Hesitantly, Tariq and I climbed on his motorcycle. I was tired and wanted sleep and Tariq wanted Chicago. As I wrapped my hands around his waist, I couldn't help but wonder how much the war did change him. He always loved the Ducati that his enlistment bonus paid for and the speed it brought, but he seemed to crave the speed even more on this ride.

He wove in and out of the light traffic, speeding furiously to an unseen destination. I didn't feel fear, but felt apprehensive about his excessive speed. He pulled into the driveway of my parents' house, and got off. I looked at him. "Wanna watch the sun rise?" I smiled.

"You can tell me, CiCi." Tariq took his helmet off.

"Tell you what?" I handed him my helmet.

"What you're thinking."

"About what?"

"Everything." Tariq put the helmets on the seat and leaned against his bike. "Tell me everything you're thinking right now."

I sighed and stood between his legs, arms around his neck. I looked in his eyes. "I am trying to understand you right now." I gently kissed him. "I don't think I'll ever understand the..."

Tariq suddenly jumped, knocking me to the ground. He was alert and I swore his hands were holding an imaginary M-16 and he was crouching. I watched him carefully, intrigued by this. I gently tapped his shoulder and he knocked me to the ground. I was surprised to see him on top of me, his hand clenched in a fist ready to hit me. His hand dropped and he hung his head. "Sorry." He got up and walked to his parents' house.

I could only watch in sorrow as he walked off. Something was bothering him and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

Dr. Holcomb looked at me. "Without warning?"

"Yeah. All that happened was a truck backfired and suddenly, he's in this sort of war mode." I sipped my coffee.

Dr. Holcomb sighed. "Keep an eye on him. If it worsens, you bring him into me."

"Why the rides at 2 in the morning, going over a hundred miles an hour?" I sighed.

Dr. Holcomb smiled. "He's just gotten back from a war, where his senses were on overload. He was more than likely being shot at every other day or every time he went on a mission." She looked at me. "He's not going to adjust to the life he had before the war. He's going to be seeking an adrenaline rush every chance he gets. The ride at two am, well, there's many explanations for that. The rush of the speed. It's not going to contain itself to the bike. He may find other ways to fulfill his need for adrenaline."

"Is this normal?"

"Very. But, I'm mostly concerned about his trauma."

"Trauma?"

Dr. Holcomb sighed. "Yes. From what you just told me, it sounds like Tariq's got PTSD."

I sighed and leaned back. "What causes that?"

"The trauma of war. What he has seen and has done has affected him deeply. It may be simple PTSS or it could be the disorder. Either way, he's got post traumatic stress."

"What do I do?"

"Just be there for him. It gets any worse, you bring him to me."

I groggily answered the door. "Hey."

Tariq looked up, looking rather ashamed. "I know it's late, but..."

"It's okay. I just got off work. Come in." I moved and let him enter. "What's wrong?" I closed the door and leaned against it.

"Nightmares." He fell heavy onto my couch. "We're on a simple mission, right? Handing out candy to the kids, right? Suddenly, there's this loud..." He jumped as I accidentally dropped a coffee cup, shattering it.

I looked up at him, this look of terror on his face. "It's okay. I just dropped the mug."

He slumped down on the couch. "I can't take this, CiCi."

"Here." I handed him a cup of coffee and sat next to him. "How long have these nightmares been going on?"

"Since I got home." He looked around. "It's too damn quiet around here. I should be reveling in sleeping without fear of a mortar going off thirty feet from my tent or whatever, and yet I find myself unable to."

"You want to go for a ride?" I nudged.

He looked at me and smiled. "Why the hell not?"

"Tariq!" I yelled.

"What?" He yelled back.

"I gotta pee!"

I heard him laugh. "Next stop there's a small 24 hour place. You can go pee and we'll get some breakfast there. What do you say?"

"Sure." Next stop, Tariq pulled into Rosey's 24 Food Hall. I laughed at the name. "What sort of name is that?" I quipped as I got off the bike.

Tariq laughed. "Not sure, but you never forget it, I'll tell you that." He took me by the hand and in we walked.

An elderly, oversized woman who looked like she belonged in a Jeff Foxworthy joke more than a diner, approached us. "Ya'll can have a seat right over there and I'll get you in a moment, sugars." She pointed to the booth in the back of the restaurant.

Tariq held my hand as we walked back. He seemed oblivious to all the stares. I stared back. One guy stood in front of Tariq, blocking our path. He looked Tariq up and down. "How about that? We've got al Qada in our midst, gentlemen. How about getting the reward for capturing one?"

