CHAPTER 22

Excusing herself from Meg, Iris made her way back to John's room. The door was open and she glanced in. He moved around in the wheelchair like a pro. There wasn't a lot of room in there except for the bed. But it looked like the bed had been moved farther away from the door, providing an area where they could sit and talk.

The newly trimmed beard on him looked great but was so different. He'd usually had a scruff, at most, a day or two beard most of the time at work. But he would shave when they went out to dinner together or when he came over to her apartment. Now he looked different and yet the same. Just enough different to remind her he was not the same man before that horrible day on that rooftop, no matter how he 'looked'.

She knew that man was still inside of him. Whether in hiding or in self-preservation in response to the things he had done in his past.. It was going to take everything she had to help bring him back and to help him assimilate those two parts of himself.

Tapping on the door, she called his name. He looked up with a smile that took her breath away. It had been so long since she'd seen that smile. Since that terrible day when they'd their talk in the park.

"I tried to make us a little bit of room for us to sit and talk." Gesturing toward the bed he continued, "I'm tired of being in that thing."

Smiling as she sat down in the comfortable chair that Joan usually sat in, Iris answered, "Good, I like it. It felt unnatural, you being in the bed and me…..." Her voice trailed off as she realized just what she'd been about to say.

John's attention suddenly zeroed in on her. "And you... what? Finish what you were going to say." John held his breath, anxious about what she would say next, what she would have implied with her words.

Iris's mind scrabbled quickly to come up with something other than what she'd been about to give away. "...and me in a chair listening to you. I'm not one of those stereotypical psychologists who has the patient reclining on the couch." She sighed inwardly with relief. She wasn't ready to face his inevitable rejection of their relationship a second time. Not yet, not when she'd just gotten him back.

"Oh." was all he said but she thought she saw a fleeting look of disappointment. Or maybe her mind was just making her see what she wanted to see.

They both sat there for a moment looking at each other. Their thoughts were quite different.

His was more a direct approach. He took in details that he had not been able to when there had been others around. He was looking for something familiar, something he could remember. She was pretty. Not necessarily beautiful, but very pleasing to the eye. Her long red-gold hair, her light green eyes, the light make-up and almost no jewelry. Her lack of sophistication intrigued him. There was an air of hidden complexity. There was more than met the eye. It made him think of the phrase "still waters run deep." What was it that drew his attention to this woman more than any other woman? There was something more. The kindness in her eyes, the serenity she displayed, the gentleness and caring in her demeanor... He was looking for hints that would bring the nature of their relationship back into his memory. He felt strongly that there was something there...

Hers was looking at the face that had been in her dreams every night since Zoe arrived on her doorstep that fateful night. The longer hair was grayer than she remembered. He had some horrific wounds to heal from so it made sense how his body reacted to the stress put on him. The beard only accented the classic angles in his face. His cheekbones stood out in rather stark relief because he was thinner than he had been. But it was his eyes that held her interest the most. Those beautiful, all seeing, watchful eyes. Taking in everything, seeing everything...judging, cataloging. But the one thing she did not see was recognition. Curiosity, yes but no recognition of who she was.

"So, I thought we'd start off with me telling you who I am and how I know you through the NYPD".

"As I told you, I am a psychiatrist for the NYPD. I am assigned to work at the 23rd Precinct. I am there for multiple reasons: as a sounding board for troubled cops, as a willing ear for those who need to talk but can't talk at home. I help officers deal with the realities of their day to day jobs." Pausing for a moment she let her words sink in. Trying to convey that her job was to help members of the NYPD. "Most of the time, a superior recommends someone to come talk to me. Something has happened, caught their attention about one of their officers and they seek help for them before things get too bad."

John watched her closely, listening to what she had to say. It sounded like something the police department would need and it would obviously help the officers involved. They'd had head shrinks in the Army too. But he did not see how it applied to him. At least not yet. She had said he was a member of the NYPD...but he had no memory of it.

Watching John, Iris could sense his understanding but again, not his recognition. He clearly did not remember being in the NYPD at all. She could also see the slight frustration showing when he was trying to remember but coming up empty.

"You had been referred to me by your Captain because of the number of officer involved shootings you had. A rather high number in a very short period of time, actually." Seeing John's reaction to the word 'shootings' she was quick to tell him that none were fatal. "Your shootings all seemed to be directed at one part of the person you were pursuing...you shot them in the knee cap."

Pausing for a moment, she watched him take in that piece of information. "You once told me that you shot them in the knee cap because that meant they couldn't run from you and that it was seldom fatal." she finished with a smile.

