TV Show: Breakout Kings
Word Count: ~1,100
A/N: I'm taking a small break from "Pain in the Head" (I have actually started on the chapter, but who knows when it'll be done) to do a few stories I want to complete. This is the first of those few. Think of the few I want to do as drabbles, because I have a bunch of projects that are over 15k in word count (for example, "Pain in the Head" and a SuperWhoLock Big Bang, which HAS to be over 15,000 words, so).
Anyway, about the story: I have immense feels for these two, I swear to god. And this season is proving to be one of those seasons where my ship will sail. Fingers crossed!
x x x x x x x x x x x
Today was the day.
No more scheduled meals, no more guards standing over his shoulder and telling him what to do, no more prisoners stealing his things whenever they wanted because he was not strong enough to defend himself, no more harassment—no, it was over. He remembered Ray's hand in his, telling him that he was going to be released the very next day from Maybelle, a place he never wanted to return to in the first place. He could easily remember the rush of emotions surging through him, knowing that he was going to be outside again, without having to worry about returning to jail. He was the last of the Breakout Kings; he was the last to taste freedom.
Lloyd looked at the guard signing the last of his paperwork, the last bit that was necessary to go home. Home—wherever that was. His mother had passed sometime ago, and while he was on a hunt for a convict, he still was unable to attend her funeral. "Too much of a risk, Lowery," Ray had told him. And he was okay with that, just so long as he had a lifeline to hold onto when he needed to break down. He hadn't realized the soft hands that would.
The guard gave him his belongings—so long ago was he trapped behind a confined space. Most of it was very outdated, but how he longed to possess something that was truly his again. "Alright, Lowery, you're free to go. Now get out of here before we change our minds," this guard loved to joke. Most of the time, Lloyd could get away with certain acts that other prisoners could not. He did not want to take the chance of getting another day or two added to his sentence because he managed to see how his divorce was taking a toll—it would be somewhat detrimental to his health, after all.
Lloyd heard the buzzing of the doors open, with two guards by his side. Standard protocol, although he hadn't actually thought about what he could do if the guards weren't there. There wouldn't be much to get the old man by the fence out, for example. But step by step—of course it was raining. It would not be a nice day when Lloyd would be finally free, no; it'd be raining. But how relieving it was the feel the rain, though—it was absolving his sins, if they still clung to him. He had done his time. He had served whatever God still had faith in him.
With each step he took, his back straightened. He could breathe the fresh, cool air around him, feel the raindrops falling on his head (but his eyes would not be turning red, he would joke to the two guards, if they were actually listening), and how he felt alive. Let the rain fall on me, he thought. It was better than the sunshine burning him with the rays it'd have for him. He could see the looks from the gangs still inside the prison walls stare at him; the rain kept him safe from them now.
He turned back to the gate and heard another buzzing noise, followed by the locks on the doors releasing him. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and he knew what was on the other side. He knew what was waiting for him under that black umbrella, near a small silver car of hers, hidden from the world. So she was still broken and still very fragile—that made two of them. The guards gently pushed him out and one told him: "If we see you back in here, Lowery, so help us."
Lloyd gave a small smile and turned, stating, "Gentlemen, I do believe I know what's of my best interests, and this is not one of mine." The gates closed, the guards chuckling at his comments, mumbling how much of a pain in the ass he was. But all Lloyd could do was turned around to the woman walking toward him, holding out the umbrella to shield him from the rain.
"You'll catch a cold, you know," her small voice whispered.
He smiled. "Your first words are about my health. Interesting. I had pictured a warm welcome, perhaps something along the lines of a grandiose kiss, or maybe a 'you're free, Lloyd', or something of the nature." She just stared at him; he hoped she still got his jokes, even if it had been a day since they last saw each other. It still felt like an eternity, though, being away from her for that long, especially on long hunts they used to be on for criminals and convicts.
She, instead, let herself stand on her tip-toes and brush the hair away from his face, the bangs sticking to his forehead. She still looked very nervous, still very anxious to leave, but she was strong. He knew that. He couldn't take her out even if he tried, but she could always use him for support once in a while—she was getting stronger. That was it. "That's why I'm here," she whispered back, the small voice still anxious to grow. They'd get there. They had plenty of time now.
Lloyd let himself lean into her hand; he didn't have to hide behind closed doors with her, anymore. They didn't have to have their little moments in the coffee room away from Ray and the new convicts that wanted a month off their sentence now. Sure, maybe the prisoners outside would judge him—but he was free. "Yeah," he whispered back. "That's good enough for me."
Lloyd wouldn't be able to tell you how long they stood there, or how the umbrella ended up on the ground, or how she managed to wrap her arms around his neck for support, or how perfect she felt against his body once more. He couldn't tell you how wonderful it felt to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, knowing he would not want to let go no matter what happened. He wouldn't be able to tell you what time they left for home, wherever home was, how he managed to still be on the team because they needed someone like him—he was good at what he did, what could he say? But he could tell you one thing:
Today was the first day of his life.