Red Bull Gives You Wings (the_falcon) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-06-23 19:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, ana lucia cortez, sam wilson (falcon) |
Who: Ana Lucia and Sam Wilson
When: 5/18/14
Where: A bar Ana knows
What: Talking about dreams and PTSD stuff
Rating/Warning: PTSD, Military stuff, pregnancy loss
Status: Complate!
Ana Lucia sat at the table farthest back into the bar, in the dimmest corner underneath the flat screen television that was installed high up on the wall. She didn’t want to be anywhere in the bar where their conversation could be overheard, especially by the bartender that knew her, lest she sound insane talking about alternate lives dictated by dreams. She was supposed to be meeting Sam, a relative newcomer to the Valar online community who had offered help for those with PTSD. Here they could talk without being heard, and most people’s eyes would be trained on the glowing television above their heads anyway.
Ana frowned at her Tequila and Tonic. In her dreams she’d been back on the Island again, still trapped, still traumatized, with a hint of crazy in the back of her brain from past traumas outside of the apparent plane crash that had stranded them there. More of her people had been taken, and she’d now done something horrible in defense of the camp. It paled in comparison to her other act of violence long before she’d ever flown to Australia, however…
Ana shook her head a little, trying to clear her head. This Sam guy would be here soon. She needed to be able to tell him what was going on without being sidetracked with the fear she was going insane.
It took Sam longer than he'd wanted to get down to the bar. He'd wasted ten minutes looking for some pamphlets and one of his notebooks. It wasn't as much for him to scribble in as it was to show her. Ways to deal with the PTSD. Mostly he intended to listen and nurse a good drink.
His own dreams were pretty crazy. He flew, he fucking flew, on real wings! Despite that it hadn't been much different from his waking life. He'd still lost his co-pilot. He'd still left active duty. Of course, real life didn't have aliens invading New York all over the news.
That had been a trip.
He looked around as he entered the bar, taking in the general decor. It was a bar, like any of a dozen he'd been in. But it was cozy and he liked it. He walked up to the bar to get a beer, then made his way over to where Ana was sitting. Sam gave her an easy smile. "Miss Lucia? I'm Sam."
She smiled up at him as brightly as she could manage considering she was still tired from lack of proper sleep. He was easy on the eyes and immediately she could read he had the sort of easy going personality that could come in handy when talking about heavy stuff. "Just Ana. Nice to meet you, Sam." She stuck a hand out.
“Nice to meet you.” Sam took her hand. He had a friendly grip, and appreciated Ana’s. He took a seat, setting his beer and his notebook down. “Brought you a few things, if you’re interested. Mostly I’m just here to listen. Not to sit in judgment.”
Ana Lucia smiled a little ruefully at that. "I might have saved you the trouble." Her eyes then fell as did her expression a little as the images of what she had done - no, that other version of her had done - came to mind. Brown eyes always full of more emotion than her words could ever convey glanced at the papers he'd brought and the wry expression returned. She inclined her chin at the pamphlets. "Those the same ones they try to give you after returning from deployment? I think I still got a few somewhere."
He took in her eyes, filing that away for later. He recognized that expression, the glossy haunted look that clouded them. "Couple of them are. One or two are some I picked up elsewhere. Notebook has some notes you might be interested in."
Her brow scrunched a little at the concept of the notebook. Michael had told her one of the methods he'd been taught to deal with his PTSD nightmares was to write them down. Seems Sam might have gotten the same memo. She had the first time around but now Ana had been too ashamed to put pen to paper. Not to mention a little apprehensive; out of context it would sound like a delusional murderer's confession.
Ana Lucia nodded for Sam to show her what he'd brought. She'd asked for his help after all. "Okay."
Sam spread out the pamphlets. Sure enough there were the usual the military handed out, but also a few from the civilian world. Most of them were well worn and dog-earred. “Is it the dreams that are affecting you, or is there some real life trauma too?”
That was a loaded question. She regarded Sam and the pamphlets a moment. "Well let's see..." she started, leaning back and swirling the ice cubes in her nearly empty glass. "I'm an Army vet that's been to Iraq and back. I'm a former NYPD officer who was nearly killed on duty and whose partner was. And now I've got these damn dreams of being a former LAPD officer with a seriously fucked up backstory and who so far has survived a plane crash on some island with people who are attacking and kidnapping the survivors. I'm gonna go with all of the above." There was a pregnant pause after that, and Ana realized how deeply sarcastic she sounded. That wasn't fair to Sam, who was only trying to help. Ana suddenly looked abashed. She sighed. "Damn, I'm sorry. Didn't mean for it to come out like that. Didn't get much sleep and the only person who I'd gone over this with previously moved away so..."
