers from 'The Resistance'.

Bass glances up and frowns at his visitors. "Get out, Miles. The rest of you too. It's Wednesday; you're all supposed to be across the street."

Miles storms closer to the bar, ignoring Bass's order to leave.. "Where is she, Bass? Don't tell me she's not here. Doesn't matter what the goddamned sign says. From what I hear, Mathesons are allowed to come in here if their first name is Charlie."

Clearly the jig is up, and that's a good thing as far as Bass is concerned, because it's all gone on long enough. Bass feels a rush of relief, but the temptation to piss Miles off is one he can't deny himself. "To be fair," Bass drawls with a gleam in his eye. "She usually comes upstairs in my room."

Miles pounces like a jungle cat and the two men, who have spent the better part of their entire lives fighting each other in one way or another, are at it again. Fists fly. Blood spurts. Grunts echo around the room as onlookers gather.

"Who the hell are we supposed to cheer for?" Frank Blanchard asks before taking a sip of his beer.

Aaron shrugs nervously. "Maybe we cheer for both of them? All I know is I need another drink." He walks behind the bar and helps himself.

The crowd is soon chanting "Matheson! Monroe! Matheson! Monroe!" They are getting rather excited and the cheers grow louder as the fighting escalates. Miles and Bass may have failed at many things in life, friendship being at the top of the list, but fighting is something they do well, and vigorously.

"Can't believe you are being such an asshole!" Bass roars when he breaks free of Miles's headlock. "Charlie is an adult. You have to stop treating her like a little kid."

"Believe it, you son of a bitch. She deserves better than you. The whole fucking world deserves better than you."

"Don't push your warped emotional shit off on Charlie. She and I are okay."

"I am going to kill you." Miles lunges, punching wildly.

Bass ducks. "You're all talk, Miles. You always say you need to kill me, but when the time comes, you can't ever follow through."

"I'm following through now!" Miles gets in a left hook before Bass head-butts him, splitting Miles's cheek in a bright slash of oozing red.

"You're all talk. Always have been. Always will be."

Miles shakes his head, growling. "That's a lie."

"Nah. Truth. You wanted to start the Republic but then made me lead it."

"You wanted to lead it!" Miles yells.

"I didn't want to lead shit. Not at first. I just did what you said. Like always."

"Bullshit. I sure as hell never told you to kill that family in Philly or flatten that camp after Shelly died."

Bass pales. "Don't. Ever. Talk. About. Shelly!" his eyes flash with anger as he charges Miles, wrapping his hands around his old friend's throat.

Miles jerks away with effort. "Fine. What about Emma? You sure as hell took charge with her."

Bass closes his eyes. "Doesn't matter now anyway. Connor is dead. Emma is dead. Don't want to talk about them either."

"Everyone is dead except for you. My shitty luck." Miles wipes blood from his eye.

Bass stares. "What the hell happened to us? We were always there for each other, no matter what happened. We used to be family."

"Yeah. Used to be family. That all changed when you went psycho. I don't know who you are anymore."

Bass shakes his head. "You mean back in Philly? Are we doing this again? Shit." He runs hands through his hair. "I wasn't crazy, Miles. I was scared and worried. I was paranoid. Yeah, I probably overreacted when you got hurt, but was that really a reason to try to kill me? You could have talked to me. Could have told me you were pissed."

"Jesus, Bass. I wasn't pissed. I was horrified. You killed a family just because one of them was a terrorist. I was looking out my bedroom window at little child sized coffins, and I knew you'd gone too far."

"Maybe I did go too far, but I did it for you, you selfish bastard." Bass's fists clench and he takes another step closer.

"Is that why you faked Rachel's death back then too? For me?"

"Yes. That's exactly why I did it. She was under your skin. You weren't able to focus on the shit that mattered. I wasn't going to keep her from you forever, but I wanted you to have some time away from her. Then everything went wrong, and then you were gone."

"And still you kept Rachel locked up. Why?

"You know why. I wanted answers - the same damn answers you wanted from her. Not like I was the one who first took her prisoner. All I did was keep her there. In fact, I upgraded her from the dungeon to the penthouse, Miles. I kept her locked up like a princess even though she never gave me a single thing I wanted."

"Are you sure about that?" Miles's voice drips with venom as he moves in again. "Seems you got at least one thing you wanted. You knew I loved her and you fucked her anyway! Still can't believe you did that!" Miles looks disgusted as he throws another punch.

"I can't believe it either!" Bass says, shoving a knee into Miles's gut. "Worst mistake I ever made."

This response gives Miles pause, but only for a moment. "Never should have touched Charlie either!" he spits out before punching Bass in the solar plexus.

When Bass can breathe again, he gasps, "You don't get a say in that."

"Like hell I do. She's my niece!"

