If you haven't watched the wonderful video of Patrick Stewart talking about his charities for abused women and soldiers with PTSD in honor of his mother and his father, please do. It is brilliant and heartwarming and nakedly honest.
This story is the result of several very in depth conversations with multigenerational viewpoints on life after war. As such, it is, perhaps, a little rawer than the things I have submitted up until now.
It all began with several random, unrelated discussions with both friends and family.
One person shared stories of friends that did and didn't come back from Vietnam, and the one that did that would dive to the ground when he heard a car backfire. One discussed the father of a friend that suffered flashbacks from his time in Okinawa. Because of this the family - particularly the friend's mother - had to take certain precautions. No war programs on TV. No going to fireworks. Carefully monitored noise levels. Anyone staying with the family had to be asked to avoid certain actions. There were times she would send the children out of the home and to the neighbors, because the father was entering a flashback, and could have inadvertently harmed them. There was that terrible year spent waiting, knowing our friend could be deployed at any minute, and how on edge her husband was every time she had to go away for training for months at a time.
"Classified" addresses the sensitive issue of PTSD as well as abuse. I want to make it very clear before putting this story out there that acknowledging the difficulties of life with someone struggling of PTSD is not the same as romanticizing or condoning any potential/resulting abuse of the people that care for them. In no way is this an attempt to make a hero or a villain out of either party. Also, as it is a short story, it does not and cannot fully explore all of the intricacies and facets of these subjects, and I make no attempt to. This is a snapshot of a few hours in the lives of these characters; that is all.
This story is written and submitted with respect to all lives touched by the aftermath of war.
Classified
It is at the end of a long shift when he enters the triage room to find her waiting there.
She is sitting on the edge of narrow hospital bed and looks up, bored. She is wearing a hospital gown and despite being bloodied, her clothes are folded and piled neatly on a chair in the corner.
"Hey," she gives a half wave.
Nonchalant for someone with a bloody bandage patched on her forehead and an icepack pressed to her bottom lip.
He looks down at the patient's file.
"Ms... Morino?"
She gives him a nod, pulling the icepack away from her mouth and absently checking the paper towel covering it for blood.
"That's me."
"What happened here tonight?" he holds out his hand for the icepack.
"Bit of a tussle," she hands over the bag, revealing a fat, mildly split lip, and bruising. "A few scrapes and bruises. Unfortunate collision with the edge of a coffee table. Looks worse than it is."
He eyes her chart, eyebrows lifting as he reads.
"I understand you not only drove, but you also brought in another patient?"
"Yeah, but we've got rides lined up."
"Good, because driving probably isn't a prudent course of action."
He checks her eyes with a flashlight, and has her look up and down.
"Military?" he asks, nodding to the swirled tattoo on her arm.
"Mm," she hums, as he is very close to her face and checking her pupils.
"Definitely a concussion," he says clinically.
"Yeah," she shrugs again. "Not my first."
The doctor's eyebrows lift. "And yet you drove?"
"Couldn't wait for a ride."
She holds his gaze unflinchingly.
The nurse opens the door again and shoots her a nervous look before approaching the physician.
"Dr. Hyūga, may I have word please?"
"Excuse me," he nods to his patient, who makes no move to comment.
He returns a few moments later, his face pinched. He clears his throat. "Normally Dr. Haruno handles these cases, but she is in surgery right now."
She quirks an eyebrow. "These cases?"
"Evidence of prior breaks and concussions, bruising at the arms and throat, obvious signs of struggle and a fight... " he iterates.
"And I've just been informed that the other patient that arrived with looking as if he has been in a brawl is, in fact, your husband. When did he attack you?"
A dangerous smile tugs at just one corner of her mouth.
"How do you know I didn't attack him?"
"Because you brought him, and not the other way around," he scoffs. "Mrs. Morino, is your husband beating you?" he asks, bluntly. "Because there are resources for abused-"
"I am not an abused spouse," she returns, and he is shocked to find notes of amusement threaded in her weary voice.
"But you don't deny that your husband gave you these marks?" he presses, vaguely registering an unfamiliar ire coiling in his spine – whether it is for her situation or her dismissal of it, he cannot say.
"No," she shakes her head. "I don't deny it."
"Then, are you aware that dangerous foreplay such as choking can lead to-"
She bursts out laughing.
