Chapter Text
Bass didn’t bother to hide his smile. Stan’s girlfriend was about as subtle as a gunshot wound. Hannah would make a good addition to the family.
“Well,” he answered, “My first wedding was a little over a year after the blackout. It wasn’t worth the risk to hunt up formal wedding clothes, so we just borrowed nicest, least stained things we could find in camp. I had black pants and a blue shirt and she wore a sundress.”
“What about with Charlie?”
Bass hedged. It was still a sore point for him that they’d never really had a wedding. “We were wearing the first uniforms of the Northeast Republic, the light-weight gray summer ones, when we said our vows.”
“And for my wedding to Stan, will you wear a uniform or a tux or what?”
Bass chuckled. At twenty she had the sort of confidence he hadn’t felt until well into his thirties. He couldn’t believe he’d be seventy next week. He’d really never expected to live this long, but, against all odds, he hadn’t died yet. He needed to finish writing his book on the Monroe Republic.
He smiled at the young woman and wondered who she’d have become it if she’d been born before the blackout. Surviving required a different skillset from building and maintaining. They called her generation the second wave, kids whose parents barely remembered life before the blackout. She owned her own business and she’d landed what some claimed was one of the most eligible bachelors in the Northeast Republic. In Bass and Charlie’s eyes she’d pulled their son out the the extended adolescence their family’s celebrity had accidentally given him. Charlie was relieved; she’d been slightly embarrassed by his shenanigans around town. Charlie herself had already fended off two marriage proposals by the time she’d turned twenty. Bass hadn’t even been old enough to legally drink. My how times had changed.
“Bass?” Hannah called, drawing his attention back to her. She grinned as she said, “I’m the finest tailor in town. You’ve worn the uniform of four governments and you’re an expert in the Civil War. If I offered to make you ANYTHING for a formal occasion, and it would be fine because the bride said it would be fine, what would you wear?”
“A tux,” he said. “I would never steal attention from the bride.”
“I promise you the bride won’t mind.”
Bass wrapped an arm around her and drew her in close. He was a hugger these days. “If the bride could do a more traditional cut instead of the disco lapels she’s trying to make trendy, that would be nice.”
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A week later, in a dusty basement, Bass shook the hand of the librarian and offered a sincere thank you. For his birthday he’d given himself the gift of procrastination. He knew he should be working on his book about the history of the Monroe Republic and the founding of the Northeast Republic - the president of the university was demanding a first draft and the woman had Matheson levels of persistence - but it was the Civil War that held his heart. Even now, more than two decades after the fall of the Monroe Republic, his own wars were still too raw and his own mistakes too stark. In contrast, during the Civil War the 54th Massachusetts Regiment had refused pay until black soldiers were paid the same as white ones and had then gone out and kicked ass. It was the kind of history that was easy to embrace, and the documents the new owners of the building had found in the archives of this church had called to him like a siren’s song. He knew he’d bore the pants off of Charlie tonight, but he was happy with the way he’d spent his morning and she’d owe him some boredom after dragging him to a fundraiser this afternoon.
“Dad,” Stan called from the foot of the steps. “You really need to come get dressed.”
Bass moved slowly towards the staircase with only a slight backward look at the delicate yellowing papers and then headed upstairs to clean up. Stan had suggested they bring his tux with him so he wouldn’t have to stop by home to change before meeting Charlie. He couldn’t believe this idiot governor was holding a black tie event in the middle of the afternoon. It was just tacky. Tacky like the weird metal furniture the man decorated with. When Bass and Charlie had lived in the governor’s mansion they’d been at war with the Patriots, but the place had still looked like a seat of power. Now it looked like an IKEA.
Hannah, already in her own gown, joined them for a final inspection of the pair of Monroe men. She straightened their seams and flattened their lapels before giving Bass a quick peck on the cheek as she finished.
He winked at her and nudged his son. “Pretty girls still like me.”
Hannah answered, “In that tux you’re hard to resist.”
“I have a great tailor,” he said.
“Stop!” Stan demanded. “We aren’t Mathesons.”
Bass chuckled. They’d never gone into details with him about why Charlie had her step-father’s last name but called him by his first name. With the arrival of Miles and Rachel last week - their first visit since Stan had been deemed old enough to understand - it had all come out. Hannah had laughingly dubbed him “Grunkle Miles”, a combination of grandpa and uncle, but Stan’s recent foray into respectability had left him less able to process this turn than he would have been a year ago when he’d been tearing up nightclubs with his own niece.
Hannah opened the door to the dressing room and led the way down the hall to the church nave, slowing her pace and staring in awe at the soaring ceiling and stained glass windows. “Chapel?” she asked Stan.
He checked his watch. “Yeah. Let’s go to the chapel,” he said.
Bass looked from one to the other and noted the glee on their faces. “I thought you hadn’t set a date!” he exclaimed.
Stan grabbed the heavy wooden door to the chapel and said, “We haven’t.”
The music began as soon as Bass came into view. Stan stepped away, quickly making his way to the front via a side aisle, while Carmen stepped into his place beside Bass. Her gown matched Hannah’s, and it started to dawn on Bass what was happening. He let his eyes wander the small crowd in the chapel. Connor and his two surviving sons were there along with their families, as were Jeremy and his mob of a family. A few others, all close friends made during their years in the Northeast Republic filled in the rows of pews. Miles and Rachel’s infant grandson, content in his mother’s arms, cooed at him as Hannah and Carmen escorted him up the aisle, and the full extent to which he’d been duped began to dawn on him.
When they reached the front, the girls each gave Bass a kiss on the cheek and moved to what would be Charlie’s side of the church while Bass moved into position beside Stan.
“What religion is this church now?” Bass asked Aaron who stood clad in vestments at the center of the altar.
“Flying Spaghetti Nanite?” Aaron said with a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m an internet minister. Last of my kind.”
“You’ll marry anyone,” Bass said with a laugh.
“Even you,” Aaron confirmed.
When the first notes of “Here Comes the Bride” sounded, the small crowd turned as one to face the door. Charlie, flanked by Miles and Rachel, entered. Bass had seen her in a lot of gowns over the years, but she’d always avoided white and anything too ornate, claiming it undercut her authority as a leader to prance around like a delicate flower. Today she wasn’t just beautiful but lovely as she made her way down the aisle towards him with the fabric waves of her full dress shimmering around her.
The three of them stopped a few feet from him. Rachel gave Charlie a quick kiss and sat down next to her other daughter. Miles gave Charlie a peck on the cheek before extending a hand to Bass.
“I thought you were deeps sea fishing today,” Bass said.
Miles shrugged. “Shark on a string. Marrying my girl to a deposed despot. Six of one, half dozen of the other.”
The men hugged briefly and then Miles stepped into position beside Stan, standing up as Bass friend now that his duties as Charlie’s escort were done. Bass leaned over and kissed Charlie before Aaron had a chance to begin the service. “You outflanked me.”
“Yeah, I did,” she said. Her grin crinkled her eyes. “I love you, Bass. Happy birthday.”
Bass surveyed the assembled crowd. His wife, his sons, and his grandchildren were all gathered together along with dear friends new and old, and he wondered if he’d ever been happier than today, the day he finally got to see his wife as a bride. It was a tough call. He’d had a long life and a lot of very good days.