1 month later. 6:00 PM
The last month had been intense, to say the least. Rick had known what to expect but that had not made it any easier. He had started his position on the SWAT team, completing the police academy and beginning his field training, so in that aspect all was well. Drew had also passed the tests he had to take to keep his medical certifications because of the head trauma. Not that anyone thought he wouldn't but it was one less thing to worry about. His physical recovery was also going well, and he was almost back to his pre-trauma condition. Psychology, things were progressing a little slower.
It was tense in the apartment, but not because they were fighting or even Drew's mood swings. In fact, he wasn't really having too dramatic of shifts and most of them came either before or after panic attacks so they were easy to navigate. The angry outbursts had stopped with in the first three weeks of being home, when Kenny had figured out an exercise routine that he could do despite his injuries. That had helped tremendously. The panic attacks and regressive flash backs were what the biggest problem was. Especially since it seemed they were on hair triggers. Major Florence, who was Drew's psychologist now, believed the hair triggers were because of the missing time Drew had.
Drew was not able to remember the time between Jim-Jo being shot and waking up as a captive. There were also fragments of his imprisonment that he couldn't remember as well, and it made him anxious. Major Florence's theory was that because of the concussion and the time gaps he had, his brain was trying extremely hard to make sense of the trauma. It was trying to fill in the gaps and form a timeline of events, so if something even remotely seemed like it was related to what happened it would make him regress. It was an exhausting roller coaster for both of them, and the episodes were extremely hard for Rick to watch. Especially when Drew was seemingly reliving the experiences and not just remembering them. The worst part was when Drew tried to distance himself from Rick or apologized for his brain. The silver lining in all this, however, was that each flashback seemed to fill in another blank. So while they were bad at times, Drew was able to remember more details and piece together more information, allowing himself the ability to face it.
"It's not quick, and it's not pretty, but it is getting better," the Major had told them, "I know you see the episodes as setbacks, or think they're a bad thing, but in this case they're not. These aren't the type of flashbacks where you dissociate and get lost; these are short-lived episodes where you re-experience the event. That's more indicative of head trauma than it is psychological."
So, that was the good news. It still made things difficult. Currently, now was one of those times. Drew was having a panic attack that was dangerously close to becoming a flashback. Rick had come home to find him, curled up into the corner of the bathroom. He had been vomiting, which explained why he was in the bathroom, but the trigger of this attack and what he was seeing was a mystery. The problem was, they so often were now. All the old triggers, the ones he knew to look for, were still there and now he was finding new and exciting ones to look out for. It was a draining process.
"Drew, baby, look at me," Rick said, trying yet again to get his attention. "Come on, focus on me…"
"You shouldn't be here...what are you doing here?" Drew mumbled. He had finally stopped rocking.
"Where is here?" Rick asked, holding his breath. So it had progressed to flashback, which meant it was going to be a long night, and he was already so tired.
"You need to get to cover," came the answer.
Rick forced back a groan. This was going to take awhile. "I need to call in our position Captain. Where are we?"
"Al-Jahr. We're in Al-Jahr," Drew finally answered as he stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
"What are we doing here? Why do we need to take cover?" Rick continued, sliding down the sink cabinet to the floor. He really wanted to take his leg off and just lay down. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted, but here he was. Looking over at his lover, Rick could see the glazed look to his eyes and the panic in his posture and there was no way he could leave now. He may have been having a rough time, but Drew wasn't doing so great either.
"Community outreach. Vaccines for the kids…" he answered, "but we fucked up. I really fucked up…I fucked up. It's my fault."
Rick saw tears in Drew's eyes, the other was fighting to hold them back. He was rocking again too. "What happened? What went wrong?"
This was something different than his imprisonment, some other trauma, and Rick was searching back through all the conversations they'd had the past year trying to figure out what. Hell, it could even have been from his tours in Iraq for all he knew. Drew's brain had been shitty like that lately. His flashbacks, while primarily focused around being tortured, were mixing with other events. No idea why, but that was a thing now, and Rick was learning about all kinds of gut clenching incidents his boyfriend had experienced over his three tours. Things he'd never known about, and wondered why the hell Drew hadn't told him.
"Shouldn't have been so relaxed, should have kept a guard up. He never would've gotten so close. We could have disarmed the kid if we saw him sooner but Marsh didn't have a choice...he did good. Exactly what he was supposed to. It's not on him, it's on me."
"What's on you?" Rick asked, voice neutral and low. The calmer and more detached he stayed, the easier it was to walk Drew through the memory. He'd had a lot of practice with this lately… his field training officer wanted him to go for his crisis intervention cert, and Rick knew damn well this was why.
"Marsh told him to drop the rifle, gave him plenty of chances. The kid opened fire. Marsh had to shoot him. I was supposed to fix it. Supposed to be able to fix it… but you can't… the bullets went right through his heart. I can't fix that...and I know that… I shouldn't have tried, we should have just backed out. But… he was twelve… what kind of fucked up country uses twelve year olds to fucking shoot people?"
