JE gets the credit for the wonderful characters below.
Fredda (Rangergirl1234) you are the best! Thank you for all the time you put in as the beta on this story.
Amy (beancounter74) I hope the fiction version of you is as much fun for you to read as it is for me to write.
Chapter 10 – Promises
I rolled into Dr. Walker's office and it hit me that I'd never had a session with her in here. We'd always done our talking in my area or the cafeteria, like she was trying to meet me on my level and not make me uncomfortable with the leather couch running along the wall of her office. There were some fancy diplomas on the wall and a lot of pictures on the book shelf.
On the top of the shelf was a model of a mustang in a glass case to protect it. I had to do a double take because it was as if she had a replica of the car Bobby drove on his days off. It was a 2005 Mustang GT that had been sweetened up with a royal blue paint job and two white parallel stripes running from the hood to the spoiler in the back. The doors were rigged to swing up instead of out like a European sports car, and the rims were spiked chrome. It was a beautiful car and I wondered how in the hell she had gotten a model of what I thought was an original car that only Bobby owned. I remembered the amount of time he spent at the shop and the dealer getting it tricked just the way he wanted it. If Brown saw this, he would flip.
Since I'd gotten here first and wasn't sure how long I'd need to wait on her, I made myself at home and started looking at the framed snapshots. The first one was of two guys, one of which was my surgeon, the other looked a few years younger, but was much better looking. Still there was enough of a family resemblance there that I guessed it was his brother. I remembered Ben mentioning Dr. Walker had been married to the surgeon's brother, so I guessed that was her husband.
The picture next to that one was of Dr. Walker and the brother from the previous snapshot. She was sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped around her tightly. There was no doubt in my mind they were majorly in love. The only other place I'd seen an expression like the one he was sporting was on my own face this morning while I was shaving and thinking about Stephanie.
There were a few other pictures of her and the mystery guy, all very happy. Some were of them hiking, one had her graduating from medical school with him looking every bit the proud spouse. My favorite was the one of them in fatigues embracing just about to kiss. His hand was on the small of her back, drawing her close to him and her hand was on his heart. There was a duffle bag behind each of them, as though they were both being deployed but not to the same place. You would think it would be heartbreaking to know you were being separated, but it was almost as though they couldn't help themselves that close together and their pure love for each other was spilling out despite their sadness.
As I put it down a voice came from the doorway, "That's Victor." She walked over and stood behind me looking at the picture. "He was the greatest soldier, friend, and man I've ever known." Her voice was totally unlike anything I'd heard from her. She was broken thinking about him. I felt like I'd caused her to revisit a place she didn't want to be, so I felt the need to break the mood that hung around us like a pall on a casket.
"I'm hurt, really I am. I thought I was the greatest man you'd ever known," I teased at her, getting exactly the reaction I wanted when a laugh escaped from her mouth, giving me a chance to sit the photo down unnoticed.
She sat on the couch, so I rolled over where she was and waited. "How was PT?" She asked, taking the focus off of her. I bet she had a lot of practice with that little maneuver.
"Cool," I point to my leg. "I got a new cast today, and I'm cleared to walk and shower with it, so I'm happy."
She whistled at the plain white fiberglass cast and joked, "I would have figured you for something a little flashier - maybe with pinstripes."
"I'm a married man now Doc, I can't draw too much attention to myself or the ladies won't be able to leave me alone," I couldn't resist replying.
"Something tells me your wife is perfectly capable of making the ladies leave you alone," she replied with a sly smile.
I couldn't help the goofy grin that came on my face. Lester Santos, ladies man and heartbreaker, had settled down and was thrilled with the idea that no females would be approaching him in the future. The idea of Steph getting jealous was more than a little appealing. No, it was damn sexy because it would mean that she wanted me. And I liked that idea…a lot.
"I had an interesting call with your handler," she blurted out, and I knew the hard stuff was just warming up.
