Wonderland 1/4
Title: Wonderland 1/4
Author: buffyaddict13
Fandoms: Band of Brothers, Criminal Minds, Dollhouse, Firefly, Generation Kill, Ken Park, The Kill Point
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Gen (with one small het scene), Spencer Reid, Josh Ray Person, George Luz, River Tam, Simon Tam, Nathan Harris, Amanda/Adam Jackson, Tate Connor, Jake Mendez, Alpha, OC
Words: ~ 32,100 total
Dislcaimer: I own none of these characters and mean no disrespect to the real Josh Ray Person and George Luz. This story is based only on the characters portrayed in Generation Kill and Band of Brothers.
Summary: Anybody could slap a bandage over a bleeding wound. But to fix somebody with wounds you couldn't see? That was badass. That was Marine, yo. Instead of NVGs and GPS and comms, you used your own mind to try and heal somebody else's. Ray Person, George Luz and Simon Tam are nurses at a psychiatric hospital.
A/N 1: This is literally the craziest fic I have ever written. This is an AU fic that merges several fandoms I enjoy. There is actual plot and character development. I think. You can read this if you're not familiar with all--or any--of the fandoms, but you'll enjoy it more if you've seen the various television shows/movie. Although I can't in good conscience actually recommend watching Ken Park.
A/N 2This fic serves three purposes: 1) A vague sequel to Baghdad Ain't Shit, 2) Lets me mash my favorite characters into one fic and 3) Hopefully, maybe, entertains you. If you're not familiar with the characters here are some videos you might want to check out: Josh Ray Person, George Luz, Alpha, River Tam and Simon Tam, Amanda/Adam Jackson and Doctor Spencer Reid, Nathan Harris and Doctor Spencer Reid, Tate Connor.
A/N 3: Thank you always to rain_1975 . And to anyone brave/crazy/weird enough to read this. The mix I made is here.
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
~ Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Ray Person locks his car, slings his rucksack over his shoulder, and jogs past the sea of chrome to the main entrance. It's Wednesday but it might as well be Monday because he just finished his two day "weekend." Luz is leaning against one of the gay-ass decorative pillars, smoking like he's on his last cigarette ever.
There's only two things that make George inhale nicotine like it's just replaced air. Either his wife is pissed at him, or it's newbie day. Shit. Hopefully Luz's wife is fucking pissed.
Ray opens his mouth to ask, but George blurts out: "The Cuckoo's Nest." He stares at Ray. Inhales, exhales. "You know, like the movie."
Christ, that's pretty weak. Especially for Luz. Ray considers, comes up with: "Our Lady of the Perpetual Headcase."
George nods, squints into the distance. "Saint Sybil."
"Glass Houses Treatment Facility."
They look at each other. Luz lets out a heavy sigh. He drops his cigarette, crushes it with his gay rubber-soled nursing shoe. Only Ray can't call Luz's shoes gay because he wears the same kind.
Luz shrugs. "I admit defeat, man. Our Lady of the Perpetual Headcase is the clear winner."
"No shit, homes. The Cuckoo's Nest?"
George shrugs. "My first thought was U.R. Fucked Wellness Facility. Like, with initials."
"Now that is fucking retarded, homes."
"But apt."
The doors slide open as Ray and George approach. Ray goes first, followed by George. "Oh no, don't tell me we're getting a new one."
"Okay, but even if I don't tell you, you're probably gonna notice." George smiles and he looks a little too fucking smug for Ray's liking. "That's what you get for having time off."
"Fuck you, man. You're not taking your days off, that's what you're telling me?"
"I'm telling you you're stuck with shit-ass coffee from the vending machine for the week, that's what I'm telling you."
Ray shrugs. "That's better than that fucking Starbucks shit any day."
At this point they're both lying their asses off, because on the rare occasion Simon plays--and wins--Awesome Names for Psychiatric Hospitals, he always brings in Starbucks. And George and Ray are forced to drink their cafe mochas in Alpha's room so Simon doesn't see the looks of mingled shame and satisfaction on their faces.
"Who we getting?" Ray wants to know.
"Mmmm," Luz mutters. "I don't know much. Simon's the one who saw the file on Reid's desk. Mid-thirties with PTSD, suicidal thoughts, depression, you name it."
