Hi guys! Thank you all for your awesome reviews on last chapter :)
Sorry I'm so late this week, I've had a lot going on so I foolishly left editing til the last minute, only to discover that the chapter needed more work than I'd realised (aka an extra 1200 words lol). Oops!
Hope you like it!
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Something was up with Weller.
For over an hour, he'd been completely silent— not the tired but relatively companionable quiet of their ride yesterday, but a heavy, pensive silence that seemed to press in on her, needling its way under her skin. More than once, she told herself she was glad of it— that his questions and comments were nothing but an annoyance, and she was lucky not to have to humor him with more pointless conversation.
There was a part of her, though— one she wished would be silent— that knew that that wasn't true.
"Christ, Weller, just say it," she finally burst out, unable to stand it any longer.
She felt him jump a little behind her, clearly startled. "What?"
"Whatever's got you thinking so hard back there. You're so tense you're even making the horse uneasy."
Not to mention herself.
For a moment he didn't answer, as if deliberating; then he seemed to come to a decision, letting out a breath that feathered warmly against her neck, forcing her to suppress a shiver.
"I was just thinking about what would come after this," he said slowly, his words carefully even. "After we make it to the village."
"We get access to communications gear and get evac'd," she answered promptly, her voice matter-of-fact, as if that was all the answer that was needed— though she already knew that wasn't what he'd meant.
"And after that?"
When she didn't reply, he went on, his arm tightening unconsciously around her waist as the words rushed out of him.
"You know how I said I was planning on joining the FBI? I have a contact in the New York Office who wants to fix the system too, and she and I have this... arrangement, kind of," he said, stumbling a little over that last part. For a split second her focus wavered, unable to keep herself from wondering exactly what kind of arrangement he might have with this nameless female agent— but she immediately pushed the thought away, forcibly tuning back in as Weller rambled on.
"And so anyway, with her backing me I'm almost guaranteed a place at Quantico, so the moment we get access to a phone, she's going to be my first call. Well, second, after my sister, but the important point is that I decided for sure that I'm not going back to Orion. I'm getting into the Bureau as soon as I can."
Following this profession, he fell silent again— but this time it was brief and expectant, waiting intently for her response.
So she gave it, keeping her eyes forward and her voice deliberately flat. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out."
"Not all," he disagreed quietly, then hesitated a moment before adding apprehensively, "What if you came with me, Briggs? Mayfair would back you too, if I told her that you wanted in. Not that you'd need any help, since Quantico would probably bend over backwards to have a recruit like you, but still it couldn't hurt."
For a second, she didn't react, her breath pausing somewhere in her lungs like it had forgotten which way to go. Since childhood, she'd been trained to anticipate every thought and action of those around her, to never be caught off guard. Obviously, she wasn't infallible, but she was about as close to it as it was possible to get, her skill rivaling even Shepherd's.
And then Weller had strolled into her life, looking every bit the picture of steadiness and predictability, and for five months he had stayed obediently in the neat mental box that it had taken her less than a minute to fit him into, never once straying outside the lines.
Until the chopper had crashed, and burst that box wide open.
Finally managing to reconnect her brain and her mouth, she pushed the words out, each one weighted with disbelief. "You want me to join the FBI?"
"I do," he confirmed, his voice growing passionate. "Orion isn't worthy of you, Briggs. Things would be different at the FBI— you'd be able to use your skills to really make a difference, and our country needs that. It needs good people to fight for it, so it doesn't collapse under all the greed and corruption and political bullshit, and I really can't imagine anyone better to do that than you."
Her answering laugh was bitter, all sharp edges.
"Weller, you don't fucking know me at all."
"I know more than you think," he countered hotly. "I may not know anything about your life before Orion, other than the fact that you're probably a strong contender for the World's Shittiest Childhood award, but I know you."
"You only think you do," she answered cuttingly, voice heavy with derision. It was the exact tone that had successfully driven people away her entire life, but beneath it there was also something else; a warning, a reminder that there was one threat in this desert he was overlooking.
"You only think I don't," he shot back, his defiance surprising her. "But whatever, Briggs. I don't want to spend hours stuck arguing with you on the back of a horse. Just think about the FBI offer, that's all I'm asking."
She didn't bother with a response, and he didn't really seem to expect one. Instead, he drew his arm away a little until it was barely touching her, his face turning away so that his stubbled chin no longer brushed against her hair. It was the closest to giving her space that their current situation allowed, but she was still too caught up in his offer to appreciate it.
In her head, his words repeated themselves over and over, a mocking loop. Her, join the FBI? The very idea was insane, not to mention utterly impossible. Even if she'd wanted to join, they would never let her. The things she'd done...
But then again, she was certain that not even the FBI's most determined digging could ever find out about those. Shepherd had taught her too well.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't completely impossible. Still, it was nonsensical, and he was deluded to think it could work. And even more deluded to think he knew her. He might know her better than most, but that was only because literally no one other than her family knew anything at all about her.