Remembering his time in the Army and his time with the CIA, he was surprised that 'not killing' a suspect was even relevant to him. All his experience told him that if you didn't kill an enemy, he would just come at you again from behind when you weren't looking. So what changed him from a highly trained killer with the CIA to someone who deliberately did not kill? He had learned early in his career with the CIA that he was very good at killing people. But he viewed killing differently than Kara had. She seemed to actually enjoy the kill; but for him it was a job, nothing more. He derived no pleasure from the kill itself, but rather from getting a job done.

Becoming attuned to Kara as his teacher, mentor, handler, and partner, he'd realized that she took pleasure in the torture and the actual killing. Discovering that facet of her personality had been eye-opening and he had begun distancing himself from her and her methods. He killed when needed but made sure it was as quick because he never enjoyed seeing anyone suffer. He had always gone for the kill shot. Kara had handled all the physical interrogations. He could and would threaten torture but it was always Kara who actually did the dirty work. It disarmed many a victim to have a man threaten torture but a woman actually DOING the torture. More than a few times he'd had to step in when it was getting out of hand or when he would realize they were getting no more intel from the victim.

So finding out he was deliberately NOT killing but only looking to disarm or disable someone was a totally different mindset for him. He really HAD changed from his days in the CIA to his days as a police officer. Apparently he still went after bad guys…..but for some unknown reason, he was being careful to only disarm/disable. He rolled the idea around inside his head, deciding that this was a MUCH better way of dealing with the baddies. He paused for a moment, however….was this new philosophy of his the reason why he was here in this hospital? Even if it was, he decided that it was worth it; It was worth it to no longer have to carry around the burden on his conscience of those he'd had to kill to make sure many more lived. But what other changes in himself had been made?

He suddenly realized that Iris had quit talking. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he realized he hadn't heard a word she'd said. Apparently she realized it too. With a sheepish smile he apologized. Iris just smiled back and nodded and then continued.

"When an officer is referred to me, I am given access to all of the information in that officer's permanent records. I checked your background before your first appointment. You had been in the Narcotics Division, undercover, for a couple of years. The department has always tried to be careful when someone is undercover too long. Some begin to identify with the people they are investigating. In the meantime, there had been a change in the department and you got a new boss. But you had been undercover so long, so deep undercover, that a large portion of your original file was lost. Your early career records were rather vague or in some cases, nonexistent, which I found unusual. But you made a major bust and it was felt it was time to get you out of that division and out of undercover. That bust had impressed someone high up and you were transferred to Homicide."

Again Iris paused, letting her words sink in. And giving him a chance to ask questions to clarify anything. But once again, she could tell he was actively trying to remember but nothing was happening.

John looked down and slowly shook his head. Why was none of this familiar to him? How could he forget he was in the police department? The NYPD? What was he afraid to remember? Going from CIA to NYPD was quite a jump…..unless he was undercover? No…..He remembered getting out of the CIA…..literally going AWOL while letting the CIA think he was dead. It had been the only way to break their hold on him short of actually being dead. So how did he go from 'dead' to working for the NYPD?

Looking back up at Iris, his eyes conveyed his confusion and his fear. Panic was in the fringes..

Iris reached out for his hand, resting hers lightly on his. Leaning forward she looked him in the eyes.

"John, I really, REALLY need you to listen to me. You are trying too hard to remember." She waited until she had his full attention. "You can't FORCE your memory to return. What I want you to do is LET your memory return. There is a difference."

The frown on his face slowly faded and the ghost of a smile appeared. He felt she was giving him hope that his memory would return...that maybe all was not lost.

"Shall we continue?" she asked.

"Definitely."

"I checked further into your file. It was in-depth but it lacked...um, substance. It felt like I was reading a 'story' about you, not really reading about YOU."

John blinked, blinked three times. A clear 'tell' of a memory on the fringes. Harold had told her about creating identities for John when they were working together. John had been a chameleon, taking on different personalities to blend with the identities created by Harold. She had phrased her comment that way to elicit a reaction from John...and she'd gotten one. She was suddenly struck that maybe THAT was also part of his inability to remember his past. Maybe because some of those 'memories' were fake ones, ones tied up to an identity that he'd assumed. That certainly put a kink in her original plan to help him regain his memory. She may need to get more info from Sameen and Lionel while still keeping the knowledge of John's survival secret from them. Now HER head was beginning to hurt.

Suddenly he was in another place. Transported back into one of the dreams from the night before. A place filled with people with no faces. Some pulling him toward them, some trying to run away from him. He reached out but couldn't touch them, they just faded away. They were unrecognizable because they were faceless. He found himself feeling anxious, needing to act, needing to protect ...who? From what? Shaking his head side to side he was lost in a memory that had no substance.