Ray punches the elevator button harder than he needs to. "Fuck me sideways," Ray grunts. "Another vet."
George rolls his eyes. "You don't know that."
The elevator opens and a female nurse steps off. Somebody from the adolescent ward, eating disorders or some shit. They all nod at each other like a couple of bobble heads and then Ray and George get in the elevator.
Ray stabs the number four with his index finger, grim. The post-traumatic stress disorder cases are almost always military veterans. It fucking sucks.
* * *
They ride up to the fourth floor in silence. George is leaning against the shiny not-quite-mirrored wall, arms folded. Ray paces. He has a hard time sitting still. Maybe it's a long-term side effect from all that Ripped Fuel back in the day. He hasn't touched the stuff in four years, but if he's not tapping his feet or his fingers his skin starts to feel crawly. He has a vague idea he's going to spontaneously combust. Or punch someone.
Luz is just the opposite. The only part of Luz moves is his mouth. He's always shooting the shit, cracking jokes. Ray used to think he was funny until he met George. Goddamn Portuguese asshole is always showing him up, making the patients laugh. Fuck, there's a rumor Luz joked some poor bastard out of a catatonic state at the hospital he used to work at. Ray wouldn't be surprised.
Ray's been working as a registered psychiatric nurse for four years now. He's been at Silver Hills for three of those four years. George has worked here for five. They both call the hospital Silver Balls, mostly because it annoys Simon. Come to think of it, they do a lot of shit because it annoys Simon.
When Ray got back from Iraq he spent months feeling lost, restless, ill at ease. Sadie tried to fuck the sadness out of him, and it worked for a while. They moved in together, bought furniture that didn't need to be assembled, went for walks. Sadie cooked him meals that included vegetables and meat that didn't come out of MRE pouches. She went to work every day while Ray sat around the house and wondered if it had been a mistake not to reenlist.
Sadie worked at the county hospital. She was a pediatric oncology nurse. She poked needles into dying kids, but when she came home she still smiled at Ray, kissed him. Obviously this meant she was some kind of sexy robot. Maybe one of those cylons from Battlestar Whateverthefuck. Because everybody knows women cried over shit like that. Old people who still held hands, homeless kittens, and dying kids. Those were the big three faucets to start the waterworks, right?
Only Sadie sat him down and said she didn't feel like crying--most of the time--because it was her job to make the kids feel better. Helping the kids feel better helped her. And if Ray wanted to feel better, do something with his life that didn't include carrying a BFG in the desert, or working with retards who made him want to shoot himself, maybe he should quit whining and walk a mile in her ugly-ass shoes.
So he did.
At least the shoes were comfortable.
And just like that, Ray found himself gravitating toward psychiatry. Anybody could slap a bandage over a bleeding wound. But to fix somebody with wounds you couldn't see? That was badass. That was Marine, yo. You had to pay attention to the patients, because you couldn't always see what was going on. It was sort of like recon. Only instead of NVGs and GPS and comms and rope and and scuba shit, you used your own mind to try and help heal somebody else's. Hell, your brain was like those screwby comms; sometimes you got a short circuit and a need a new connection, homes.
When Ray told Brad where he was working, the Iceman laughed for a good five minutes. "Ray, I always knew you'd end up in a fucking loony bin."
"At least I got my brain back, Brad," Ray snapped.
"That, Corporal Person, is still up for debate."
So now Ray walks down the hallway in his blue scrubs. He's traded one uniform for another. Granted, this uniform is shit compared to his dress blues, but he's not as likely to get shot or blown into human confetti either. Luz marches alongside, stops beside the vending machine, jingles the change in his pocket.
"What'll it be, Pers? Vanilla, Hazelnut, or plain old leaded?"
They all taste like shit, so it hardly matters. "Surprise me," Ray says loftily.
Next to the vending machine is a large door with a window. There's a key-card slot next to the door. The fourth floor holds both locked wards. The east ward has fifteen beds, and is meant for the adult crazies. The west ward has twenty and is for the adolescent crazies. The lower floors are more or less open, except for the suicide hold unit and on-call clinic.
Volcanic hot coffee dribbles into the waiting paper cup. Ray takes the cup, sips cautiously. It tastes like a combination of oil, scorched earth, and vanilla extract.
