JE created these characters from her genius. I deserve no credit.
Fredda (Rangergirl1234) I can't thank you enough for signing on to beta another story for me. Just knowing you're along for the ride makes me believe this story will work.
And to Amy (beancounter74) thank you for being the real life inspiration for Dr. Amy Walker below as well as a great friend.
Chapter 1 – Waking Up
The big guy in white orderly scrubs came in my room and nodded good morning. The guy reminded me of a quiet version of Tank, which is saying something considering how little Tank liked to talk. Apparently, I'd been deemed to be a danger to myself in some way during the night because when I woke up my arms and legs were in restraints tied to the hospital bed I'd been forced to stay in while recuperating from my injuries.
My refusal to talk to anyone had made the staff on edge. Apparently, a guy isn't capable of physically healing unless he's vocal so they brought in some 'specialists' to get to the root of the problem with me. The first shrink that tried to get me to tell him what happened nearly pissed his pants when I rolled over in bed, baring my teeth and growling at him. Honestly, sometimes the pussies in the veterans' hospitals didn't deserve to call themselves members of the armed forces. It hurt like a son of a bitch to move because my stomach hadn't healed from the three bullet holes, but it was worth the pain to see his face before he high tailed it out.
The guy that came in yesterday was a little older and more experienced. He tried threatening me, saying he could be my best friend or my worst enemy but assured me I wasn't going anywhere unless I told him what happened during my mission. I began counting the dots on the ceiling at that point and refused to even look at him. Eventually, he got mad and stormed out promising that I'd talk one way or the other. Really.
I looked at the restraints and raised an eyebrow at my mime of an aide. The guy was nice enough and he knew how to keep his mouth shut, which I admired. He saw the look on my face and shrugged. "File said you had a dream last night and were trying to fight anybody that got near you, so they knocked you out and put these on to keep you from hurting your stitches."
I looked down at my stomach and saw a small trail of blood. Shit, it looks like he wasn't lying. Strange, I didn't remember any dreams and I sure as hell didn't remember anybody shooting me up with anything. Of course, the hangover headache I was sporting now told me that was definitely what happened.
"Need anything?" He asked after finishing his morning checks.
I shook my head no and he shrugged and walked out. I stayed in bed, realizing there was no reason for me to get up. Hell I was peeing in a bag, my gut was still tender, and my leg was in a cast from my ankle to my hip that would make walking unaided damn near impossible. My body ached and even though I knew my injuries would eventually heal, this mission did more to me than take my strength for a while, it robbed me of my belief in a certain code of honor that I thought all Delta forces had.
The only consolation I had was that this was my last mission. I had it in writing when I accepted my last commission. Of course, it was an easy promise for my handler to make, because everyone who saw the manifest of what we were to do knew it was a fucked up suicide mission. In order for my team to succeed, someone was going to have to sacrifice themselves, and I knew that someone was meant to be me. I didn't like it, but I expected it and I had made all the arrangements I needed to in order to go in peace.
But that isn't what happened. Some how we were betrayed and before we could pull off our final objective, we were ambushed in a way that was intended to wipe out the entire team. This wasn't the work of the terrorists we were trying to take out; this was precisioned, perfectly timed to our schedule and location. This reeked of betrayal. I was separated from my team and because of that I wasn't there to lead the five guys who were too damn young and inexperienced to lead themselves. They were taken out like lambs in a slaughter.
I didn't see the point in talking about it to a shrink. They sure as hell didn't know what it was like to face the automatic weapons and rocket launchers with no back up. And talking about it wasn't going to bring those guys back. I went in with a team and a mission log calling for the death of one of us. Instead the one slated to die was alive, four of the others who were to survive were dead, and the other kid that survived was so fucked up they didn't know if he'd ever walk again. FUBAR'd didn't even begin to cover it.
I shut my eyes, still feeling fuzzy from the medication they used last night but before I could find any sleep I felt someone enter the room. There was no noise but my body was still on heightened alert from the mission and my eyes shot open to take in a woman who was standing there with her head angled slightly, looking at me like a puppy trying to figure out a mystery.
