Scars [Bratt]
Dec 6, 2014 20:40:37 GMT -5
Post by Artemis on Dec 6, 2014 20:40:37 GMT -5
It was nice to be home.
Odd, but nice.
Brody hadn't been back here since... well, since Matthew had still been in the Academy and Brody had still been his instructor. He just wished these weren't the circumstances under which he saw his parents again.
He'd woken up just over a week ago to see his father asleep at his hospital bedside, exhausted from many sleepless nights sitting vigil with Brody's mother and praying to powers he didn't believe in that his boy would live. He vaguely remembered hearing the voices of visitors who spoke to him while he'd been in his artificial coma, and though Brody's first consciousness from waking up was that of his father crying tears of relief that his son was alive, he doubted he would ever forget hearing Nolan --the strongest man Brody knew-- sobbing bitterly next to his deathly still, comatose body.
It frequently worked its way into his nightmares.
The doctor had mentioned in passing that Brody might retain some of the trauma of being shot; it was normal, and it was treatable, but until he was strong enough to make trips between home and the hospital, he was going to have to live around it.
Which was easier said than done.
Both of his parents had taken as much time off of work as they could to spend time with Brody and look after him, but McKenna had been called back to work much sooner than she would have liked. Not surprising, though, considering she had chosen her particular line of work for its demand. So Brody and Nolan often had the house to themselves, usually with Brody half-sleeping from the influence of his painkillers and Nolan hovering nearby to rouse him from his nightmares when they inevitably reared their ugly heads.
Nolan hadn't lost an ounce of his patience or his composure; waking Brody from his nightmares (and soothing him back to sleep when he could), changing the bandages over the healing wounds that even Brody couldn't bear to look at, helping him with the most menial of tasks like descending the stairs or sit in a chair.
Brody had no complaints about seeing his father again, and supposed he owed it to his parents to have some time with him after coming so close to outliving their only child, but he absolutely despised how fragile and dependent his wounds made him.
Nevermind how boring it was being unable to do anything.
At the moment, Brody was sprawled out on the couch (Nolan must have tucked him in when he'd been asleep), reading his certificate of promotion for the hundredth time. They couldn't give him a medal, medals had stories attached to them and the Peacekeepers were running some pretty aggressive damage control to ensure nobody who didn't already know by involvement would ever find out that the Detention Center had had a convict escape.
So, no, they couldn't give him a medal. They could, though, give him a conspicuously early promotion to Sergeant.
A knock came at the door, and without looking Brody knew that Nolan had gone to answer it; the Peacekeepers had informed them the local patrols would be dropping by sporadically to check on their newly-minted Sergeant. They would probably do the same thing they'd done each time before; walk only as far as they had to into the house to see Brody, determine that he wasn't dead, and be gone.
Odd, but nice.
Brody hadn't been back here since... well, since Matthew had still been in the Academy and Brody had still been his instructor. He just wished these weren't the circumstances under which he saw his parents again.
He'd woken up just over a week ago to see his father asleep at his hospital bedside, exhausted from many sleepless nights sitting vigil with Brody's mother and praying to powers he didn't believe in that his boy would live. He vaguely remembered hearing the voices of visitors who spoke to him while he'd been in his artificial coma, and though Brody's first consciousness from waking up was that of his father crying tears of relief that his son was alive, he doubted he would ever forget hearing Nolan --the strongest man Brody knew-- sobbing bitterly next to his deathly still, comatose body.
It frequently worked its way into his nightmares.
The doctor had mentioned in passing that Brody might retain some of the trauma of being shot; it was normal, and it was treatable, but until he was strong enough to make trips between home and the hospital, he was going to have to live around it.
Which was easier said than done.
Both of his parents had taken as much time off of work as they could to spend time with Brody and look after him, but McKenna had been called back to work much sooner than she would have liked. Not surprising, though, considering she had chosen her particular line of work for its demand. So Brody and Nolan often had the house to themselves, usually with Brody half-sleeping from the influence of his painkillers and Nolan hovering nearby to rouse him from his nightmares when they inevitably reared their ugly heads.
Nolan hadn't lost an ounce of his patience or his composure; waking Brody from his nightmares (and soothing him back to sleep when he could), changing the bandages over the healing wounds that even Brody couldn't bear to look at, helping him with the most menial of tasks like descending the stairs or sit in a chair.
Brody had no complaints about seeing his father again, and supposed he owed it to his parents to have some time with him after coming so close to outliving their only child, but he absolutely despised how fragile and dependent his wounds made him.
Nevermind how boring it was being unable to do anything.
At the moment, Brody was sprawled out on the couch (Nolan must have tucked him in when he'd been asleep), reading his certificate of promotion for the hundredth time. They couldn't give him a medal, medals had stories attached to them and the Peacekeepers were running some pretty aggressive damage control to ensure nobody who didn't already know by involvement would ever find out that the Detention Center had had a convict escape.
So, no, they couldn't give him a medal. They could, though, give him a conspicuously early promotion to Sergeant.
A knock came at the door, and without looking Brody knew that Nolan had gone to answer it; the Peacekeepers had informed them the local patrols would be dropping by sporadically to check on their newly-minted Sergeant. They would probably do the same thing they'd done each time before; walk only as far as they had to into the house to see Brody, determine that he wasn't dead, and be gone.
ffffff - Brody O'Rourke
1979e6 - Matthew Dunham
bb7d00 - Nolan O'Rourke
