Author's Note: Hey everyone! So, this is my first excursion into a chaptered Flashpoint fanfic, and essentially, actually "making stuff up" in the Flashpoint world. The idea came to me because I often think when I watch the show, "Man, Jules gets the crap beat out of her on this show. How is she NOT PTSD yet? (well, except for one tiny scene in Perfect Storm)" Whereas I think it's pretty awesome that the writers created a character that is strong enough to not be afflicted with such a malady, I thought it would be interesting to attempt to "make stuff up" about what would happen if she was suffering from PTSD.
I realize panic attacks can be different for everyone, but this is how I've experienced them, so that's how I'm writing them.
I probably don't have to even give this definition because it's so often colloquially used in our modern society, but PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is manifested in panic attacks, hyper-vigilance, and flashbacks triggered by stressful events that may be akin to the precipitating event that caused the affliction.
Spoilers or references: Priority of Life, Between Heartbeats, Attention Shoppers, One Wrong Move, Terror, Slow Burn
I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, The Twilight zone, or anything else that may be copyrighted in this piece.
Mutiny of The Brain
Chapter One: I Know You're Reading Me
The Flashpoint
It was then that it happened.
After the blast, Jules awoke to feel no bodily harm to her physical being. However, this did not negate the fact that a bomb was going off inside her head.
She tried to focus and get her mind back on track, but her brain had violently committed mutiny on her. She saw flashes strike across her mind's eye, while inexplicable feelings of fear, emotional pain, and indescribable panic fought for dominance within the reminiscence of a mind now pounding through her skull.
She looked off into the distance with an a-thousand-yard-stare as she became vaguely aware of Sam's and the rest of her team's pleas for her verbal acknowledgement to their questions of concern. She wanted to respond, so badly, but couldn't, as her mind was held captive to the miss-firing neurons and rouge chemicals coursing through her brain. All she could do was wish for an end to this pain that immobilized her, terrorized her, and made her feel like she was going insane. She prayed for an end to this eternal moment, even if that end could only be born of death.
Three Hours Earlier
The six members of Toronto's Strategic Response Unit Team One sat around their briefing table while their Sargent, Greg Parker, disseminated information to them.
". . . So, that means, no more rappelling down the areas of the building with windows (as I've said before). Aside from the hassle of cleaning said windows, little old Mrs. Fields in Accounting almost had a heart attack during the last little excursion," Greg reported. "We don't need the liability issues of sending civilian personnel to the hospital. . ."
"Or loony-bin. She could have thought it was a ghost or something," Spike interrupted.
Without acknowledging Spike's outburst with a laugh, like the rest of the team, Greg concluded, "That means you, Raf and Jules. . ." He stared at Jules in particular with admonishing parental eyes that were betrayed by the slight up-turn at the corners of his mouth; he actually found the whole episode quite humorous.
"Hey Boss, I was just being corrupted by the wiles of a senior officer," Raf defended with mock contrition.
"What can I say? I'm The Corrupter. It's what I do," Jules responded, playing along with nonchalance. The rest of Team One worked to control their mirth and keep the gag running. . .
. . . They failed miserably, and the room was filled with laughter while Jules held her straight face for effect.
"Right," Greg continued and returned his attention back to the entire group at large. "Next order of business, annual Psy. Evaluations are quickly upon us."
The entire room erupted with moans and a string of "Not Toth!" sentiments.
"No, no, not Toth again," Greg confirmed to everyone's relief.
"You take'n the mantel again Boss?" Ed asked with a hopeful grin, both at the significance such an action would mean towards signifying Greg's return to confidence, and at the thought of what a relatively relaxed atmosphere such an arrangement would engender.
"No, I'm farming them out to the department psychologist this year," Greg replied, than added in response to Ed's resulting frown, "Please Ed. I don't have time to hold your hand through the whole thing." Greg's joke was only slightly mollifying to the group.
The team grumbled a little to themselves until Jules openly expressed her thoughts to the group. "Man, I hate these things. I hate psychology."
"What The," Ed started, confused. "You're a Psy. Profiler!"
"Yeah, but I don't use any of that Psycho-babble, crackpot-mumbo-jumbo and have subjects word-associate to figure their deal," Jules defended.
"Does anyone else feel like we just slipped into the Twilight zone?" Ed replied softly to the room at large.
"Jules, you do realize that not a word that you have said makes any sense, right?" Greg asked his protégée.
"Gee, I don't know Boss. Maybe you should bring a shrink in here to tell me I'm delusional via ink-blots and questions about my 'repressed childhood trauma'!"
