neverwrongagent | Rescued?

Entry tags:

au,
brody,
rp

Rescued?

When the posters went up showing the two members of the Marine sniper team who'd gone missing, Carrie Mathison stood and stared at them. She didn't see two Marines in their uniforms, though, she saw only one of them half dressed on a rooftop looking up at the blanket of stars. She saw a sweet smile from a man who was too far from home and was trying to hold onto his humanity. Every time she passed the posters, even if she didn't turn to look, she was as aware of them as if someone had reached out and grabbed her. Months went by and the sensation never weakened.

Then came word that they'd been found, that two Marines had been found in neighboring camps. Both men were in rough shape: dehydrated, beaten and demoralized. One was worse than the other, but first reports didn't make it clear which it was and Carrie held her breath until she knew that Brody was in better physical shape. Not that she asked or spoke to anyone about knowing him. The moment she said a word, they'd pull her out of it all and that wasn't happening.

The men were kept apart while they were cleaned up. Carrie read both files, but it was Brody's she kept going over and over in her head. She knew every detail of what they'd found out so far. On the outside it probably seemed cruel to interrogate the men so soon, but the sooner they got it done, the better. These men were headed home, at least for a while, and it would be harder to get solid information from them when they were there.

It wasn't until minutes before she walked into the room that Carrie knew for sure which man she was going to debrief. She was ready to bounce out of her skin by the time she walked in, a feeling that vanished immediately when she saw him. "Sergeant Brody? I'm Carrie Mathison. I'm here to ask you some questions."

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She was more surprised than she let show that he wasn't sleeping at all. He was home, with his wife, and he was having that much trouble? She started to ask if he was talking to anyone, but that question died quickly. Who would he talk to? "You need to sleep, Nick."

She was a little hypocrite, but that was hardly the point.

He raised his glass to her. "I try." Which was definitely part of the problem, his chosen coping mechanism. But there was little else he could do. Until he decided if he was going to reenlist, he couldn't seek any sort of professional help. For all the help a professional desk-jockey could be, all things considered.

He licked his lips and turned his attention back to his drink, looking at the bottom of his glass through what remained of the amber liquid inside. He couldn't meet her eyes. She was right, that he needed sleep, and he was ashamed that he wasn't getting it.

He was ashamed of all the backward movement he'd made since they'd parted ways. He knew he disappointing her. But he felt like he was stuck behind enemy lines again and he had no one to turn to.

This might have been the longest pause they'd had between them that wasn't comfortable, where Carrie felt like they weren't on the same page. She probably knew him better than anyone by now and she could see the shame and confusion like neon. Finally she swigged down her drink. "Fuck." She shook her head. "I fucked up, didn't I? Said I wouldn't leave you alone and I did it anyway."

She leaned toward him, putting her hand on his. "I'm sorry." There was no good reason for her to apologize. He'd gone home. He'd gone to his wife and kids. But she'd still broken her promise somehow and she felt like dirt.

He shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong, Carrie. This isn't your fault. It's just the way it is." The matter of fact way he said it made it clear that he'd pretty much already given up on himself.

He hadn't sounded that defeated when he realized that he was going to have to try and set up his buddy, which was saying something. Carrie shifted closer to him so she could gently rub his forearm. "I did. I could have found you before now, checked how you were." It sounded ridiculous when she said it, but she meant it. "I'm here now. And I won't go until I know you're okay. Or...better."

It was good that she qualified that, since okay was a long way off. He sighed again, then looked at her hand. "Thank you."

Nothing good at all could come of what Carrie knew she was about to suggest. If she were honest with herself, which was always a reach, she was in no better state than he was, she just covered it better. He looked worn down, she tended to look buzzed. She looked at their drinks, then at her hand on him. "You wanna go somewhere we can really talk?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I would." Not that he was sure he could talk. But being alone with her, with someone who knew, would help.

Carrie considered her options now that he'd said yes. She could take him to a hotel somewhere, which is what she'd do with a man she picked up to settle her nerves. He wasn't that. Brody was at the very least a friend. He was her responsibility because she'd made him a promise.

"My place is pretty close. We could go there."

Brody nodded. "Okay." It felt like a horrible idea. It felt like the best idea ever. "I'll follow you."

