Chapter Text
Brick was dead on his feet. His legs felt like lead, his brain like it had been stuffed with cotton. He was too exhausted now to even mind the darkness. After an hour of running around in the pitch-black island, what was an extra five-minute walk from the campfire back to the dorms?
He was used to terrible hours. Cadet training mandated that he be up at 05:00 nearly every day. But cadet training didn’t have the same emotional ups and downs as Total Drama, and he suspected that was the reason he felt so loopy right about now.
Tonight’s challenge had been a disaster. His pants were still damp, and Brick didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself for his own humiliation. Had he really wet his pants twice? In front of everyone? In front of—
And then he’d tried to quit the competition, but Chris had swapped him onto the other team instead. Why? Luck? Divine intervention? Was God trying to keep him in the race?
If I win, Brick promised, barely hearing himself, I’ll donate the whole million to charity. A veteran’s fund, perhaps.
But how could he win fairly now? Tonight he had acted shamefully. He’d abandoned his code and left his teammates in the dust, and all because of—
Jo was complaining. Even at three in the morning, she was complaining. “What was McLean doing back there? Playing favorites or something? You probably paid him off!”
“No, I didn’t,” Brick mumbled.
They were walking back to camp, and though they’d left the firepit behind, Brick’s face was warm with frustration. He wanted to yell. Or hit something. Or take a nap. How did Jo have this effect on him? She always knew how to stir up an uncomfortable mix of emotions that Brick didn’t care to explore.
He could still feel the ghost of her hand from when she’d pulled him from the grave. He looked at her, and in the darkness she was taller, more intimidating. Maybe he was dreaming. He must be, if Jo was still talking to him after their argument.
“You probably emptied your whole piggy bank to do it,” Jo continued.
“Chris McLean is just… unpredictable,” Brick said.
“And insane.”
“Affirmative.” Brick didn’t dare to think about the other weird thing Chris had said at the campfire. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget about the whole thing.
Jo continued on as if Brick hadn’t said anything at all. “Like, he’s actually deranged. Did you hear what he said?”
“He said a lot of things, ma’am,” Brick mumbled. His heartbeat picked up, double-time. She couldn’t… she wouldn’t be talking about that, would she? The Jo he knew would never…
“About the kiss and make up crap. Like, ew.”
His heart literally skipped a beat.
Yeah, ew. His own voice sounded far away. Now he was not only a deserter, but a liar as well. Because ew had certainly not been his reaction.
But hey, maybe Brick and Jo want to kiss and make up?
His stomach had lurched, but not from nausea. He’d looked away from her in shame. She couldn’t know. But Chris had brought it up first, right? It wasn’t Brick’s idea, right? He couldn’t be culpable for something that Chris had instigated. And yet, from that moment forward he’d been hyper-aware of every detail… how if he moved the wrong way, his knee would bump against hers; how her hair was brassy gold in the firelight; how her eyes narrowed nearly to slits when she was mad at him.
Maybe it didn’t matter whose idea it was. It threatened to swallow him whole, a tidal wave advancing on a navy cruiser.
Didn’t think so.
He didn’t dare entertain it, so why had she brought it up now?
Jo didn’t speak for a few moments. Brick could only hear the crunch of dirt underfoot and the thrumming of his own heart. For his soul’s sake, he hoped she was done making conversation.
“It probably scared you,” she said abruptly. “I bet you haven’t even kissed a girl before.”
“I’ve kissed more girls than you!” Brick blustered.
Well, crap.
“I haven’t kissed any girls, doofus.”
Brick hadn’t either, so they were even on this particular matter, but that was beside the point.
“Why do you always have to be so—so—” Brick shoved her away. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he thought, Oh no. That had been the wrong (right?) decision.
“So what ?” Jo was teasing now, egging him on. She pushed him back. “So right all the time?”
“Definitely not!”
Brick shouldered her again. Okay, it was a little immature, he would admit to that. They were acting like kids on a playground, like army grunts in a mess hall. Brick had been raised to never hit a woman, but Jo wasn’t some defenseless maiden who was easily overpowered. She was an equal, and that’s why he felt exactly zero remorse when he finally pushed her back a little too hard.
She staggered for a moment but recovered quickly. This time, Jo didn’t retaliate; instead, she stepped into his personal space and said, “You probably wouldn’t even have the guts to kiss a girl.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Brick’s ego was stinging, and all rationality was out the window. In one brisk movement he closed the distance between them. His lips found hers, and the fire that had been simmering under his skin exploded all at once. It was a nuclear bomb with one casualty: him.
He definitely wasn’t imagining the way she was kissing him back, now. That was definitely her hand in his hair, her arm around his back. It was better than Brick could have imagined—not that he’d ever imagined kissing Jo. Certainly not. That would be improper, wouldn’t it?
Through the haze of fireworks and sparks cut a tiny voice: Okay, you’ve made your point.
Just a few more moments, Brick told his conscience. He’d already broken his code once tonight; what were a few extra seconds in the grand scheme of things?
When Brick finally worked up the courage to disengage, he practically pried Jo away from him. He held her at arm’s length, and for a few moments they stared at each other, slightly out of breath, uncertain if they were gearing up for a round two or—
“So,” Brick said. With that one word, the spell broke. Jo stepped away from his touch.
“If you tell anyone this happened, you’re dead meat,” she said.
“Y-yes, ma’am,” Brick stuttered. But in the pits of his stomach, a prickling unease was rearing its head. His elation was cooling into a cold sense of dread, the kind that only appeared when he had committed some terrible transgression.
Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone—not anyone on the island, at least. But in a few weeks, when he returned home, Brick knew that there was one person who would be hearing the full story.