"You think Idate did this to get off on choking me?" she asks incredulously. "You must see some real fucked up shit to think that -."
"Mrs. Morino," he addresses her firmly. "Clearly you are too close to the situation to fully grasp-"
"Doctor Hyūga," she interrupts, mimicking his lecturing tone. "I am trained military personnel of the ilk that I can't actually tell you what I do. I earned junior titles in taijutsu and boxing when I was twelve, and have been competing ever since. Most of your evidence is from those activities. Yes, Idate did put hands on me tonight - and I'm the reason he was unconscious when he arrived here."
"Being able to defend yourself does not mean it is excusable for your husband to attack you," the doctor counters, feeling his customary calm crack in irritation.
"He didn't attack me," she insists. "He has PTSD, Doctor Hyūga, and he was attacking someone he thought was a Suna Insurgent."
He holds her gaze, and although she does not back down, and her chin remains stubborn, there is exhaustion in the tightness of her eyes from battles long fought against ghosts that are not her own.
They stare at one another, and his voice, although low, is damning in its quiet.
"Does this happen often?"
"Not to this level," she flicks her eyes to the cut on her head. "Some kids lit off fireworks near the house tonight. Sparked a flashback."
Neji holds his tongue, gauging his opponent.
Something shifts in the air, and the residual hostility between them evaporates. He is clinical and direct.
"That cut will need stitching."
She takes it as a soldier receiving an order, and lies back on the bed.
A nurse joins to assist him while another shuttles back and forth to bring him questions, concerns, and news from the ER.
He examines the neat stitches that bisect her eyebrow before dismissing the nurse, and wrapping the wound himself. He does another examination of her lip, but decides it does not need to be stitched; it is not as severe as it looked when she arrived.
"What do you hear about Idate?"
The request is low, and had he not been watching her lips, he might not have realized she had said anything at all.
"Your husband is fine," his voice is emotionless and low. "Sedated. They called in his doctor from the VA."
"Thanks," she says, not blinking, staring straight at the ceiling.
"Do you keep loaded weapons in the house?"
The question is not wholly unexpected, even if the timing is.
"Not where he can get to them," she replies, still not looking at him.
"Are you certain of that?"
"I am."
The doctor takes in a deep breath and lets it out on a slow exhale.
She waits.
"You are strong," he finally ventures, flicking his eyes over the well-muscled arms. "But it could be a fatal mistake to overestimate that strength."
After several moments of making no indication that she heard him, she finally mutters a sullen "Noted."
"You can dress," he turns his back to her. The nurse scurries in again, motioning for him to join her closer to the door.
"A Mr. Lee is here to see the patient," her voice is hushed. "He is listed as her emergency contact."
"He can come in," she calls from behind them, having already tugged her jeans on under her hospital gown.
"That is fine," the Doctor speaks to the nurse as she pulls the hospital gown off and pulls a tanktop on.
The nurse bustles out, and he turns to say something else to his patient, but a blur of green bursts into the room.
"Tenten! What happened - what did he do to you - did he-?!"
"It's ok, Lee," she soothes. "I'm alright." She holds out her hand for the bag he carries, and he hands it over quickly. She fishes out a longsleeved shirt and sweater before putting her bloodied t-shirt and hoodie in the bag.
"Another attack?" his eyes are wide in trepidation, his voice mournful.
"Yeah," she sighs pulling the shirt over the tanktop, "But I handled it."
She's just gotten the soft sweater over her head when the attending physician clears his throat.
"If you are ready," Doctor Hyūga eyes them with a professional coolness. "I'll take you to him."
She slides toward the edge of the bed to stand, but her progress is halted by the nurse scurrying over with a wheelchair.
She glares up at him, and he is absolutely unmoved.
"Hospital policy," his voice remains detached. "You are still concussed, and cannot be allowed to walk on your own."
She glares at him, but does not argue. Lee is quick to shoulder her bag with her bloodied clothes and insert himself behind her wheelchair.
The doctor motions for them to follow, but is gracious enough to hold open the door for them.
The patient listed as Morino Idate is heavily sedated and resting in a hospital bed. There is an absolute bear of a man standing over the figure, arms crossed. The patch on his military uniform reads "Morino."
Too young to be a father or uncle, the doctor guesses him to be brother to the injured man.
He passes a critical eye over the other patient.
"So," his voice deep, and authoritative. "It happened again."