"PPFFFffttttt," Spike quipped. "No one uses ink-blots anymore. . ."
Sam and Raf just watched the entire exchange with amusement. There was no better entertainment than Greg, Ed, and Jules getting into a verbal squall with Spike adding 'helpful,' witty commentary throughout the conversation.
"THAT'S IT PEOPLE," Greg ended the scuffle. "We're doing outside psy. evals, and that's final! And don't give me those puppy dog eyes, Spike and Jules, it won't work," Greg warned, turning his head. "It's not working. . ." he persevered.
The rest of the meeting went off without a hitch with intermitted banter and peanut-gallery quips.
"And that concludes the briefing. Yes, that's an hour and fifteen we'll all never have back in our lives," Greg ended as the group chuckled. "So, you've got a choice of target practice with Sam or the obstacle course with Ed. If we have time before shift change or a call, we'll switch-up, sot try to make an even split. Work it out with Team 3; they'll be joining you all."
As the team members rose to branch-off for one of the two exercises, Greg piped up one more time. "Hey Jules, hang back for a second?" he invited.
"Sure Boss, what's up?"
This was a conversation Greg really didn't want to ever have with any of the members of the team under his command. But, he was the patriarch of this family, and he needed to make sure every member of his team was physically and mentally well.
Jules was probably the toughest person he had ever met. He'd seen her beat hundreds of men to earn a spot on Team One, take countless beatings of various sorts, including being shot. He'd watched her fight her way back onto the team after recovering from the gunshot. Nothing, gunshot wounds, jumping-off buildings and slamming into the side of those buildings, watching dear friends get shot or destroyed by landmines, ever kept her down for long. Her armor may have had chinks, but it was still strong.
But after the latest blow to her armor, being trapped in an anthrax filled room while bleeding out from a shrapnel shred wound to an artery in her arm, things seemed to be different. She appeared more cautious in training exercises, seemed to flinch more, especially after hearing loud sounds. The worst was the haunted look she sometimes got in her eyes that she didn't think anyone noticed. But, he noticed, and it broke his hear while filling him with worry. Jules may be the toughest person he's ever known, but even Superman has his weaknesses. He could see the castle walls start to crumble in her and cared about her too much not to say something. Aside from being the irreplaceable heart of the team, she was like a daughter to him, his right hand and personal heart as well. She was the one person in the world, even beyond his own son who had been estranged from him for years, that he couldn't bare to see suffer. He couldn't be the cause of that suffering, like he had been for his ex-wife and long-time estranged son, whether that was by his own leadership decisions, or failure to act when she was struggling.
He feared she was finally being afflicted with the PTSD that was always waiting in the wings to claim her.
He sat down on the edge of the conference table in a nonchalant manner; he wanted to convey to Jules that this wasn't a disciplinary type of situation.
"So, how've you been Jules, how're things with Sam?" Greg started, avoiding the real essences of his desired conversation until she was lulled into a state of calm.
"Pretty good, actually. Ya' know, Toth turned out to be a pretty reasonable guy." She replied this with a hint of acknowledgment that she knew where the Sargent was going. Greg knew this might be a snag; no matter how he modulated his voice or controlled his body language, Jules would be able to read his intent.
"Yeah, I guess good old Larry's not that bad, eh," Greg finished, pointing to the SRU patch on his uniform, signifying how in a round-about way, Toth had lead him back to the confidence he needed to be Team One's Sargent, leader.
"Yeah, glad for that," Jules replied with a genuine smile, not one of the ones Greg had seen so often recently on her face. Too often he'd viewed fake smiles met to placate the people closest to her.
"How've you been, really?" Greg steered the conversation. He knew that Jules knew where this was going, so he figured he mine-as-well jump right in.
"Aww, come on. What is WITH everyone on this team and profiling each other?" Jules now looked indignant.
"By 'everyone on this team' do you mean me and you?" Greg asked with significance shinning in his eyes.
But, before Jules could respond, the alarm was sounded.
"Team One, Hot Call."
"We'll pick this up later," Greg supplied as he and Jules ran to the supply closet to gear-up together.
"Sure Boss," was Jules' only reply.
Author's Additional Note: Had to add a few references to Toth. But, man, I could never take that guy seriously, because every time they said his name, my mind flashed to the season 5 episode of Buffy, The Replacement: "Toth" "What?" "It's British slang. He just called you a moron." (Yes, I have entire scenes and episodes of Buffy memorized, so deep is my obsession with that show).
Please leave a review and tell me what you think. I could use some help and encouragement on my first chaptered Flashpoint fic : )
Peace, Love, and Rock 'n Roll, Eals
