Author's Note: I've been trying to get this Metal scene just right and I'm still not fully satisfied with it, but it'll have to do. Metal is more or less an original character when writing him, and I'm having a hard time keeping his mindset and motivations straight since I write everything out of order. Hope you enjoy a peek into how his brain works! Poor guy is not quite okay.

Chapter 10: The Struggle

The sun was streaming through her window brightly when Feiyaz woke the next morning to a knocking on her bedroom door. As she came to fully, she noticed the pain throbbing throughout her body. All she could do was groan as she lay there trying to breathe through it.

"Yaz, it's Trent," he said as he cracked the door open. Taking in the scrunched expression of pain on her face, he moved into the room, glass of water and pain meds in hand. "Yeah, thought that's how you were going to feel this morning. Here." He handed her the glass and the pill as she sat up gingerly.

"My hero," she muttered gratefully as she took the items from him and downed the medication quickly.

"Lay here for a little bit while it kicks in, then you can try getting up. Sonny is in the kitchen making breakfast. You need to eat something every time you take an Oxy. Otherwise, it may make you feel queasy."

She nodded in understanding at the medic's instructions. "Should I be concerned about what all comes in a Texan breakfast?"

Trent chuckled and moved back towards the door. "I've told him to keep it simple, eggs and toast. You get nice, bland food for a while, sorry." With a smile, he exited the room and closed the door behind him.

She lay there and tried to doze for a bit, enjoying the feeling of the soft, comfortable blankets draped over her. It was a stark contrast to the rough fabrics of the hospitals, so thin that they could barely be called a blanket. No matter how many they gave her, she had never really gotten warm under them. Another reason she had checked herself out early.

As the pain faded to a dull ache, she figured it was time to get out of bed and join the others before Sonny decided to invade her space even more than he already had. She pushed herself out of the bed slowly, glad to find she was a bit more steady than she had been yesterday as she walked over to the bathroom.

She avoided looking at herself in the mirror, her attention instead focused on the shower as she brushed her teeth. Snippets of the previous night came back to her, though she couldn't remember all of it. What she did remember was Trent's kind patience with her, and she was secretly very grateful that he had been there to help her through the night.

Not wanting to keep the pair waiting, she finished up in the bathroom and grabbed a zip-up hoodie from her closet before heading out to face the world.

"Mornin', little lady," Sonny said from the kitchen, hand towel draped over his shoulder. "Chef Sonny, at your service." Feiyaz greeted him quietly and shuffled over to sit at the small kitchen table. He took her arrival as his queue to start cooking, dumping the bowl of eggs he had ready to go into the hot pan on the stove. "Now, the Good Doctor has prohibited me from making you anything halfway decent, so don't judge my cooking skills based on this meal, okay?"

Sonny was awarded a small grin for his efforts, and he was glad to see the expression on her face for the first time in a while. She seemed to be in a much more agreeable mood than yesterday, although that had maybe partially been their fault since they had broken into her apartment without warning.

"She hasn't had a real meal in almost two weeks, Son," Trent said with a hint of exasperation as he sat on the couch packing up the go bag he'd had stashed in his car for emergencies such as this. "You give her your spicy Texas heart attack on a plate, she'll thank you by puking it back up."

Making a face of disgust, Sonny turned to throw some bread in the toaster. "As delightful as that sounds, I suppose I can introduce you to my fine cooking at a later time."

Feiyaz ducked her head and chuckled softly at the banter, relishing in the lighthearted vibe. They continued to squabble as Trent entered the kitchen to help or, as Sonny accused, to supervise.

"Cheese in your eggs, Yaz?" Sonny asked, and she nodded.

"Cheesy eggs is one American food quirk I was very quick to get behind," she said with a fond smile.

They sat at the kitchen table to eat their late breakfast, with Trent and Sonny keeping most of the conversation going. Feiyaz appreciated the normalcy of it all, a casual breakfast. It helped her feel like herself again, like everything that happened outside the wire was just a dream.

After they finished, Sonny collected their dishes and began to clean up.

"I can help," Feiyaz said, standing slowly from the chair as her knee gave a little protest.

"No, ma'am," Sonny replied, waving his hand towards the couch. "You're not cleared for duty, so you just go sit and pick us a good movie to watch."

She frowned, eyes glancing towards the packed bag sitting on her coffee table. "Aren't you guys headed out?"

"I am," Trent said, handing Sonny the last of the dirty dishes. "Gonna shower, do some laundry. Gotta check on Brock, make sure he's good. Sonny will stay and hang out with you, but I'll be back later with dinner and some pain meds."

Feiyaz turned her gaze skywards with a sigh. "I really don't need someone here with me all the time. I promise to take it easy and eat regularly."