"I can handle it, Ibiki," her eyes fix on the man in the bed, and she reaches a hand to brush away his hair from his forehead.
"Clearly," the bigger man continues, with little to no inflection. "You two are coming back with me tonight," he states, leaving no room for argument. "He is going to be argumentative when he wakes up, and you are in no condition to handle him on your own."
"We've been over this," she crosses her arms. "I'm perfectly capable of-
"Actually," Dr. Hyūga chimes in. "In your condition you should not be tending to an unstable patient. Or any patient for that matter," he adds when her eyes take on a murderous glint at the word 'unstable.'
"That unstable patient," she grits out "is my husband."
"And it didn't stop him from attacking his wife," the doctor retorts blandly.
"I need some air," Tenten huffs pushing out of the wheelchair. "Stay with him, Lee," she instructs her friend before storming out of the room.
"Mrs. Morino, wait!"
"Tenten, wait!"
Lee and the nurse chime, as the nurse hurries after her. Lee tries to follow, but halts at Ibiki's soft command.
"Leave it, Lee," he watches the door swing closed behind the nurse. "She knows her limits, and she needs the space."
"That isn't wise," Dr. Huyga frowns. "She could-"
"With all due respect," Ibiki interrupts, "your protocol doesn't account for the needs or abilities of my soldier."
"She isn't your sister-in-law?" he asks.
"She is a member of my unit first," Ibiki crosses massive arms over an equally massive chest. "And this," he motions to Idate and the hospital room, "is nothing she hasn't seen or can't handle. She will be back shortly."
"How can you be so sure?"
"She hates to be cold," he says with the faintest hint of a smirk. "She'll get some air, clear her head, and come back in."
"Should I bring her her coat?" Lee looks at the door, dubiously.
"No," Ibiki shakes his head. "Let her be. The doctor here has a point; she shouldn't be running around with a concussion. She's levelheaded – she'll figure it out."
His features softened minutely. "She'll be okay, Lee," he rests a heavy hand on Lee's shoulder. "I'll go make the arrangements to have them discharged into my care."
With that, Ibiki disappears down the hall, going the opposite direction of Tenten.
Lee gives a heavy sigh before looking over to the doctor.
"Thanks for trying," he gives a resigned smile. "You're not the first."
"Well, she isn't the first abused spouse I've seen not understand her situation," he mutters.
Lee is thoughtful. "She understands it better than you think," he says cryptically. "She isn't being foolhardy, you know," he continues. "Idate is in counselling and has medication. On top of that, she is an elite combat specialist. She can normally subdue Idate before anything happens - not that this happens often," he is hasty to add.
The doctor arches a suspicious eyebrow "Oh?"
"Tenten's situation is," Lee searches for a word before settling on "Complicated." He looks over Idate before giving the doctor a small smile. "Anyway. Thanks for trying."
Annoyed or not, the doctor can't let his patient roam unattended.
He finds her just outside the back employee entrance, standing with her arms crossed. Her breath hangs heavy in the air as she mutters to herself.
"Times like this I wish I smoked."
"Nasty habit," he offers. She turns around sharply.
"Now you're following me to give me medical advice?" her eyes snap, and her tone is brittle.
"No," he shakes his head. "Now I am following you to apologize."
She sweeps skeptical eyes over him. "I'm listening."
"Countless women come through here," he begins, clasping his hands behind his back. "They are afraid. They are victims. They defend their attackers. And the injuries sustained when "he didn't mean to" are no less severe than if inflicted intentionally. I am...desensitized to what I know to be a vicious cycle. I do not believe in exceptions." His small smile is self-deprecating. "There is a reason that Dr. Haruno usually handles these conversations."
"You are pretty shitty at them," she agrees bluntly.
"And you are no better at listening to reason," he shrugs. "Tenten, was it?"
"Yeah."
"Neji."
Her bark of laughter is short.
"And I'm guessing, Neji, that even after offering this apology, you aren't wholly convinced that my situation is indeed an exception, are you?"
"No," he agrees. "I am not."
She gives a grunt of understanding and looks back up to the stars. She exhales a large cloud of frustration and closes her eyes to refocus. When she opens them again, there is weariness in the lines of her posture.
"You could argue a case for abuse," she says, surprising him with her frankness. "But I'm no victim. Idate won't remember most of what happened tonight, but I will tell him. So will his brother – that was the big guy in the room. And I won't skip the part where he gave me a concussion or where I cold cocked him across the jaw."