Bass bares his teeth in a feral growl. "Yeah, well newsflash, Miles. Charlie may be your niece, but she's my wife!" Bass's face is red and his eyes are wide with rage.

These words slam into Miles like a bucket of ice water. He stumbles and falls to his knees. "What?"

Blanchard and Aaron look at each other. Aaron groans, "Uh oh. Shit's hitting the fan now."

Blanchard whistles happily. "I wish I had popcorn."

Bass sits on a nearby bar stool, his body slumps with exhaustion. "The war was over for like five minutes when Rachel dragged you off to Idaho. Shit happened while you were gone, okay?"

"What do you mean, shit happened? You can't possibly be married. I've been back for six months. She never told me…" Miles looks dazed. "You never told me…"

"We couldn't." Bass shakes his head. "The Miles who left Texas is not the same guy who came back. Something was eating at you and we didn't want to make it worse."

"But how? I don't understand."

"You were gone for a long time. We thought you weren't coming back. When you did come back, well, we were going to tell you, but you told us Rachel didn't make it – and you were different. We decided to wait a while. You never came around."

Miles ignores this. "How did this happen? You and Charlie? When we left for Idaho, you just barely got along."

Bass nods. "While you were gone, Charlie and me ended up spending some time together. Aaron was taking care of Priscilla and so we didn't see much of him. All the Texas guys who were left were in Austen. Other than Gene, it was just me and her. At first we just sort of tolerated each other and then we realized that we didn't really hate each other."

"Didn't really hate each other?" Miles stares blankly.

"And then we realized we kind of liked each other."

"Kind of liked each other?"

"Well, really it was just fucking at first. A lot of fucking. Wild, angry, crazy -" Bass's eyes smolder at the memory, but he clamps his mouth shut when he sees the murderous look on Miles's face. "Anyway, that's all it was for a while. You were gone a year before we realized it wasn't just sex."

Miles shuts his eyes wearily. "Please stop talking."

Bass walks over to Miles and holds out a hand. "Come on, Miles. She's happy. I'm happy. Doesn't that help? I do regret that you weren't here. We'd have waited if we knew but it had been so long without word, and we wanted to get hitched."

"It was a nice wedding," Blanchard adds with a reminiscent smile. "Everyone thought you were dead so I gave Charlie away, myself." He smiles proudly. "She was a beautiful bride, even if she insisted on wearing jeans and a tank top instead of the cute little dress the gals had found for her."

"Gals?" Miles asks. He ignores Bass's outstretched hand, standing up on his own. "What gals?". Even with the shock of these new revelations, he is skeptical of anyone finding a dress for Charlie that she would be willing to wear.

"I asked some of the girls at Ruby's to find a dress and they did. She just didn't like it."

"Ruby's? The whore house?" Miles tries to fight an amused smile, but it breaks through. His busted lip drips in earnest. "Of course she wouldn't wear one of their dresses. Charlie's not a girly-girl."

Bass frowns thoughtfully. "Well sometimes –"

"No. Not going to hear about sometimes." Miles shudders. "So everyone was in on this? Am I the only person in Willoughby that didn't know you guys were married?"

"Yeah. Pretty much everybody knows. We kept quiet and played along because Monroe said you weren't ready to hear the truth. He didn't want to hurt you when you were still grieving and being unreasonable. You've been treating him like shit since you returned, but the truth is, he's always had your back."

Bass stares at the floor. "All this shit you brought up today is ancient history, Miles. What the hell? Didn't it matter that I came to Texas to help you guys after we lost Philly? I didn't have to come here. Didn't have to help at all. I fought in your damn war. Might have even helped you win it. Doesn't any of that matter at all?"

Miles curses under his breath and looks away.

Aaron takes a step forward. "He's right, Miles. Regardless of what he did all those years ago, he's a different guy now. The bombs dropping changed him and the war changed him and then Charlie changed him some more. You should see them together, Miles. They're happy."

Miles isn't sure what to think about any of this. He needs to talk to Charlie. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Had an appointment." Bass's expression falters and concern is evident on his features.

"What? What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing. She just went to see Gene."

"Went to see Gene because he's her grandpa or because he's her doctor?"

Bass doesn't answer.

"What kind of appointment? What's wrong with her?" Miles stands on shaky legs. "Bass, if you hurt her, I swear to god –"

Blanchard breaks in, weaving slightly. The sheer volume of drinks consumed are finally taking a toll. "Oh calm down, Miles. Monroe wouldn't hurt Charlie. She's probably just pregnant." Frank holds up his glass which is empty. "Wouldn't surprise me, the way those two are always going at it. Hey, who's tending bar?"

Bass is eyeing Miles warily. Miles turns a shocked expression onto him. "Pregnant? Are you kidding me? You knocked up my niece?"

"Well, we don't know yet, but if she's pregnant, I knocked up my WIFE, you moron."