"Are you saying I'm not good company?" Sonny asked in mock offense as he wiped out the pan he'd used for the eggs. "I'll have you know, I'm excellent at sleepovers. And I bought a lot of snacks yesterday."

"Something tells me this isn't your usual sleepover," Feiyaz deadpanned with an exasperated stare, which Sonny responded to with a simple wiggle of his eyebrows over his shoulder at her. Trent grabbed his bag and headed for the door, but stopped when a whiny question was directed his way. "How come Brock doesn't get a twenty-four-seven babysitter?"

"Cause Brock didn't check himself out of the hospital AMA," Trent replied with a cheeky grin as he closed the door behind him.

Feiyaz glared at the door for several seconds after he left.

Metal was annoyed.

Why the Navy thought forcing someone like him to talk about his feelings would solve anything was beyond him. They didn't really care how he was coping with the trauma of what he'd seen, what he'd done in the name of his country. No, they just wanted to cover their own asses in case he snapped and went on a homicidal rampage.

Well, he showed no signs of instability during his therapy sessions, the Department of Defense would say to the public as they cleaned up the bloodbath they'd caused.

Of course, he wouldn't show any signs of instability in front of some over-educated civilian who had no idea what the battlefield was like and yet had the power to say whether an operator was fit to return to it.

This wasn't his first rodeo. He knew exactly what he needed to say to make these pencil pushers happy with his mental state while also giving none of his inner workings away. Tell the truth, or at least a portion of it so that you weren't technically lying. Be honest enough to be believable.

He'd learned early on that sarcasm and deflection only got you more sessions than were necessarily required as some poor shrink got the idea they could fix you.

Except no amount of gluing the pieces back together could fix him at this point.

He was permanently fucked up.

Metal tried to relax his shoulders, working hard to keep his expression passive. There was only so much a man of his size and demeanor could do to appear agreeable though.

"Thank you for coming in, Senior Chief. I'm Doctor Shepherd, but please, call me Malcolm." The shrink pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, likely a subconscious gesture he'd done a million times. Metal took in the man's posture - reserved, guarded, as though he expected a fight. "I'm sure you'd rather be anywhere else, so we'll try to keep this as painless as possible." Metal said nothing, merely held out his hands palm up to indicate he was ready to start. "Let's begin with why you're here. Tell me how you're doing after your recent mission in Afghanistan."

"The High-Value Target is in custody and his army was virtually eliminated, so I'm pretty happy. Wiped a lot of bad people off the map."

"Yes, that is certainly a good outcome, all things considered. How are you handling the trauma of your captivity and the physical violence you experienced?"

Metal shrugged, looking contemplative. "Not my first run-in with violence, won't be my last. I'd go through it again if it meant mission success."

"Would you?" The therapist tilted his head to the side slightly, a curious look on his face.

"Sure, I'd go through just about anything to achieve the mission. That's my job."

Malcolm hummed quietly to himself, opening the journal in his lap to jot down a few notes. Metal tried not to let the action bother him.

"And what about your teammates that were captured with you? That would be-" he looked down at his notebook for reference, "Special Warfare Operator First Class Reynolds and Petty Officer Amani. Do you think they feel a similar sentiment?"

"You'd have to ask them," Metal replied cooly, leaning back into the armchair.

They stared at each other momentarily before Malcolm turned back to his notebook to scribble something else. "And how did you feel while you were being held captive?"

It took every ounce of self-control Metal had not to roll his eyes at the question. Was it this guy's first day as a shrink? "Angry," came his reply.

"What about the situation made you angry?"

Metal took a deep breath, reminding himself he shouldn't say anything sarcastic. "No food, physical and mental torture, not knowing if those terrorist fucks were going to win. Anyone would be angry."

"That's one feeling someone might have. They might also feel anxious, hopeless, afraid." The curious head tilt was back. "Did you feel any of those emotions?"

"Not really," he replied honestly. "I'm not an anxious person, I had plenty of hope that someone was coming for us, and there was nothing to be afraid of."

The last comment in particular caught the doctor's attention. "Nothing to be afraid of? How so?"

Metal gave a nonchalant shrug, keeping his words true. "I'm not afraid of pain or violence or dying. That's my world every time I step outside the wire, just another day at the office."

Malcolm scribbled rapidly onto the page in front of him, clearly fascinated. "And why do you think you have this particular viewpoint on fear in the face of violence and death?"

It was Metal's turn to cock his head to the side a bit as he stared at the middle-aged man in front of him. "What are you fishing for, Doc? Think I'm gonna tell you about my violent, alcoholic father that taught me unhealthy coping mechanisms during my youth?" He shook his head slowly, a hint of a smirk gracing his face. "Nah, you got it wrong. My grandfather died in Korea, my father in Desert Storm. What can I say? Us Carter men love dying bloody for our country."