"Fuck. I just burned the top layer of skin off my tongue."
"Christ, don't be such a fucking baby."
Luz holds his own cup in one hand, slides his ID card through the reader with the other. The lock mechanism clicks open and Ray pulls the door open.
* * *
There are fifteen beds in the inpatient ward, but only eight of the beds are currently full. The goal is to get the patients stabilized with meds and various therapies, and then move them to the outpatient building, then a half-way house and then, maybe--hopefully--toward some kind of independent living.
Ray's family and friends were stunned by his choice to work with the mentally ill. What Ray didn't bother telling them was, he'd been working with the mentally ill for years. The nursing degree's great and everything, but dealing with Captain American and Trombley was all the training Ray really needed. Encino Man doesn't count because he wasn't insane, just mega retarded. Ray has respect for the mentally ill as well as actual retards. Except for the ones who join the Marines to become Captains or Majors.
Simon's with River, as usual. Mario's behind the desk, phone to his ear. He holds his big black hand up for a high five as Person and Luz walk past. The two nurses oblige.
River Tam looks up at Ray, sticks out her tongue. Ray sticks his tongue out in return. This is River's standard greeting. If she likes you. If she doesn't like you, you get a wall of silence, or occasionally, a book tossed at your head. And River has killer aim.
She's eighteen, and just came off the adolescent ward. She's been here the longest of all the current patients. The amazing thing about River isn't that she was considered a genius in her old life, or that she's kind of hot for a nutjob. It's that her brother was some big shot surgeon in New York, but once River was diagnosed with schizophrenia, he gave up his seven figure salary. He applied for a nursing position at Silver Balls just so he could be with her. So Simon's basically the most overqualified nurse in the history of ever. Not to mention he might be even crazier than River.
Simon Tam is so uptight he makes Brad Colbert look fucking laid back. Sometimes Ray's pretty sure he can see the stick jammed up Tam's ass. Not that he's looking at Simon's ass. But even if Ray finds Simon a bitchy self righteous dick suck, River thinks he walks on water. She really does seem more lucid when her brother's around. Simon is the only one who gets through to her.
The other schizo on the ward is Alpha. He's a big dude, all muscles, blond hair, and blue eyes. He looks like a shorter, less Nordic Iceman. But despite his macho appearance, Alpha is seriously fucked. Luz and Ray have a helpful scale for each patient: fucked, really fucked, or seriously fucked. It's a nice shorthand for when you're in a hurry. The day Alpha came in, Luz and Ray both whispered "SF" at the same time. It's a bonus that Simon hates their handy catalog system. Ray doesn't see why, River's only RF.
Alpha is seriously fucked because not only does he hear voices, he has Dissociative Identity Disorder. Alpha is also seriously fucked because not only does Alpha not know who the hell he is, neither does anybody else. The police found him five months back, wandering around the street, naked. Which, granted, is a bold look, but not when you're eating out of a trash can and crying. Alpha's finger tips are fucked up. Simon and Reid think his fingerprints were burned off. Which sounds like Jason Bourne movie bullshit to Ray.
But despite Doctor Reid's filing a missing persons report, no one's come forward. Which means they have no medical history, no background, no nothing on Alpha. The only reason they call the guy Alpha in the first place is because it's how he refers to himself when he's wearing his psycho personality. Alpha has this way of looking at you like you're less than a bug. Less than shit, even. Like he could snap your neck with a glare. It's fucking creepy. When Alpha isn't being Alpha, he's usually Ben. Ben thinks he's an Air Force pilot who fought in Operation Iraqi Freedom.
So whoever Alpha is, he's probably just another guy who got fucked over by the military. Awesome. So far, Reid's counted at least seventeen different alters. Ray has the feeling Alpha's not going to be an outpatient any time soon, the poor bastard.
Amanda has DID too. Only she's not really a she. Amanda is Adam Jackson, a twenty year old kid who had the shit beat out of him by his father. Oh, and he was repeatedly raped and forced to wear girls' clothes. Ray actually thought about introducing Adam's fuckface of a dad to his M16, but it turns out good old dad overdosed on drugs. Ray's surprised Adam's not Alpha level crazy considering all the fucked up shit he went through. The shittiest thing is, nobody's actually talked to Adam, because Amanda's been the dominant personality ever since she killed some asshole who reminded her of Adam's dad. And yeah, killing is a no go if you're not a Marine, blah blah, but Christ.