"No, it's okay. That's a lot to deal with and that's your way of dealing with it, I understand." Sarcasm could be a cutting weapon, or a thick shield against the things that liked to claw around inside people's heads. Sam had born the brunt of far worse outbursts in the past. Almost got stabbed once.
"So you got a truckload of issues. Am I right in thinking these dreams of yours are dredging up everything else?"
Ana Lucia looked contemplative a moment, biting on her lower lip as she mulled that over. “I dunno. It’s kinda getting all jumbled. I thought maybe that whole issue with Carlos might have started the dreams, but I guess nothing really triggers ‘em. I haven’t really been freaking out so much on real life stuff as much as the dream stuff. It’s like a parallel world where my life went to shit real fast. Some stuff’s similar, but a lot of it’s obviously not.” She paused, glancing at the melting ice cubes between her hands. “Guess some of it’s probably getting under my skin. Like how in the dreams me and my partner were also in a life threatening situation but in the dream he was okay. Here, he was a totally different guy, and he didn’t make it.” She was quiet a moment after that. Truth be told, it actually pissed her off. It was a weird trade off if these dreams were true, for her to have a more messed up life in this other world but at least her partner was alive.
Sam listened to her speak, nodding along where appropriate and giving her his full attention. He frowned a bit at the partner thing. He could emphasize with that, maybe more than he wanted to admit. "Sorry he didn't make it. I've started dreaming too, and there are some similarities. Lost Riley in both places. We were pararescue. So I get how that could shake you up. Doesn't seem fair, does it?"
Eyebrows raised a little momentarily as Sam spoke. That really sucked, talk about a no win scenario. “Nope.” She drained the rest of her glass, which tasted awful as it was all watered down alcohol, then nodded to the waitress behind Sam for another. She studied Sam a moment. "Sorry about your friend." And she meant it. It was a pain like no other to lose someone you spent so much professional and off duty time with. Her fresh drink arrived and the old one whisked away with barely an interruption to their conversation. “What’s really messing with my head isn’t even that.” She then said. “It’s the damn Island, and all this stuff that hasn’t happened to me that…feels like it’s a part of me now, even though I know it’s not.” She wasn’t even going to get into the backstory part where her dream self had a miscarriage. Ana had a feeling that was what had kickstarted the crazy in the head of her alternate self.
"So the dream feels extra real, and this stuff keeps happenin' to you. Really bad stuff. Wake up, and it's still lingering there like it actually happened. Right?"
Sam didn't know much about these dreams. People had them. Sometimes they came with stuff. Powers, items, changes to their bodies. He knew a man with laser eyes, for Christ's sake.
That didn't mean that you had to let the dreams control you. "Well, you can look at them and say you aren't gonna let them control you. Or you've got to control them yourself, but that means taking them into you and accepting them."
"Yeah, " Ana replied to Sam's question. "I can't even listen to the surf outside my window without nearly freaking out and thinking some dude out of Lord of the Flies is gonna come through a window and grab me." It sounded childish and stupid but she had locked and pulled the shades down over her windows and basically hung out in the living room - the farthest spot from the windows and any perceived threat of invasion.
At Sam's suggestion of accepting the dreams and taking them in she cocked her head to one side, wavy hair spilling over one shoulder as her brow knit together. “How am I supposed to do that? I mean, I see posts of people that get changed - physically changed - by these dreams. I don’t want to ‘take in’ some alternate reality where I’m half fucking crazy with some seriously untreated PTSD on top of more trauma from surviving a plane crash.” What Ana wasn’t saying was these dreams were starting to scare her, but she wasn’t the type to openly admit that.
"It's affecting you already. I don't think you want to admit it, but it is. What I mean is that you need to realize that even if you reject these dreams they're still going to happen, and they're still gonna mess with your head. Don't let them control you. Control them. But you might end up taking more of them than you want to."
Sam didn't have the same level of dream related PTSD. It was so close to his waking PTSD that it was hard to separate the two. "Maybe I'm talking out my ass. My dreams aren't near as bad. However." He pointed at her with an index finger. "Keep talking. It helps."
The look on Ana's face was one of reluctance and wariness. She suddenly wished she hadn't arranged for this. Talking out her dreams sucked.
She looked down at her fresh drink and sighed. What the hell, just get it over with. She took a long sip before looking back at Sam. He still had that open, friendly demeanor that was really quite disarming, she realized. She couldn't be angry at that face.
