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It’s been months since Logan’s capture.
Months without closure, without information, without amusement in the halls of the Ghosts base… without Logan.
It’s no surprise that everyone is taking the youngest Walker’s absence hard. Hesh and Keegan especially.
Hesh is in considerably the worst condition out of everyone; hell, he watched his baby brother get dragged away and could do nothing to stop it. Night after night is plagued with night terrors of Logan clawing at the sands of the beach, the loud scrape of his gear against the grain, the agonizing gasps of pain that fell from his lips, and Hesh can never save him. He’s always lying against the rock, falling into the sand as he reaches out for his brother. He screams his throat raw, in the dreams then in the waking world—his fright awakens him.
Sleep doesn’t come again after that. Hesh is more likely to seek out Kick before even humoring shutting his eyes. Rorke’s hand around Logan’s ankle is burned into his eyelids.
Keegan, however, keeps his grief close. The Ghosts knew of the sniper’s fondness for Logan before Keegan knew himself. The way Keegan looked at Logan as if he hung the stars gave it all away, for Keegan never looked at anyone else the same. Not even Ajax, whom Keegan was known for being closer with than anyone else—except for perhaps Kick.
When he was told of Logan’s fate during Hesh’s rescue, Keegan thought he was going to throw up. Hesh was a mess; he shook with cries, yelling himself hoarse, and grabbed so tightly in Kick’s hold after they landed that the specialist retained bruises. Keegan… was just quiet. Merrick tried to engage with him during the trip back to base, but he got no response. Keegan hadn’t moved a muscle since sitting down the whole flight, staring ahead like he was a husk.
While Hesh was being dragged away to the medical wing, exhausted by the heavy weight of his emotions, Keegan didn’t move. It took Kick coming back after aiding Hesh and climbing back into the helicopter, kneeling in front of Keegan like he was a wounded animal. Kick whispered reassurances, rubbed his thumb on the sniper’s knee, and urged him up and out of the helicopter. Keegan met Kick’s eyes once before he was staring into space again.
Logan was gone. That type of loss wounds even the toughest of men.
The most painful thought they all had to bargain with was the probability that Logan was still alive. Everyone had read Hesh’s report on what Rorke had said to Logan, though it took numerous attempts to write out without the elder Walker ripping up the paper in a moment of anger, guilt, and sorrow. While he may be alive, his mind could be beyond saving, just as Rorke’s is. But Logan would be alive, and none of them would stop until he was their Logan again.
As long as the possibility is there, Keegan won’t quit looking. He hasn’t, for the better course of three months.
Both Hesh and Keegan aren’t seen outside of the communications room. They work throughout days and nights, looking for anything that could point them in Logan’s direction. Merrick had sent them on a variety of missions, each leading them no closer to Logan before he acknowledged that neither of them were fit to be in the field. There was also the belief that Rorke wouldn't let go of a single piece of information about Logan, so the constant action was impractical. It only led to irritated soldiers and more self-hatred for not being able to do more.
Now, the two closest to Logan monitor radio signals as if it’s the most intriguing football game ever. Kick had been requested to tap into Federation gear, but given he’s one of the few not mentally shut down, he can’t survey them. Rather, Keegan and Hesh do while Kick is issued off to other missions to find and retrieve data. When the specialist comes back, Keegan and Hesh are forced to relocate to the mess hall; if they don’t eat, Merrick won’t clear them for field duty.
Neither Hesh nor Keegan have a problem with this—if they eat, they’ll be strong enough to knock Rorke on his sorry ass.
That doesn’t mean they haven't found other means of self-destruction.
Everything Hesh has against himself is mental. He beats his pride unconscious, he fuels his head with hatred and revenge, enough to blind him as he punches a bag of sand off its chain. He works out until he physically can’t anymore, collapsing on his walk back to his room—sometimes in the workout room. Kick is always there, whether by coincidence or knowing of Hesh’s tendencies, but he’s there. He’ll nudge Hesh awake, force him to drink water, and make sure he gets back to his room safely.