Iris pulled his hand into hers. That simple touch brought him back. Brought him back out of the dream. He looked at her with extreme wariness and pulled his hand away. Looking around the room it came back to him, he remembered where he was, in Meg's clinic. Turning back to Iris he grimaced, not liking where he had 'been'.

"Let me tell you a little bit about some other people who care a great deal about you.. You've heard us mention their names but they have not registered with you ...yet."

"Other people? Are they here? Are they here now?" John asked in alarm. There was just an edge of panic. Would he would have to deal with more people who knew him but that he didn't know.

"No, they're not here. As a matter of fact, they don't know we've found you." answered Iris, watching John closely. "They still think you're dead." Letting that last sentence hang, Iris watched carefully for John's reaction, of which there was none, not even a hint of recognition.

"You don't need too many people around you right now that you don't know. I think it would be best to wait a little longer before introducing you to the others."

"Yeah, that sounds good to me." mumbled John. Part of him wanted to see these other people . See if he remembered them. But then another part of him thought about what Iris had said...about too many people he didn't know. Looking back at Iris he saw concern but he also saw compassion and something else. It wasn't pity. He certainly didn't need or want pity. But he knew he needed her help. He needed her.

"Can you at least tell me something about them?"

Iris told him about Harold and Sameen and Lionel. She did not mention the people that he had lost. Harold had told her about Det Carter, and two men, Elias and Anthony. And Sameen had finally opened up, somewhat, about Root. But she didn't think that John could handle hearing about people he'd lost.

What she told him was not too detailed. That would come later. She just wanted him to have a context of where these people and these names fit into that 'gray time'.

Watching his reaction, or lack of reaction, to hearing Harold's name, and Sameen's and Lionel's she noted his amnesia was within a clearly defined 'box' of who he remembered and who he did not. The consistency of his memory loss was good. She felt when they unlocked one of those doors, the others would open much more easily.

Leaning forward again, she grasped his good hand and made him look at her. "One thing I want to tell you right now, and this is THE most important thing to remember. Harold, Sameen and Lionel are VERY important to you but they would understand that you couldn't handle seeing them right now. Do you understand?"

Looking at Iris's face so close to his own, John felt the urgency in what she was trying to convey. She had his complete attention. "Yes, they are important to me."

"I don't know exactly when and how your memory will return. It may come as one or two memories or it may come as a deluge, like a dam breaking. I may or may not be with you when it happens. But I truly do believe that it will happen. Do you understand me?"

Iris was almost desperate to get him to understand the seriousness of what she was about to tell him.

"I get it. They are important to me. I may remember them one at a time or all at once. Right?" John answered back a little roughly. He didn't like being told something more than once. He got it. He had been listening.

"John, I think your amnesia, your lack of memory, is a symptom of PTSD. Do you remember what that is?"

That caught him up short. Pulling his hand out of hers, he sat back. Putting as much distance between himself and Iris. Suspicion now took over the expression on his face and in the look in his eyes.

"Yes. I was in the military. I am familiar with it. What makes you think I have PTSD? Doesn't that usually happen due a traumatic event of some sort? "

" Yes, that's right. The actual definition is a mental health problem that some people develop after experiencing or witnessing a life-threatening event. John, you almost died in that explosion. You know the extent of your injuries. Meg was a miracle worker to have patched you up after being so badly injured from the collapse of the building not to mention being shot multiple times!" When she got no response she continued, "John, I believe that a big part of this is about WHY you were on that rooftop. There must have been an important reason. But that is the moment that your mind has chosen to protect you from. There was a physical result from that explosion and there was a mental result from that explosion. The physical part has been handled but the mental part is going to take longer…...and I believe it will be the most painful which is why your mind is still protecting you."

Watching him closely she finally said what was the way she hoped he'd accept her diagnosis. "PTSD doesn't make you weak, it makes you a survivor."

John looked at Iris and realized that she was having trouble with the memory of what had happened to him. For just a moment he saw something in her eyes, the way she was looking at him. But as quickly as he saw it, it was gone He squeezed her hand back with his own.

Looking down at their clasped hands Iris took comfort in his concern for her. Looking back up she found him watching her. His head was slightly tilted to one side. His eyes had narrowed a little bit, waiting for her to continue.

"In case your memories start coming back, and you are alone you must remember one thing above all else. No matter how frightening those memories may be...you must hold on to this one thought."

""They are ALIVE John. Harold and Sameen and Lionel are alive. They survived because of YOU."

A look of confusion was on his face but quickly disappeared. He had obviously been deep in thought about the last thing she had said. That was good. She needed him to hold tightly to that thought.

"I need to go and speak to Meg for a moment. Will you think about what we've talked about? Will you be ok?"

He smiled and said, "I'm a big boy, I can handle being alone."