Right into hell. She squeezed his arm, belted back the rest of her drink, and threw some money on the table for the drinks. As she waited for him to finish up and follow her to the door, she ran through the condition of her place in her mind. A few too many open wine bottles in the kitchen and some laundry on the floor were the worst of it. And maybe a few too many notes on her current work, but then he knew most of it.

The whole drive, she ran over what bringing him home meant. It was one thing to sleep with a married man in a war zone. It was one thing to sleep with what amounted to an asset to keep him on target. It was something else entirely to hook up with a married man back home. Of course, that was presuming a lot.

She waited for him in her open door, hands jammed in her pockets.

If Carrie thought about things the entire way to her place, Brody didn't think about a single thing. He just drove. It was better that way.

Once he parked, he sat in the car a moment before getting out. Seeing her standing there, watching him, he smiled slightly. This was a horrible, horrible idea. And he couldn't wait to get behind a closed, private door. Maybe he wouldn't feel quite as watched then.

When it took him a while to get out of the car and come to her, she thought he might back out. She wouldn't have blamed him, but she would have felt even more guilty than she already did. She ran her hand over his arm as he passed her going inside. "It's not much, but it's home."

She directed him toward the kitchen where there was wine.

Wine was good. Wine would help. He found two glasses and filled them, turning to offer her one after he'd drank and refilled his own. It was sloppy, he knew, but he didn't really care. There were fewer eyes here...

"No boyfriend is going to show up and kick my ass, right?"

She very nearly asked if his wife was likely to turn up, but she managed to only snort in response. "Not even remotely likely." She shrugged. "I'm at work more than I'm here anyway."

She leaned against the counter, turning her wine glass. "When was the last time you slept even half decently?"

He sipped his second glass as he watched her. "Before I came home." Which clearly implied that he'd slept for shit without her there. It was hard for him to accept, harder for his wife, but it was the truth. He spent far more hours in the watching his wife and kids sleep then sleeping himself.

She was less surprised than she might have been, but it only added to her guilty conscience. There were a million questions she could ask about why he wasn't sleeping with his wife right there or if that wasn't maybe a sign he should definitely not sign back on with the Marines. Instead she put her glass down and took his hand. "Come on."

He gave her a confused look, then shrugged, downed his wine, and took her hand. He'd come this far, so he was in for the whole thing. Besides, downing wine like water was quickly removing the option of leaving, at least for a little while.

So, he took her hand and let her lead him where she would.

She led him upstairs to her bedroom without any explanation. The room war clean enough, but dirty clothes peeked out of the closet and there was a pile of half read books on the bedside table.

She wasn't fool enough to think that I'd they got in her bed they wouldn't eventually have sex, but that wasn't her goal. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her jacket on the dresser, then pulled down the comforter to make room for them to get in. "After we sleep, I'll make something to eat. "

He looked at her, then looked at the bed before shrugging. His shoes and jacket came off, then he took off his belt. After another moment, he just stripped out of his pants and pulled his shirt off. If he was going to sleep, he wasn't going to do it dressed.

Only then did he climb into the bed and make room for her.

She followed his lead, stripping down to her bra and panties, then slid in beside him. She curled up close, putting her head on his chest. The moment she settled there, she groaned softly. He felt good, solid and real, and she didn't pretend not to enjoy it. Her hand rested in the middle of his chest, right over his heart. "Sleep now. I'll be right here."

He placed his hand over hers and nodded. He wasn't just placating her. He believed, for the first time in weeks, that he might actually be able to really get some rest.

He closed his eyes, sighed softly, and let himself drift, trusting that she would protect him.

She couldn't completely protect his mind, but she could do as promised and stay close. Once she was sure he was at least mostly asleep, she closed her own eyes and dozed. Her problem with sleep was less bad dreams than being unable to sleep at all. She was surprised how easily she found it with him there.

Exhaustion, alcohol, and her warmth all conspired to put him to sleep. And the sleep was deep enough that he didn't dream. He didn't move even. In fact, he was so deeply asleep that even his breathing and heartbeat finally slowed to a much more normal level.

His body finally relaxed.

Carrie slept in a way she didn't unless she was actually well medicated. Going slack against him, she was able to let her body recharge and calm her mind. She did dream, but the images were mostly of the man laying beside her. The images weren't just of things they'd done, but of normal domestic moments, the kinds of things they'd never get.

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