"So… you go into every mission thinking you might not come home?"

He shrugged again, his face going passive. "We all gotta die someday. And dying doing what I love with the people I love, well, there's worse ways to go."

Silence reigned save for the sound of pen on paper. That was starting to grate on Metal's nerves, and he took another deep breath to level himself.

Malcolm placed his pen down on the notebook and adjusted his glasses. "And seeing your teammates in that situation, did that also make you angry?"

"My teammates were trained to handle those situations," he replied, his tone hardening a fraction. He didn't want to talk about them. "They knew the risks of the mission. Being taken prisoner is always a possibility."

"Sure, but regardless, it couldn't have been easy to watch them be tortured."

Metal clenched his jaw, biting back the harsh words he wanted to say. "It wasn't," he said instead. "But it's all part of the job."

The doctor eyed him critically, knowing he had hit a sore subject. "How have your teammates been since getting back? Have you talked to them?"

"Not recently."

Another pause, more scribbled notes.

"And why is that?"

Because I can't face them. Because I couldn't keep them safe. Because I failed them.

The sigh escaped Metal before he could catch it. He ignored the words screaming inside his head.

"I don't know them well," came his response. "They're not really my team. Reynolds is on Bravo and Amani was just along for the mission."

"And you don't see that as your way of attempting to avoid facing what happened?"

Metal didn't answer right away, causing the therapist to look up from his notebook with a raised brow. "What difference would it make to visit? I'll see them on the next mission."

"You went through a shared trauma together. There is a certain level of understanding that only the three of you will have. Maybe you don't need help processing your captivity, as you continue to say, but they might need your help."

Voice going hard, Metal couldn't help the stern expression that took over his face. "They have their own team leaders and therapists to help. I'm not the guy for that."

Studying his notes with furrowed brows, Malcolm flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "It looks like you've been on mission with Bravo team many times in the last year while also still leading Alpha team. Why is that?"

Glad for the shift in subject away from his teammates, Metal relaxed a fraction. "Bravo was down a member due to injury and needed someone to fill in. I was doing that regularly until he came back, and I continue to spin up with them when they need an extra body."

"The Navy recommends no more than three missions per month to allow for proper recovery and time at home, yet you average five between the two teams." Malcolm crossed one leg over the other, adjusting the notebook in his lap. "Why are you taking on so many extra missions?"

"I don't have a wife and kid waiting on me like a lot of the others, and I'm more experienced than most. It makes sense for me to go where I'm needed."

"Is there a particular reason you don't like being home?"

"The Navy is my home. My parents are dead, got no siblings, and all my friends are military." Metal shrugged and forced his face to soften into something resembling honesty. "Look Doc, I'm not gonna lie, what happened on that mission was rough. But I made peace with the rough shit a long time ago. I'm good."

It was Malcolm's turn to sigh, and he closed his notebook before resting his clasped hands on top of it. "Yes, I suppose you are. Or at the very least, you've had twenty years to perfect your disguise. I just hope you are truly dealing with these traumatic events that you're going through. I've seen far too many hardened soldiers crack under the pressure without warning." Metal frowned at the blunt words but remained quiet. The therapist took his glasses off, placing them on the side table next to the chair. "I understand you think this is a waste of time, but regardless, the Navy is requiring two more sessions before I can clear you for active duty. So between now and our next appointment, I would suggest you go visit your teammates, even just for a few minutes. See how they're handling what happened, maybe seeing the different ways people handle trauma will shift your viewpoint a little."

Metal sighed quietly to himself.

That was the exact reason he didn't want to visit them. He didn't want a different viewpoint on the mission.

He wanted to forget it ever happened and move on.

Sonny woke with a start, his SEAL instincts on alert even though he didn't immediately know what woke him. He sat up and put his bare feet on the floor, looking around the living room and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Just when he thought it had been a false alarm, he heard the soft sounds of distress coming through the bedroom door.

He wondered briefly what the correct response was here. Many SEALs preferred to be left alone if they were in the throes of a nightmare, both for the safety of the person trying to wake them and because they didn't want others to see them in torment. But the noise from the other room grew louder and more aggressive, so Sonny was up off the couch to intervene.

Stopping at the closed door, he knocked softly at first. "Yaz? You good?" The sounds of distress continued and he knocked harder. "Yazi!" Still no change, so he opened the door a crack. The darkness in the room didn't let him see much, and he turned on the light in the kitchen before opening the door further and allowing the soft glow to spill into the room a bit. "Yazi, wake up!" he said loudly from where he stood, but she only tossed and turned as she remained trapped in her nightmare.

He moved slowly to the foot of the bed, still calling out to her in an attempt to wake her. "C'mon Sleeping Beauty, I know you're in there." He didn't want to resort to screaming at her, so he used his vast experience of waking soldiers to calculate his next move. He stepped back, staying just within arm's reach so that he could pat her feet forcefully as he tried calling her again. "Feiyaz!"

