I do NOT own anything, but the plot.
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As always, thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy what's to come!
Nalo a loaʻa
-loosely translate to "lost and found"-
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Steve had sat quietly when the psychiatrist arrived and questioned why he even pushed for this, but then he remembered the feel of Cath's baby belly against his side and feeling the baby moving before she left him in Danny's care.
The future was bright, and Steve wanted his mind to not feel so muddy, to not taint what was so closely his.
"Before… after the explosion, you were against talking to me."
Her dull tone pulled him from his reverie, making him glance up under hooded eyes.
"I guess my priorities are shifting," Steve admitted, thinking back to Danny's comment only yesterday. He flexed into pillows but let the silence fall.
"I'm sensing some reticence," Dawn commented, applying full focus on Steve. "What's changed?"
"Everything," he managed in a murmur. "Everything's changed and I'm scared it's not real."
"How do you mean?"
God, he hated the questions that came with any psyche session. Like when he and Danny did their therapy sessions, he felt like he was under a microscope and while Danny was making progress, Steve was faltering.
"What I mean is how can I go from losing everything in one hit too suddenly having almost all of it back?" Steve eyed up Dawn's expression, noticing her pressing him so silently. "I-I'm sitting here with my family back on standby, the woman I love back, and a child on the way."
"A child?" Dawn gasped, brow furrowing at this development.
"Cath … she's seven months pregnant."
The way Steve smiled at admitting that was something else. The pride he felt in being able to say it out loud was something he couldn't measure.
"She didn't know until after my funeral," he added context, sadly spoken. "When I came back, I had to call her, I had to apologise."
"And I'm guessing that didn't go down too well?"
Steve snorted. "That's an understatement. Cath said some things and I let her because I thought she had the right."
"So, let me guess, you allowed everyone get angry at your homecoming rather than accept what happened."
Sometimes, Steve liked to forget about his past sessions, having met Dawn on a few occasions. The reason she was called in before was because of his willingness to talk to her, his ability to relax enough to muddle through the thoughts in his head was something he hadn't had with another therapist.
However, during his exodus, he wasn't so willing to confront issues, but she persisted, allowing him one- or two-word answers or enormous blankets of silence if he needed it.
Needless to say, his therapy during his time out from the world did not go accordingly.
"Y'know, I had this grand idea that I would come home and miraculously everything would be okay, but then I sat with the governor, waiting on my team to arrive, and the way they all looked at me was not something I had prepared for." The memory of the team walking in only to halt still haunted Steve. "Not one of them looked happy to see me. There wasn't even a tiny bit of them that seemed overly happy that I wasn't dead."
"Maybe it was shock?"
"Maybe I would have believed that if the shock went away, but they all held such contempt against me and I quickly saw that my death never tore them apart, it threw them together."
"Well, they all went through a similar trauma … it makes sense that people form support groups."
"And where was my support group?"
Dawn took in Steve's tone, noticed how the ends heated with the anger he was feeling.
"Did you try and talk to your team? From what I've heard before, they've been a great support before for you."
"This was different … I asked to debrief them, to tell them everything that happened, but they asked for time."
That was the error - in allowing the team time, allowed the notion of too much to pass.
"And then it became easier to let them deal with the entire situation than complicate it."
"Complicate it by them learning what really happened?" Dawn asked, rhetorically. "I'm guessing they know now."
"They know everything," Steve replied, taking a slow, steady breath.
"And how did they take it?"
"They hated themselves," Steve replied automatically. "They were sorry, and I hated for hurting them all over again."
"Are they part of the issue now?" Dawn asked, her expression soften. "Do you worry they haven't really accepted everything that happened?" She asked, and Steve nodded. "It seems to me, Steve, that there is a sense of denial in everything … you've got the homecoming you wanted, everyone back where they are, but then Franklin Wright threatened it all again which landed you right back where this all started for you."
"It does feel too familiar," Steve admitted, wryly. "I guess I'm scared to accept it's happening for fear I'll wake up and I'll be back in that safe house, miserable and alone or I'm back a week in my home, miserable and alone."
"How do you think we can make it so that you realise this reality isn't going anywhere?"
What a million-dollar question, Steve's mind rallied. How did you believe that the reality you were living in was real and not fictitiously thought of in order to cope?
"I don't know," Steve admitted, scratching his head as his headache flared. "I wake up and just hope I can hear Danny's breathing from the other side of the room."
"Danny, your partner, he's not left your side?"
"No, not since I was admitted," Steve replied, smiling in earnest. "Actually, before that he hadn't really left me alone when he found out the truth."
"So, Danny's constant presence hasn't given you enough reliability or reassurance to realise things were working out?"
"Not really … and then the flashbacks got worse, and the nightmares began."
"Have you told anyone?"
"Am now," Steve feebly replied, offering his most genuine grin. "Look, I'm not good at this whole talk about your feelings gig, and you're only here because the level of clearance you have can deal with the things I've seen."
"That doesn't make me any less credible to be a good listener," Dawn remarked, giving him a sideways grin.
"No, I know," Steve argued, trying to backpedal.
