AN: Any recognizable characters or places are the sole property of their respective owners.

See AN at the bottom please. Mwah.

Oh, Sosiego=Serenity in Spanish (At least that's what iTranslate says).

RPOV

I don't know what made me drive over there in the middle of the night like that. In my head I knew she was fine, that she was warm and safe in her bed, but I couldn't stop myself from jumping in my car and driving over there as fast as I could. I realized what a head-case I was when she answered the phone groggily and not thirty seconds later was ushering me into her house. I was destined to burden this woman no matter what my intentions were. If I kept running to her to come down from these episodes she'd never see me as anything other than a weak loser. There was something incredibly restorative in her touch though. When she hugged me, I felt a match flare of warmth inside me. I already knew that she was instrumental to me feeling like a human again, but maybe not in the capacity I had thought. When I got it stuck in my head that in order to assuage my guilt for the loss of her husband I needed to do things for her, I was probably wrong. Yet every time I'm near her I feel…something. Like I might be able to become my old self again. Laugh again, enjoy things. Heal.

I never went to sleep that night…morning…whatever. I wouldn't have been able to handle another one of those dreams. I purged some demons by taking an extra-long run. I ran so hard the only thing I could concentrate on was pulling more air into my burning lungs and pushing my screaming legs harder. It was 8:00 by the time I dragged my exhausted ass over my threshold. I stood in the shower until there was no more hot water left, wrapped a towel around me and sat at the end of my bed staring a hole in the shrink's card. I must have sat there for a half an hour trying to drum up the courage to call that number. I finally punched in the numbers and had to close my eyes to hit send.

"Hello, Dr. Rossoli's office." Holy shit I was expecting a machine. I almost hung up, but stopped when I heard, "Hello?"

"Uh…Hi…ummm, I was given the doctor's card by a friend. I guess I need to make an appointment." My stomach was a mess right now. I fleetingly wished that Stephanie was here to hold my hand or something, but I knew that I needed to do this.

"Dr. Rossoli isn't really taking any new patients on right now. Can I ask what you would like to be seen for?"

"Um…" I croaked.

Why is this so fucking hard?

"Umm…I'm a veteran. I've been home for a little while and I'm having some…issues." I blew out a breath.

"Have you tried the VA?" She said gently.

"Not yet. A friend gave me Dr. Rossoli's card and said that she's been helping her a lot.

"I see. How about this? Being that you were referred here I can squeeze you in for an evaluation in an hour and we can go from there?" I felt like yelling no down the phone, but swallowed down my rising panic.

"Umm, sure that sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Can I just have your name and insurance information please?"

I gave her all the pertinent information and hung up. I flopped backwards on the bed and did some deep breathing. Any last bit of endorphins that I managed to release during my run had been burned off making that phone call. I don't know how I was going to manage to make myself dress and leave for the doctor's office. I was lying there, hands over my face when my phone chirped a text next to me.

Doing okay? ~Stephanie

How does she always seem to know when I need someone?

Yeah. Just made appt. with your Doctor, she's going to see me in an hour.

It was pretty satisfying to send that text. What's that they say about alcoholics and addicts? The first step is admitting you need help. I guess that also goes for…whatever the hell was wrong with me.

You did? We can talk about it later if you want, or not. You're going to like her, she's really good ~ Stephanie

I thought about that for a second. How I managed to get this woman in my corner I'll never know. She was so shocked and devastated at our first meeting and so furious at our second that I never would've guessed she would become so supportive of me. She was kind of amazing, that she could find it within herself to not hate me and even offer me help with my own failings. No wonder Anthony had been so in love with her. Fierce and strong, she should've been a marine too.

Thank-you for your help. Really. I sent back.

Anytime ~ Stephanie

I sat up and got ready to go. Before I knew it I was standing in front of an office building on a quiet side street off Hamilton Ave. The weekend morning tranquility helping to calm my jittery nerves. I forced my feet to keep movingthrough the doors and to the elevator in the center of lobby. I felt sweat break out on my upper lip and forehead and wiped my damp palms on my pants. I could feel my breath get shorter the higher the elevator ascended. I had to have an internal argument to step out of the damn elevator and into the doctor's office. There was a dark haired woman behind the receptionist's desk who turned my way as soon as I made it through the door.

"Hi Mr. Manoso? I'm Dr. Rossoli. You can come straight back." She was staring intently at my face as she spoke to me. She reached out to shake my hand and didn't let go as we walked a few paces to an office. My anxiety ratcheted down a few notches once I was in the quiet office. It was bright and cheery in here. The weak winter sunlight poured in through open blinds bathing the flowering plants on the sill and there were soothing landscapes framed on the walls.

"Have a seat Mr. Manoso." She gestured to a comfy looking chair and pulled another up opposite. "Before I have you fill out paperwork, I want you to tell me why you think you should be here. You said this morning that you're a veteran. How long have you been home?"

"Umm…about six months." I was surprised at how strangled my voice sounded.

"You also said you've been having issues. Can you tell me more specifically about those?" Man, she really cut to the chase here.

"Uh, well I've been having trouble sleeping, I guess that's the main problem."

"Can you not fall asleep?"

"Sometimes…I mostly have a hard time staying asleep." The sweats were coming back and my stomach was starting to roll. Talking to Anthony's wife had been exponentially easier than this.

"Do you have nightmares Mr. Manoso?" I couldn't really answer, so I just nodded.

"Are they of your time in…where were you? Afghanistan?" Again I nodded.

"I want you to do something for me okay?" More nodding. "I can see that you're having a bit of anxiety right now right?" She said gently. "Can you close your eyes for me?" I did as I was told. "Good, now breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth, deep as you can. Listen only to me breathing okay?" She almost whispered. I modeled her breathing for a few minutes and felt myself slowly relaxing.