I looked at her and waited to see what she wanted. She was in fatigues but knowing she was army didn't hold the clout it used to with me. We engaged in a stand off of sorts staring at each other, neither speaking. I don't know how long she watched me, but I refused to break and ask what she wanted and evidently she didn't feel the need to explain herself.
She walked away shaking her head, leaving me wondering what the hell that was all about. The same aide from the morning came in with a tray that was supposed to be my lunch. I looked at it and saw it was all liquid. What was the point? There was a feeding tube going down my nose, so I didn't bother trying to force this shit down in the name of eating. Unidentifiable green liquid and jello wasn't lunch.
When the quiet guy came back for the tray he asked if I met my new doctor. I had no clue who he was talking about so I just looked at him. "Dr. Walker was supposed to come by," he offered as an explanation. "I haven't worked with her much, but the other guys in the lunch room said she was the best. If anybody could help you it would be her."
With that vote of confidence he took my untouched tray and walked out. I let out a long breath and ran my fingers through my hair. It hurt to raise my hand over my head. I didn't know who this Dr. Walker was, but the fact that somebody was convinced I needed to be helped only drew at my stubborn side. I'd see what the good doctor wanted, but talking to her about my mission wasn't going to happen.
No sooner had I thought that than the mystery woman from the morning reappeared. She was in black slacks and a white shirt with a doctor's coat on top. Embroidered above her breast pocket was the name Dr. Amy Walker. Well, I guess that answered the question about the great Dr. Walker the orderly had warned me about earlier.
"Captain Santos," she began coming in and rolling the doctor stool over to have a seat on it. Then she pulled the computer mounted to the wall down so that it was at her level and began typing away. She looked at something on the screen and seemed to be speed reading it based on the fast pace of her eye movement.
I waited to see what she wanted. It wasn't like I could walk away. Suddenly her eyes got bigger followed by her brow wrinkling. Despite having green eyes myself, I was partial to blue ones like Stephanie's. I'd never seen anyone with eyes as expressive as hers, but the ones Dr. Walker had were incredible. They were vibrant with flecks of dark brown contrasted against the color of leaves and rimmed in a faint grey like someone had taken a pen and literally traced the color to make it stand out even more. I had a feeling she probably got a lot of guys to spill their secrets just by staring at her eyes. "Well, it seems my colleagues have formed some pretty fierce opinions of you."
She looked at me to see if I had a response. I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking. It's not that she made me uncomfortable; she was a nice enough woman. Neat, attractive even, in a no nonsense kind of way. She had blond hair, but I could tell the color came from a bottle. It was pulled up in a tight bun and had a couple of pencils sticking out of it in a haphazard kind of way. It almost gave the impression that she stuck them in there and forgot about them, reaching for a new one when next she had a need. I wouldn't accuse her of being skinny, but she was far from big. She was the kind of girl that Bobby would go for. He always said a girl needed enough meat on her bones to make him relax enough to touch her without fearing he'd break her. This chick looked like she could do some breaking on her own if pushed. I didn't plan on getting to know her well enough to find out for sure, but it was a nice change to have a woman in my room instead of Tank's less sociable twin.
"I don't believe in wasting people's time Santos," she said in a voice that wasn't laced with any hidden agendas. It was a shame she was a shrink, as I had a feeling I could grow to respect if not like her. "I am the head of mental health at the VA. Normally you and I would have no reason to interact, but after your last mission, which I only know got screwed up in every possible way, you have yet to speak a word except when you're dreaming. At night when you sleep, you get agitated, disoriented, and last night violent. Despite the progress you are making at healing your physical injuries, you will not be released from this facility until I sign off on it. Until you show me one good reason to trust you aren't going to flip out once released, then I will refuse to have you discharged. I'm not saying this to agitate you, or force your hand. Your record speaks for itself; you're no fool and you're sure as hell not crazy. I just have to be sure you're safe." With that, she stood up and left.
Safe? When had I ever been safe? I may have controlled it better, hidden it under a shield of jokes and laid back womanizing, but safe and Lester Santos didn't belong in the same sentence. Honestly, I don't know why I wasn't talking. I knew I could, there was nothing wrong with my throat. I guess I just didn't feel like I had a reason to – like I didn't deserve to have a voice.