"Stewart can be interesting when he wants to be," I replied not bothering to hide my distaste for the suit in DC.
"If you don't mind me saying this, he was more than a little put out that you're alive," she said, not surprising me one bit.
"He'll get over it," I managed to grit out between my clenched teeth as I remembered his words about Stephanie.
She was silent for a few minutes until my attention came back and I looked at her. "He has ordered me to clear you and get you released from the hospital ASAP. He will have someone here within the hour to do your debriefing, and then in his words you are to be sent home on the first available transport to Jersey."
My eyes bugged out briefly before I got it under control. I pulled my blank face back out of hiding and clamped it down tightly. So that's how Stewart wanted to play it? I wouldn't stay and participate in the black ops he ran indefinitely, so he didn't want me pulling any more of his resources.
"Is this my mental health certification interview?" I asked, assuming she was just a DC puppet that would have no choice but to release me.
She jumped up from the sofa and walked over the book shelf lined with photos. With her back to me she said, "Despite what Stewart would like to believe, he doesn't control me. I don't report to him, and I have no intention of throwing you out of the VA. The problem is you've made enough progress that you could be released." I noticed her hand moved back to her scar, and as she spoke she seemed to be touching it absentmindedly.
"If I am well enough to be released, I don't think it would be considered throwing me out," I clarified sensing there was an internal debate going on.
"I'm at a bit of a loss about what to do," she admitted with her voicing matching her words exactly. "Every possible alarm inside me is going off that you shouldn't leave this hospital yet. I feel that you are in a shit pile of danger, but I have no concrete evidence of it. And even if it's true, what difference does geography make? If Stewart or someone in DC wants you six feet under, there isn't a whole hell of a lot you can do about it."
"So you think I should walk out of here, holding a white flag, just giving myself up to them?" I was trying not to get pissed at the suggestion this was hopeless.
She spun around with her jaw set when she replied, "No. I expect you to let me keep you here under whatever means I can, and we will work together to figure out what the hell is going on and take out the threat. The last thing I'd ever suggest is an easy surrender."
I looked at her for a moment before asking, "And why is that?"
He hand went back to the scar on her neck and her voice softened slightly. "Because surrender still brings death, and if you're going to go out it may as well be in a blaze of glory."
I wasn't sure I liked the final chapter she was suggesting, but I had to admire the hell out of her take on the overarching plot to get there. "What do we need to do?"
"I think you're looking a little warm," she said cryptically.
I had no clue what she meant, but I decided to play along. "It is stuffy in here."
She walked over and put her hand on my perfectly normal forehead and then winced, "And you've got a fever too. I'm guessing in our rush to get you up and moving around you must have gotten an infection somewhere. I'll call John and ask him to prescribe an antibiotic series for the next twenty-four hours, and then you'll need an additional twenty-four hour observation period at a minimum in order to assess your stability for release."
She was going to lie on my medical record in order to screw with Stewart. I wondered if that kind of dishonesty was hard for her to stomach. This was the kind of thing that could cost her the medical license hanging over her desk.
Before I could ask about it, she handed me a bottle of water and a single caplet which she told me was Tylenol. We both knew it was unnecessary, but such a small dosage wasn't going to hurt me either, so I tossed it back as she continued to talk. "I'll give you a fever reducer and make the notation in your chart before calling your surgeon. When the gentleman from Washington arrives for your debrief, I'll be sure to be available to monitor your symptoms."
She didn't even know me and she was putting herself in harm's way to protect me. The only other people that had done that to this degree were currently in my room, shooting the shit, oblivious to how screwed I was at the moment. "Why are you doing this?" I blurted out.
"Because I didn't do it once, and it will haunt me until the day I die." She replied turning her back to me once more.
While I would have loved to have known what she meant, I could tell this was one of the situations that I shouldn't ask about. If she wanted to tell me, she would. Otherwise, I truly didn't need to know.