It's a weird and fucked up situation. Doctor Reid's spent a lot of time with Amanda. Reid's not just a psychiatrist, he's a forensic psychiatrist, which means he can decide who's fit for trial and shit like that. Reid decided Amanda's just fine at Silver Balls and the various lawyers can fuck off, thanks. Only Reid was probably more polite about it. Which is a fucking relief because why should Adam go to prison for the shit Amanda did? Ray tries not to think about what happened to Adam too much. If he does, he's liable to go crazy.
Jesus fucking fuck. And people wonder why he and Sadie don't have kids. Because they can get royally fucked up and turn out like Alpha or Adam. Or they can can be in the middle of earning a degree at Harvard and suddenly lose their marbles like River. And if they don't get fucked up, or go crazy, then they'll just die of cancer. Ray's gonna pass on that shit, thanks.
The last two patients are Nathan Harris and Tate Connor. Their diagnosis is similar, but their personalities are about one fucking billion miles apart. Tate's your basic sociopath. He has no empathy and few emotions. One of the emotions Tate does possess is a fuckload of rage. And he's always eager to share it with everyone around him. Two years ago Tate stabbed his grandparents to death and stole his grandpa's dentures. It took a sedative and two orderlies to get those fucking things out of Tate's mouth. Connor ended up in Silver Balls after he started eating random shit in Juvie. Eating random shit like dirt, cigarette ashes, crayons, anything that isn't food is called pica. The pica's not as bad since he started regular therapy with Reid. Ray tells himself Tate's just as sick as River, but he's not very convincing. Grandma Arlene died years ago, but the thought of a fucking asshole like Tate stabbing her makes Ray feel sick.
Nathan's missing that whole range of normal human emotions too. Just like Tate, Nathan's three for three on the Macdonald Triad of psychopathic indicators. What Nathan doesn't have is a rap sheet. He hasn't killed anyone. But he wants to. He's always going on and on about killing whores. Christ, keep him the hell out of Thailand then. Mrs. Harris hired Reid to evaluate Nathan. The evaluation earned Nathan a new home at Silver Balls, with a quick detour to the hospital after he tried to slit his wrists. Luz says Reid's the one who found Nathan, called the EMTs and saved the kid's life. Jeez, what a fucking show-off.
Even locked up, Nathan can't stand to be around women. Apparently he's petrified he's gonna snap and stab them with a plastic spoon or take a chomp out of their jugular vein. There aren't any female nurses on their ward, so when River transferred over everybody was nervous Nathan might freak out. Only he didn't. It might be Nathan's only interested in hooker types with big juggs, but he pretty much ignores River. Maybe it's because her brother is a nurse. Maybe it's because he's getting better. Whatever it is, Ray's fucking relieved.
Luz walks straight over to Nathan, perches on the arm of the couch. He ruffles Nathan's hair. "Hey kid, how's it going?"
Nathan's smile is slight, almost shy. He shrugs. "Fine."
Nathan doesn't talk much. When he does talk, he's always soft spoken. Polite. He certainly doesn't sound the way Ray expects serial killer wannabes to sound. But Nathan always talks to Luz. There's something about George that makes the kid smile. Then again, there's something about George that makes everyone smile.
George Luz is fucking deceptive. He's this little guy, shorter than Ray--and that's fucking short--with thick black hair and a crooked grin. He exudes friendliness. So not only do people think he's funny, they automatically like him. Except for Tate, but Tate doesn't count because he's fucking crazy.
Ray definitely has more of his brain than he did in the Marines, but there's still plenty of retardation in the civilian world. Particularly when dealing with health care, insurance, and administrative bullshit. But Ray's good at his job, none of the other nurses are half as retarded as Encino Man, and Doctor Reid is a fucking awesome boss...even if he does look twelve. Ray doesn't have to tuck his shirt in. He can grow his hair long. And best of all, there's no fucking grooming standard at Silver Balls.
* * *
"When's the new guy coming?" Luz asks Simon.