Tariq's calmness surprised me. He looked at the guy. "If you'd excuse us, we would like to get to our booth for food and coffee."

"No can do." The guy smiled wickedly as he chomped on a toothpick. "You're in Detroit now, Mohammad."

Tariq smiled. "I know. I was raised here. Now, I'd like to get to my..."

"Honey," the guy looked at me. "He holding you hostage? You need rescuing?"

"Yeah, I do." I glared him. "From ignorant pricks like you."

"Hey!" The guy pushed Tariq aside and grabbed my arm. "You don't ever talk to a man like that." He slapped my face.

While I was too shocked to do anything, Tariq hit the guy so hard he hit the table. None of the others moved. Tariq stood over the guy. "You EVER hit her or any other woman again, you'll have me to answer to." He took my hand. "Let's go."

I stuck my tongue out at the guy as Tariq and I left. The guy stood up and tossed me aside and threw Tariq against the counter. When Tariq's head hit the corner of the cash wrap, I lost it. "Hey you hoor's melt!"

The guy looked at me. "What?"

I stood up. "Don't play stupid with me, you snotty nosed little shite." I felt the Irish temper in me rise. "You know damn well what I'm saying."

Tariq stood up, wiped some blood from above his eyebrow and cockily grinned. "She's gone all Dublin on you, bud. You're in for it now."

The ignorant prick looked at Tariq. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you, Mohammad."

"You shitehawk gobshite!" I yelled. The crowd looked at me, half expecting me to hit the guy who was twice my size. Tariq just leaned against the counter, still smiling cockily. The guy looked at me. I tilted my head to the side. "You lookin' to get your snot broke or for a bus?"

Tariq giggled softly. "Here we go!"

The guy punched Tariq again and I lost it. I hit the guy so hard that he fell to the floor. He looked up at me and tried to speak, but I put my foot on his throat. "Listen here, you gicker licker. You better learn who you're dealing with before you start picking a fight. You never know who's going to kick your ass." I took my foot off his throat and continued to stare at him. "Mmmhmm. Just as I thought. Just like a tit in a trance." I grabbed Tariq's hand and we left.

Tariq laughed. "You're amazing. Just when I think I've got you pinned." He leaned in and gently kissed me. "You never cease to surprise me."

"Well, you've surprised me often enough since you got back home. Thought I'd return the favor." I climbed on the bike and Tariq sped off.

Tariq slept quietly on my couch, the television still on. I stood watching him, amazed at how calm he had been just a few hours before. I looked at the cut just above his eye and smiled. You come home from Iraq, with a couple scars, and yet your most noticeable one is from a fight here in the States. I softly kissed his forehead and he stirred.

He looked up at me for a brief second, smiled, and fell back asleep. I felt sorry for him. I wondered when the last good night's sleep he had. It had to have been at least a year. He had gone to Fort Hood for 6 months of training before shipping of to Iraq for a year. So many things changed and he missed most of them.

I poured me a cup of coffee and left a note for him. I had to get some errands run before heading off to work and there was not a better time to run them. As I headed out the door, I heard him scream. I ran back in to find him sitting straight up, looking around as though he had no idea where he was at. "Riqy?" I softly spoke as I approached him. "You okay?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I had that nightmare again." There was something distraught in his voice.

"Would it help to talk about it?"

"Who'd understand?" He looked at me.

"That Sergeant of yours would, wouldn't he? Don't you have a way to contact him?" I wanted to mention Dr. Holcomb, but knew better just by the look he shot me.

Tariq nodded. "Yeah. I'm the only one who does. Scream didn't care much for the others, save Angel."

"Dim seemed like a nice guy."

"Dim is. Just too impetuous. Too unstable in wartime." Tariq laughed. "Too much of a brainiac. I like the guy. He was the only one who talked to me like I was a person when I first joined the team. He, Angel, and I were the best friends of the team. Smoke separated himself from the rest of us, but we did what we had to do to help and protect him." Tariq leaned against the back of the couch. "But, Sergeant Scream. Staff Sergeant Chris Silas. There's an enigma."

"Does he have family?" I was intrigued.

Tariq smiled. "He's got a mom and dad."

I playfully hit his shoulder. "I have some errands to run. You know you can stay here for as long as you need to. I've got to be to work at midnight tonight, so won't be able to do any rides at 2 in the morning." I smiled and kissed him. "You call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yes, dear." Tariq joked. "I will, you know that."