I closed my eyes and suffered the pain of lifting my hand to rub over my face. I had a feeling in the back of my mind that there was something big I needed to remember. I'd spent every waking moment trying to figure out what it was and couldn't. I was pretty sure I had all the details of the mission firm in my mind. I could recreate all the time from the moment we landed in Afghanistan to the moment I was picked up and thrown onto the chopper that took me first to Germany, and then here, wherever here was. I knew I was in the US, but there were literally hundreds of VA hospitals in the country, and I had no way of knowing which one was currently treating me. I guess it didn't matter.
I thought back over what Dr. Walker had said. I couldn't leave until she was sure I wasn't going to flip out. I almost smiled at that. Clearly she wasn't a stuck up shrink like the other two yahoos were. She might even know her stuff. That still didn't mean I was going to talk to her.
I spent the rest of the day trying to sort out the gut feeling there was something very important that I needed to remember. The most frustrating part was that I didn't know if it had to do with my mission or with my life back in Trenton. I couldn't remember a lot about the last few days before I left, but I could peace together the distinct feeling boarding the plane that took me from DC to the base we used in Afghanistan that it was okay to leave. I had things sorted out back home, and I was happy with the arrangements I'd made knowing I wasn't going to come back - at least not outside of a box. It was strange that I couldn't piece together what the arrangements were that I'd made, but I guess it didn't really matter.
I woke up the next morning and could feel that I was strapped to the bed again. I didn't remember anyone doing it before I went to sleep, so I guessed I'd been dreaming again. I couldn't remember any of the dream, but when they give you drugs to knock you out you rarely can. I waited and pretty soon the orderly from the previous day came in and asked if I was awake. I nodded and he began to remove the restraints.
"My cousin was on duty last night. He said you had another dream and it took three of them to get you still enough for the doctor to come in and give you a shot to knock you out. I told him I didn't believe him 'cause you're pretty banged up and can't even get up, but when I came in this morning he had a busted lip he said you gave him, so I figure when you're up and around you must be one bad dude." It was a long speech for a guy I had considered quiet. I guess since he knew I wasn't talking, he felt it was safe for him to do a little.
He gave me another tray of liquids. I wasn't going to attempt to call it breakfast but I did take the can of ginger ale and drink it. "Doc said we need to start sitting you up a little today. It's going to hurt like no body's business, but it will help you in the long run. Dr. Walker will be by this morning and after she leaves, if you're up to it, I'll come by and help you get in the chair." I nodded that I understood him and he started to leave before turning back with a strange expression. "You aren't going to try and hit me if you hurt when I'm picking you up, are you?" That question almost made me smile. I shook my head no and realized for his sheer size this guy wasn't Tank's equal in strength. Not by a long shot.
An hour later Dr. Walker came back in wearing her fatigues as she had been the morning before. I couldn't decide which version of her I liked better. There was something equalizing about her in camouflage and combat boots, but the professional image of the head of a department at a government run hospital probably necessitated she wear the dressy clothes I'd seen her in yesterday afternoon.
"Santos," she came in and nodded when I turned to face her. "I hear you had another rough night. You got a few good punches in on one of my best guys." I couldn't help but grin a little. She wasn't upset, despite her attempt to look stern. The smile on my face melted her further and she added much softer, "I was relieved honestly. The guy was getting over confident and having his ass handed to him by a guy who is bed ridden and dreaming was a little slice of humble pie I hadn't been able to force feed him."
That settled it; Dr. Walker was definitely someone I could grow to respect. "I'm thinking I already know the answer to this question, but would you like to talk to me this morning?"
She paused and I put my blank face on. It didn't take her long to read that for what it was. "Alright then, I have only one question for you," she paused to be sure she still had my attention. "Who is S. Plum?"
My blank face was shot to hell then. Why was she asking about Stephanie? And why did it feel like I'd been shot in the chest when I thought about her? I put my hand over my breastbone and rubbed it as though that would ease the burn I felt there. Dr. Walker's eyes narrowed as she watched me and I knew she was reading more into my actions than I intended.
She seemed to be having an internal conversation with herself and finally she bent slightly to pull a long envelop from a pocket in the front of her pants. "It seems your previous doctor was aware that you were getting a back log of letters from home and he didn't feel they were important, so he had them held. I thought it was a crock of shit from a man who was too wimpy to admit he was afraid of you and wanted to make you suffer for scaring him in his first week here in a new job."
