Brody woke with a jolt. He had been dreaming again.
A huge explosion. The air pulsing, throwing him backwards, a spray of shattered glass peppering his face. White heat. The sound of metal screeching, the ground rumbling. And then it starts, the frantic search. Skipping over fallen girders which are too hot to touch, dashing through plumes of purple-grey smoke. Stumbling on rubble. Moving so fast he can hardly feel the floor. Heart bursting right out of his chest. Yelling, screaming a name. But he's not calling for Isa this time, he's shouting Carrie's name. The wreckage is that of Langley. Suddenly he hears his own name, quietly but spoken with a certain persistence, a scolding tone. "Nicholas". There was Nazir, crouching in the dark corner of the cabin, his eyes aflame.
Brody sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, bowing his head, rocking and sucking in air rythmically. He had to be careful not to hyperventilate. Once his heart had settled, he got to his feet to stretch the adrenalin out of his muscles. Same drill as ever, after a nightmare.
It was getting light finally. His watch said nearly 6.30am. He approached the small window and peered out. He hadn't been able to tell last night if there were any other buildings close by and so he hadn't used his flashlight or even considered lighting a fire. He could see now that he had no neighbours. It was miserable outside, raining hard, but he needed to pee and the cabin had no bathroom. He stood in the fresh air, raised his face to the sky and let the rain hit him, wishing he could wash everything off himself, start over again clean.
It was time to check out his cabin. It was nothing like Carrie's, he noted sadly. It looked as though nobody had been inside for years and the furnishings were older than he was. There was a gas stove, but it wasn't connected to anything. A sink, no running water. He opened a cupboard in the kitchen unit. Cans. Lots of them. Soup, beans, some kind of stew. Sachets of what he decided was a protein powder, the type of thing body builders drank. He was relieved to realise he wouldn't starve just yet. He wasn't going to be picky and look for the 'best consumed before' dates on the labels. The bottom cupboard was full of bottled water. He thanked Carrie again telepathically, hoped she could feel it. Brody was impressed, he had a full larder and he could forget about having to hunt rabbits and squirrels for a while. Who needed Marine survival training? Even so, he knew he couldn't stay here long. He would have to get away, far away. He took some beans and some water. Carrie's bag contained a Swiss Army knife and there was a spoon on the counter which he cleaned on his shirt. It tasted pretty foul, but he had eaten much worse in his time.
He had so much to thank her for. She had saved him in so many ways. Right before the bomb went off she had given him the answer he had been hoping for and he'd felt so humbled that he had to surpress a sob, had wanted to sink to his knees and weep. How could she have chosen a life with him after everything he had done to her? How could she love him that much? He had nearly destroyed her. Wilfully. Spitefully. Sometimes he thought that maybe he was a monster.
He had only been able to do it because she had hurt him so much. He had let his guard down with her, started to let her inside, started to trust in another human being again and then she ripped it away viciously the very next day. She can't have known what it had taken for him to have gotten to that point, how special it made her to have been the one to convince him to take the leap. But she had been playing him all the while. She had seen through him, saw him coming and she had been smarter than him. That hurt his heart, hurt his pride and poured oceans of accelerant on his fury.
He had woken up on the floor of Carrie's cabin, partially clothed, partially covered in a woollen blanket and partially blinded by his hangover. She wasn't there. His right shoulder and the small of his back hurt him. He shifted and found one of his shoes and an empty tequila bottle to have been the culprits. He surveyed the room. It looked like a derailed train had passed right through it. He examined his memory and hadn't found much there at first. He sat up, back against the edge of the sofa, rubbing his eyes. He sure didn't feel like he had slept much. Then he realised that this was because he hadn't. Brody was visited by a series of X-rated flashbacks featuring his blond CIA friend. Oh.
"Sergeant Brody, have you ever been unfaithful to your wife?".
"Scratch my previous answer from the record please. Yes. Yes, I have.". Multiple times.
He raised his eyebrows slowly as fragments from the night before came back at him. Things had really escalated, gotten out of hand. He was covered in scrapes and he recalled that she had bitten down on his shoulder at one point so hard that he swore. What, was his body not mangled enough already for her? He groaned, this was going to be awkward. He cast about for his jeans and found them across the other side of the room. He allowed himself a quick smile at this but then caught sight through the window of Carrie sitting down by the lake.
Brody sheepishly joined Carrie at the water's edge. They were on the same page, he knew it, she looked how he felt. He started to ramble on about how this had been wrong and he was relieved when she agreed with him quickly that they should leave. He snuck a peep at her while she was staring at the lake, wondering if she was in the habit of bringing men off to the woods like this. He hadn't met anyone quite like her before.
The water was so calm that it soothed his aching head to look at it, so he sat back in silence, grateful for the relief.