If he ever knew the real her, he would know that the only part of the FBI she belonged in was the holding cells.
Fortunately for both of them, he didn't try to press the subject further, and so another tense silence fell, each of them stewing in their own thoughts. Slowly, the minutes ticked by to the rhythm of the horse's soft hoofbeats, the sun inching higher above their heads.
An hour passed. Then two. And then, to both of their surprise, she spoke.
"What's her name? Your sister."
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she grimaced, wanting to take them back. It was a stupid question for a stupider olive branch, and she didn't even know why she offered it.
Then she heard the pleased surprise in his voice as he answered, and knew why.
Fucking hell.
"Sarah. She's my little sister. She lives in Portland with her son, Sawyer. He's the coolest little kid."
He gave the information quickly, like he was afraid she'd change her mind and cut him off. When she didn't, he took it as encouragement, his tone eager, his curiosity finally finding its opening. "What about you? Do you have siblings?"
Pain flared in her chest, sudden and unexpected. When she spoke, she could hear the hoarse edge to her voice, and swallowed hard.
"One. We haven't spoken since I enlisted."
At that, Weller seemed to deflate a little behind her, his words laced with a genuine sadness. "I'm sorry. That must be hard."
"It's not," she answered curtly, her shoulders stiff. "And fewer attachments means fewer distractions, fewer weaknesses. A true soldier thinks only of the mission, not those they've left behind."
The lesson had been drummed into her from childhood, and she recited it reflexively, the words a shield against him.
"You know you don't have to do that with me, right?" he asked suddenly, his tone somehow both gentle and firm. "I know you think everyone is always watching and waiting for any sign of a vulnerability they can exploit or attack, but I'm on your side, Briggs. You don't have to have your guard up all the time."
Surprise gave way to anger, burning hot and fast beneath her skin. She'd always known Weller was brave, but she'd never taken him for this stupid.
"Fascinating analysis, Dr Freud," she said acidly, furious at him for his presumptions and herself for inviting them. "Do me a favor, and keep any further insights or revelations to yourself from now on."
Seemingly realizing he'd pushed too far, he fell silent once more, his arm leaving its usual position at her waist to rest instead on his own thigh.
She told herself she didn't miss it.
The next couple of hours passed agonizingly slowly, their horse stumbling more and more over the increasingly rocky terrain, the rough sand giving way to layers of small, jagged stones as they started ascending to higher ground. Still, she urged the horse on, until a slip of loose stones nearly sent it to its knees, the abrupt movement lurching them both forwards so jarringly that she almost fell, prevented only by Weller's arms locking tightly around her waist and pulling her back against him.
Immediately righting herself, she guided the horse to a patch of flat ground, then halted it, taking a moment to stroke its shuddering neck, its breath coming in long, uneven gusts.
"Easy, girl," she murmured, then looked over her shoulder at Weller for the first time since they'd mounted hours before. "We need to turn her loose. Even without us on her, she's not going to be able to get far in this kind of terrain. It's only going to get steeper and slipperier, and we have no idea what it's going to be like on the other side. Better to let her go now where she can still make it back down without breaking a leg."
"Understood," he answered briskly, then immediately drew his arm from her waist as he carefully dismounted. He stepped back slightly, hand lifting as if to help her down, but seemed to think better of it, instead turning to the saddlebags and unfastening them as she smoothly swung down onto her feet.
While he set the saddlebags down on the ground nearby, she untied the knots of the bridle, unwilling to leave anything that could get snagged and cause injury. When she was down to the last one, Weller joined her, holding out a small handful of scraggly desert weeds and smiling as Edwina eagerly tugged them out of his hands.
"Saddleblankets?" he asked, still not looking at her.
"Leave them. If we weren't so exposed I'd take them off and brush her down before we let her go, but it's too much of a risk."
With the knots undone and the weeds gone, Remi gently stroked the horse's soft nose, then drew off the bridle, lips twitching as Edwina continued to stand there quietly, waiting.
"Go on," she said, giving her neck a gentle push. She went only as far as a thin clump of desert grass a few feet away, but it was a start. Moving over to the saddlebags, Remi found that Weller had already removed the more useful items they'd contained— a little food, an extra canteen, the machetes— and managed to fit all but the machetes in the medkit. Hooking one of the blades through her belt, she turned to look at him, holding out the other machete hilt first.
"Ready?"
He nodded, accepting the other blade from her before looking back at the happily grazing horse.
"Good luck, Edwina. Hope you make it."
"She will," Remi answered simply, surprised to find she actually believed it. Then, she turned and started making her way up the side of the slope, placing her feet carefully in the loose stones, ignoring the sharp stab that went through her thigh with each new step.
