Chapter Three
"Roger, Roger …. Hush now," Roger Dobbs jerked awake as the soft voice close to his ear penetrated the swirling mists of his dream and his eyes flew open wide in horror and mortification as he realised where he was.
The dream was a familiar one.
Vietnam.
St John, lost ….
The noise of battle, the heat of the jungle, the feeling of being so helpless and ineffectual ….
He let out a long ragged breath and found himself gazing up into the soft, concerned features of Dr Sara Sykes, her deep blue eyes regarding him gently and her warm hand resting comfortingly against his right shoulder as she stood at his bedside.
Damn.
Why had it had to happen here of all places, Dobbs groaned silently to himself.
And why did she have to be the one to witness it …..
Damn. Damn. Damn ….
The last thing he needed was Psycho Sara's curiosity.
Or her pity.
He was drenched in sweat and his guts were still shaking, and he knew that he must have an expression of wild eyed horror on his face, a remnant of the dream, because Sara Sykes expression told him of her concern for him and her understanding too.
His heart sank, as he realised that there was no way she could simply overlook something like this. At the very least she would have to bring it to Dr Van Doom's attention.
Oh terrific ….
He sank back against his pillows and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling hot tears run freely down the sides of his face as he did so.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He felt the mattress move slightly beside him and opened his eyes to find Sara Sykes sitting on the bed beside him, watching him with gentle eyes and a reassuring smile.
Suddenly, she was reaching her hand out toward his face, her thumb lightly wiping away an errant tear as it tricked down his cheek and jaw then her warm hand cupped his chin gently.
Her touch was light, reassuring, so tender, and yet, he felt a jolt shoot through him, starting in his diaphragm and radiating out through his whole body before shooting out through his limbs, and suddenly all Roger Dobbs wanted to do was reach out to her and wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her neck and breathe in the scent of her.
"Back with us now, Roger?" Sara Sykes spoke in a low voice, slowly withdrawing her hand, and Dobbs suddenly felt his heart sink as he realised exactly where he was, then suddenly jerked his head toward the other cot, to look and see if his nightmare screams had disturbed his bunkmate, Guy Anders, only to find the bed empty.
He turned back to Sara Sykes wearing a frown, although he had to admit that he was relieved that the other man had not witnessed his weakness.
"The Major had a nose bleed, nothing serious. He's gone to the bathroom to clean up," Sykes informed him interpreting the questioning look on his face correctly.
"Relax Major, you were just a little …. Restless," she told him gently and the look on her face told Roger Dobbs that she knew exactly what had been happening to him, but that she had woken him before he had actually cried out.
Before he had called out for St John ….
He let out another deep sigh of relief and smiled weakly back at the doctor who remained seated on the bed, watching him carefully.
"I'm ok now," he assured her in a voice made rough and groggy by sleep and emotion.
"Yes, I think you are," she grinned back now.
"No, I mean, I'll be ok now," he explained. "It won't happen again."
Sara Sykes nodded, obviously prepared to accept that he knew the pattern his nightmares took.
"Can I get you anything, Major?" She asked, still not inclined to move from his bedside, deep violet eyes still scrutinising him, weighing him up, trying to decide if she should pursue the matter further with him, or to let it pass. "Some water?"
"No, thanks. I'm fine now."
"Very well," she reached out and lightly patted his right hand then rose from her perch on the edge of the bed. "Then I will say goodnight, Major,"
She took a small step back from the bed, just as Guy Anders chose that moment to return from his trip to the bathroom.
"Good night, again, Majors."
And with that, Sara Sykes took her leave, returning to the small alcove that had been assigned as the office space on the observation ward.
Sitting down carefully at the desk, Sara Sykes reached out for Roger Dobbs file, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she opened it up to the relevant section and scanned the few brief details in his personal information, quickly finding what she was looking for.
Yes, it was as she remembered.
He had been in combat.
Vietnam.
Three tours no less.
Impressive.
Yet, there had obviously been consequences, which he was still dealing with, if only on a subconscious level.
The secret cost of the war.
The mental scars that men like Dobbs, brave men who had faced the enemy and learned more about the men that they were in doing so, were reluctant to own up to, because they feared it made them look weak.
Terrors that they could not help reliving in their dreams.
Unspeakable things that they felt they had to deal with on their own, suffering in silence.
