I've already talked about these two a lot in previous posts, where they're coming from (vaguely) and such and such, but these two bits will be about where they went. Well. The first one will be. The second one will be me messing cruelly with their lives again.
What can I say? Writers are sadistic people.
I had wanted to write something that would fit neatly in the middle of these two blips, but never got the inspie or motivation to do so, but I think it's sort of self explanatory.
Though, I'll admit the second bit was mostly for you guys' sakes. The lines have always been a little blurry when it comes to their relationship but I've always known in my head how things work out eventually and figured that I had best share that with you all as well, else you get the wrong idea about them. Which would be bad.
The Wiley’s campaign was nearing its end, with only three more weeks left to their travels. Garrett started to think more objectively, turning his mind to the near future and what he—and Breen—would do. They’d already discussed what would happen to them after this was over, and Breen sentiments had echoed his own.
Whatever they did, they were going to do it together.
The train car was quiet, the only noticeable noise come from the clack-clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks. Breen slept fitfully on the nearby couch and he made a point of checking for the signs of a nightmare every few minutes.
Garrett watched the passing scenery that was bathed in moonlight under a cloudless sky. They’d been travelling through endless fields for days now and the repetition was getting dull, but he wasn’t going to complain. Their destination would be along in the next day or so and then the scenery would change once more.
Staring out the window, he lost himself in thought, working out a plan. Although he hadn’t made himself focus to this intensity for some time, it was easy to fall back into the way his mind had been before all this had happened.
He and Breen wouldn’t be destitute when they left here; quite the opposite, in fact. The Wiley’s’ manager had been compensating them well for their role in Ryan’s campaign, something that Garrett had never protested. By now, they both had a sizable amount saved up, having had neither motive nor opportunity to spend it.
Location was one of the larger concerns to Garrett. The sooner they figured out where they wanted to live, the sooner they could start looking for an apartment.
Glancing over to Breen, who’d settled for the moment, facing the back of the couch, he wondered if being in a stable location would help both of them settle enough that they would be able to start leaving the nightmares behind them.
That was another thing to work on with Ryan. He and Breen would need something official. Anything related to an actual wedding was out of the question, but they needed for the law to recognize them as being bound to one another.
It wasn’t so much a matter of love as one of security. They’d both found someone who knew why they’d become the way they were in each other.
Someone who hadn’t been inside those camps would never understand. They’d always be trying to help, to make them forget things that had been cut into their hearts and shattered their souls, leaving behind only the image of the person they’d been before.
And Garrett knew that he was for Breen what she was for him. Not a form of morphine in the shape of a person, but instead a shoulder to lean on and a hand to grip. He held her up when it she was drowning just as she pulled him out of the darkness when it began to overwhelm him.
There would be a lot to consider in the near future, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to look ahead.
~~~~~
Subconscious anxiety made him a light sleeper, assuming he slept at all. Granted, his sleeping habits had improved since he and Breen had gotten their small flat, but that didn’t mean they were normal by any standard.
His haunted dreams had grown less frequent, soothed by her presence by his side throughout most the day and into the never-ending night. Garrett had found that the smell of her skin and the steady beat of her heart had a far more calming effect than the alcohol that he had once drowned himself in.
When he would wake in the middle of the night, remembering his sister and the fate she had suffered, he would seek out Breen where she lay within arm’s reach across the bed. He would find the pulse point in her throat and when he felt her heartbeat unfaltering against his fingertips, he was able to rest easy again.
Tonight, though, it was not a dream that awoke Garrett from his uneasy slumber.
This time, it was reality that jerked him from unconsciousness.
The intrusion to their apartment might’ve gone unnoticed, unheard until it was too late, but the window they used for entry, the one adjacent to the next building, had a horrible squeal when budged that could wake the dead.
And Garrett was far from dead.
He sat up, heart in his throat, as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps from the living room, also the location of the complaining window.
This couldn’t happen again. Not to them.
The bedroom door was thrown open wide and Garrett didn’t bother trying to locate the knife he kept in his bedside table drawer. They filed in, six men with black helmets and matching tactical gear, bearing matte black rifles he knew to be military issue. They took up a crescent-shaped line at the end of the bed, weapons held ready to discharge.
If it had just been him, he may have tried to fight them. If it had just been him, he would’ve preferred to be gunned down than be taken again.
Breen, dead to the world at his side, though, kept him from doing anything rash, just as he’d held himself back two and a half years ago when they’d come for him and Sharon
The soldiers weren’t making any aggressive movements, probably receiving orders from someone on the outside through the headset built into their helmets.
Slowly and with purposeful movements, Garrett reached over to gather Breen’s limp form to himself, letting her head fall against his shoulder.
He could barely see in the darkness of the room, but his fingertips found her face, brushed along her cheek and then tangled in her loose hair. He was grateful to the drugs recommended by the local psychiatrist that she’d decided to try after months of urging. She would remain asleep for several hours to come, a fact he knew well from experience.