Simon shrugs.
Nathan turns nervous eyes on George. "Is it...is it a guy?"
Luz nods, pats Nathan's shoulder. "Yup."
River covers her face with her hands. "Stop asking me so many questions."
Simon frowns. "River, I haven't asked you anything yet."
"You want to know how I slept. Do I have lack of interest in communication? Am I maintaining nutritional status? Can I perform daily living activities? Can I contribute to society? Do I have the ability to reason?" She uncovers her face, looks at Simon. Her voice trembles. "Do I exhibit difficulty with memory?"
She slides away from Simon. She's wearing a long flowered dress, and a tattered cardigan sweater. Black leggings peep out from the bottom of her dress. Her feet are bare. Her long brown hair is uncombed, it hides her face like a veil.
River holds up her hands, counts off on her fingers: "I didn't, yes, yes, yes, no, I find this question unreasonable, and I remember too much, too much, too much."
Alpha's watching River. So is Tate. Amanda and Nathan are playing cards.
Simon reaches for his sister, but she spins out of his reach and runs for her room.
Simon stares after her, visibly upset. "Dammit."
"She'll be okay," Alpha says softly. Then he tips his head, blinks into another personality, and shouts: "I distinctly remember asking for pancakes!"
"Shut the fuck up," Tate seethes.
Amanda looks up from her hand. "Is the new guy cute?"
Ray winks at her. "What the fuck do you care? I'm cute."
Amanda grins. "Looks like we're not the only delusional ones here."
"Ha ha," Ray mutters, but he's smiling. Amanda can be bitchy, but she's easier to deal with than River. You never know what the fuck's gonna happen with River.
Luz is over by Alpha. "Sorry, pal. No pancakes today."
But pancake guy is already gone. Ben grins at George. "Jump out of any airplanes lately?"
"I jumped out of helicopters, dude. You fly any A-10s lately?"
Ben sighs. "No. That's why the ol' light bulbs burnt out. Too much time on the ground. I gotta get back in the sky, charge the batteries."
"Your batteries are just fine," George says.
"You know that story about flying too close to the sun, Ben?" Ray asks. "You're fine right here."
Ben shakes his head. "If you mean trapped in a meaningless and empty life, then yes. I'm extremely fine."
"Christ," George huffs. "If I manage to find you pancakes, will that give you meaning?"
"Don't you want to know how I slept?" Tate demands querulously.
Ray pulls up a chair next to Tate, clipboard in hand. Tate has thick black hair that sticks up at gravity-defying angles. He has this ability to look like he's about to cry even with he's cursing you out. It creeps Ray out. So does the fact Tate looks a lot like Ray did in his senior high school picture.
"Okay, Tate. How did you sleep?"
Tate's eyes narrow, he shows his teeth in what might be loosely considered a smile. "None of your fucking business."
Ray leans back in his chair. This little fuck is not gonna piss him off. No, sir. Ray's been to fucking war. He's a fucking warrior at heart. This 19 year old dipshit psycho denture-stealing fuck is not going to get the best of Ray Person this particular Wednesday morning.
Ray nods amicably. "Hey man, you don't wanna tell me how you slept or answer my questions, that's your business, dude. But if you don't cooperate you're just gonna stay in here longer. Which means more time with me and more of my fucking questions."
Person wants to slap the answers out of this cunt, not to mention crush his tiny balls for killing his grandparents. But that kind of shit is generally frowned upon by Doctor Reid, the hospital attorneys, and the Board of Directors. Not to mention unprofessional. And Ray is a fucking professional, dammit, whether he's a Marine or a nurse in shit-ugly scrubs.
Tate pouts. "I slept fine. I dreamed of my dog. He had three legs but he was cool. Except when he barked. He was always barking too fucking loud." He looks at Ray, all anger gone. "Can I see my dog?"
Most of Ray's anger melts with Tate's.
"I'll see what I can do."
* * *
By 1000 hours the morning interviews are over, breakfast has been eaten, and meds distributed. When handing out meds, you always watch to make sure the patients take them. Otherwise you tend to find pills under couch cushions, floating in toilet bowls, or jammed into the fake fern in the corner. Observe everything, admire nothing. Even now, Fick's orders come in handy.