It was slow, sweaty progress, and it was soon very clear that letting the horse go had been the right call; more than once one of them nearly fell, the scrape of boots on shifting rock accompanied by growled curses. By unspoken agreement, she led the way, refusing to consider that Weller was deliberately positioning himself behind her to catch her in case she fell and started to slide.
Finally, though— just as the heat and exertion was becoming almost unbearable— they reached the top of the rise, the desert opening up before them.
And somewhere on the horizon, camouflaged amongst the sand and stone, was the cluster of buildings that would be their salvation.
Halting beside her, Weller leaned down, bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to slow his heavy breathing. They'd both done far longer and steeper treks, usually with a few dozen pounds on their backs, but that was when they were fresh and at the peak of their strength. Between their injuries, their lack of sufficient food and water, and the few days in the desert sun, they were both struggling.
At least, finally, the end was literally in sight.
"Well, that was a bitch," Weller said once he had his breath back, and she nodded in agreement, holding the canteen out to him. Accepting it gratefully, he took a small, careful swallow, rationing out what they had left. When he tried to hand it back to her, she pushed it back towards him.
"Drink, Weller. There'll be plenty of water at the village."
After a moment's hesitation, he lifted it back to his lips and sipped slowly, his eyes lingering on her. Uncomfortable under that clear blue gaze that always saw too much, she looked away, focusing instead on finding one of their remaining protein bars in the medkit. When it was unwrapped, they did their usual trade— the canteen for half a bar— their patterns already so firmly set from just a few days together that they didn't need to speak.
When she sat, he sat with her, both of them deliberately taking their time with their meager lunch.
In a matter of hours, they would reach the village, and in another day or so they would be extracted back to base, get cleaned up, and go their separate ways, him heading back Stateside to join the FBI, and her… well, she'd go wherever Orion sent her, slotting into a new squadron as if the last had never existed.
She'd done it practically all her life, simply exchanging one place and its occupants for another, used to moving on without looking back.
But somehow she knew that this time, it wouldn't be so easy to forget.
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Honestly, this view almost made the climb worth it.
The landscape before them was truly breathtaking, even to two people who had spent every moment of the last several months surrounded by desert. From their elevation, they could see for miles— miles and miles of nothing but blue skies and the harsh, desolate beauty of nature.
From here, it felt like they could be the only two people in existence.
And really, that would be totally alright by him.
This little bubble they'd been in couldn't last, though; he knew that. Soon, they'd be at the village, and then at a base— and then they'd be out of here, back to the real world, where everything would be different.
He knew his FBI offer had been stupid; a pointless, grasping attempt, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. Regardless of what she'd said, he was so completely certain that she would not only fit there, but flourish, the agency challenging both her skillful body and her brilliant mind. She would have a freedom and a scope there that Orion could never match, and her abilities would benefit not only the Bureau, but everyone she encountered. It would be the ultimate combination, the perfect partnership.
Except it hadn't been the partnership of Briggs and the FBI that he'd really been thinking of, had it?
Briggs would make an incredible agent, and the Bureau would be worse off without her, that he truly believed.
But even more than that, he would be worse off without her.
Five months ago, he'd been counting down the days until his contract was up, barely more than four weeks remaining until he could turn his back on the entire fucked-up operation and return Stateside, ready to scrub every inch of his body— and soul— clean of all he'd seen and done in the name of Orion, eager for the penance that would be his service with the FBI.
And then Hale had put a bullet in his brain, the PTSD finally catching up to him— and two days later his place was filled by a new recruit, the squad's first ever female member.
The guys had all been instantly infatuated, of course, though it hadn't taken more than a day or two and an Arctic level of iciness to turn their adoration into contempt, their compliments into jeers. He'd tried to make conversation a couple of times in that first week, but her walls were well and truly up, the message loud and clear behind those green eyes. After that, he'd kept his distance, careful never to reveal any particular interest in her to any of the others, but always doing his best to subtly intervene whenever one of them edged too close to crossing a line.
Often that had meant bearing the brunt of their 'pranks' himself, but he'd never minded; he'd been glad of it, even, happy to spare her even a fraction of the shit that she'd undoubtedly been wading through her entire life.
And by the time his four weeks was up, he was in the commander's office, sliding a freshly-signed contract across the desk.
He'd never regretted it; even now, after nearly burning to a crisp in the wreckage of a chopper he should have never been on, he knew more than ever that he'd made the right call.
Because he'd felt a connection like this once before, an inexplicable, unshakeable bond that went down to his very bones.
Back then, he hadn't been there when she'd needed him, and their connection had been severed forever.
Now, over twenty years later, he was finally getting the chance to get it right.
Together, he and Briggs would get through this— just like they would get through whatever came next.
He hoped that that would be training at Quantico, and then taking a place at the NYO— but he knew the truth, even if he hadn't admitted it aloud: if she went back to Orion, he would follow.
