by K Alexander
"How did you know I needed the bathroom?"
"God told me." At Claire's start the woman shakes her head. "Joke. Now you know why I don't make them. What size bra do you wear?"
"What?" The doctor is not sure that she has heard right. "Excuse me?"
"What size bra do you wear?" Ryan asks it again, casually.
"34C. Why?"
The soldier reclines against the washbasin. "While you're in there, take it off."
"Excuse me?" Now Claire is sure that the woman must be mad. Raising her eyebrows Ryan motions her into the toilet a touch impatiently.
"Go on."
Ryan has just come out of the second cubicle when Claire's voice drifts across the division. "Were you joking about the bra?"
"No." Ryan washes her left hand and adjusts the bandage with the other. "Hurry up. Do you need some help?"
"No!" By her tone of voice Ryan can tell she's irritated, and when she steps out of the cubicle her frown confirms it. Handing over the white lacy bra she folds her arms defensively. "What do you want with it?"
Without answering Ryan lifts the bra and studies the structure for a moment before she raises it to her mouth and begins to gnaw at a seam with her incisors. Then, with a triumphant expression, she pushes the underwire out and straightens it with her hands. Slipping the wire into an inner pocket of her jacket she holds the bra out to Claire.
"Do you want it back?"
"What for?" Claire is glowering. "It's useless like that."
"Okay." Extending one hand Ryan pulls Claire closer, taking her hand instead of her arm. "Come on, let's go drink coffee." As they exit the bathroom and Ryan is slipping the bra into her pocket a stern woman in a monochrome color-coordinated suit walks past, and her forehead furrows in disapproval when she spots the item in Ryan's hand. With a slight smile the soldier leans into Claire conspiratorially. "You must be thirsty now, baby." Her voice is extra husky and the woman's mouth purses into a displeased button as she hurries away from them. When Ryan looks over at Claire the doctor's eyebrows are raised.
"You buy me coffee, you take my bra, and now you call me baby? It's going to take a lot more than that, soldier."
For just a moment they appear to be no more than friends having coffee in a small town on a blue July day. When they sit down Ryan slips off her sunglasses and over her cup of coffee her green eyes are dark and tired. Claire takes a sip from her own steaming cup.
"Why don't you get yourself something to eat? Have you got enough money?"
Ryan cocks her head. "Nope."
"Have you even got enough money for this coffee?"
"Yes."
They drink slowly and then Ryan slips her sunglasses back on and takes Claire by the upper arm. "Please." The blonde lifts her arm slightly. "It's a little uncomfortable. I'd prefer it if you took my hand. If you don't mind."
"All right." Ryan wraps her fingers around Claire's. "Let's go."
They wander down the street slowly and the doctor begins to wonder whether they are in fact just sightseeing, when Ryan pulls her into a side street. Walking a little closer to the cars parked at the side of the road the soldier peeks into each of them surreptitiously before stopping at a white four-door Mazda. Pulling the blonde closer she positions her against the door. "Stand right there." Then she slips the wire from her pocket and maneuvers it into the rubber that flanks the window, shifting it a few times before she lifts it firmly, the door lock mirroring her motion on the inside. Opening the door she leans down and takes the bag that is lying on the passenger's side on the floor. A quick look inside confirms the presence of a purse, and a shuffle through that produces a few notes that she removes and stuffs into her pocket.
"Okay."
She walks Claire back to Main Street and leads her into a small convenience store, where she takes a basket into which she puts a few bottles of water, four pre-prepared sandwiches and a small bottle of aspirin. "Is there anything you need?" When Claire shakes her head she takes the items to checkout and pays, lifting the paper bag easily under one arm.
When they are back in the Trailblazer Claire digs into the packet. "May I have a sandwich? I'm starved."
The soldier nods her acquiescence and pulls out of the parking space, slipping into the first gas station to fill the SUV up as much as she can afford. When finally they turn right and drive over the train tracks Claire frowns over her sandwich. "I'm not that great with direction, but aren't we heading the wrong way?"
"I'm not going to the border just yet." Ryan glances over her left shoulder as she takes a slip-off to the right. When they leave the town a sign announces that Chester is 48 miles away. Chewing reflectively Claire sits up and turns off the radio.
"You were going to tell me about the medal."
The soldier is quiet.
"Come on, Ryan. Surely it's not a state secret or anything? Please? I'm interested."
With a sigh Ryan lifts the aspirin bottle to shake two into her hand. She accepts the water Claire offers to her with a ghost of a smile and swallows the pills. "What do you know about the war in Somalia in the 90s?"
"Very little."