"In actual fact, it works in your favour, Steve," she added, sitting back more relaxed as if to help Steve relax, too. "You are free to talk to me about whatever you need to … the flashbacks, the nightmares, the current situation, your impending fatherhood … there are no limits to whatever is troubling you."
Glancing down at his hands, Steve caught sight of the sonogram on his lap, and he didn't blink as he took it in.
"I don't know if I deserve to be happy," he admitted lowly, frowning as he pulled the image towards him. "I know the names I've gotten for myself over the years, know how I built my career, my reputation. I know every bad thing I've done …"
"For the right reason-"
Steve glanced up mere seconds before cutting Dawn off.
"Right reason or not, I've still taken lives without even thinking twice and I worry that my son will be born, and I'll be unable to look him in the eye." His eyes watered heavily. "I have a niece and nephew who think I'm some hero but am I? How can I be when I have blood on my hands?"
"Tell me something … how many lives would have been lost had you not killed during your missions away? Had you second guessed your job, taken a moment to evaluate a moral compass, how many people … innocent people might I add, would have died?"
"Don't make that sound like a justification," Steve bit back.
"Isn't it? In our line of work, Steve, we are taught to protect our country. Why is doing just that suddenly a crime?"
Quilling the anger bubbling, Steve rationalised that Dawn wasn't some therapist that had no idea what it was like to deal with combat and war. She came from a place of understanding and built her career on that very foundation.
"You trained at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, correct?" Dawn said, changing the trajectory of her approach.
"That's correct, yes," Steve confirmed.
"And what's their motto, Steve?"
Steve hated how he was being baited, hated how easily he fell into the trap, but he went with it.
"Not for self, but for country."
"Right," she replied, casually. "So, at what point, did you forget that? Not that you're under oath to live by it, but when did you forget it's importance?"
"Forget it?" Steve scoffed, feeling an argument brewing. "I didn't forget it, but when you're training in Coronado and you're fresh meant everything looks and feels different … and before you know it, you're however many tours in, pushing your rank upwards, and forget what home felt like. What part of that says you sacrifice pieces of yourself to look after an unforgiving country? Where in that does it state about looking after one another and preparing for the absolute horrors you see, or hell, how some of your missions will most definitely follow you home."
While Steve meant nightmares, Franklin was a reminder than the actions you do create ripple effect. Not for self, but for country, left out the ideology that you go to war a team and could come home a lone solider. No one prepared him for vendettas and revenge tactics.
"And what about Naval Intelligence and the SEALs' motto?" Steve barked, batting back a question. "The only easy day was yesterday … that motto has been one I've prided myself on, and it's been the only thing that got me through the last few months. Don't know why, the idea that today, hell even tomorrow, is harder than yesterday was getting a little too much to cope with." Tensing, Steve told himself to breath more evenly. "Normal people don't use these sorts of things to get by."
"No, they use bogus quotes like live, laugh, love, instead."
Steve blinked owlishly at the therapist and couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. He had gotten so wound up in the moment, he needed that distraction.
"You know, Steve, I've read your case notes a couple of times."
"Nice read before bed I'm sure," Steve deadpanned, his lip bending ever so lightly into a smirk.
She laughed but didn't let him deter her.
"Between classified missions and off the cuff ones, you've definitely lived a busy lifestyle."
"Is that what we're calling it now? Busy." The sarcasm was loose, but it was there. "Yeah, it's been a busy decade or two."
"And I think all things considered, you've done miraculously where a lot of men couldn't," Dawn told him, her voice lowering an octave. "I think the support group you found in Five-0 and those around you saved you … and that's why you didn't want to hurt them more than they already were."
"That may be so, but I just keep thinking every little thing over," Steve admitted. "What would have happened had this not taken five months to clear up?" Steve asked, scratching the back of his neck. "What if Franklin took his time. Took me out of the game for seven months, nine months, a year, two maybe?" he asked, grinding out the words between clenched jaws. "I saw what five months' worth of grief did to people. To people I love!" Steve reacted, pressing a hand to his gunshot wound to sit up more. "What it did to me."
"Steve, you do realise you don't have to think of any other scenario than the one you're in, right?" She tilted her head, the soften sympathetic gloss shining her eyes. "You said it yourself … you're sitting here with your family back on standby, the woman you love back, and a child on the way. The only one stopping you believing that is yourself."
Steve pondered rush thought, hearing his own words resounded back at him was a harsh reality, but it help. Dawn didn't tell him any of it with malice, but with direct honesty.
"I know what one of your biggest issues is," Dawn started, giving him a devilish smirk. "You seem to forget I met you when you were in a hospital bed last time."
"What is my biggest issue now then?"
"You're trapped," she stated, her tone very matter of fact. "The world outside of this room keeps moving, but you're stuck here in that bed and know you can't just get up and deal with everything … I heard you haven't even put up much of a fight to sign out AMA like your reputation predicts …" she grinned as Steve laughed. "I think when you accept that your family is here, the woman you love is here, and there's baby on the way, everything else will start piece together."
"And until then?"
Dawn just gave him a small, reassuring smile.
"Until then we talk about everything else, so you can hold your head up again without worrying your happiness has a time limit."