River's in her room, carefully tearing heart shapes out of red construction paper.
Ben is paging through a book called The History of Aviation Reid brought in. Tate's playing a game of Connect Four by himself. Amanda and Nathan are both reading.
George is filling out paperwork beside Mario, Simon's jotting down patient notes for Reid. Ray's humming Metallica's Damage, Inc. while taking inventory of the meds cabinet when the outer door opens.
Doctor Spencer Reid walks in with a Mexican looking dude. The dude is hollow-eyed, his chin is stubbled; he looks like shit. He's holding onto a duffel bag and Reid guides the newbie forward, two big orderlies following in case newbie tries anything.
Frankly, newbie looks like walking is taking more energy than he has, so Ray's not too worried. But it's always possible Tate will freak out or one of Alpha's personalities might hate Mexicans. God knows there are plenty of people with one personality who fall into that category. All at once Ray misses Espera, wonders what the cocksucker's up to. Maybe he'll call him.
Maybe.
Doctor Reid stops at the far end of the rec room. "I'd like you to meet Jake Mendez," Reid says in his soft, clear voice. His hand flutters near Jake like he's going to touch Jake's shoulder, but he doesn't. "Please treat him with the respect he deserves."
Reid thinks everyone deserves respect. He's got a hand-lettered poster on the wall of his office that says When you respect others you respect yourself which is gayer than gay. Brad would fucking hate Reid. Ray hated him at first too. But despite Reid's towering IQ, his myriad degrees, his Jesus hair and grandpa clothes, it's obvious Spencer genuinely cares about the patients. And staff. Ray suspects Reid is one of those weirdo bleeding heart liberal tree-hugging compost heap loving fucks who carry spiders outside in dainty handkerchiefs rather than killing them.
Reid leads Jake down the hall to his new room. The orderlies leave. The patients go back to being bored. Except for River. She's standing by the window, looking down at the path that winds through a little garden and over a small man-made hill. Ray's guessing that lone hill is supposed to be hospital's namesake.
"His sadness is very heavy," River says, her back to the rest of the room.
Ray wonders how she knows. She never even looked at Mendez.
* * *
Person realizes Luz is gone twenty minutes before group therapy's due to start. Amanda's gone too.
"Yo, Mario. Luz take Jackson for a smoke break?"
Mario nods.
"They should both quit," Simon says, his tone implying smoking is on par with cannibalism and/or drop-kicking babies.
"You should quit," Ray grumbles.
"Quit what?" Simon asks, affronted.
"Talking would be a good start." Ray turns to Mario. "Do you mind if I run get them?"
"Bring me a Diet Coke on your way back," the black man says, "and it's all good."
Ray cards himself out the door, past the coffee vending machine, and down four flights of steps. The steps come out next to the side entrance which leads to the smoking area. The smoking area is a single stone bench and a planter filled with cigarette butts. Ray shoulders the door open to find Amanda on the bunch, George a few feet away. They're both smoking.
Amanda's watching a handful of patients walk the grounds, a gardener water flowers. Luz's gaze is turned inward. Ray recognizes that look. He's seen it on Brad and Walt and Rudy plenty of times. It means you're remembering shit you don't want to remember.
"You know what Reid told me?"
Ray shakes his head. He's pretty sure he's about to find out.
"Mendez was a Marine, just like you. He spent a year in Leavenworth for killing 16 men. You know what that is?" Luz's usually calm voice is hard. He exhales a ring of smoke, shakes his head bitterly. "That sounds like bullshit for disobeying some fucking order that's gonna get everybody killed. So when some other boot fuck obeys the order and they all get killed, Mendez gets the blame."
Luz's face is pale, eyes watery. Ray tells himself it's from the smoke. George's dark hair spills over his forehead. He waves his hands in frustration, the cigarette still dangling from his mouth.
Ray thinks of Encino Man's orders to mark the mine field at night. Fick disobeyed. Captain America didn't. And Captain America, that fucking batshit asshole and his fucking bayonet got promoted while Fick was basically drummed out on his ass. He knows Luz is right. The wrong guys get blamed for shit all the damn time.
"And while he's in prison, his wife died. His kid went into foster care and ran away. Can you fucking believe that?"