"Okay." The soldier gives a small resigned shake of her head. "There's been a lot of problems in the country since the late 80s. When President Said Barre fled the country in '91 due to government instability and armed opposition, he basically left six clans who fought themselves into a famine. They were each trying to occupy the harbors and ports in order to secure the control of food, and then use that to buy and feed more soldiers for their tribes. In '92 the US stepped in and took that decision out of their hands, deciding to regulate the distribution of food, and so prevent the famine from growing worse than it already was. In theory it was a good idea, but," she shakes her head, "theory isn't always practical. In this case it started a national war. The clans began to attack UN compounds, Pakistani soldiers brought in to control the situation, and then, eventually, on October 3rd, there was the major battle with our US troops. Too many died that day." She takes a long sip from the water bottle, her face blank. "They killed four journalists on the 12th of July, and on the 15th of July we were sent in to extract a UN convoy. We were going to pick them up between Merca and Baraawe, southwest of Mogadishu. From the beginning things went completely wrong. A large group of tribesmen appeared from nowhere and pinned the convoy with gunfire, and we were close to the beach, having to stay low without cover, not able to get back to the ship." Her jaw muscles jump. "I crawled down the beach, covered by my guys, and lured the rebels away."
"How?" Claire's eyes are fixed on Ryan's face and she cannot help but notice the strain in the other woman's bearing.
"If I tell you, you won't ever be able not to know."
The doctor frowns at the oddness of the sentence. "I'd like to know."
When Ryan continues her voice is low. "I ran until I found a village, forced a woman to tell me whether they were a part of the Habar Gidir clan, and then I went so loud with the weapons I had that the tribesmen couldn't miss it."
"And what happened?"
"Most of them fell back and came for me. Their village was more important to them than an envoy."
Claire sits forward, absorbed if not in the story, then in the involvement of the woman beside her. "And then?"
"And then they captured me, Walsch. My platoon escaped with the envoys and I was shipped off to a nearby town."
"Did they keep you as a prisoner of war?"
Ryan is suddenly hard and remote. "They tortured me for two weeks, until a group of Pakistani soldiers found me completely by accident. I don't know why they didn't kill me. I would have if I had been them."
"Why?"
"Walsch, you didn't hear what I was telling you. In that little village - I must have killed about 30 people with hand grenades and mines. They were all women and children, Walsch, every single one of them completely defenseless. I killed them as a means to an end."
Putting her hands to her mouth Claire blinks faster against the horro
r of the words. Ryan continues, but again her voice is softer.
"If that had been my village and family I wouldn't just have done the things they did to me." She turns her head. "And that was the first thing the voice in my head told me to do, doctor. Auspicious beginning. I got a medal for that. No questions, no details, just a handshake from the President and a pretty Medal of Honor. So please do excuse me for not being overly enthusiastic about telling the story."
Claire sits with her hands pressed against her mouth, her blue eyes filled with tears as she stares silently at the soldier behind the steering wheel. Glancing towards her Ryan chuckles mirthlessly. "I told you you wouldn't be able to unhear it. Sorry." She shakes another two aspirin into her hand and swallows them down, then switches on the radio. This time when country music comes up she leaves it on.
It takes Claire a while to gather herself. She is intensely conflicted between her sudden sharp fear of what the woman beside her is capable of, and her compassion for the effect it has clearly had on Ryan. When she has some grip on her emotions she turns to the silent soldier.
"Do you regret what happened, Ryan?"
"At the time I did what I thought I had to do." The soldier turns her head to stare out of her window. "And regret isn't really the right word." Pulling off the road she stops and takes off the jacket and glasses, then opens her door. "I need to take a break."
Claire speaks before the soldier can walk away. "Ryan, please open my door?"
In silence the soldier complies, and then turns her back on the blonde as she searches for a flat piece of ground. Taking a deep breath she closes her eyes and begins a slow precise series of stretches, almost like yoga, and even in her oversized jeans and trainers she manages to look as lithe and graceful as a panther. Curiously Claire climbs onto the bonnet of the car and sits watching her as she unhurriedly stretches her long body. And now suddenly the doctor understands why she worked out so much, which demons are chasing her so that she feels the need to block them out with movement.
Once Ryan is done she returns to the car, the trace of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth as she sees Claire stretched out against the windshield. "Come on."
They get back into the SUV and the blonde studies Ryan critically. "You look like shit, soldier."
"Don't worry," Ryan jokes without a smile, "I look better than I feel."
Again Claire extends her hand, and this time she touches the other woman's bandaged wrist lightly, carefully. "You need to get some rest, Ryan."
"And then?" The woman turns her mirrored glance towards her captive. "Will you wait quietly and make sure that nobody bothers me until I wake up?" She starts the vehicle. "Are you actually thinking about going AWOL on me, doctor Walsch?" Her tone is mock-surprised.
The blonde shakes her head without smiling. "I'm not thinking about running away, no. I'm trying to help somebody who seems to need it."
Letting the car idle the soldier turns in her seat and slips on her sunglasses, purposely putting distance between them as she looks at her passenger. "A few things, doctor…"
"Call me Claire."
