Chapter 5: A Homecoming
Tori brings the car to a stop outside the apartment block; the bright afternoon sun bouncing off the glass windows and shining steel that stretches up to caress the cloudless sky above. The blonde turns off the engine and sits there quietly, watching but without judgement in her eyes, not asking any of the banal questions such as 'Ready?' or 'All set?' that Shane just knows Porter would have, had he taken his brother up on his offer to collect him from Wayward Pines. Instead she just waits. Waits for him to make the first move. For him to choose to take this objectively small but metaphorically momentous step in his journey. In his path to find a new normal.
He smiles at her. It comes easier than expected; the months away already receding into memory, being replaced by the pull of familiar patterns. Good patterns. Ones he needs to hold onto while breaking from the negative.
"You want to see the new place?" he offers and Tori's grin widens.
"You bet."
The apartment is... nice, Shane guesses. It's a new build, not too far from the beach; all crisp white walls, clean lines and large windows overlooking the bay.
It's not something he could have afforded on his own, not even with the money he got alongside his honourable discharge. His parents had bought it for him. Ostensibly it was a 'welcome home' present, but Shane suspects it's partially an attempt to encourage him to go to college; Blue Bay Harbor University is only a couple of blocks away.
Shane having his own place also means they don't have to deal with any of his 'episodes'. Not that they're ashamed of having an ex-marine in the family; they'd just prefer him not to be so obviously damaged.
He shouldn't grumble. Once his condition revealed itself, his parents had spared no expense in getting the best help available. If the private facility was so far north as to be in a completely different state, and prided itself on its discretion, well, that was beside the point.
He drops his bag on the bed, the smell of freshly-laundered sheets pleasant and comforting. Turning, he finds Tori leaning on the doorway, a smile playing around her lips as she watches him.
"You're going to need to some more stuff," she says, tone light as she takes in the bare walls, bare shelves, and bare floors.
"Yeah," he murmurs absently, wandering back out past her into the main room; a sleek breakfast bar effortlessly separating the small kitchen from the larger, currently empty living space. He sits at one of the bar stools, hooking his feet behind the legs and gazing out over the rippling, sparkling sea; silver-bright with reflected sunlight.
He'd been worried about coming home again. Worried about leaving Wayward Pines, with its safe rooms and understanding staff and the ever-patient Dr. Rasheed. He wondered if he was really ready to survive outside that safety net.
If he was ready to try living again.
Yet through it all, he'd known — instinctively, intrinsically — that there was another safety net waiting for him; a support network that had never wavered, no matter how far away he'd gone. Physically. Emotionally.
His gaze shifts to the blonde still leaning against the doorframe. "Thank you," he blurts out.
Tori raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Seriously Shane? You know you never have to thank me." She pauses, hesitation palpable, and in that moment there's a sense of distance between them; an acknowledgement of the divergence of their paths and that explanations can never truly convey a sense of place or experience — an unspoken question: can there be empathy without comprehension? Then Tori's pressing on, pushing through any discomfort and- he loves her. "You know if you need anything, any time, you just need to call me, right? Whatever it is, I'm here for you."
"It's PTSD." His words are abrupt, out there before he can second-guess himself. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That's what they say. I've- They've given me ways to cope. Things to do- to focus on when thing get bad. When I have panic attacks and stuff." His explanation is awkward, disjointed, fingers gripping tightly at the edge of the table top.
Tori slips into the seat next to him, reaching out to rest her hand over his, softly encouraging him to relax his grip. "You only need to tell me what you want to. Don't feel like you need to- that won't change the fact I'm here." She smiles, eyes fond but with a steel beneath them that underscores the sincerity of what she's telling him. "But if you ever do want to talk — ever — I can listen. I want to be here for you, okay?" He nods, not trusting himself to speak, and her fingers tighten on his. "Hey, I'm glad you're back. We're glad you're back; Blake and Dustin and Cam. We've missed you, Shane. It's been so long since you've been home. Since we've all been together."
The dark-haired man tries to laugh, but the humour is hollow. "Even Dustin?"
"Of course Dustin," she replies with mock exasperation. "Shane, we might not be the guys from your unit, we might not understand what you've been through, but we're family." She gives his hand another squeeze, rubbing a thumb across the back of it as if she's trying to reassure him. "I know being a Power Ranger can't compare to the marines, but we still fought with you and we will always fight for you."
Her words don't have quite the effect she'd probably been aiming for. Shane stills and he can see flashes of confusion and worry cross Tori's face in quick succession.
It's his turn to squeeze her hand, swallowing before he can admit, "The PTSD… The doc reckons I had it before the marines, because of being a Ranger. But we were all Rangers." He lets out a harsh laugh, pulling away to scrub both hands over his face. "Everyone reacts to stress differently; it's not a weakness, I know, but I can't help thinking… why me? Why not anyone else?" Everyone else gets to move on and forget. Guess I'm the special one."
He drops his hands to grin at the blonde, expecting her to smile back, waiting for a quick comment and a teasing laugh. Instead Tori's expression sort of freezes, a tenseness to her that's unexpected and disconcerting.
"What is it?" he asks.
She bites her lip, pulling a strand of hair over her shoulder to twist it around her fingers. "It's not just you, Shane," she admits, voice low. "The rest of us… we haven't completely forgotten. When we're together we can laugh, looking back. But alone? Some of it isn't very funny." She drops the hair, wrapping her arms around herself, staring beyond him to the expanse of ocean stretching to the horizon outside the window. "Sometimes I think I hear kelzacs. In those quiet moments y'know? I'll be alone in the apartment, or walking down an empty street and I'll hear them and honestly? Even now it's like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Blake hears them too. And there's the nightmares- But we have each other. We get each other through. It's not bad. Not really." She gives him a small smile. "We never went to war."
Shane has to look away, gaze dropping to his hands, rough and calloused with years. His resolve hardens. "Yeah we did." He raises his head to meet her soft blue eyes. "We were just too young to realise."