She took a few steps closer before holding out an envelope and explaining, "I contacted your CO and he promised to forward the mail that had accumulated for you at his base, but so far this letter is all that's arrived. I promise to have the rest brought to you as soon as they turn up. I hope I don't regret this Santos. I have a feeling you're in a real fragile place and one wrong move might send you in a direction I can't bring you back from."
With that warning, she put the letter in my hand and left me alone.
I'd been in the Army or associated with it since I was eighteen years old. In the Fourteen years since I enlisted, I could count on one hand the number of letters I'd received. Stephanie had no reason to write. Hell, I don't even know how she got the right address and she'd written me. If I could ever convince Dr. Walker it was alright to let me go home I was going to make sure Stephanie knew how much it meant that she took the time to do this for me.
I looked at the envelope, not wanting to rush the experience of getting real mail. Her handwriting was clear on the front, written in blue ink. The return address was strange because it was her name, S. Plum, but the address 124 Elmsworth wasn't her apartment. It was my condo address south of town. I'd bought it a few years ago when they were first available commercially and I'd spent very little time there, treating it like a retreat when I needed a break from Haywood.
How in the hell did she know where I lived, and why would she use it as her mailing address? Strangely, I wasn't upset about it. If anything, it made me happy to think of her among my things, getting to know me from the few personal effects I had there. I opened the paper envelope as carefully as possible and slid out the letter. It was several pages of handwritten words. I don't know why I liked the fact that she wrote it instead of typing it and printing it out. I guess I knew this way took more effort and time, and it made me feel as though Stephanie thought I was worth it.
Damn, my chest was burning again. If it didn't stop that, I was going to have to break my silence and ask the doctor about it. Hell, it might mean something was wrong and from the looks of my body, I was already trying to get over more than my body could handle. Something else breaking probably wasn't good news right now.
Before I could start reading, the orderly reappeared and asked if it was a good time to try sitting up. I figured it would make reading the letter easier since I wouldn't have to hold my hands so high. I nodded and he lowered the rail on my bed and used the controls to slowly raise my head. "Doc said no weight on your leg, so I'm going to pick you up and sit you in that chair," he told me pointing to a recliner next to the window. It seemed well lit, so I put the letter back in the envelope to protect it and nodded that I was ready.
As soon as he lifted me, I realized why he felt the need to confirm I wasn't going to hit him. This hurt nearly as bad as getting shot in the first place did. I tried to keep my breathing deep and even to minimize the proof of the agony it was causing, but there was nothing I could do to stop the sweat building up on my brow.
After getting me settled he grabbed a blanket and threw it over my legs. I hadn't given much thought to the fact I was still wearing a damn gown with the ass swinging open. I felt like an old man in a nursing home being lifted by the help and tucked into a chair to spend the afternoon alone.
He handed me the call button and reminded me that I had an open script for pain meds, so it if it got to be too much I only needed to push the button and they'd bring me something for the pain. I held back the initial reaction of rolling my eyes. He left after promising he'd return in two hours to get me back in bed. I figured two hours would give me enough time to enjoy my letter.
As soon as he disappeared I pulled the pages back out and opened them up, smiling at the thought of her hands touching these pages too. The date at the top was June first. I got my orders on the twenty fifth of May, so it was less than a week from the day I knew I was leaving and the day after I actually pulled out of town.
I wanted to draw the experience out, but I couldn't wait any longer and I started to read her letter right away, hanging onto every word.
Dear Lester,
I know you just left last night, and it seems silly to write to you in light of everything you shared with me about your mission, but I felt like I had to. The last week has been crazy, wild, unexpected, and perfect. Dealing with the fact that it's over has been hard.
I strained to remember the days before my mission, but just like every other time I'd tried I only came up blank. I was more disappointed than ever that I couldn't piece it together since it sounded like Steph and I had spend a lot of it together.
I went back to my apartment yesterday and everything was in perfect order, but it was empty and for the first time in my life I felt alone there. I guess having you as my shadow for the last week got me used to spending time with somebody. So, I hope you don't mind, but I took the key you gave me and I went back to your condo.