Hiding their shame.
Sara Sykes understood Roger Dobbs a little better now.
No wonder he was so insular, so shut off.
So secretive.
Her father too had suffered horrendous nightmares after serving in World War 2, waking up in the middle of the night screaming and shouting, drenched in sweat, wide eyed and frantic, reliving that awful day when he and the rest of his friends had swarmed over the Normandy beaches in a bid to drive the Nazis back to where they belonged.
He had witnessed so much death, so much carnage that day, 6th June, 1944, had lost so many friends, and come close to losing his own life, several times, and because he had had to focus all of his energy and wits on staying alive, he had not had time to process it or come to terms with it until much, much later, when he had had many a broken night due to the horrifically vivid and detailed nightmares.
He had never spoken of it, not even to her mother, and it had been one of the main reasons they had begun to drift apart, and finally her mother had been unable to deal with her father's irrational mood swings and outbursts of unprovoked rage and she had walked away, fearing for herself and her children, despite the fact that she still loved him, and probably always would.
Even now, he found it hard to open up to her and talk to her about his experiences because he somehow thought that it might lessen her opinion of him, that she might see him as a weak man, no longer her strong, brave, gallant Papa.
Sara Sykes suspected that Dobbs nightmare had been induced by his recent brush with death and that he was probably right when he had indicated that now that it had passed he would not dream again tonight.
At least his mind was dealing with tonight's incident, even if it had taken him back to another time and place, another peril, one that he was used to dealing with in his nightmares, which was more than could be said for Guy Anders, who had prowled around the observation ward for an hour, scowling and mumbling under his breath in a bid to expend excess energy before he too could settle down to sleep.
His nose bleed had troubled her for a while, but it hadn't lasted very long and he insisted that he wasn't nauseous and that he didn't have a headache, and his brain scan had come back clean, so it was probably due to his heightened state of anxiety.
Sara Sykes mind returned to Roger Dobbs.
Lord but he was a conundrum, but the predilection to night terrors told her a lot about the kind of man he really was, Sara Sykes admitted silently to herself, another small insight into what made the man think and act the way he did, but it didn't mean that she should stop being suspicious of Roger Dobbs.
His conscience might be bothering him about something altogether different, she reasoned, sadly, and until she knew for sure where he stood and what his true purpose for being here was, she would have to be very careful.
Back in the observation ward, Roger Dobbs lay quietly in his cot, staring silently up at the ceiling, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down and his stomach to stop squirming, listening to Guy Anders breathing as it slowed, becoming deep and regular as he succumbed to sleep again at last, and as he lay there, Roger Dobbs silently blessed Sara Sykes for waking him before he got to the point in the dream where he screamed out for his lost brother, for he would have had a hard time explaining who St John was, and knew that he would be eternally grateful to her for not asking questions.
The dreams happened intermittently, and the possibility that he might have one while he was posted here was something that had crossed his mind, especially so when he had realised that he was going to have to share a room with Frank Campbell. When he had realised that it was something that he was going to have to deal with, if he had a nightmare and disturbed his bunkmate, but he had hoped to be spared the humiliation and embarrassment of having to offer an explanation while he was here at Thunderbird.
The fact that Sara Sykes hadn't made a big issue out of it led him to believe that she understood what had happened, indeed, he recalled the look in her eyes, the sympathy and understanding and the realisation that the last thing he needed was for someone to draw attention to it.
And then he remembered her touch, the gentle caress of her fingers on his cheek as she had wiped away the tears, and his heart lurched in his chest.
Dammit, what was it about that woman that turned him inside out!
He settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes, although he knew from experience that sleep was a long way off, and allowed himself the luxury of reliving the tantalising sensation of Sara Sykes firm thigh pressed up against his own as she sat beside him on the cot, and the warmth of her hand against his shoulder, her fingers against his cheek and the compassionate look in those unusual violet eyes and again felt the urgent need to gather her into his arms and crush her to him, to bury his face in her lustrous blue/black hair and draw in the unique scent of her before moulding his lips to hers and kissing the breath out of her ….
And for once he did not quash these errant thoughts, for they were infinitely more comforting than the memories of the dream that still lingered in the dark corners of his mind, and would hopefully inspire more pleasant dreams, when sleep finally did come to claim him.