Hesh will complain, saying he isn’t a kid but a grown man; he can take care of himself. He’ll apologize as Kick leaves, and Kick will kiss his cheek. Hesh will say thank you.
It’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
Keegan doesn't sleep. He hadn't slept well before all this, but he certainly doesn't sleep any better now. Avoiding any actions that could hinder the other guys, most of his time is spent in the range. He’ll use up all the target ammunition he’s allowed then do the same thing the next day. It isn’t necessary given his decades of acquired skill—he could headshot an enemy blind with a sniper from miles away—but he can’t risk getting rusty. When the perfect opportunity to put a bullet in Rorke’s head arises, he’s taking it.
When the ammunition runs out and the sun dips below the horizon, he tries to sleep.
It’s difficult when he only seems to dream about Logan.
A laugh so hearty fills his ears, and when Keegan opens his eyes, he’s met with a beautiful hazel. Honey-brown waves resembling the beaches of California dance over sun-kissed skin and Keegan realizes that laughter came from the stunning man in front of him. And yet he knows him, has known him for a thousand lifetimes, and will for a thousand more.
And he is utterly in love and is loved by this man.
It’s a love Keegan can feel deep in his bones, from the soles of his feet to the crown of his skull. He feels it through every vein and every fingertip as if he’s burst with affection from every pore. It is a love he knows is reciprocated, in the way the man is gazing at him as if he hung the stars; as if he had played the most star-striking melody.
This man could be his star, his sun, if he would so ask.
Keegan knows this man, and yet doesn’t know him nor does he know himself. He finds he doesn’t care, because he loves this man, and loves being loved by him.
They sit under a large tree in what is assumed to be a forest, given the foliage. The worn log under them serves as a bench and the sun gleams through the leaves’ fingers, casting a gorgeous light on the man that makes him shine with gold. He really is the sun. Keegan holds a guitar on his thigh, strumming away at a melody he doesn’t know the chords to, and yet does at the same time. The man seems to be enthralled by the tune; maybe it’s the musician. Either way, Keegan loves that look of awe on his face.
Keegan knows his name. He should since they are married. It just doesn’t come to him right now. But he knows this man’s name.
Suddenly, he is gone, and Keegan is left with a deep aching in his soul. It is a loss that tears him apart, breaks him down to his very being, and leaves him frozen with grief.
He doesn't know what happened, but he feels as if half of his heart has died. The strings ring their sorrows as his fingers graze them like a broken translator.
Deep down he knows the man he loved was gone.
His woes are sung by the strings of his guitar. It’s all he can think of to do, for his love was gone. He couldn’t live with only half his soul—half of his heart. So he continued doing the thing that brought that look of passion to the man’s face; he played his guitar throughout days and nights. Every string plucked rang out his grief, echoing it through the trees and to any unfortunate to hear.
He didn’t know his sorrow could be felt in every living soul, and they too mourned with him unknowingly.
When his fingers ached in tatum with his heart, he could no longer handle his loss. He would take his grief into his own hands and find a solution to it. The only plausible solution was retrieving his missing half from those who took him. Standing for the first time in what felt like centuries, Keegan slung his guitar over his shoulder and walked through the thicket of woods.
In the blink of an eye, he was in front of a compound, one adored with black and red flags. The sight alone turned his stomach but his heart pulled him forward. One hand held the neck of his guitar, the other, a pistol.
One by one he shot dead every shadow in his wake. Though his firearm was meek, his accuracy wasn’t. No bullet in his magazine strayed from a headshot. He had no plan, no backup, nothing, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
When the last soldier dropped dead, he was in a wide open room with no other doors but the one he had entered from. He scans the area before clapping echoes throughout the thick concrete walls.
“Seems like little Keegan isn't so cold after all,” an antagonizing voice says from the shadows. It’s a man of strong stature, someone Keegan knows he hates—abhors. He knows this man has something to do with his lost heart.