Hell, I gave her a key to my condo? I guess that explains the return address. My chest ached for her description of herself as being lonely. If I were there, I would have held her to insure she never felt alone.
As soon as I walked in, I knew I'd made the right decision to come back. You are everywhere here, so it doesn't feel like you're so far away. (Plus Rex was here, which I'd forgotten about, so it was a good thing I came back to take care of him.)
Her and that damn rat. He was cute in a twitchy kind of way, but the attachment she had to him was all it took for me to clear off a spot on the kitchen counter near the window so he could see outside and dream of running free. Oh shit, I remembered doing that. I shut my eyes and I could easily picture her smiling and saying she couldn't come with me to my condo because Rex would be all alone. I picked up his cage and promised her I had the perfect solution that would make Rex a very happy boy. I couldn't remember what she said, but I could envision her smiling, and her face was practically glowing with joy. Why was she so happy? Had I done something to put that smile on her face? God I hoped so. If I had made her that happy then at least I knew something I did before leaving town was well worth it.
I don't know if you feel as off balance as I do after this last week. Everything happened so quickly once you got that letter, but I guess after the last few months it wasn't exactly unexpected. I just wanted to be sure you knew I was happy. I mean, I'm not happy that you aren't here, but I'm happy with everything that happened.
What happened? What was fast but not unexpected? I struggled to pull up something, anything, but all I could come up with was a blank empty memory and that burning in my chest again.
I went by RangeMan this morning and the guys were quiet. It was strange. I mean, I know none of them are known as conversationalists, but even when I tried to get them to talk they just couldn't do it. I guess you being gone is having an effect on more than just me. Finally, I gave up and went to my parent's house for dinner. I didn't care if I did have to listen to my mother lecture me about what I put Joe through; it was nice to have a little noise around.
The mention of Joe made me growl. He was a good cop, solid, smart, with good instincts and a determination to get the bad guys off the street, but seeing his name made me want to take his head between my hands and twist it off his shoulders. I could do it; I did it to several guys in Afghanistan before the ambush started.
Luckily, Grandma Mazur had a date with a seventy-eight year old hottie named Ed who was as crazy as she was. Between the two of them, I don't remember laughing so hard in a long time. My poor dad finally gave up, loaded his plate, and retreated to the den. Mom was about to fall out of her chair, but I think Jim Beam was more to blame for that than the positions Grandma Mazur and Ed were describing. Apparently, there is a senior citizen version of the Karma Sutra with only positions included that are easy on your joints and possible to pull off in a hospital bed. Strangely, the idea of my Grandma having such a book isn't as repulsive as I might have thought; she even offered to let me borrow it. I hope you realize how desperate I am for your company just by that sentence alone.
I was smiling like a fool unable to cover up the laughter as I pictured that dinner. Her Grandma was a crazy woman, and she had the fastest fingers I'd ever seen, but she loved her Granddaughter and that was reason enough for me to like her. I'll bet it was funny, if not a little frightening, to hear her talking about geriatric sex. At least it kept Mrs. Plum from berating Stephanie. I hated it when she did that.
Dad walked me out and saw your car at the curb. He ran his hand over the hood and whistled, then volunteered to check the oil and fluids just to be sure it was in good shape. He was mumbling something about how this car was too sweet for me to blow it up. I promised him you said I could drive it some, but seeing the appreciation he had for your Mustang, I think I'll just cover it back up in the garage and leave it there. I couldn't stand the thought of something happening to your 'baby'.
Shit, she was driving my fully restored 1968 mustang with the Cobra Jet engine and custom interior? That car took me years to rebuild, and I pampered it as the only woman in my life that responded to my attention perfectly. I knew her Dad was into American cars, so it was nice to know he'd looked it over. I'll bet Steph was sexy as hell behind the wheel of that car; her hand on the gear shift, her hair flowing in the breeze with the windows down as she let the horses run. On the highway, I'll bet it would make her feel like she was flying. Suddenly, I didn't care about the car I'd spent so many hours sweating over. I just wanted Stephanie to enjoy it.