"You're FIFTY, you moron!" Miles is yelling again, and rushing toward Bass when the bar door slams open. Both men freeze and look toward the door.

Charlie stands there, framed by the bright mid-day sun to her back. "What in the hell is going on in here? I could hear you guys all the way down the street."

"Charlie." Miles and Bass speak in unison.

She looks back and forth between the two in surprise as her eyes adjust to the dark interior of the bar. "You're bleeding. You're both bleeding."

She moves forward. Miles steps toward her. "Hey kid, don't worry, I'm fine –"

Charlie brushes past Miles and goes to Bass. She reaches up and brushes her fingers along his brow. "I guess you told him."

"Yeah."

"Might need stitches," she says under her breath as she inspects a gash on his forehead.

"It's nothing," Bass says. "You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay." Charlie frowns and then whirls to face Miles. She marches over to her uncle and pokes him in the chest with a finger. "I told you to make up with Bass, not hurt him." She pokes him again, harder. "I told you to make nice."

Miles opens his mouth to speak but she pokes him again. "I told you he needed your friendship."

He doesn't back away, copying her move with a finger poke of his own. "You should have fucking told me WHY you wanted me and Bass to make up."

"Wasn't any of your business, Miles!"

"Fuck that. It was my business." Miles turns and begins to pace. "It's my business when you decide to be a self-destructive idiot! What the fuck were you thinking? You and BASS? Seriously? Why would you ever get involved with him?"

Charlie glanced over at Bass, amused. "Involved? Is that what he told you?"

"I wish that's what he told me. No, he said that you're married. That's not true, is it? Surely this is just another one of his pranks." Miles's eyes are pleading.

Charlie squares her shoulders. "It's true, and I'm not sorry."

Miles shakes his head, defeated. "Just give him some time. You'll be plenty sorry."

Bass has had enough. "Stop being such a drama queen, Miles. Sometimes, shit isn't about you. THIS –" he points to Charlie and then back at himself, "THIS isn't up to you. We're happy. I love her. We hid the truth from you because you were a fucking mess and we didn't want to make it worse."

"Me? A mess?" Miles is stunned. "I was grieving. It's normal."

"Grieving? It was way more than that. Jesus, Miles. You were a fucking train wreck. You staggered into town, hating the world. Never saw anything like it before. You wouldn't talk to anyone. Wouldn't let anyone near you. Wouldn't do anything for days. Charlie was grieving too, but she was afraid you'd kill yourself, so we kept quiet about us."

"Kill myself?" Miles scoffs. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He looks away though, no longer able to face Bass or Charlie.

"We were worried," Bass says. "Really worried."

Aaron raises a hand, "Everyone was worried. That's why we all agreed when they asked us to keep quiet about them being together. There was a little town meeting and everything."

"No." Miles shakes his head.

"Yes." Charlie steps up. "So when you decided to open a damn bar, we all got on board and told you it was a great idea. It was the first time you acted alive again."

"I wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, you were that bad," Charlie says, her voice kind. "And then when the feuding between you two started escalating, we saw the old Miles sort of return. You got better."

"So if us fighting made you decide I was okay, why are you so gung ho for us to be friends again?"

Charlie walks over to Bass and grasps his hand, squeezing firmly. "Needed you guys to be friends again because you are both important to me and I wanted the fighting to end so we can focus on other important stuff."

Miles looks skeptical. "Other stuff?"

Charlie looks up at Bass and her smile tells him all he needs to know. His voice is shaky. "You're sure?"

Charlie nods, grinning as he picks her up and swings her around. "I can't believe it! This is amazing!" His joy is suddenly shadowed by thoughts of Shelly. "You feel all right, though? Baby's okay?"

"Yeah, Grandpa said I'm okay. So is the baby."

"Ah, hell. It's true? You're really pregnant?" Miles leans heavily against the bar.

Bass kisses his wife. "It's true, Miles. It's all true. Now, shut up and be happy for us."

Xxx

Later that night, Miles and Bass sit side by side at the bar in 'The Republic'. They are very drunk and they each look pretty awful, covered in bruises and amatuer stitches. Bass turns to look at his oldest friend. "What happened, Miles? What happened while you were gone that turned you against me again?"

"It doesn't matter. I've decided to let it go. Not against you now."

"But you were against me and I want to know why. Everything you brought up tonight when we were fighting – we've gone through all that before. Why did we have to do it again?"

"Wasn't anything you did, Bass. It was just my way of dealing. I was pissed at Rachel for dying. Pissed at myself that I couldn't save her. Was pissed at her and Ben and even Aaron for being a part of the blackout. Was pissed at Charlie for staying here and not going with me. Was pissed at you and Aaron for the same reason."

Bass starts to speak, but Miles is on a roll.

He continues, "I know Aaron needed to be at Priscilla's side. I know Charlie was recovering from that gunshot wound and I know you were on that mission for Blanchard."