"You can open your eyes now Mr. Manoso." I blinked in the warm sunlight. "How are you now?"

"Better, thank-you."

"Before you go I'm going to instruct you on meditation, but for now I'd like to talk more about why you're here. If you feel like your panic is getting the better of you at any time I want you to stop and do what we just did again okay?"

"Yes."

"Is there a recurrent theme in your nightmares?"

"Usually yes…" I trailed off.

"How do you come out of them?"

"I wake up and do something around the house, go for a run, go for a drive. I have a hard time going back to sleep afterwards."

"That's not uncommon at all." She hesitated. "Have the army…"

"Marine Corps." I interrupted.

"I'm sorry, Marine Corps." She said with a little smile. "Have they offered any services to you?"

"I haven't asked for any. You're my first stop."

"Okay. Let's go back to the nightmares. What happens in them?"

I gave her as brief a summary as I could. I'd seen so many awful things during my two tours, yet seeing that brave man die under the weight of all that smoldering debris was just…so hard to elucidate. I think she got it and didn't push me too hard on some of the details I glossed over. She sat back after a while and glanced at her watch, I did the same and noticed that our time was almost up already.

"Mr. Manoso, what I had you do earlier was like a mini-meditation. What I want you to do before you go is think of a word that soothes you, any word will do. As long as the repetition of it will calm and center you."

Sosiego. Mama used to say sosiego when we would cry when we were little.

"Do you have one?"

"Yes."

"Good, now every morning and every afternoon after work, but before dinner, I want you to sit somewhere quiet and comfortable and won't be disturbed. You'll need to sit for twenty minutes per session, eyes closed, breathing deep and repeat that word to yourself, over and over. This is called transcendental meditation, or mantra meditation. The key is to focus all your energy on that word alone. To enter a higher state of consciousness by blocking out all external and internal stimuli. It sounds very new age and holistic I know." She held up her hand to the skeptical look on my face. "But I've seen it keep full blown panic attacks at bay. If it's done faithfully it can even prevent them. How often would you say you have panic episodes?"

"Really not a lot. This last week I've felt like this a few times, but I think it's more that I've actually been talking about it. I've never been walking around going about my day and had a panic attack out of nowhere."

"Not to trivialize what you're going through, but that is also fairly common. Now, from the symptoms we've discussed and the signs you've displayed here in my office, I'm giving you a preliminary diagnosis of PTSD." I felt my heart sink. Whether or not I had already guessed as much was irrelevant. Hearing a professional say it was just…"We have more diagnostics to perform of course, and more work to do before we arrive at a definitive diagnosis, but this will get the ball rolling on treatment for you. Also I have two organizations for you to contact that I think could help a great deal. The first is the Wounded Warrior Project and here is the person you need to contact there." She said handing me a card.

"I'm not wounded though."

"I beg to differ. Psychological wounds are just as devastating as physiological ones, sometimes more so. The Wounded Warrior Project is a non-profit organization that is dedicated to all wounded vets and their recuperation. They have a few programs that I think could help you. Also there's this." She handed me a second card.

"Veteran Canine Connection?" I asked reading the card aloud.

"Yes, they're also an NPO. They'll explain it better, but they have vets with PTSD puppy raise assistance dogs that will eventually go to a physically disabled veteran. It's a wonderful program. Now, you should come back here twice weekly at first."

"Twice?" That seemed like a lot to me.

"Just for a little while. As a psychologist I can't prescribe medications. The therapy techniques I prefer using in cases such as yours are pretty intense in the beginning and it's better if you can come more often. Unless you'd like to try medications first? I know a great psychiatrist that I could refer you to."

"Do you think I should try meds?" I hated the idea of taking pills just to feel normal.

"Given that the bulk of your issues center around sleeping and you've only had a few panic episodes, I think maybe we should give talk therapy a go first. If you contact those two organizations I think that will be pretty therapeutic as well. Do you have a support system? Family, friends?"

"My family doesn't know I've been having problems…I have a friend that's offered me support. She's the one who sent me here, Stephanie Morelli."

"Oh! I know her. She's pretty great." She said with a smile

"Yeah, she is." I felt my own lips tug upwards.

"Okay so you can come back Tuesday? Around 6:00 pm I have time. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, that'd be perfect."

"Good." She penciled me into her book on her desk. "It was really good to meet you Mr. Manoso." She said shaking my hand. "Call those numbers I gave you before you come in again. I think they'll be right for you."

"I will. Thank-you." I turned and walked out of the office, I felt a bit lighter just knowing that I'd done something to get out from under this. I knew I had a long way to go, but this felt like a real start.

AN: Most cases of PTSD are treated with a combo of meds and talk and cognitive therapies. The primary complaints that I've seen in my research is that the meds turn you into a zombie and are notoriously difficult to achieve the right cocktail of anti-psychotic, anti-anxiety and anti-depressants. Also from the blogs I've been reading the patients feel like rather than working towards actually getting better the focus slips to management of symptoms when drugs are brought into the equation. It works for some and doesn't for others. I don't want that for our Lieutenant.

The two organizations I mentioned are real and are incredibly helpful to our returning heroes.

www . woundedwarriorproject and

warriorcanineconnection (remove the spaces) both are non-profit organizations and exist primarily on donations and fundraisers, so if you're looking for a charity to donate to, check them out.

This will probably be the only therapy heavy chapter for him. He will continue to go, but I'm not a mental health professional and I'm not that comfortable writing therapy sessions when I only have the vaguest idea of what happens there. My only personal experience is with the behaviorist who saw my son, who has high-functioning Autism. Their methods are very different!

Thank-you for all the love this story is getting. You guys are the greatest.

EA xoxo