Something slid into place in Rick's mind. The call that came in, when Drew's face was bruised and he couldn't talk about what had happened but still needed to talk… "Lot of messed up people in the world…. you tried to save him?"
"I couldn't just... he was so young... but I shouldn't have because the village… they turned on us. They started throwing rocks at us. I got hit in the head…."
Yes, definitely that call, Rick thought. "I remember that. You called me when you got back to base. You couldn't talk about it then," Rick said.
"Investigation's over," he sighed, sagging against the wall. He was coming out of it now, returning to the present.
"Drew? You with me?" Rick asked, watching him.
"Texas," was the reply, and Rick gave a small smile. It had become the test of Drew's head space, how they both determined where his head was. Drew had taught it to him years ago, and really it wasn't anything he hadn't learned in basic. First rule of first aid, make sure your patient is breathing, awake, alert, and oriented to person, place, time, and event. They had simply modified it to making sure Drew knew what day it was and where he was.
"What happened?" Rick asked trying to find the cause of the episode.
"It's stupid…" Drew mumbled.
"I mean, is it a plastic glass broke and ya lost it stupid? Cause if not, I still hold the title for most stupid reason to have a melt down," he joked, getting a tired smile from the other.
"Okay… maybe less stupid. But still stupid…. I freaked out because a ball hit the front door. I was trying to sleep and then, suddenly, bam. I held it together long enough to look out the window even… and then I lost it."
"Yeah… see… that's not stupid. How does this one fit with the rest?"
"One of the men who attacked us that day was the same one who told them I was a doctor," Drew sighed. "It was also the same village… Al-Jahr was where we did the outreach and it was where they took me prisoner."
Rick nodded. "It's a small world after all?" He joked and Drew even laughed.
"I'm so tired of this…" he sighed, leaning against the tub. "I just want one day that's normal."
"You've had plenty of days without flashbacks," Rick reminded him. He was tired of this conversation.
"Rick, I can't even leave the apartment without taking at least twenty minutes to convince myself I'm going to be fine," Drew snapped. And here came the mood swings.
"That's ten minutes less than last week," he tried to joke but Drew wasn't having it.
"I need to shower," he said, and it was clearly the end on this conversation.
"Okay…" Rick sighed. He pulled himself up off the floor. He couldn't do this now, couldn't handle the tension or the mood swings. He was too tired. But he felt like shit for it. He was supposed to be able to help, to tolerate the outbursts and flashbacks, but when he was tired and sore and just done with day he couldn't. He couldn't take on Drew's mind and self-loathing thoughts when he was barely awake, and for that he felt like a failure.
"I'm sorry…" Drew said softly, "I know you're trying and I'm sorry that I can't…" he paused, taking a breath, "I don't know what to do."
Rick bowed his head, he knew exactly where Drew was. Knew exactly that feeling. He was there not too long ago too. "Don't give up, you're doing so much better than you think. Just take a shower, okay? I'll figure out dinner."
Drew nodded. "I wish you didn't have to deal with this," he said softly.
"Yeah, that's what I felt too," Rick said softly, "back when I lost my leg. Just don't do something stupid and walk out, okay?"
"I mean that'd be really stupid, it's my apartment…" and there was the break in the tension that they needed. There was the end of this episode, Rick's clue that for now Drew was okay, and the reminder that, while not perfect, he was better. His episodes were shorter, easier to talk through, and a lot less immersive.
"You're a jerk," Rick teased, "and I'm ordering pizza."
-line-
1 week later. 4:00 PM
"Why don't you get a dog?" His training officer had said while they were finishing up paperwork.
The other man was in his late forties and former Marine who had been in the original Desert Storm and done fifteen years in the military. Rick had been nervous, albeit only slightly, considering the other was a "man's man" type and he was openly gay in a place where masculinity was everything. But, as it turned out, one of Jimmy's kids was gay, so he really didn't care. In fact the majority of the police force didn't, and it was just as normal to ask Rick about his boyfriend as they asked the others about their wives and girlfriends. If anything, his fellow officers seemed to check up on Drew more given the fact he had just returned. It was nice. The two of them had been talking about their families, Jimmy telling Rick about his youngest child's latest hockey game and Rick telling him about Drew's recovery and what he thought may have been a set back.
"I mean, it's gotta be hard to be alone most the day, even if he's going out to do things. That's gotta be part of the problem, not having someone there to help gauge the threat or help make him feel like he's got back up. Hell, even just setting up a routine and making your brain go 'I need to get through this to take care of the dog.' I mean it helped me when I came back. Might be something to think about?" And it was exactly something that he thought about. For the last few days in fact, and now, after last nights fight, he had a plan. Walking into the apartment he called out for the other. "Hey babe, you awake?"
"Nope," he called back from the bedroom, sounding very much awake. Rick smiled, making his way to there. He found Drew on the bed, with a bunch of papers, his computer, and reading materials around him.
"Studying? Do you have to do more tests?"
