Rescued?

[neverwrongagent]

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."

Comments

[posterboymarine]

He'd beaten his friend. To death. On the orders of Abu Nazir. He was a traitor and a failure as a Marine. He should be dead. He should have found a way to kill himself.

Instead, he'd been rescued. They'd come for him, saved him, and now he had to live with his choice. At least for a little while longer.

They would want to know what happened. They would want to talk to him. WHat would he tell them, when they asked about Tom? What could he tell them.

The room was austere. It was an interrogation room. It smelled of industrial cleaner and blood. At least they hadn't handcuffed him to the table.

And then a woman walked in and introduced herself. She was familiar. Very familiar. He nodded at her question, even as he tried to place her.

When she sat down and flipped her hair, his jaw dropped. He knew that look. Did she not recognize him? She sounded like she didn't. He almost asked her.