Okay fair warning, I've got some serious C&B (and F in good time) fluffiness coming up. Forgive me but my OTP are kinda running the show right now and, who am I to stop them. :P
If it's any consolation though things will snap back into warped dramatic actiony angsty madness soon enough, plus expect familiar faces that haven't appeared yet, to start appearing relatively soon.
Anyway, sorry for the lengthy A.N. Take what's ahead as you will. :)
Once reaching the porch, Brody noticed Carrie curled up in one of the outdoor chairs asleep. It had probably been more comfortable outside then inside the cabin, but now the rain was cooling everything off. While he saw a fire still going inside keeping Farrah warm, he could see her foster mother shivering in her sleep.
Walking up Brody scooped her up, and she didn't even stir as he carried her inside, set her on the bed. Draping the blanket over them both, he lightly laughed as Farrah cuddled closer to Carrie, and vice versa. If he had it his way he'd sleep at the foot of the sofabed, but wasn't about to wake either of them when they looked so peaceful.
He also knew he had to change into some dry clothes or risk catching a cold. Walking to the back of the cabin he found a spare bedroom complete with a closet and dresser. Trying his luck with the closet first he opened it to find various old shirts, pants, boots, a jacket or two.
Assuming Carrie's dad had left them there once upon a time, assuming Carrie would be alright with him borrowing an outfit just this one time, he found a pair of sweatpants. After removing and draping his wet clothes over the dresser, he changed then climbed into the old looking bed.
Quickly he realized why Carrie opted for them to use the pull out couch. The too soft mattress sagged in all the wrong places and a giant crater formed when he lay down. It was the equivalent of sleeping in a fabric canoe. Still though, he'd certainly slept on worse.
Brody didn't wake until late the next morning, thanks to the sun poking in through the blinds he'd stupidly forgotten to shut.
Groggily making his way to the front, he saw Carrie and Farrah still curled up on the pull-out, still sound asleep.
Before going outside to pray, he bent down to brush his lips on Carrie's forehead, then smoothed some hair away from Farrah's face. Even walking out he kept his eyes on them as long as he could.
...
Carrie's eyes opened about an hour later, before they started darting around, disoriented along with her.
She had no recollection of coming back inside the cabin to sleep next to Farrah. The last thing she remembered was the sheets of rain outside, watching them gush over the roof to splash on the porch while her eyes got heavy and heavier still.
She didn't feel hung over, even the sugar buzz from the cupcakes had worn off, and she was sure Farrah or the old woman at the bakery hadn't roofied her. But she was feeling very confused.
Sitting up, carefully so as not to wake Farrah, she frowned and then sniffed. Coffee? French toast?
Shaking her head she blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes. She had to be still asleep or dreaming or hallucinating this. But she could still smell food and now was hearing suspicious noises.
Shifting out of bed she unlocked the side table drawer, then retrieved the Altoids tin and gun. Turning away from Farrah when she loaded it with the bullets.
Making her way to the kitchen quietly, she could've sworn she heard someone singing. Sounding like a horrible Elvis impersonator.
"I'm proud to say she's my buttercup. I'm in love. I'm all shook up!", Brody sang, lip curled, iPod and apron on, doing a little shimmy as he turned from the counter top back to the stove.
Adding a cinnamon and egg dipped slice of bread to the pan so it sizzled.
Still holding the gun on him, watching with her jaw dropped, Carrie was stunned almost speechless.
"Holy fucking shit."
As he turned to chop up some fruit, seeing the gun out of the corner of his eye he let out a yell, jumped backward.
"What the...Jesus! Will you put that away!", he ordered, yanking out his earbuds, trying to get his breathing back in check.
"Okay Carrie, just put the gun down and I'll explain. Seriously, just put it down."
Nodding, shakily but starting to come to grips Carrie set down the gun, shaking her head. Then started to laugh as he looked on bewildered.
"Yeah, your brandishing a weapon. Funny!", he scoffed.
Walking up, managing to get her laughter under control she stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into a kiss.
Smiling under it, but eager to talk to her again, when he went to pull back she deepened it instead.
"Carrie, mmm..wait..", he murmured as she nipped at his lips, combed her hand through his hair. Now he just wanted to lift her onto the counter top, take her right there in the kitchen. But catching a whiff of burnt toast, remembered why he was in there in the first place.
"Oh, shit!"
Pulling back he cut over to the stove to turn the heat down.
"Good, not as burnt as I thought."
"Well, good. Now that that's under control, what the fuck are you doing here?!"
"Making breakfast."
"Obviously."
"Did I wake you up?"
"Yeah. And Elvis is officially rolling over in his grave."
Smiling bashfully he flicked off the iPod.
"Sorry, used to cooking in an empty house."
