Late June; 2009
"C"mon, Carter. We showed you ours, show us yours."
"I ain't showin" nothin"," he snickered, looking through the shaded windows of the hummer to the endless sandy terrain before he looked to his two brothers in arms.
Payton turned to look over his shoulder, a sly grin developing on his face. "You fresh?"
Dallas" flicked his eyes to Payton, a glance to that grin. "Ain't none of us fresh, Payton," he wrinkled his nose, shifting the rifle on his lap.
Fredricks sputtered out a laugh, nodding his head in the passenger seat. "You got that right, buddy!"
A growing smirk curled on his lips as Fredricks got a light shove from their driver, and it seemed the attention was diverted with the humor. Carter was fresh. No battle wounds, no real stories to tell. He'd hardly seen the heat of the war. He was young, freshly enlisted. He didn't have much to show for his efforts.
"You got a—"
It all happened so fast. The mirage of tactical vehicles peeling over the rising dunes ahead that the driver missed, having looked over his shoulder to Carter.
"Payton!" Fredricks scrambled, gripping his gun.
"Look out!" Dallas called, gripping his own rifle tight as his other hand pointed past the driver's line of view to the windshield.
"Shit! Hold on, boys!"
"Carter" " Dallas Carter?"
Red, bloodshot whites surrounding muddy pools flicked from his hospital bed to the woman that entered his room. How had he not heard her come in"
"Ye-," he paused to clear his hoarse voice, using his right arm to shift his slumped position more upright. "Yes, ma"am," he muttered, turning his sights to the woman approaching his bedside. For the moment, he expected another nurse and her voice wasn't familiar to him. More introductions, wond"rful.
"Hi, I'm Katherine Taylor." The woman held out her hand to him, standing on his right side once she made it to his beside. She was blonde, pretty. She looked young, but there was knowledge in her eyes for years beyond her looks. Her smile was crooked that hinted to a good sense of humor, but was sweet as molasses that showed genuine care and sympathy. She was dressed to impress, in a classy but simple slate grey dress suit that spoke of a professional.
"You a doctor?" He croaked, lifting his eyes to the woman but childhood of strict manners and a soldier's mind wouldn't allow him to refuse the handshake. His handshake was forced strength to make up for the weakness of muscles from recovery, and hers was stronger than he was anticipating. Certain, confident. It was a handshake to respect, and he did.
She released his hand with a smile, reaching behind her for one of those generic and uncomfortable hospital chairs for guests, scooting it closer to the bed before taking a seat to get more on his level. "No, I'm not. Before you get too excited to find out I don't have needles," she gave him an apologetic look. "I'm a counsellor."
The relief on his face that she wasn't a doctor was quick to disappear once that word came flying out of her mouth. Counsellor. His expression was made of stone, his eyes turning away from her to stare ahead as the muscles of a square jaw shifted and twitched with the clenching of his teeth. "Counsellor," he snickered, looking down to his lap. "Course you're a couns"lor," he muttered, already visibly closing off from her.
"Hey," she whispered, setting the folder she'd been holding aside on the wheeled table beside his bed. His eyes glanced to the manilla folder, reading his printed name on the tab before he gave her a bleak look. Her smile was soft, understanding. He was uncertain, unsteady, but he was fine tuned in the art of reading people, long before the military. Her smile was genuine, more than he'd ever expect of a therapist. "I know you probably don't want to talk about what happened...I understand that. It's hard, and it was a traumatic experience," she whispered, her head tilting as she leaned forward in her seat, her elbows resting on her knees as she clasped her fingers together.
"One way to put it," he muttered, bland in tone and as closed off as the set of his features.
"So let's start with this. I just wanna get to know you. Person to person. Ignore my title, my purpose for being here. Before you cut me off, give me a chance to gain your trust."
He stared at her while she spoke, blonde brows knitting together as he wasn't sure how to comprehend it. "Hard to ignore som"n like that," he lifted his chin.
"Yeah, it is," she smiled, laughing softly as she leaned back and swiped her professional demeanor from her posture, resting her arms leisurely on the armrests. "I'm just here to talk. You can choose what it's about, but I just wanna get to know you, Dallas."
"Carter."
She was quiet a moment before she nodded slowly. "Carter," she corrected herself.