Her phone buzzed before I could come up with anything else to say and the voice that spoke over the intercom was announcing that a gentleman was here to do a debriefing for me. At least the paper pusher was prompt.
We waited in her office in tense silence until a knock sounded at the door. I held up my finger and Dr. Walker called out, "One moment," then looked at me.
"I need a phone," she glanced at the one on her desk and I picked up the handset and dialed Bobby's number.
"Brown," came his voice after the second ring.
"I need you and Steph to go to the cafeteria and stay in an area with as many people surrounding you as possible," I ordered with no attempt at lessening the panic I suddenly felt welling up within me.
"Understood," he replied before asking, "I've got some extra gear in my bag in your closet. Do I need that?"
It was a subtle question, and I knew exactly what he was getting at. "You need everything you've got, and even if she fights it, you need to dress her too."
"I will take care of Stephanie," Bobby promised with his voice tight. There was a brief pause before he added, "With my life I'll protect what's important to you."
I knew he would do it. He would protect her to the end if it came down to it. "I'll give you some details when I've got 'em, man, but thanks."
We hung up and I turned to see my shrink. I had trouble processing what I was seeing. Under her diploma from medical school she was standing holding her service issued Glock in her hand, checking the action before putting it back in the holster at her hip. When she bent over and did the same thing with a smaller berretta at her ankle I had to ask, "What happened to 'first do no harm' from the Hippocratic Oath?"
That was when she gave me an icy smile and replied, "That only applies to my patients, and I have no patience for this kind of shit. I won't attack him, but I sure as hell won't sit back and let him hurt what is mine to protect either."
"Damn Doc, you are one tough cookie," I blurted out without thinking.
She seemed to like that and laughed, "Let's just say life experience has taught me to never ignore a gut feeling."
We looked at each other and for however long this briefing took, I knew I had back up in the form of a heavily armed psychiatrist in camouflage. Before she opened the door she called out over her shoulder, "I've got your back, Santos."
Strange, when the mission started six weeks ago I felt completely on my own. With the revelations of the past few days, I knew it wasn't over yet and suddenly I had a team that I could rely on. Now all I had to do was play this next hour cool and see if I could get some kind of sense about what we were up against.
A man walked in wearing a green Army dress uniform. He was instantly familiar, but I couldn't place him. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. "Captain, I'm Lieutenant Paul Shea. I used to be Mr. Herbert Stewart's assistant, but now I take care of his field operatives. He asked me to handle your debriefing today, so your last mission can be officially closed and classified."
I guess that explained why he was familiar. Seeing the guy in front of me, practically busting out the seams of his dress uniform, I wondered when the army had relaxed its stance on steroids. I knew him from when he sat in the clerical desk outside Stewart's office, and he never could have packed on this kind of beef without some chemical assistance.
He looked over at Dr. Walker and said, "Amy, you can leave, and I'll let you know when we're done with your office."
I was about to object to the casual use of her first name, but before the first word could come through my lips I heard her say, "Actually, Lieutenant, I'd prefer you refer to me as either Dr. Walker or Major Walker."
Damn, she outranked both of us. Shea seemed a little surprised that she stood up to him with so much background. Apparently, his instructions didn't include her having a spine.
Before he could come up with a suitable comeback she pushed more. "This is my office, my patient, and with my security clearance I am within my rights to insist on being present if that is Captain Santos' desire."
Shea looked me with an expression that was meant to frighten me into dismissing her. Instead I held his gaze and said, "Dr. Walker, I'd appreciate you staying. I still don't feel well after my fever, and I know we were in the middle of a session that I'd like to complete when this is over."
I heard the squeak of her office chair break the tension in the room as she sat down behind her desk in a seat of authority, further establishing her position of dominance. When it came to playing head games, she was a genius.