Ray can. That's the problem. He reaches for Luz's pack of cigarettes. "Jesus Christ."
"No shit." Luz runs both hands through his hair. "And I keep thinking, you know? I was in the 506th Infantry Division, we fucking served with you guys in Ramadi. We did this one jump and the Republican Guard were waiting, shooting RPGs at us. I saw two of my best friends turn to dust right in front of my eyes. Two other guys from Easy Company got their legs blown off by IEDs."
George flicks the cigarette butt to the ground. "So how come I'm on this side of the door and Mendez is on that side? I mean, what the fuck, Ray?"
"I don't know," Ray says, stumbling for an answer. "Genetics. Environment. The quality of pussy you got versus Mendez."
Luz puts a hand to his forehead. "Christ, Person. Not everything's about pussy." George sighs, reconsiders. "Okay, most things, but not this."
Ray hands the pack of Lucky Strikes back. "You know why you're on this side of the door, George? Because you got me, brother."
Luz rolls his eyes. "You think I find that comforting?"
Ray elbows George. "I know you do, homes."
"For fuck's sake," Luz groans, "you have got to knock that shit off. You know the only person who's allowed to say 'homes' besides Mario? Watson, that's who. Unless I'm a fucking British Detective from 1904 or come to work in aluminum siding, shut the fuck up, dawg."
"No way, man. You just said 'dawg.'"
"Yeah, I was being ironic. To show you how fucking retarded you sound when you say this shit."
"Yeah, but George, you don't sound retarded. You sounded awesome."
"Jesus Christ, come on already. We gotta get back up." Luz moves over to Amanda, jerks his thumb toward the door. "Come on, doll. Time to go."
Ray smiles at Luz's back. With any luck, Luz is too annoyed with Ray to think about which side of the door he's supposed to be on.
* * *
Doctor Reid sits on a folding chair, his back to the television. Amanda and Nathan are on the couch, River's on the floor between their feet, Tate's in the recliner, Alpha's sitting at the card table. Simon's checking rooms for contraband blades or pills; George is measuring out the afternoon medication. Ray sits across from Alpha; he likes to take notes during the daily sessions if he has time. Therapy is just another form of recon. As a Marine you use all the information you can get. Why not do the same as a nurse?
Jake Mendez enters the room slowly. He's wearing a mask of bravado, it's easy to recognize. After all, Ray wore a similar mask himself in Afghanistan and Iraq. Jake's arms are crossed, eyes narrowed. He pulls a chair almost to the reception desk. He's near the circle of patients, but not part of it.
"Thank you for coming, Jake," Reid says with a kind smile.
Jake shrugs. "Like I had a choice."
The other patients are subdued, probably because of Mendez. Everyone's always a little nervous around the new guy. Tate was the last newbie and people still aren't used to him.
Because Jake's new, Reid starts on his recovery speech. It's a recitation of the Tidal Model: recovery is possible, change is inevitable, a person possesses all the resources they need to begin recovery, blah blah, bullshit. The Tidal Model is used in England and Australia, but it's not generally accepted in the United States. Unless you're Doctor Reid.
After his little speech, Reid leans forward, holds a hand out toward Jake. "Why don't you tell us about yourself."
Jake shakes his head. "I got nothin' to say, man."
"How about we start with someone else then. I want everyone to tell Jake a fact about yourself. Anything you want. And then we'll talk about setting goals for ourselves." Reid steeples his fingers together. "River? Why don't you start."
River peers at Jake over the top of Nathan's leg. "I'm broken." She touches her head. "Inside here."
Ray's glad Simon's not around to hear her.
Mendez blinks, then smiles. For just a moment, the mask is gone. He shrugs. "I dunno, your head looks okay to me."
Jake's kindness toward River earns him points. Most people are freaked out by Alpha's size, by Tate's blank eyes, but visitors are always frightened by River. River, who's about the size of Fruity Rudy's goddamn arm. They're scared shitless because she's unpredictable, her words sound like nonsense, but they're not. People always fear the unexpected, reject the different. Lousy fuckers.
Mendez rolls his eyes, mask snapping back into place. "Okay, fine. I'm here because I'm fucked up. I got PTSD from the war. Or because they threw me in prison for what I didn't do. But this?" Jake shrugs, smirks. "This ain't nothin'.
