so one night, while laying in bed, this story came to me. I'm pretty sure it's not beeen done before and i thought if i could master the writing of it, then maybe it'd turn out well! Anyway, what the story is about is simply about the 2 Brandonds we know so far. I think this would make for an interesting story myself! Enjoy!
Summary: The lives of Brandon.
Warnings: K+ or T- ish for some mentions of getting undressed. (for safety mostly)
Spoilers: 3.01
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
Brandon works until 7:30 every night in a staunch white room with all white walls and lab equipment in a white lab coat. When the clock chimes exactly 7:30 he shuts his equipment down and turns his computer off, closing his laptop and placing it in the briefcase that he stores under the table. Brandon hangs up the lab coat with his name on it and turns on the security system before shutting the door. He heads out of Massive Dynamic in New York and into the parking garage, unlocking his Ford truck and climbing into it.
Brandon has already ordered take out Chinese food and stops off at a place nearly 4 blocks from his office and he stops off to pick it up. The short Asian woman behind the counter knew him by name and smiled gratefully as she handed him the bag of food. He climbs back into his truck and drives a few blocks farther to a small studio apartment that he has rented for the last 3 or so years. He has a view of the river that runs near his place, and also a view of Massive Dynamic. Once inside he puts his briefcase inside a safe in the closet door and then locks it before setting his bag of food down on the bar counter and heading off to his loft bedroom to put his shoes away.
This Brandon, the one that shares his looks and DNA works for the Secretary as a scientist. He works however late he wants to on the secure Liberty Island. Tonight he has stayed well past eleven in the evening and is the last one to leave, even after the Secretary himself. Brandon shuts off his lab and carries out his briefcase, entering the elevator code and stepping into it, heading down to the underground floor where a boat waits. Brandon takes the secure boat from the island and into the parking garage near the water where his Mercedes S class waits for him. The valet pulls it around for him and he climbs in so the man can shut the garage that night.
Brandon lives in the upper east side of Manhattan, near 5th avenue. He pulls up in front of the apartment complex and tosses the valet he keys. The man, dressed to the nines in the evening tux of the valet's uniform, takes the keys as Brandon walks the carpeted entrance and into the lavish lobby. He takes his keys from the pocket inside his black suit and walks over to the elevators, sticking the key into a slot near one elevator with the 'penthouse' plaque over it and turns. The elevator doors open and he steps inside the gold interior and waits.
Our Brandon lives alone. He works far too much to go out and party with friends, although they do call. Like tonight. But, he is tired and his body aches so he tells them no. So they hang up and leave him to his Chinese food that he eats while watching reruns of Big Bang Theory. He picks at his Moo-chu Pork and laughs to himself. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table and watches the TV, trying his hardest to unwind. He likes to think he can forget some of the horrors of work and that he can fall into a normal life with friends and family and dating, but he has trouble sleeping. Nightmares have been known to plague him. Sometimes he wakes up in cool sweats, thinking that the world has ended.
Nina has given him something to calm him, to make him void of emotion but he refuses to take it. He wants to feel and talk and be a human. He does not want to be like Nina Sharp, hardened by years of horrible accidents of lab tests and things the world should never see. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still wants to be Brandon, he still wants to be able to feel and smile. He wants to be able to cry or hate or love. So when things get really bad, when he can't even close his eyes he takes the medication so he can even close his eyes to sleep. It helps well, but he doesn't want to rely on it, he thinks he's too smart to get addicted, but he still fears it.
Their Brandon, the one who waits for the elevator to stop moving, taps his fingers against his watch. Remembering something important he slides his hand into his slacks pocket and pulls out the thick gold band to place on his left ring finger. The elevator stops and the doors slide open. The scent of food fills his noise as he steps into the ornate entrance, the large glass windows letting the city's lights flood in and turns toward the dining room. The place is quiet and he hears no noise and he rounds the corner to the dining room where it is set. There is a single plate made of good china and silver forks around it. The table is set with mashed potatoes, green beans and what looks like duck, waiting for him. He smiles and heads around to the main sitting room over in the left side of the penthouse and leans against the door.
Sarah sleeps soundly on the ornate white couch in a pretty purple dress that has bunched up at mid-thigh. Her deep red hair is a halo around her pretty heart shaped face and her pink lips are parted as she breathes deeply. Entranced by her he can't help but smile at his pretty wife as she sleeps, waiting up for him to come home. He feels bad that he made her wait for him and she ate alone, so he watches her sleep for a few moments. After a few moments he turns around and heads back to the dining room and takes the food to the kitchen. Careful, as to not dirty the white marble counter, he places the food in leftovers containers and places it inside the 'leftovers' section of the fridge. He returns to gently pick up his wife and carry her to bed.
Brandon has stayed awake until midnight, watching T.V. until he feels tired enough to drift away instantly into sleep. He throws his leftovers away in the trash near the fridge and wanders back to the bedroom. His bedroom is dark and lacks art. One girlfriend told him that he needed a woman's touch once, but he never took her advice. His bedroom is dark and bleak, the blinds always drawn over the window and the only light by his bed. Brandon undresses from his work clothes, a button down shirt and pair of nurse pants that he order and changes into a long pair of flannel pants. He heads off to the bathroom and brushes his teeth before staring at himself in the mirror.
He could take the pills and sleep easily or he could toss and turn all night. It's funny how simple it could be to simply whisk away feeling and rely strictly on his logic and reason. When he thinks of this he thinks of his mother, the woman who followed her heart. He wonders if he's destined to be the dreamer she was. He pulls out the pill bottle and stares at it, staring then into the mirror and in his green eyes. He wants to feel, certain things. He's sure that somehow he could develop a medicine that blocks fear and other unwanted emotions but he will have to wait until morning. He unscrews the lid and opens the bottle. He doesn't want to feel tonight, so he pops a pill into his mouth and swallows it, flicking off the light and heading back out to his bedroom. For now no dreams is better than reality. Maybe someday he will be able to dream easy, but not today or tomorrow. Maybe not even the next year. So for now he will dream like Nina Sharp and all the other scientists at Massive Dynamic, in a dark abyss of nothing.
Brandon, their Brandon, has un-tucked the covers and lay his wife down. He drags the zipper down her back and sheds her of her dress, knowing she'll be upset because of the wrinkles in the fabric. He steps into their large walk in closet and places it gently in the dirty clothes hamper. He unbuttons his own shirt and drops it into his own hamper, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He bends down and takes off his work shoes, placing them in their rack underneath his pants. He throws his clothes into the dirty clothes hamper and reaches for a pair of sweats to wear. They are plain and black and he pulls them on and heads for the bathroom.
He stares at himself in the mirror and then brushes his teeth, avoiding his gaze. Once done, he opens the medicine cabinet and pulls out a bottle, popping two pills into his mouth and swallowing. They keep his nightmares at bay. The secretary gave them to him when he first started working for him. The pills seem to numb him from emotions, a strange side effect, but he doesn't mind. He switches off the light and heads back to the bedroom, finding his wife curled up underneath the sheets and hugging a pillowing to her. He slides in next to her and kisses her on the forehead, as he does every night, and she wraps closer to him. He shuts his eyes and sighs, feeling the wave that brings him no dreams, a wave that he knows will keep him from emotions, not wanting or feeling, at least for another day.
Reviews?