“Where is he,” Keegan bellows, voice tighter than strings and rougher than nails. Anyone else would cower away knowing they stood between him and his love. This man does not and only seems to grin with satisfaction.
Keegan sees the glint of a gun in the man’s hands. “Elias’s youngest, huh? Sorry to say, he isn’t here, but you should’ve known that. Guess the Ghosts really are losing their touch,” he muses. “So, how about it? What about that little Walker has caught your eye?”
“Just tell me where he is, Rorke,” is Keegan’s snapping point, drawing his gun in unison with Rorke. Something about that name burns fury deep in his bones, but Keegan doesn’t know what. All he knows is that Rorke will either work with him or die in the next five seconds.
Hazy memory or not, Keegan remembers he’s a much better shot than Rorke.
“Now, there’s no need to get violent—though I see you’ve already done that,” Rorke chuckles, adjusting his grip. “I’ll give you your boy… on one condition.”
Keegan’s heart jumped in hope, but he was uneased by the prospect of making a deal with this devil. “Better not be any of your games.”
Rorke lowered his gun, grinning. “Oh, it certainly is—a game of faith. I’ll hand over the kid and you two can go back to being Elias’s lap dogs, but he’s got to follow behind you, and you aren’t allowed to look at him until you leave this compound. Pretty easy for a patient man like yourself, huh?”
The condition is absurd enough that Keegan doesn’t trust him. “Why not kill you now.”
A gleam in Rorke’s eyes gives him his answer. “He’ll be lost in the darkness forever.”
Keegan feels sick with the idea; of losing half his heart forever over revenge. If letting Rorke walk means he can hold beautiful sun-kissed skin again, he would let Rorke be a free man.
“Condition accepted.” Keegan tucks his gun back into its holster.
Rorke looks like he just won the lottery. “I knew you were a smart one. Walk out those doors and the kid will be right on your tail; just keep your eyes to yourself.”
Keegan scuffs but does as he’s told, though hesitantly keeping his eyes on Rorke. When the man is out of eyeshot, he turns around, hand on his gun. He doesn’t hear anything behind him but continues walking, the hope of seeing his love again pushing him forward.
When he still hears nothing behind him, he grows weary. Rorke would do anything to make Keegan look like an idiot—fooling the second smartest Ghost would tickle him. This seemed like a setup from the start, but Keegan was too blinded by his longing. That’s why he doesn’t turn, not until they are closer to the light of the entrance.
Rorke is known for lies, and giving up his biggest leverage against the Ghosts sounded like a textbook scam. The silent footsteps behind him didn’t help Keegan’s growing distrust.
The sun just begins to break through the broken garage door, and Keegan succumbs to the aching feeling in his gut. He will not leave without knowing if his love is truly behind him or if this was all just a game. Steps away from the exit, Keegan doesn’t see any harm in turning around, just to prove Rorke wrong.
Beautiful hazel eyes look at him, wide and full of hope that has quickly turned to fear.
Keegan thinks he’s been shot, seeing those worried eyes again—the sun-kissed skin littered with freckles and the light lashes that brush his cheeks. It’s like Keegan has fallen in love again.
Then shadowed hands reach out from the darkness, taking hold of the man and dragging him back. Keegan snapped out of his daze, reached out, and grabbed for the man’s hand. Their fingers barely graze.
“Logan!”
The man pushes against the hands encircling his limbs, stretching his hand out for Keegan’s. Their surroundings are being swallowed in shadow but Keegan can only keep his eyes on the bright hazel eyes.
“Logan!”
Keegan watches as inch by inch of Logan’s skin is pulled into the darkness until only his face and outstretched hand is free. Something is keeping Keegan back from grabbing his hand, but he won’t stop pushing against the force.
He can’t lose Logan again. He can’t live without him.
All at once, Logan is yanked into the darkness, and the last thing Keegan sees is those hazel eyes, full of fear.
“LOGAN!”