She gives a heavy sigh as she toes some slush on the ground. "And it isn't just because I'm married to him. The truth is we were in the process of filing for divorce before his last deployment."
Neji arches an eyebrow but offers nothing more than: "Oh?"
"It wasn't contentious," she lifts one shoulder. "We got married when we were eighteen. We did it because we were young and stupid and wanted to make sure we were stationed together. Didn't take long for us to realize that wasn't our best idea. We decided to put everything on hold until he got back."
"And…now that he's back?"
"Now I'm still going to take care of him," she says firmly, "because I was his friend and his partner long before anyone put labels or licenses behind it. Besides – I'm all he really has right now. As his wife, I get paid leave to take care of him; something his brother isn't free to take right now."
"But when it is all over?" Neji asks.
"Don't know," she repeats the one-shouldered shrug. "I doubt that much has changed. We'll stay in each other's lives, but I don't know if we'll stay married." She gives him a rueful look. "That's kind of the least of my worries these days."
"I hope your personal safety ranks up there somewhere," Neji mutters.
"It does," she replies with mild amusement.
"And you keep fire arms in your home?" he asks suddenly.
She blinks.
"Of course," she says. "I have to."
"Loaded?" he presses.
She stares at him like he is asking her the most inane, obvious thing in the world, and then realization spreads over her features.
"Sorry," she chuckles, "the concussion must be making me slow on the uptake. I have to have firearms for my job. They are stored appropriately, and only I have the combination to the safe. I moved my more serious equipment to Ibiki's safe when Idate first came home. I… may or may not have a tranq gun available," she says slowly. "And I may or may not keep that loaded and hidden."
"That may or may not be a terrible idea," he responds flatly.
"It would be if it were easy to find or predictably located," she agrees, "Or if he knew that I had it. But since it is only for emergencies and can't be accidentally accessed, I'll take my chances."
"You seem to be willing to take quite a few of them," Neji observes.
"Yeah, well," she gives a knowing laugh. "It's sort of my thing."
"Hn," he scoffs.
She gives him a long look. "I like you," she finally decides. "Your bedside manner is shit, but I don't have time for pleasantries. I'd rather someone be honest with me, even if they are being an asshole."
"Then I don't mind telling you that you are being reckless and cavalier," he replies evenly.
"You're probably right," her smile is small, and he hears something wistful in her tone. "But the fact remains – I'm all he's got."
She locks eyes with him, and when she speaks, he knows it is in absolute truths.
"I gave him my word. I can't…I won't go back on my word."
And for the first time, he is uncertain.
The lines around her eyes soften.
"It isn't your battle to fight, Neji," she says softly. "It's alright to walk away."
His moon-pale eyes are careful and hard to read in the low light.
She watches him with no visible curiosity – just an air of resignation.
He holds a hand out to her, and it takes a moment to see the thin white card between his fingers.
"Take it," he instructs. "In case you need help."
Her eyes narrow imperceptibly and the air around them cools by several degrees.
"I already have the information you gave me," she says with an edged politeness.
"I don't give out this information," he ignores the objection. "But perhaps…" his eyes trail over her, "perhaps it is time to believe in an exception."
She takes the card cautiously, finally breaking eye contact to look it over.
"You never know when it will be handy to know another insensitive asshole," he shrugs. "But at least a doctor is used to being on call."
And for the first time, a smile crawls across her swollen and beautiful lips.
With that, he clears his throat. "You need to return to your husband's room," he instructs. "I'll give you ten minutes before telling the nurse where to find you."
"That's fair. Thanks."
"You're welcome," he bows his head. "Forgive me, if I hope not to see you again – not under these circumstances."
A smile plays about her lips. It is bittersweet, because on some level they both know this won't be the last time they meet this way.
Still, the pretense of pleasantries between strangers is all that they have for now, and it is a forgiving sort of lie.
"Likewise."
He stops at the door, just long enough to look over his shoulder.
"Good luck, Tenten."
He is halfway back to triage when his mobile buzzes in his pocket.
The text is simple:
'Thanks, Neji.'
And just like that he knows with a certainty that he has never had about anything.
When it comes to her…
…this is the closest he'll ever be to walking away.
Thank you for reading
- GL