Thinking about the prospect of forever being one of Orion's attack dogs, he let out a heavy sigh, and beside him, Briggs started, as if shaken out of a daze. A moment later, she'd risen to her feet, slung her rifle into position, and turned to him with an unreadable expression.
"Let's move," she said brusquely, and he frowned up at her, wondering what had caused her sudden shift from relaxed— or the closest equivalent she ever reached, anyway— to what? Agitated? Annoyed?
"That was barely five minutes, Briggs. Surely we could afford a few more."
"The quicker we get moving, the quicker we get there," she stated coolly, her eyes already scanning for the best route down to the desert floor.
"Alright, alright," he sighed, then slowly pushed himself to his feet, barely holding back a groan as every muscle in his body protested. Loudly. Coming to join her, he looked at the ground that fell away before them.
"It's steeper than the other side," he commented, knowing that she was already fully aware of that fact. "More cliff than slope. This is going to be tough going, Briggs, especially on your leg."
"I'll be fine," she answered distractedly, her gaze sharp as she traced a possible path. "There. We go down this bit of slope, along that ridge, then down that gentler angle over there."
Leaning forward, he followed the line of her finger, following her proposed route with his eyes.
"I don't like the look of that ridge, but I don't see a better alternative, either," he said eventually. "I say we do it, but I want to take point."
She looked like she was about to argue, but then apparently changed her mind, instead giving a small shrug.
"Fine. Lead on, then."
With a small, teasing salute which she duly ignored, he moved past her, then carefully started picking his way down the sloping ground, his body angled side-on and each step sinking into a couple of inches of loose stones. She soon followed, and he subtly kept an eye on her, watching for any signs of trouble from her injured leg. The descent was slow, the two of them inching along cautiously, knowing that losing their balance or their footing even for a moment could send them tumbling to the ground hundreds of feet below.
Finally, a little over halfway down the mountainside, they reached the narrow ridgeline she had seen, the feeling of hard ground under their boots a relief for both of them. His own relief was short-lived, though, because he finally got a clear look at their chosen path, and he didn't like what he saw.
Behind him, Briggs clearly noticed his hesitation, her eyes on him as he looked around, assessing their options.
"What's the holdup, Weller?"
He pointed, his voice low and serious as he spoke his concern. "See how part of the foundation under this ridge has eroded away? We couldn't see it from up there, but it's pretty bad in places. I don't trust it."
"It's only a couple of dozen yards," she said after a moment, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. That they didn't really have a choice in the matter was left unsaid; both were well aware that the only other direction available to them ended in a high, sheer cliff.
Which meant that— unless they climbed all the way back up the steep incline and spent even more time trying to find a path they might have missed before, which was highly unlikely— this was their only option.
Knowing that she would have come to the same conclusion, Weller let out a sigh, and turned back to her.
"We're going to have to risk it. You lead, I'll follow a few steps behind," he said evenly, stepping back a little to give her room.
He outweighed her by dozens of pounds; if there were weak points along their path, her likelihood of getting across safely was much greater than his, and he wouldn't jeopardize that by going first.
It was the right call, simply the most logical choice, which meant she couldn't fight him on it.
Seeing the grim look on her face— the look that meant he was right, and that she didn't like it one bit— he gave her a small, reassuring smile, then gestured towards the narrow rock ledge.
"Well, see you on the other side, Briggs."
She didn't reply; just gave him a tight nod, then turned and moved slowly ahead, her steps calm and measured, her weight perfectly balanced with each step.
He admired that, her grace and her coolness under pressure, the way she could shut the rest of the world out and focus only on her goal.
Following her lead both literally and metaphorically, he took one careful step, and then another, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground before his feet. His eyes gave him no real clues, though, so he focused most of his attention on listening; listening for any sign of change, of impending danger.
But there was nothing— just the faint, rhythmic crunch of boots on rock, and soon they were already more than halfway along the ridgeline, their progress steady, the safety of the long, gentle slope of the foothill drawing ever closer.
Just another minute, he figured, glancing at the remainder of the path before them. That's all they needed— another minute, and they'd be clear.
They got forty seconds.
There were still at least three yards left of ridge ahead of Briggs when he heard it, the faint groan and shift of rock, the almost imperceptible tremble beneath his feet that meant game over.
For once, he was faster than her; throwing himself forward, he slammed into her back, shoving her as hard as he could. The force of it sent her forward two lurching steps before she hit the ground at full stretch, her hands digging into the loose stones of secure ground while his slammed into the dirt where she'd been standing only a second ago, dirt that crumbled beneath his palms.
He had time for a single sharp breath, a single grateful thought: she'd made it; she was safe.
And then the ground beneath him simply fell away.
And took him with it.
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*Evil laugh*
(But hey, at least my delayed posting means that you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter, eh?)
Thanks for reading!