Lt. Shea was clearly not pleased, but had the good sense to not push it any further. He sat down on the sofa and pulled out a packet of papers from a sealed envelope. I'd been through this song and dance routine before, so I knew all the questions before he asked them. As we neared the end of my nearly full disclosure he asked if I knew how I got out. I considered answering it completely since Dr. Walker had explained that mystery to me earlier, but there was a voice in my head telling me to hold back.
"I know some Ranger's in a helicopter picked me up, but I don't have a clue how they knew where we were, or when to come. When the missile hit I assumed I was a goner. How I got here is a bit foggy." I wondered if he'd accept that.
That answer must have satisfied him and completed the debriefing because he decided to push his luck by saying, "I thought the shrinks here were supposed to get your memory back for you."
I smirked at his arrogance, wondering if anyone would miss him if I grabbed his throat with my hands and twisted his head in the opposite direction of his shoulders. I knew the cast would slow me down, but the element of surprise might allow me to take him out. I didn't usually think about taking out innocent people, but something about this asshole had me seeing some serious red, and I found I could picture his body hitting the floor lifeless pretty easily.
"Santos, you don't want to go there," Dr. Walker said softly, watching me carefully as though she knew exactly what I was thinking. I stretched my neck as a distraction to buy myself a few minutes before facing the arrogance in front of me once more.
Finally I told him, "Dr. Walker has helped me to get most of memory back, and each day I seem to recollect a little more. With her help I'm sure I'll be able to piece together the few holes that remain."
His face hardened briefly and I knew he was a threat of some sort, but I couldn't place why that would be so I watched him as he tried to play it cool and ask some unimportant closing questions.
We finished up the debrief in ten more minutes with me having shared all the details except our pick up and the words from the mystery guy that had attacked my men and me. He seemed satisfied, so Shea packed up and put everything back into his briefcase and stood to leave. "I'll let Mr. Stewart know you're done."
"You do that," I told him. "I promise you I'm completely done running ops."
He acknowledged Dr. Walker with a tilt of his head and then left. The office was silent for a few minutes with both of us processing what had just happened when her desk phone rang. She answered it and then grimaced before holding the handset out to me. "It's Shea," she mouthed as I wheeled over to get the phone.
"Santos…" He said with an edge to his voice that hadn't been there during the face to face session. I felt my stomach turn and hoped I would be able to hold onto my lunch. I knew exactly what he was going to say before the words came across the line. "Since you're alive and well with so much to live for, Mr. Stewart may want to call you up again even without a contract. I'll pass your message along to the boss that you think you're done, but you need to be careful about making promises you can't keep." With that veiled threat, he hung up.
"Son of a bitch!" I screamed as I slammed down the phone.
Suddenly my head was consumed with a splitting headache and I found myself putting both hands up to my temples to apply pressure in the hope of blocking some of the piercing pain. Dr. Walker was around the desk like lightening and put a hand at the back of my neck to hold me still as I had begun to rock forward and backward from the waist as a response to the pain.
"Stay with me Santos," she commanded in her superior officer tone. I tried to obey out of habit as much as out of a desire to please her. I could hear her calling for Ben to come in and ordering him to bring twenty-five milligrams of something.
I heard the door to her office open and Ben tell her he had what she needed. I had stopped rocking but it was only the pressure hold at the base of my neck from Dr. Walker that was keeping me still. She jabbed my upper arm with a needle and dismissed Ben quickly. When the door closed, she put her hand on the top of my hair and began to run her hand through it, soothing and comforting me. "You don't have long before that kicks in. What set this off?"
"Shea, is the mystery guy from Afghanistan," I told her beginning to feel the pain recede along with my grip on consciousness.
"Are you sure?" She asked loudly, trying to keep me with her a little longer.
"Voice on the phone was the same," I told her feeling the darkness surround me. Then I whispered, "Told me not to make promises I can't keep."
The last thing I heard was my steady mental health professional echo my words, "Son of a bitch!" before the darkness came over me too strongly to resist.