The woman continues as if she does not hear the interruption. "I am not your patient. I am not in need of help. And I am not somebody you want to be on a first-name basis with." Claire begins to speak but the soldier shakes her head and continues. "Listen to me. You shouldn't be thinking about my mental or physical state at all - you shouldn't be going anywhere near my psyche. You should be thinking about escaping. In a situation of captivity all you should be thinking about is survival and escape. Do you understand?"
When Claire nods dumbly Ryan shifts back in her seat and pulls back onto the road. Her voice is businesslike as she continues. "I am not your friend. Don't let me fool you into thinking that I am. You may be able to tell me why I hurt, but right now I'm telling you how not to get hurt. That's more important for you. Remember it."
They drive in silence, the soldier serious and Claire pensive. She tries to inject lightheartedness into her voice when she speaks again. "If you want me to escape so badly, why don't you just let me go?"
"I want you to escape for you. For me, it's important that you don't. There's a significant difference."
Leaning down Claire takes out half of a sandwich and passes it over to Ryan, who takes it with a dubious look.
"BLT. You have to eat something."
"It's not for lack of trying." With a small grimace Ryan takes a bit and chews warily. Claire watches her until she's sure that the woman won't discard the food before she cocks her head.
"Ryan? Did you ever tell your commanding officer about the voices afterwards?"
"Voice." Ryan raises an eyebrow. "There's only the one, thank god." She purses her lips dryly at her unintended humorousness. "Or not, as the case may be. I did tell him, of course. With the SEALS there're no private issues when it comes to missions. He has to know what is going on to be able to trust me with the lives of my men. I'm not an individual there, I'm one part of an instrument."
"What happened then?"
A faint smile curls around Ryan's lips. "Were you not here when I was talking to you earlier, doc?"
"Oh yes. I heard you. But short of climbing through the window and throwing myself into the highway at 70mph I can't exactly escape right at this moment." Claire raises her eyebrows innocently. "Think of it as a familiar action to sooth me enough so that I have a clear head for the escaping and surviving bit. Therapy." When Ryan shoots a quick glance at her she shakes her head, wide-eyed. "Oh, no, therapy for me, not for you. You don't need any help."
The soldier laughs, and it is the first genuine laugh Claire has heard from her, a pleasant low-timbre chuckle that sounds if it should be vibrating. "You're a smart-ass."
"I have a doctorate. So what happened then?"
"Persistent." Ryan smiles slightly. "Actually, nothing much. I had a psych evaluation, and a few quiet months, and then I went back into the fray."
"So they took you off duty for a while?"
"Not as such." The smile fades. "It was three weeks after I got back from Somalia. I wasn't physically able to serve for some time in any case."
Claire thinks about asking, wonders how to do it tactfully, and then decides just to go ahead. "Ryan, can I ask? What they did to you?"
"Everything they could think of." Ryan is quiet. "It's another of those things I can't untell you, doctor. Don't invite the nightmares in."
Claire ponders, noting from the corner of her eye that Ryan has finished her sandwich. "Don't you think it strange that they would put you back on duty with an issue like the one you have? Surely you would have been considered hazardous to the safety of your peers?"
"I have an excellent record. I was told by Vice-Admiral Cooper that that was why they contemplated it at all."
"Vice-Admiral Cooper. The same Cooper who… "
"Supervises my situation. Yes."
"Hmm." Tapping a finger on her thigh Claire ponders. "Not to offend you, Ryan, but I think they were irresponsible to send you back out like that."
"None taken. I was a little surprised myself."
"When did you decide on Fairwater? And why?"
"You know, it isn't too late for you to crawl out of the window and throw yourself on the highway." Ryan clears her throat. "Late '95. We were on a mission in the middle of the jungle in Vietnam, and the voice just wouldn't stop. I was less than useless, couldn't concentrate at all, had incredible headaches, so finally I fell back. After that I think we all realized that it was turning into a problem."
"And before that?" Claire sits up, her forehead in a frown. "Wasn't it a problem then?"
"Not really." Ryan glances sideways with a wry smile. "I know, it sounds crazy," self-deprecatingly she adds, "fancy that. Before that it was actually not so bad, believe it or not. I did hear it sporadically when I was in battle, but then it was almost like a separate part of my subconscious, advising me to do things that I probably would have decided on myself."
"Y
ou know… "Claire begins gently, her eyes serious as she looks at the soldier, "that's the popular opinion on auditory hallucinations, that they're your subconscious guiding you. Commenting, as it were, on your life and view of yourself."
"I was told that, early on."
"By Art? I mean, doctor Clarke?"
"No. His predecessor. Doctor Cox, I think it was." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "He told me I had to accept that I seemed to be guiding myself into activities of my choice, subconsciously. That to evolve it into a different person, so to speak, was taking the strain of that off my mind."
