Bobby Meets His Match -Chapter 24

I don't own Bobby, or any of the characters except Cathy.

This chapter contains some possibly disturbing views on war. Having never been in a war personally, I can never know firsthand what horrors our soldiers go through to fight. I have however, read many memoirs and books on the subject, and I hope my representation of Bobby's feelings does justice to the portrayals I have read. This chapter is just in time for Veteran's Day, so I must dedicate this chapter and story to all the men and women who have fought and died to keep others safe, especially the soldiers now in Afghanistan. Sometimes it is those who survive who bear the biggest burden.

Please leave feedback, as I live for it.

Bobby grabbed Lew McDermott under one arm and tried to cuff him as gently as possible. Lester grabbed the man under his other arm and they carefully walked him to the SUV. Neither Les nor Bobby could look at each other, or at McDermott, they kept their gazes on the ground. McDermott was a veteran of the second Iraq war, highly decorated, and the recipient of a Purple Heart. He'd had a hard time adjusting when he got home though. He drank a lot and had torn up a bar, and had a couple of assault charges, violated restraining orders. Most recently he had almost killed a guy in a bar fight. When he skipped bail they had chased him into the narrows, where he'd been hiding out in a tiny cabin. Bobby and Les had spent an hour trying to talk him into giving himself up, and when he wouldn't they had to resort to tazing him, then picked him up and walked him almost reverently to the car. He was one of them, their brother in arms.

After dropping McDermott off at the station, there was complete silence in the car. Not the usual complete silence they were used to, but the avoidance type of silence. Bobby drove, his mind only partially on the road. He knew Lester was thinking the same thing he was. That either of them could wind up exactly like McDermott. But McDermott was crazy, violent, and dangerous. Nothing like Bobby. Bobby had dreams, so what. He wasn't a drunk, and he didn't hurt people unless they deserved it. He protected people. Dreams were just dreams. They went away when you woke up. Mostly. So what if they had been coming almost constantly in the last few weeks, sometimes even in the daytime. It was only because that damn trip to the therapist stirred them all up. Still,… Bobby looked sidelong at Lester, and saw that Lester was looking at him the same way. He knew Lester would never say anything, but he was wondering the same thing. Were they looking at another version of what they could become? No, Bobby shrugged the thought away. He was nothing like McDermott. He never would be.

The silence had almost returned to its normal comfortable state by the time they got back to Rangeman. They reported in to Ranger, and they decided to call the judge to see if instead of sending Mcdermott to jail , sending him to a PTSD treatment program. They all remained blankfaced, none of them wanting to draw the parallels between McDermott and themselves. Bobby knew that he and Lester and Ranger had some issues, but they were nothing like McDermott.

Bobby was in the back of one of the SUV's, taking inventory of the medical supplies and checking equipment. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear any noise behind him and he jumped when arms came around his neck from behind. For an nanosecond, he instinctively started to duck and whirl when he smelled Steph's perfume and felt her lips kiss his cheek from behind. He forced himself to quickly relax and hugged her carefully. "Hey, Bomber, to what do I owe the pleasure of that kiss?" Steph smiled. "Its because you are such a wonderful man. Cathy is lucky to have you."

"Oh, fuck, " Bobby thought. Steph talking to Cathy was probably not a good thing. He smiled. " Not as lucky as I am to have her," he said honestly. Stephanie answered his question before he had a chance to ask it. " We met for lunch today," Steph said. Damn. He hadn't known they were that good of friends. "She told me that you are teaching her to shoot, and we commiserated about that." Steph laughed. "She hates guns even more than I do, but she said she really wants to learn to make you happy since you are going to therapy for her." Steph stopped and hugged him again. "I am so glad you are going Bobby. I told you Cathy would be ok with it. I am so proud of you for facing the dreams. And Cathy said she knows that it must be hard for a guy like you to admit you need help, so she knows you must really love her ."

Shit. Shit. Shit. THIS was why he hadn't wanted the two of them together. He'd been afraid of this, that they'd gang up on him. How the hell was he supposed to resist a double assault from the two women he loved the most? Steph was so damned happy, and he knew Cathy was thrilled. He felt like a fucking douchebag. Yes, he'd gone once, and he'd rather be tortured than go there again.

"She said she's even going to let you buy her a gun and she'll carry it, even though it makes her uncomfortable. She knows how important her safety is to you."

Now he felt like pond scum. Lower. But how could he go back. He'd barely made it through one session.

"Well, um, Steph, I'm glad it made her happy , but…, well, I wasn't planning to go back." He hated himself for saying it. He wasn't a quitter.

Steph touched his arm, and looked into his deep brown eyes. "Bobby, I am so proud of you for going. I know how difficult it must have been for a guy like you to admit you might need some help." His eyes left hers. "Just give it a chance Bobby. Give you and Cathy a chance to have happiness without this between you. I love you, Bobby , and I want to see the two of you happy. Please, do it for Cathy , and me." She hugged him tightly and then left.

The complete silence of the garage was interrupted by a loud thunk as Bobby threw the defibrillator battery against the wall. "Fuck!" he hissed. He loved Cathy so much and he wanted to make her happy. He was going to have to do this, no matter what it cost him.

Bobby took a long, slow breath and forced himself to go through that door once again. He was even more nervous this time than he had been the last. He knew how bad the last session had been, and he was afraid that this one was going to bring some of his demons to life. And he couldn't let Cathy down. She'd learned to shoot a gun, that she was terrified of, to please him. Now he had to do this, really do this, for her. He didn't know if she loved him enough to stay with him if he didn't. But he wasn't sure she would love the Bobby Brown that might emerge if Bobby went back there.

