Darkness of Insanity

Jason sighs and leans back a little more in the couch, keeping his arm tucked around Misty. He'd suggested his place tonight - mainly because he wanted her all to himself for a while. The day had been insane, and they hadn't even been able to grab lunch together. Finally alone at his place, his body was exhausted while his mind was still racing. 

They'd picked a movie they'd both seen, so talking during it didn't bother either one of them. A big bowl of popcorn sat almost empty on the coffee table, Trooper keeping his eye on hit, but resisting the urge to beg. 

"It was really weird seeing Katie today," he admits quietly. "I know I shouldn't be upset anymore, but all of a sudden it was like I was getting the knife in my heart again and it just made me mad. I know Reese is gonna end up putting us together on cases again though and I'm just not sure how to handle it." 

Hunter lies on his back in bed, holding up his phone to type a text. It was late - later than planned, getting to bed. But he'd thoroughly enjoyed his evening. Hanging out with Mick and Rosetta and BJ had been so much fun and so relaxing. Then later it had ended up just being him and Mick sitting and talking for a very long time at the kitchen table. They had discussed everything from the ranch's history, the Henson-Pent clan, to Hunter's own past, to racing, to God. It had felt... good... to talk to someone like Mick about some of those things. Some of those tough subjects. He was easy to talk to and never seemed to hold any judgment against Hunter either. Even when Hunter had admitted being fearful that he'd become dependent on alcohol, Mick had been encouraging, not judgmental.

To: Katie

From: Hunter

Hey Babe. Did u survive the day? I had

a good evening tonight. One of the best.

The only thing missing here is u. 

Otherwise, it would be perfect. 

To: Katie

From: Hunter

Micks the greatest - just sayin. 

To: Katie

From: Hunter

Ur dad misses u but seems to be doing 

well. I saw him riding today. Oh & 

Angel says my knee is healing well. Get 

to start weaning off crutches. Go me.

Not all words could be clearly understood as they came from behind the closed door, but anyone on the first three floors of the house could hear the heated argument as the two men's voices were raised an anger. 

"If you ever... I will... and you... ever again!"

"...stupid! ...endangered... I will not..."

"...my authority! ....dare you... service... don't care if... will be enforced!"

"I don't care! ...you ...deceit... it'll all go down... blame me..."

It was such a rare occurrence to hear such an argument, that some of the servants had paused their work to glance at each other with concern. That such a high ranking agent would dare engage in such a confrontation was appalling. No one ever dared such a tactic - it would be his life, for sure. No one got away with questioning the commander, let alone entering into an argument. 

As the office opens, those nearby quickly resumed their tasks as to not be caught trying to listen. The slamming of the door echoes through the halls like a cannon shot, followed by Garret's deliberate footsteps. Dressed in his full black combat gear, he had not yet changed since returning from his latest assignment, and the display of more than one sidearm and other weapons was enough to make anyone steer clear of his path, if his glare alone didn't do it. One might feel his eyes could pierce through steel. 

Quickly stalking through the house and outdoors, Garret aims for the gardens as his blood boils. He was tired, hungry and in dire need of a shower. Three days and nights without sleep, food or soap and water had seen to that. And one botched mission had brought him to this point now. Or was it really the fact of a botched mission that had led up to his temper exploding? Blaming Medridge was gutsy. Yelling accusations at him was more than gutsy - it was stupid. But Garret felt as though he'd reached his limit. It had been more than a botched mission out there. It had been a failed attempt that he could speak of to no one. And making a scene about what had gone wrong was the only way to cover up the truth.

Finding a cement bench, secluded in amongst the rose bushes, he sits down, resting his elbows on his knees to put his face in his hands. He was lucky and he knew it. Anyone else would have received a death sentence for the stunt he'd just pulled. And he still might. But he doubted it. He was too important to Medridge at this point. Too valuable. Like a prized possession. 

Feeling the sting return to his shoulder, Garret lifts his face to glance at his arm where the bullet wound had started to bleed again, despite the bandanna tied around it. It was just a scratch - he'd only been grazed. But he knew he needed to go have the medic clean it out and put a proper bandage on it anyway.

Returning his face to his hands, he fights his churning emotions. Was he going mad? Was he going to be pushed until he simply lost his mind? It felt as though if he simply let go, he'd fall into the darkness of insanity. And for what? What was the point? Where was the reason in all of this?