"Continuing ed… I start back at the hospital in two weeks and I have to catch up on my credits," Drew sighed, a combination of frustration and exhaustion. "It's not like it's anything hard, just a lot to make up. Jordan was helping me, but she had to go in."
"Need a break?" Rick asked, changing into street clothes. "Wanna go on an adventure?" He could feel Drew's eyes on him and he knew without looking the suspicious glare he was getting.
"What are you planning?" Came the question.
"Come with me and you'll find out," Rick said, smiling mischievously, "or stay here and try to focus while wondering what I'm up to. Your pick."
Drew sighed, knowing all too well what happened when Rick had that look and was left unsupervised. "Let me get some shoes…"
It was twenty minutes later that had the pair pulling up outside of the humane society. Drew had been rather quiet the ride in, letting Rick talk about his day, but now he was speaking volumes. At least his eyes were when he turned to look at his boyfriend.
"So, we're here…" Rick said, highly amused as he cut off the engine.
Drew's voice was measured, "this is an animal shelter."
"Yes, and we're going inside," Rick said.
"Rick…" Drew started, annoyed.
"Hey, just to look, okay? That's it. I promise," Rick tried to pacify.
"This is a really bad idea. What are we doing looking at animals?"
"Dogs, looking at dogs. And you said the other night how you hated feeling isolated. Like you didn't know who you could talk to without feeling like a burden. So—"
"You think a dog's gonna help?" Drew almost snapped. "Really? Rick, I'm barely functional. I have so much to catch up on, I start back again in two weeks and I'm not even sure I can handle that, and now you want to add a dog into the mix?"
"Come in and look?" Rick said with a shrug, "that's all I'm asking. Okay?"
Drew wanted to scream. He couldn't believe Rick was actually doing this. It was stupid and crazy and a horrible idea. There was no way anything good could come of it and he had no desire to go inside. But Rick was already out of the car, and he knew if the man went in alone, he'd come back with a whole pack of dogs. Grumbling and cursing under his breath Drew climbed out and followed Rick.
Inside of the kennels, Rick did most of the talking with Drew hanging back. He and the adoption aid, a collage aged girl named Sarah, were up front talking like old friends, and Drew had drifted away from them too annoyed to be there. He wondered slowly down the kennel hall, trying to block all the whimpers and barks from the dogs. It made him anxious and angry seeing the dogs in their cages, watching them pace. No innocent living thing should be locked in a cage. He knew that now more than ever. Coming to a cage, near the back, Drew stopped suddenly, some instinct making him pause.
Looking into the cage on his right, he saw a three-legged mutt hunched in the back corner. His ears were back, tail tucked, but he was growling; he was scared but he was still willing to fight. Unlike all the other dogs, this one wasn't 'adorable' or 'cute', in fact he looked a little rough. His coat was dull, he was bulky and needed some exercise, and he had scarring to his face and body. He was so tense and so scared that it hurt to watch, but there was a look in his eyes, one Drew understood all too well; help me, I'm drowning. Drew glanced back over towards where Rick and the aid were still talking. They hadn't seem to notice his absence yet, that was fine. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he took a step closer to the cage watching the dog. He shied back, but didn't snap or snarl, so Drew crouched down and waited. The dog watched him, still curled in on itself, but he had stopped growling and tilted his head.
"Hey there," Drew said softly, sticking a few fingers in between the bars.
The dog inched forward, still hunching low, but his tail was no longer tucked. Drew held still, patient, allowing the dog to take his time. He knew a thing or two about being skittish so he understood the hesitation. "It's alright," he encouraged, "take all the time you need."
The dog came as close as he dared, stopping about two inches away from Drew's fingers. Curiously, he sniffed the air a couple of times, on the third sniff he came closer. Close enough for Drew to brush his fingertips along his nose. The dog snorted and shook his head, as if the touch tickled. It made Drew laugh softly and he sat cross-legged in front of the cage. "You're okay," he promised as the movement startled the dog, and he stuck his fingers back in, letting the animal smell him again. That was exactly the position Rick and Sarah found them in, sitting quietly fingers to nose.
Rick, feeling more than a little vindicated, said softly, "So who's your friend?" Drew looked up at him with narrowed eyes, because he knew exactly what was going to happen and just how smug his boyfriend was going to be.
"This is Scout," Sarah said smiling softly, "he's a three year old hound mix that was rescued from an abusive home. He's a tough pup… survived a lot." There was a note of sadness in her voice with that last comment.
Rick studied both the dog and the man he loved. It was strange, seeing the mirrored look in their eyes, that same sense of being almost broken and oh so lost. Hell, looking at Scout, with his three legs, Rick could almost laugh at the coincidence. There probably wasn't going to be a better dog for them than right here. "So have we," Drew said softly, giving voice to Rick's thoughts. Using Drew to brace, he crouched down sticking his fingers into the cage like Drew did. Scout sniffed his hand, and then tilted his head, looking at both of them for a moment before lying down on his belly and waving at them with his only front paw.
Sarah laughed and said, "congratulations guys, you have a dog."