"I saw my buddies blow up. I spent a year in fucking Leavenworth, man. I seen shit you wouldn't fucking believe. Sitting around playing therapy time with you guys?" Jake leans back in the chair. "This is a fuckin' vacation."
It's a real good line of bullshit. Ray even considers believing it, until he sees the way Jake's left hand is shaking. Mendez catches Ray watching and glares, locks his hands behind his head.
The rest of the group session goes okay. Tate only disrupts it once, when he tries to eat a page ripped out of Entertainment Weekly. Reid stops him, Alpha wants to know why Tate's so eager to swallow pop culture bullshit--literally. Ray has to fake a cough to keep from laughing out loud.
When the group session's over, Reid meets with the patients individually. Tate's always first. River's last.
Jake's still in the chair when Tate emerges from Reid's office. Tate looks like he's been crying. He heads straight for the Scrabble box, starts spelling fuck with the tiles. Tate does that a lot after therapy. Ray's gaze shifts back to Jake. He's watching Nathan, his expression unreadable. That's how it works. Everybody watches everybody else.
Ray drifts over to the reception desk, leans his elbows against the top. Mario flashes him a not cool look.
"Don't give me that look," Ray says, "I brought you a fuckin' soda."
"This how it always goes around here?" Mendez asks, not looking at Ray.
"Pretty much. You got breakfast, then free time, lunch, group therapy, one on one, dinner, free time, light's out. Sometimes we go outside, get some fresh air. Oh, and at some point in the afternoon, Mario gets pissy."
"You'd get pissy too, havin' to look at this asshole's ugly face all day," Mario tells Jake.
Ray bats his eyelashes at Mario. "Oh please. Like you could ever be mad at your dear pal Ray-Ray."
Mario breaks into laugher, winks at Ray. "Okay, I ain't mad, but you're still ugly."
"You can knock it off," Jake says irritably. "I get it. You're a big fucking happy family."
"I wouldn't say we're happy," Ray clarifies, "but we are exceedingly dysfunctional."
"How long I gotta sit here before I get my alone time with Doctor Bullshit?"
Ray steps closer to Jake. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but Doctor Reid's a good guy. Sure, he looks like the result of a one night stand between a thrift store and a fucking library, and he sounds like a do gooder new age hippy. That's because he is a do gooder new agey hippy fuck. But you know what? He helps people. He's the smartest guy I've ever seen. He's, like, fucking spooky levels of smart, dude. I'm serious. So give him a chance, okay?"
Jake gives a half-hearted nod.
"And one more thing." Ray lowers his voice. "I was over there. I was at the head of the very first wave in 2003. Luz was there in '05. If you don't wanna talk to the doc, you can talk to me, Jake."
"You Marine?"
"Fuck yeah, brah. Bravo, First Recon."
"That's some hot shit, man." Jake blinks hard, takes a deep breath. "I was Marine too, with the 10/13. Pro patria, my brother."
Pro Patria means for country. What a fucking joke. Jake Mendez served his country with honor and his country served him back all right--a steaming plate of shit. Ray claps Jake on the shoulder. "Jake, I'm just sorry your country fucked you up the ass with a ten-foot strap-on wrapped in concertina wire, my friend. That fucking sucks."
Jake's mouth curves into a bitter smile. "I know, man. They didn't use no fucking lube either."
"Aw shit homes, that has got to sting," Ray says with a shake of his head. Fuck man, this dude is okay. With any luck, maybe Ray can help Reid get Jake's comms unfucked, get him home, back with his kid.
"Fucking-A, man. Still hurts to sit down." Jake's expression is pained, then he laughs. He studies the ID tag around Ray's neck. "So you're Josh, huh?"
Ray makes a face. "Call me Ray. I haven't been Josh since I was a kid."
"Okay then, Ray it is. And seeing how you're one of the always faithful, you can call me Sarge. Or Wolf."
Sarge? Ray does a mental eye roll. Christ, was everyone in the military a higher rank that him? "Why Wolf?"
Jake's smile turns feral. "Cuz if you live among wolves, you gotta learn to act like a wolf, man." He lifts his chin. "And I fuckin' learned."