It would keep her from reliving this nightmare along with him, and that was enough.
Escape was impossible, and fighting had never been an option, so Garrett made use of the only avenue of opportunity left to him.
He remained aware of the soldiers, the silent spectators from the shadows of the room, and then bent his head until he could hear Breen breathing.
Surrendering entirely after another moment, Garrett shut his eyes and just focused on her, on how her dark hair ran like silk between his fingers, how her skin always seemed a few degrees cooler than it should’ve. He knew of every scar that had been inflicted on her and could only pray that maybe they were just here for him.
They’d been through that hell once, but he would bear it again if it meant she could go free. It was the least he could try and do for her.
She was all he had and even though nothing about them was perfect, they loved each other, in whatever dysfunctional ways they had left. They were both broken, shells of who they used to be, but neither of them would’ve had it any other way. No one else would’ve understood.
Garrett heard the soldiers shift. He pressed a kiss to her temple and refused to let go. He would protect her as long as he could.
The sound of a discharged projectile—not a bullet, he realized—was the last thing he heard before something sharp pierced the skin of his throat and the world faded to black.
His haunted dreams had grown less frequent, soothed by her presence by his side throughout most the day and into the never-ending night. Garrett had found that the smell of her skin and the steady beat of her heart had a far more calming effect than the alcohol that he had once drowned himself in.
When he would wake in the middle of the night, remembering his sister and the fate she had suffered, he would seek out Breen where she lay within arm’s reach across the bed. He would find the pulse point in her throat and when he felt her heartbeat unfaltering against his fingertips, he was able to rest easy again.
Tonight, though, it was not a dream that awoke Garrett from his uneasy slumber.
This time, it was reality that jerked him from unconsciousness.
The intrusion to their apartment might’ve gone unnoticed, unheard until it was too late, but the window they used for entry, the one adjacent to the next building, had a horrible squeal when budged that could wake the dead.
And Garrett was far from dead.
He sat up, heart in his throat, as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps from the living room, also the location of the complaining window.
This couldn’t happen again. Not to them.
The bedroom door was thrown open wide and Garrett didn’t bother trying to locate the knife he kept in his bedside table drawer. They filed in, six men with black helmets and matching tactical gear, bearing matte black rifles he knew to be military issue. They took up a crescent-shaped line at the end of the bed, weapons held ready to discharge.
If it had just been him, he may have tried to fight them. If it had just been him, he would’ve preferred to be gunned down than be taken again.
Breen, dead to the world at his side, though, kept him from doing anything rash, just as he’d held himself back two and a half years ago when they’d come for him and Sharon
The soldiers weren’t making any aggressive movements, probably receiving orders from someone on the outside through the headset built into their helmets.
Slowly and with purposeful movements, Garrett reached over to gather Breen’s limp form to himself, letting her head fall against his shoulder.
He could barely see in the darkness of the room, but his fingertips found her face, brushed along her cheek and then tangled in her loose hair. He was grateful to the drugs recommended by the local psychiatrist that she’d decided to try after months of urging. She would remain asleep for several hours to come, a fact he knew well from experience.
It would keep her from reliving this nightmare along with him, and that was enough.
Escape was impossible, and fighting had never been an option, so Garrett made use of the only avenue of opportunity left to him.
He remained aware of the soldiers, the silent spectators from the shadows of the room, and then bent his head until he could hear Breen breathing.
Surrendering entirely after another moment, Garrett shut his eyes and just focused on her, on how her dark hair ran like silk between his fingers, how her skin always seemed a few degrees cooler than it should’ve. He knew of every scar that had been inflicted on her and could only pray that maybe they were just here for him.
They’d been through that hell once, but he would bear it again if it meant she could go free. It was the least he could try and do for her.
She was all he had and even though nothing about them was perfect, they loved each other, in whatever dysfunctional ways they had left. They were both broken, shells of who they used to be, but neither of them would’ve had it any other way. No one else would’ve understood.
Garrett heard the soldiers shift. He pressed a kiss to her temple and refused to let go. He would protect her as long as he could.
The sound of a discharged projectile—not a bullet, he realized—was the last thing he heard before something sharp pierced the skin of his throat and the world faded to black.
Personally, I like how the second one turned out. My apologies about the cliff-hanger (I am trying to work on that...) but it's Garrett's reaction to the inevitable that I enjoy. He chooses to spend what he thinks are going to be his last minutes of freedom not fighting, but holding Breen. As he said, she's all he's got anymore.
Sorry, I'm on the tired side and anything romantic tends to warm my heart, even if it's my own writing. The endings of the two bits sound like they echo each other, don't they? My bad, but I don't really feel like changing it right now.
I hope you liked these blips that are a bit more fleshed out than my previous Breen and Garrett scrawls, and I would love to hear your thoughts if you've got any to give.
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