Sonny dodged the flailing legs as she finally shot to a seated position with a loud gasp, wild eyes darting around the room in terror as her nightmare chased her into the waking world. "Hey, it's Sonny, it's just me," he said from the end of her bed, hands held up in front of him as he gently tried to talk her down. "You're safe, it was just a nightmare. You're home." He kept talking softly as the panic slowly drained from her body, and she finally sagged back onto her elbows in exhaustion. "There you are, nice to see you again." He lowered his hands but didn't move any closer. "You okay? Need some water? Maybe a shower?"

Feiyaz sighed and closed her eyes, fighting off the lingering images in her mind. It had felt like she was back in that room all over again. Some of the pieces she didn't remember, and she couldn't be sure if they'd actually happened or if her mind was just trying to fill in the blanks on its own.

"I'm fine," she replied weakly as she fought back the onslaught of tears coming on.

"You sure? I can call Trent if-"

"I said I'm fine, Sonny!" She got up from the bed and moved quickly into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her before Sonny could register what had happened. He heard the sobs and heavy breathing from the other side of the door and sighed. Moving over to the door, he placed his hands on his hips as he thought through his options.

"Ya know," he said after a few seconds. "I've got these really big shoulders. They're great for crying on." No response. Damn, and he'd thought that was really clever. "No? Well, I'm also a great listener… We could even talk through the door if you want." Nothing but soft crying met his ears in return.

He sighed again and put his back against the wall next to the bathroom door before sliding down to sit on the floor. "Okay, well I'll just sit out here and keep talking then 'cause I know from experience if you sit in silence after a nightmare, it'll just keep haunting you. So I'm gonna tell you the really funny story about the time Clay fed Cerb too many protein bars on a flight out. Have you heard this one…? No? Good. So we were headed to Somalia…"

Sonny regaled her with the tale of the gassy hair missile stinking up the C-17 on their fifteen-hour flight halfway around the world. Somewhere in the middle of the story, he mentally noted that he no longer heard any sounds of distress and took it as a good sign.

What he didn't know was that Feiyaz had settled on the floor, back against the bathroom door, and was clinging to every word as a lifeline to ground her back into reality. She focused on the specific words, the inflection in Sonny's voice, and the little chuckles he couldn't hold back as he got deeper into his tale. She focused on her breathing, on the cold of the tile floor seeping through her thin sleep pants, and the physical pain that had started back up after her rush out of the bed.

His story came to an end a few minutes later and Sonny took the opportunity to listen for any signs of life coming from the bathroom. He was rewarded a few seconds later by a shuffle and then the door slowly creaking open. Turning his head to the right, he looked up as Feiyaz took small steps past him and back to the bed.

"Hey there, little lady," he said gently, waiting until she was seated on the bed before he rose from his spot on the floor. "Welcome back. You good? Can I get ya anything?"

"I'm okay," she replied softly, organizing the tangled sheets around her legs to keep her hands busy.

"Okay well, I'll just be out there on the couch if you need anything, and I mean anything." He wandered slowly towards the door, talking with his hands as he tried to stall his exit. He wasn't quite sure she was really okay, but then again, of course she wasn't okay. "Water, foot rub, midnight snack. Sonny Quinn is your guy." He stopped at the threshold, holding onto the doorframe as he looked back at her one last time. The huddled, broken woman sitting in the middle of the bed broke his heart, but he didn't want to push her. "Alright, try to get some sleep."

He turned to head back to the couch when she spoke.

"Hey, Sonny." Her voice was quiet and he whipped around to face her. "Thanks for being here."

He smiled at her and winked. "Anything for you, Princess." With that, he pulled the door closed behind him and headed back to his bed for the night.

Feiyaz sat there in the dark, unsure of what to do with herself. Did she try to go back to sleep and risk another nightmare? Did she try to keep herself up and go sleep-deprived? She sure wished she had her painkillers to knock her out.

She laid down and covered herself with the blanket, staring at the ceiling and quickly losing her battle with sleep. The crying had made her eyes tired, and she just wanted to close them for a minute. Her eyes drifted closed and she sunk into a half-sleep, where her memories quickly found her and made her jolt awake.

After an hour of this, she sighed and sat back up. Her ears caught the faint noise of snoring coming from the other room. At least one of them was getting some sleep. An idea came to her and she got up from the bed, going to the door and opening it just a bit. The snoring was louder now and she smiled at the picture of Sonny hanging off the small couch in her living room fast asleep.

She went back to the bed and crawled under the covers, closing her eyes again. The snores of her guardian angel miraculously kept the demons at bay as she drifted to sleep.