"Brody, seriously how did you-"
"Used a bag of mixed berries I found in the freezer."
"Uh.."
"'Put some in the fruit salad."
"Brody..."
"And with the rest I made some syrup for the French toast. Figured it's better than maple."
"Brody!"
"Hey, you can have maple if you want! It's okay by me."
"Brody, put down the spatula.", Carrie demanded.
"But, I-"
"Spatula down, marine!"
Quickly Brody did as asked, trying not to look intimidated.
"How did you even get here? Is it okay? Why are you even-"
"I missed you. I missed Farrah.", he admitted, giving her that sheepish, boyish look that ticked her off but also made her melt.
"Well I missed you too, but...oh shit. What the-"
Moving closer she gasped.
"What happened to your face!"
Reaching up, her fingers ghosted over the cut under his eye, his bruised, still swollen looking nose.
"Carrie, it's not-"
"Tell me, Brody."
"Nothing! I got out of bed to use the bathroom and walked into the door."
"Ouch..", she sighed, cradling his face and looking up sympathetically at him. He could feel his stomach knot over the lie.
"You okay?"
Nodding, he rested his hand on the back of her's.
"Yeah I'm good. Better actually."
Smiling she drew him into another kiss, not so frantic this time. Eventually he forced himself to pull back, held her face as she slipped her arms around him. Her embrace was tight though and he tried to hide his wincing at it. Unsuccessfully.
"Brody what..."
Gingerly lifting his shirt she noticed bruising on his abs. It wasn't nearly as severe as his other marks and scars, but he flinched at her touch, getting her frowning.
"Jesus, how hard did that door fight back?!"
"Carrie..."
"Brody, who the fuck did this to you? Were you mugged?!"
"No, I wasn't! It's just like I said, the door..."
"Bullshit!", she scoffed, and he knew she wasn't having any of this.
"Fine. If I tell you though so fucking help me, you're not going to do a thing about it.", Brody insisted.
As much as he wanted to blow Quinn in, let Carrie let him have it (like he knew she would), the SOB had done him a favor. And made it abundantly clear at the hospital and over the phone he had Carrie's and Farrah's best interests at heart.
"I'm sorry, did you just tell me to sit back and not do anything?", Carrie laughed without humor.
"You are aware you're talking to me, right? What, did you get amnesia or something thanks to this mystery injury? Is your brain finally as fucked as mine?"
"Enough of that." Brody growled, not offended at what she was saying about him, but at what she was saying about herself.
"Enough lying to me then!", she bit back.
"Alright, I'll tell you! I'll tell you. I'm serious though about you not pursuing this. These guys that did this aren't ones to forget faces. Believe me if they remembered mine, they'll certainly remember yours.", he lied. Again.
At least he hoped he was.
"Forget faces, what the fuck are you talking about? Shit, is this...Brody does this have anything to do with Nazir or.."
"No, no. I swear to you. No.", he assured. Relieved he wasn't lying about that.
"Well who then? What fucking enemy have we got in common that'd try and...oh shit... you don't mean, from the bar?!"
"Bill gave me a ride up here and his tire went flat. We, pulled over, got out to change it and we weren't that far from our favorite Neo-Nazi pool hall."
"Holy shit."
'The fucker must've been short on cash. Him and two of his buddies came after Bill, tried to mug him. I jumped in when he looked outmatched. The guy's a friend of mine. He's not in the greatest shape."
Getting a look, borderline ice glare from her, Brody sighed.
"Carrie what would you have done in my place?", he asked knowingly, getting a shrug.
"Point taken."
"I made sure we got out of there as quickly as we could. I hoped the one guy wouldn't place me but..."
"You're sure it was the same.."
"88 tattooed on his upper arm, right?"
"Yeah. His 'jersey number'. Jesus Christ. Of all the people to crawl out of their fucking hole."
Seeing his mostly involuntary shudder at the word Carrie sighed, mentally kicked herself.
"Shit, I didn't-"
"Hey. It's okay." Softly he smiled, nodded for her to come closer. She did so but cautiously, afraid if she held him she'd wind up hurting him.
"C'mon, it's fine."
Taking him at his word she slipped her arms around him again, gently, while he brushed his lips on the top of her head.
"So can you stay the rest of the weekend? It's okay with the imam, Zahira?"
"I cleared it with them both. It's all good."
"It's all good?", Carrie mimicked, mocked in a lower voice as she backed up, looked up at him.
"Who are you? Some idiot frat boy?"
"Yes. Actually yes. I am. It's about time you figured it out.", Brody teased as she snorted, rolled her eyes.
"Well if you're allowed here all weekend what shall I do with you?", Carrie smirked.
"Don't worry. Even an idiot like me has a few ideas."