"But?"

"But I was still pissed. Rachel wouldn't wait. I asked her to wait and not leave for Idaho until we could get you or Charlie or somebody to go with us. She wouldn't wait."

"So you were mad at Rachel?"

Miles sighs and takes another long drink. "Yeah. Mostly mad that she sacrificed herself to kill the stupid Nano. Mad that I couldn't do anything to save her."

"But she wasn't here to be mad at, was she?" Bass suddenly begins to see what's been going on with his old friend. "And I was?"

"Yeah. It was easy to be mad at you, even when it wasn't really you I was mad at."

"So you didn't mean all that shit you said earlier?"

"Nah. I meant it, well most of it." He smirks. "But I'm not mad. Not at you. Not anymore."

"Good to know, I think. You're still mad at Rachel?"

"Maybe. Not sure I'll ever forgive her, but I think I can get past that now. I want to."

They sit in silence for a long time. Bass finally speaks, "What do you say we stop operating rival bars and start running one together?"

Miles stares into the murky amber liquid in his glass and grimaces. "Do we have to serve this swill at our new and improved bar?"

Bass laughs. "Hell, no. As soon as these stupid price wars are over, we can charge what the drinks are worth, and if we can do that, we'll start serving the good stuff."

Epilogue – Six months later

Charlie is healthy and happy, though she feels like a beached whale. The baby will be arriving soon. Gene checks on her every couple of days. Both Bass and Miles dote on her like she's the light of their world – which she is.

'The Republic' and 'The Resistance' are both closed. The buildings which once housed the rival bars are still there, but they stand vacant. Two blocks down Main Street and four blocks over is where the new bar has opened. It doesn't have a name because they couldn't agree on one.

Nobody seems to mind.

The new unnamed bar is in the bottom floor of an old Victorian house. Bass and Miles renovated the whole thing on their own. Bass and Charlie sleep upstairs. A nursery is ready for whenever Baby Monroe arrives. Miles has a couple rooms in a boarding house next door.

Miles tends the bar five nights a week so that Bass can have extra time with Charlie. Miles isn't mad anymore. He's slowly getting better

A small faded photo of Rachel Matheson is stuck in the corner of the mirror behind the bar. He's looking at it less and less. He has forgiven her for dying and he's starting to forgive himself for being unable to stop the Nano from killing her. He's not ready to move on just yet, but he's getting closer. Lately he's been spending time with a woman who bakes pies for the diner on Oak Street.

The locals no longer have to follow a bar schedule. They show up every night, and they drink the good stuff because that's all the Miles and Bass serve these days.

On Fridays they have Ladies Night and Karaoke Night all wrapped up in one event. It has been a smashing success.

Tonight, Bass and Charlie are sitting at the bar. Bass is nursing a whiskey, his arm draped lovingly around his wife's shoulders. Charlie is drinking fresh milk from an ancient Mason jar. Miles is behind the bar, but stops working when Aaron Pittman and Frank Blanchard stumble onto the stage. "This should be good," he says with a smirk.

And it is, sort of.

As Frank and Aaron start to sing a rousing a Cappella rendition of the Garth Brooks classic, "Friends in Low Places", Miles can't help but laugh. "These guys are idiots," he says.

Bass shakes his head and grins. "Yeah, but they're our idiots."

Frank wraps an arm around Aaron's waist as the chorus starts, and the two drinking buddies sway as they belt out their song. The whole bar is singing along now, slurring through the words they don't remember.

Charlie laughs until happy tears spring up in her eyes. She wipes at them and takes a shaky breath. "Damn, I love this place."

Bass and Miles share a glance. Years of friendship, ups and downs, loss and happiness – it's all brought them to this place, and this place is good..

Bass squeezes Charlie's shoulder. "I love it too – all of it. Love you."

"Mmmm, love you too, Bass," Charlie says with a smile. "And you, Miles."

Miles grins and nods. "Enough of that mushy bullshit. Need me to top off your milk?"

"Yes, please," Charlie laughs, pushing her jar his way.

As Aaron and Frank take their bows on the stage, Miles yells out , "Next round is on the house!"

The "House" approves, erupting into raucous cheers of "Matheson! Monroe! Matheson! Monroe!" The chants echo down the quiet streets of Willoughby and on this night, all is right with the world.

**end**

"Of all possessions a friend is the most precious." - Herodotus

"Pretty much always open." - the one and only sign on the front of the new bar.

A/N: This is my second "Summer Lovin" contribution for GSC. I didn't have a beta on this one, so I apologize for any errors. They are all mine.

Story title from a song by the Dandy Warhols (you might remember it as being the theme song from "Veronica Mars").

Wishing you all my American friends a happy Independence Day! Wishing all the rest of you a wonderful day as well. Leave a comment if you have a moment.