"It started with me being a cop. The dreams. Seems I was on this side of the country protecting and serving. No military background, just a love for military history." Ironic. "I was seeing a therapist, who gave me my badge back." He wanted details, she would give it to him in spades. "I survived being shot up by a guy during a burglary. Me and my partner responded to the call, I took one side of the house he took the other. Out comes this guy who claims he's a student, wants to show me his ID. I let him reach." She says it with all the self loathing leftover from the dreams. It was a rookie mistake, and Ana Lucia was far from being a "boot" as they called it. "I thought I was dead before I hit the ground. Bleedin' out all over the damn place. By the time Mike got to me the asshole was gone." She swallowed hard and looked away. "I was pregnant. Lost the baby. Boyfriend left a couple months later after I was out of the woods and talking about going back to work." She fell silent, sullen, and drank. It was stupid to be so affected by something that wasn't her real life; yet Ana couldn't help but be angry.
Sam nodded as he listened. Her dreams and her real life seemed to parallel in some ways, but diverge in others. Fairly subtle from the sound of it but still significant, especially to her, he thought. He lifted his drink to his lips, then hesitated before setting it down. "Sorry to hear that." It affected her, obvious in the way she held her shoulders and how sullen she'd become. Maybe it would make it too real, offering condolences. But it hurt her.
"Did you? Go back to work?"
Her distracted stare at her drink vanished as she blinked and looked back up at Sam. “Yeah. Seems mom’s the captain at the precinct in my dreams too. Can’t shake her.” Her lips twisted into a smirk then. She leaned back against the back of the booth. “She tried to give me a desk job...I convinced her otherwise.” She seemed almost amused at how she’d twisted her arm with the threat of a transfer; it was something she would not have tried in this lifetime. Captain Cortez was not a woman to be trifled with. “Went on patrol with Big Mike, everything seemed cool, then we responded to a domestic disturbance call. Next thing I know I’m losing my shit cuz the woman’s got a screaming baby. Pulled my weapon and everything.” She made a face, like she was annoyed with the whole concept. “I don’t even want kids, so this whole PTSD thing with babies is just straight up ridiculous.” She took another long drink from her glass. She was going to speak again, but then the waitress came, placing chili covered fries between them. “Oh, right. Forgot about these.” She smiled up at Sam, grateful for the intermission. “Figured I’d take the liberty of ordering them for when you got here.”
Sam couldn’t tell her what the best choice would have been. Even with hindsight being a bitch, it didn’t mean that things wouldn’t have been worse if she’d made a different choice. “Never know what’ll trigger you until it happens, a lot of the time. Could be something like a screaming baby, could be looking at a blanket. I knew a soldier that had flashbacks to the sound of computer keys clicking. Turned out when he’d been stationed overseas, there’d been a lot of clacking around old wooden structures. And that’s okay, eat up.”
She made a face. "I ordered this crap for you, chow down." She then smirked at him and nudged the plate in his direction, then stole a fry from the edge of the dish. "You're the one all hot for chili cheese fries." As she munched she mulled over what he said about triggers. "Do you think the dream triggers'll become real ones for me? Like I'll have to avoid babies at all costs now?" She plucked another smothered fry and popped it into her mouth.
Sam smirked back, but popped a chili cheese fry into his mouth. "They might. Can't say that they won't. But I think it helps that you can see yourself having these emotions. Maybe it means you'll trigger less. But I think you're gonna need to brace yourself for that." He wondered if she needed to expose herself to a baby. It could be painful, but it might do good to know sooner rather than later.
“And if you need help with it,” Sam replied, pointing a fry at her. “Or with anything, you can ask.”
Ana nodded in agreement and in gratitude before eating a few more fries. She was hungrier than she'd realized. She looked down at the notebook that had been pushed aside in favor of the food. She casually opened it with one hand and flipped through a few pages, eating with her free hand, brown eyes skimming over the writing. She looked over at Sam again. "You with the local VA or you got your own thing going?" It occurred to her she'd just spiled her guts to a man that had barely told her anything except that he'd been a pararescue. She could just hear her mother bellowing at her all the way from New York.
“Mostly VA, but I do some stuff on the side. I know not everyone is comfortable with sitting in a circle and sharing their deepest traumas.” Sam gestured around them. “Comfort foods help. Anything you wanna know?”
Ana nodded slowly and her face had an expression of agreement with Sam’s position on how the gumbuya thing didn’t work for everyone. There was nothing worse for her than to be trapped in a room full of guys with horror stories that made her issues look like a stroll in the park; she’d tried it once and swore never again. Not just because of the sharing, but because what she heard broke her heart and made her feel guilty she’d gotten by in Iraq easier than they had. She wouldn’t have been able to talk about the dreams there anyway.