Lula wants me to go shopping with her over the weekend. I tried to come up with a valid reason to refuse, but in the end, I just gave up and agreed. She can be very persuasive. She needs some new shoes and a trip to Victoria's Secret. So, there may be a new pink bag or two coming into the condo since I don't seem to be able to go there without bringing something new home with me.
Did she just call my place her home? Something was definitely screwed up in my head. The fact that I couldn't remember why she would in my place, living among my things, was one piece of evidence, but the larger piece was that I was more concerned about not remembering how she got there and less focused on her comment about bringing some sexy lingerie there. I shut my eyes for a minute and pictured her with a pink bag in her hand and a flirty smile on her face. She was teasing me with what was in the bag, promising I might get a chance to see inside if I was good. But no matter how hard I tried to take it past that; I couldn't remember if I had been good enough to see what was in the bag.
Don't worry; I won't take over more than the side of the dresser you cleaned out for me. I know you told me to move all your clothes out, but I simply can't do it. Not now, and honestly I don't know if I'll ever be able to do it. You may believe you're not coming back, but I refuse to accept that. And you better believe me when I say if you go over there and give up fighting, give up trying to get back home, then I'll find you and beat the shit out of you myself.
I laughed out loud at that sentence. If anyone else had said something like that to me I would have raised an eye brow to show my disbelief. But coming from her I could buy it. She could be damn stubborn when she set her mind to it. The fact that she came up with an address to write to me at all was evidence of that. Hell, if she'd asked me I wouldn't have had a clue what address to give her. At some point, she was going to have some explaining to do.
I know this isn't much of a letter. Maybe I'll get better at writing them as time goes by, but I needed to do something to feel connected to you again. You're too far away and I can't stand it. Please tell me you're being careful. You may think you've given me everything I could possibly need so that I would be well taken care of, but the only thing I want is with you. I know we would have a lot to sort out and deal with, but I have a feeling that together we could do it.
What did we need to sort out? I had no idea what she was talking about, but I liked the fact that she made it sound like I'd taken care of her some how. She was a proud woman and getting her to accept help wasn't easy. I wonder if I'd used the leverage of being shipped out on a suicide mission. It would have been blackmail, but I wasn't above trying it if I thought it was for her good. And what is the only thing she wanted that I had with me. Did she give me something to remember her by? I looked around the room, but I didn't appear to have any personal effects. If she gave me something for safe keeping, I had obviously lost it. I wondered how pissed she would be when she found out.
She had signed the letter Love, Stephanie. She might have felt like it wasn't a good letter, but I read it and reread it for two hours straight. When the big guy dressed in perfectly clean white scrubs reentered the room he stood at the door and watched me for a minute not coming any closer. I didn't turn to look at him even though I was aware of his presence. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the letter in my hands.
He finally cleared his throat and I snapped out of my trance and ran my hand over my face. One of my cheeks felt wet so I quickly brushed it away, wondering how I managed to let that happen without being aware of it. He gave me a minute, took a couple of small steps in, and asked, "Bad news from home?"
I shook my head no, carefully laid the pages on top of each other, folded them and then put them back in the envelope to keep them safe. I knew I'd have them out reading them again before the day was over, but I felt the need to keep them protected while someone else was in the room.
He waited patiently and when I was finished, he asked if I was ready to get back in bed. I knew what was coming, so I clamped my jaw down to keep from making a sound when he lifted me from the chair and placed me back in the bed. I was more comfortable stretched out on the mattress, so the throbbing subsided quickly back down to the dull ache it had been for the last two days. Any wound to the gut was a bitch to get over, and having three holes and bruising surrounding them was going to be even more difficult to pull through.
He brought over a tray of liquid swill I had no intention of touching, but the can of Sprite seemed interesting enough for me to pick it up and pop it open. I was half way through it before I gave in to the temptation of pulling out the letter again. If anything, reading her letter had increased that nagging sensation that I needed to pull up a memory but I was still completely in the dark about what it was.
Instead of the unease that usually came over me when I tried to force something from the black depths of my mind, I looked at her letter and allowed the peace that I only felt when I was around Stephanie to surface. She might not realize it, but her words had made a difference in how I felt. I had a long way to go, but her medicine had helped me to take a first silent step in getting there.