Keegan jolts up in bed, blanket pooling around his waist. His throat feels hoarse and his skin is unbearably sweaty. Shoving the blanket off his legs, he rubs at his face and slips on sandals. Clad in a tank top and gym shorts, he walks out of his room. Looking at one of the digital clocks mounted in the hallway, it’s roughly four in the morning.
Solid two hours of sleep.
No one is awake now and won’t be for another hour or two. That gives Keegan enough time to slip out a back door before anyone decides to nag him.
The night air cools his skin as he leans against the equally cold railing. He stands on the small landing leading up to the door, crossing his ankle over the other before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
He pops one out and takes it between his lips. Taking the lighter out of his shorts, flips it open and flicks the flint wheel. A flame dances to life after a few sparks. He cups one hand over the flame and lights the tip of his cigarette with the other. With the tobacco glowing in embers, he shuts the lighter and drops it back in his shorts.
The first drag always hurts—mentally, that is.
Keegan had quit years ago. Smoking heavily while also doing insane parkour in the line of duty just didn’t mix well. Plus, with Ajax’s nagging, it was easier to quit smoking than to continue. He had been nearly five years clean of tobacco when Logan walked into his life.
When he was captured, Keegan couldn’t find anything else to take his mind off the loss.
The guys know. It’s hard not to know when Keegan comes back smelling like a gas station convenience store. Kick is the only one who gets on his case about it, having quit cigarettes alongside Keegan. He still smokes pot, which Keegan finds a bit hypocritical, but deep down appreciates that Kick cares.
He feels partially bad that Kick has taken on the weight of two men’s grief. Maybe if they pick up any leads, Keegan will stop just so Kick doesn’t have to deal with it. He’d also stop when they find Logan, but until then it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The rough chemicals slide down his throat and into his lungs and remind him he’s alive.
Keegan almost chokes on his next drag when the door behind him opens. His ankles uncross and he turns his head enough to see through his peripheral. Somehow he isn’t surprised it’s Hesh walking out onto the landing.
“Got a smoke?”
He sounds tired and Keegan’s got a good idea why. Keegan pulls out his pack of smokes, popping out a cigarette for Hesh to take before handing over the lighter. He pockets the pack and lighter after Hesh ignites the tobacco. The elder Walker mumbles his thanks. Keegan just grunts and takes a drag of his own smoke.
Both of them exhale warm puffs of smoke, quickly filling the environment with the harsh smell.
It isn’t the first time they’ve smoked together early in the morning, and it won’t be the last. Hesh knows this is always where Keegan will be. When they both wake from torturing nightmares of the same man, it’s just routine to end up on the concrete landing with cigarettes between their fingers. Keegan doesn’t even know when Hesh started smoking, if it was a before Ghosts thing or only because of Logan. Either way, once they get Logan back he’ll make Hesh quit. For now, Keegan won’t be a hypocrite.
Keegan’s cigarette has burnt to the filter. He stubs it out in the railing and pockets the remains to throw out later. Briefly, he thinks about grabbing another cigarette before he forgets the idea entirely—chain smoking was never his thing. Hesh continues to take lungfuls next to him, both men leaning over the railing and looking out at the stars.
These moments are sparsely filled with conversation. At most, it’s Hesh asking to bum a smoke.
“We’ll get him back,” Hesh breaks the silence. It startles Keegan a bit. “As long as we live we won’t stop hunting for him.”
Keegan doesn’t know where this determination is coming from. “You got an idea?”
Hesh stumps out the filter of his cigarette and similarly pockets it. His fingers curl around the railing. “Just got to get Merrick to agree to it, but yeah, I got a plan.”
Keegan feels that tug of hope again, just as he had felt in his dream. It sickens him, knowing what happened after, but knowing he’ll have backup—people who care for Logan just as much as he does—he thinks he can live with it, at least long enough to get Logan back. He’ll do anything if it means getting Logan back.
“Well then, let's hear it.”