Dr. Bynes looked out into her waiting room and saw the huge man, Bobby Brown. He looked handsome, but weary in a plaid shirt and jeans. He was wearing his gun. He was muscular, his muscles showed even through a long sleeved shirt. She sighed. This was going to be tough. Their last session had been a disaster, and she hadn't expected to ever see him again. He must really love his girlfriend to come again to face his weaknesses for her. The ones who were the strongest in battle were the ones damaged the most. She put a smile on her face and opened the door to the waiting room.

Bobby leaned against the wall, too restless to sit down. He felt suffocated by the perfumelike scent of the place, the refined furniture. He was taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself, a trick he'd learned to calm himself as a sniper. He'd faced Taliban eye to eye and not been as scared, as terrified, as he was with the prospect of facing his demons. He straightened and walked hesitantly into the inner office as Dr. Bynes opened the door.

Dr, Bynes watched as Bobby moved lithely, efficienty into the room. Before she could even say anything, he drew his gun, dropped out the magazine, pulled the slide to clear the chamber, and placed it, slide open to prove it was unloaded, in the center of the round table. He looked uncomfortably at the chair, then moved to the wall and leaned against it, looking out the window.

"Bobby, I'm glad you came back. You remember the rules of our sessions correct. "Its confidential unless I threaten to hurt myself or someone else, and no guns." He looked at his gun on the table and shrugged. "Why did you decide to come back," she asked.

Bobby was quiet for a long moment, and she was afraid he was going to play a game of "let the clock run out so you don't have to say anything" like he did last time. "I'm here because my girlfriend wants me to come. She learned to shoot because I wanted her to, and this is the payback." So it was like losing a bet to him. Interesting. "Why does she want you to come?" She knew this already, it was one of the few things he had told her last time, but she wanted him to say it again. He needed to hear himself say it again.

Bobby looked back toward the round table, as if needing to see that his gun was still there." I have bad dreams and I scared her. " He paused. " I almost hurt her," he said quietly. "But I would never hurt her. She knows that. I will always protect her. I would do anything for her." He seemed on a roll, as if he needed to reassure himself. " I take care of Stephanie, she trusts me with her life. I don't hurt people."

He ran his hand through his hair and walked slowly to the chair directly in front of the round table. He sat up straight, on the edge of the seat, his hands open on his knees.

"Why don't we start by you telling me about your family." Bobby looked at her in disbelief.

"What the hell does my family have to do with anything? What , do you expect me to blame my problems on them, like I became a killer because I didn't get enough toys as a child or some shit? Well, it isn't. It has nothing to do with my family?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed and his body tensed. "This is exactly why everyone hates shrinks." He said accusingly. Ouch.

"Why do you hate shrinks, Bobby?"

"Because they always try to make you think you are crazy. They twist everything you say and make it seem like you are a psychopath. They make you doubt yourself." That would be hard for a guy like Bobby. His body was strong, but he really valued his mind. If he thought he couldn't trust his mind, he would have nothing left to trust. In the world of the soldier self doubt and hesitation meant death.

He'd said more in the last 10 minutes than he had in the entire last session. Time to try to get something done here. Still, she could tell he was horribly uncomfortable. He finally was willing to face his problem, but he had learned to be on the offensive. Boxed into a corner, he'd come out fighting.

"So tell me about the military. What did you do?"

" I was a SEAL. A sniper."

"In Iraq?"

"Yes, and later in Afghanistan."

This was like pulling teeth, she thought. But at least he was talking.

" A sniper. So you shot people."

Bobby looked her right in the eyes. His were calm, unashamed. But his voice was a little defensive

" I didn't shoot people. I eliminated targets."

"Targets?", she asked in that self righteous voice therapists always used.

"Terrorists," Bobby answered. " I didn't shoot people. I shot terrorists." Bobby was so adamant about the difference.

"What did you feel when you shot a terrorist?" she asked, trying to get him to open up.

He looked her right in the eyes, his expression completely blank. "Recoil," he said quietly, hoping to shock her.

"Look, what do you want me to say? That it bothered me to shoot terrorists? Well, it didn't. I was a good sniper and proud of it. I didn't LIKE killing terrorists. I'm not a sociopath. But it sure as hell didn't bother me, either. It bothered me not to kill them because they came back to kill my friends. It was my job to kill them before they killed my teammates."

Bobby saw the brief look in her eyes before she squelched it. He was rationalizing. Bobby was a good man. She'd bet killing anyone, even a terrorist, would bother him. But he'd had to train himself not to care so he could do his job effectively.

He got defensive, his language getting coarse as he tried to scare her off. His temper , held in check below the surface flared. " Look, this isn't going to work. How the fuck can you understand what was normal about being over there. Were you ever over there? Here you are in your posh little office trying to tell me what's real about war. Have you ever had to lay in your own filth for three days because if you got up to piss your head would get shot off? Have you ever watched your buddy die, then run over and strip his body of ammunition so you could keep shooting? Have you ever hoped you would die instead of having one of your teammates die? No? I didn't think so. So who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what is normal in war. War isn't fucking normal."

He paused to control his temper, then, back to his polite self, he met her eyes and nodded towards the table. At her nod, he sat and reassembled and reloaded his gun, his defenses now back in place. Despite his outburst, she was happy. Bobby had started to open up, started to actually let some of his feelings out.

She stood up and met him before he opened the door. "Bobby, I have never been at war. I have never been in those types of horrible situations. But I can help , give it a chance."

Bobby's dark, fathomless eyes searched her face for a moment. Then he nodded briefly and went out the door.