She looked over at him as she kept a hand on the book. “So you were Air Force, huh?” She tried not to say ‘chair force’ which was often the nickname other branches gave to them. “Don’t know much about pararescue, but you said you lost a guy. Riley, right? How’d it happen, y’know, if you don’t mind my asking.”
Yeah. Pararescue,” he said, rubbing a hand up his arm. “They guys that came in on the choppers to pull your asses out of the fire when it got too hot.” He rested his chin on his hands for a moment. “We were comin’ in pretty hot. Some marines had gotten messed up and needed their wounded evaced.”
The two missions - dream and waking - ran alongside each other in his mind. In one, they flew in on the Falcon wings, in the other they were in some choppers. “Didn’t see the SAM until it was too late. One minute they were flying alongside us, the next there was a fireball in the sky.”
The hotshot line about the role pararescue played made Ana smirk. Air Force always thought they were rock stars. Too many screenings of Top Gun. "Excuse me but my ass never needed rescuing thank you very much." She teased. As Sam relayed his story Ana Lucia watched him closely. It was the cop in her to observe personalities. She could tell beneath the surface he'd probably taken it hard. Survivors guilt and all that. But it was also clear he no longer let grief control him. There was a strength there she suddenly envied.
"I'm sorry." It was the most she could say but the understanding in her eyes that only a fellow veteran could have said volumes more. I get it. War is hell.
"The dreams, you said you lost him there too. Same way?" She lifted her drink to her lips, nearly forgetting she had it.
“Almost.” Sam wasn’t sure how to say it, but she’d shared some pretty crazy things so it was only fair, right? Besides, saying it outloud could make a huge difference, in his own mind. “We didn’t fly in on choppers. We flew, on jetpacks with actual wings. It was a special program and we were the guinea pigs. Must have had a dozen rescues before flak got him.”
Ana's brow furrowed and she set her drink down. "Jetpacks with wings? Damn. That woulda been handy in my dreams. I'm sorry you lost him in both places. Jetpack version sounds even harsher." Without a helicopter around you to take the brunt of an attack, there was no chance of survival. Not that there had been much of one in Sam's real world version anyway.
She was quiet a moment and then raised her nearly empty glass. "To Riley." It seemed only right. After the toast, she looked at Sam. "So, what do I do from here? Is there like a regular meeting time or..?"
“To the people we’ve lost,” Sam said, raising his glass as well. “Could be, if you want that. Otherwise, could be when you need it. Or both. Sometimes you need someone to talk to when you don’t have an appointment. It’s why I always keep my cell phone on me.”
She nodded. "I think I gotta do a better job with this sort of thing than my dream self has. I think regularly meeting would be good. But," she paused, an apologetic look on her features. "I'd rather skip the group sessions if that's ok, and just do this sort of thing. It's not like we have a Valar veterans group that also deals with these dream issues."
"Do what helps you. No group sessions? No group sessions." Though the idea of a Valar Vet group wasn't a particularly bad one. He'd have to think it over, maybe talk to Steve (because Steve usually had a good insight into things). "What days are best for you?"
"Well of course there's the weekend but I don't wanna ruin whatever chill time you might have going on. So I guess otherwise Friday nights?" She was too tired from work most nights to want to do much. At least Fridays or the weekend she had options for sleeping in.
“How about a floating day on the weekend, Friday, Saturday or Sunday,” Sam replied. “We’ll figure out what day it is before we split on the current meeting.” It would give them some flexibility, he thought.
"Sounds good." She smiled. Glancing at the plate between them she saw they'd eaten most of the fries. Good. She felt surprisingly full and content. Guess it was good to talk things out, and Sam was easy to talk to. "So then how's next Friday sound?" She flagged down the waitress with one hand while digging into her purse with the other.
“Next Friday sounds good,” he said. “Want to meet back here or some place with less ears on the wall?” Sam was willing to accommodate whichever made her feel comfortable. But he was pretty partial to those fries.
She chuckled. "Trust me, no one's listening. Even if they did none of it'd make sense." She paused though, realizing that some of what she'd dreamed could be taken out of context. Like killing that island person who'd tried taking one of her people. "But it doesn't hurt to change things up. Maybe you pick the joint next time. I'll bring the fries." She smirked at him.
“I know this place that makes amazing fried meatballs,” Sam promised. He got to his feet and held out his hand. “It’s nice talking to you, Ana. My number is always open.”
Ana stood as well, passing the folio with the cash to the waitress as she breezed by, telling her to keep the change. She smiled and shook Sam's hand. "Nice talking to you too. Thanks. And I appreciate it. It's hard in this town to know who to talk to about this stuff." She had a feeling dealing with these dreams would be a lot easier from now on.