He was quiet even longer, looking to his lap as he considered it. "Just talk?"
A nod. "Just talk. No intrusive questions. But I may ask you your favorite color." She grinned, giving him an example.
The gesture made his lips twitch. Brief, fleeting. "You don't look like no Katherine," he observed, glancing over to her, then over her.
"I get that more than you'll ever know," she laughed, and it was a pleasant sound. Full of life, full of love. "You can call me K. Most everyone I associate with does."
"K," he repeated, mulling it over for a moment before he gave a short nod. "I can do that. So you're like that teacher that lets their students call you by your first name instead of Mrs. Taylor." His lips twitched again, his eyes flicking to her with the remnants of humor that he could muster.
She smiled, showing dual dimples on her cheeks before she lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought. "Something like that," she nodded, returning her eyes back to him.
"It's a good tactic," he whispered. "Makes it feel less like we're having a patient to therapist conversation." But there was no way he could forget it.
"I prefer to stay out of the office when having my sessions, and this is the best we can do for the moment," she looked around the hospital room before she looked at him. "You want a coffee" I want a coffee."
He raised a brow at her. "I'm not supposed to have caffeine. Doc's orders."
K's smile turned slick, if not coy as she rose from her chair. "I like to bend the rules, Carter. I'll write you a prescription," she teased lightly, turning for the door. "How you like it?"
"Black. No sugar. No cream."
"You got it."
"And..K?" He paused, his voice as uncertain as the furrow of his brows. He didn't look at her, but the crocheted white blanket covering his legs.
"Yeah?" She paused at the door, looking over at the shattered man on the hospital bed.
"My favorite color's sea green. Like the ocean before the storm hits," he whispered, his South Carolina drawl weighing heavily on his tongue.
Her smile was soft, lingering on the bow of her lips as she gave a slow, twitching nod. "That's a good color, Carter. A great color. Mine's a shade of green, too," she admitted, a moment before her smile returned to it's sly curve. "Like the glass of a Jameson bottle."
Carter's eyes lifted to the woman as she told him, speaking of liquor that seemed as unprofessional as could be. He watched her walk out of the room before a small smile curved his sharp mouth.
"C"mon, Carter. We showed you ours, show us yours."
"I ain't showin" nothin"," he snickered, looking through the shaded windows of the hummer to the endless sandy terrain before he looked to his two brothers in arms.
Payton turned to look over his shoulder, a sly grin developing on his face. "You fresh?"
Dallas" flicked his eyes to Payton, a glance to that grin. "Ain't none of us fresh, Payton," he wrinkled his nose, shifting the rifle on his lap.
Fredricks sputtered out a laugh, nodding his head in the passenger seat. "You got that right, buddy!"
A growing smirk curled on his lips as Fredricks got a light shove from their driver, and it seemed the attention was diverted with the humor. Carter was fresh. No battle wounds, no real stories to tell. He'd hardly seen the heat of the war. He was young, freshly enlisted. He didn't have much to show for his efforts.
"You got a—"
It all happened so fast. The mirage of tactical vehicles peeling over the rising dunes ahead that the driver missed, having looked over his shoulder to Carter.
"Payton!" Fredricks scrambled, gripping his gun.
"Look out!" Dallas called, gripping his own rifle tight as his other hand pointed past the driver's line of view to the windshield.
"Shit! Hold on, boys!"
"Carter" " Dallas Carter?"
Red, bloodshot whites surrounding muddy pools flicked from his hospital bed to the woman that entered his room. How had he not heard her come in"
"Ye-," he paused to clear his hoarse voice, using his right arm to shift his slumped position more upright. "Yes, ma"am," he muttered, turning his sights to the woman approaching his bedside. For the moment, he expected another nurse and her voice wasn't familiar to him. More introductions, wond"rful.
"Hi, I'm Katherine Taylor." The woman held out her hand to him, standing on his right side once she made it to his beside. She was blonde, pretty. She looked young, but there was knowledge in her eyes for years beyond her looks. Her smile was crooked that hinted to a good sense of humor, but was sweet as molasses that showed genuine care and sympathy. She was dressed to impress, in a classy but simple slate grey dress suit that spoke of a professional.
"You a doctor?" He croaked, lifting his eyes to the woman but childhood of strict manners and a soldier's mind wouldn't allow him to refuse the handshake. His handshake was forced strength to make up for the weakness of muscles from recovery, and hers was stronger than he was anticipating. Certain, confident. It was a handshake to respect, and he did.
She released his hand with a smile, reaching behind her for one of those generic and uncomfortable hospital chairs for guests, scooting it closer to the bed before taking a seat to get more on his level. "No, I'm not. Before you get too excited to find out I don't have needles," she gave him an apologetic look. "I'm a counsellor."
The relief on his face that she wasn't a doctor was quick to disappear once that word came flying out of her mouth. Counsellor. His expression was made of stone, his eyes turning away from her to stare ahead as the muscles of a square jaw shifted and twitched with the clenching of his teeth. "Counsellor," he snickered, looking down to his lap. "Course you're a couns"lor," he muttered, already visibly closing off from her.
"Hey," she whispered, setting the folder she'd been holding aside on the wheeled table beside his bed. His eyes glanced to the manilla folder, reading his printed name on the tab before he gave her a bleak look. Her smile was soft, understanding. He was uncertain, unsteady, but he was fine tuned in the art of reading people, long before the military. Her smile was genuine, more than he'd ever expect of a therapist. "I know you probably don't want to talk about what happened...I understand that. It's hard, and it was a traumatic experience," she whispered, her head tilting as she leaned forward in her seat, her elbows resting on her knees as she clasped her fingers together.
"One way to put it," he muttered, bland in tone and as closed off as the set of his features.
"So let's start with this. I just wanna get to know you. Person to person. Ignore my title, my purpose for being here. Before you cut me off, give me a chance to gain your trust."
He stared at her while she spoke, blonde brows knitting together as he wasn't sure how to comprehend it. "Hard to ignore som"n like that," he lifted his chin.
"Yeah, it is," she smiled, laughing softly as she leaned back and swiped her professional demeanor from her posture, resting her arms leisurely on the armrests. "I'm just here to talk. You can choose what it's about, but I just wanna get to know you, Dallas."
"Carter."
She was quiet a moment before she nodded slowly. "Carter," she corrected herself.
He was quiet even longer, looking to his lap as he considered it. "Just talk?"
A nod. "Just talk. No intrusive questions. But I may ask you your favorite color." She grinned, giving him an example.
The gesture made his lips twitch. Brief, fleeting. "You don't look like no Katherine," he observed, glancing over to her, then over her.
"I get that more than you'll ever know," she laughed, and it was a pleasant sound. Full of life, full of love. "You can call me K. Most everyone I associate with does."
"K," he repeated, mulling it over for a moment before he gave a short nod. "I can do that. So you're like that teacher that lets their students call you by your first name instead of Mrs. Taylor." His lips twitched again, his eyes flicking to her with the remnants of humor that he could muster.
She smiled, showing dual dimples on her cheeks before she lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought. "Something like that," she nodded, returning her eyes back to him.
"It's a good tactic," he whispered. "Makes it feel less like we're having a patient to therapist conversation." But there was no way he could forget it.
"I prefer to stay out of the office when having my sessions, and this is the best we can do for the moment," she looked around the hospital room before she looked at him. "You want a coffee" I want a coffee."
He raised a brow at her. "I'm not supposed to have caffeine. Doc's orders."
K's smile turned slick, if not coy as she rose from her chair. "I like to bend the rules, Carter. I'll write you a prescription," she teased lightly, turning for the door. "How you like it?"
"Black. No sugar. No cream."
"You got it."
"And..K?" He paused, his voice as uncertain as the furrow of his brows. He didn't look at her, but the crocheted white blanket covering his legs.
"Yeah?" She paused at the door, looking over at the shattered man on the hospital bed.
"My favorite color's sea green. Like the ocean before the storm hits," he whispered, his South Carolina drawl weighing heavily on his tongue.
Her smile was soft, lingering on the bow of her lips as she gave a slow, twitching nod. "That's a good color, Carter. A great color. Mine's a shade of green, too," she admitted, a moment before her smile returned to it's sly curve. "Like the glass of a Jameson bottle."
Carter's eyes lifted to the woman as she told him, speaking of liquor that seemed as unprofessional as could be. He watched her walk out of the room before a small smile curved his sharp mouth.