I decided to post this with the hope that putting down part of it would motivate me to finish it. The aforementioned Bandit/Doc ficlet in progress.
Part I: Nightmares
He wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment he was sitting at the table with other Angels, a beer in hand, spirits almost as high as some of the men he was surrounded by. No. That was wrong. There were hands closing over his shoulders, pressing him against the table. Harsh voices spat accusations as panicked bubbled into his throat. A prick, a feeling he had somehow avoided for the past three and a half years. No. No. No. His breath seemed stuck in his throat, caught along with a yell of desperation. No. No. No. No.
Not again.
Hands closed over his shoulders, this time from above. There was a keening sound of panic, even as he thrashed hard, fist swinging and connecting with something solid, warm. -ic… -ominic… “Dominic…” That was his name. The voice was warm, familiar and oh god he had just struck a member of his team, and that sound, someone needed to turn it off! It took a moment longer for the GSG9 operative to realize it was his own yell of terror.
In the darkness, he made out the shape of the man who had stumbled upon his struggle, this private battle with his demons. As he grounded himself in the facts of the situation, Dom was acutely aware of how he must look. He was in his room at Hereford. He had an assignment tomorrow after almost a week of recon. He had revisited the hell of Hannover in his dreams. Marius hovered to the side, cradling his jaw. The expression on his face was a mixture of confusion and concern, heightening the compression in Dominic’s chest, which reflected in the corresponding tightness of his jawline. The silence stretched between the men, bringing the sharp pulse of blood in Bandit’s ears to the forefront. Suddenly, he felt nauseous and itchy, and the feeling was enough to drive him to his feet. The feeling of Jäger’s inquisitive eyes on his back made him want to run, but he squared his shoulders as he opened the door to their shared room. Marius’ words followed him into the hallway.
“You might want to talk to someone about that…”
Initially, Dominic refused to talk about that. It wasn’t a subject that typically made for pleasant conversation. As a result Bandit rarely interacted beyond snide remarks and practical jokes, allowing him to avoid the gravity of the past or the present. Whether it was amusing to some or a deterrent to others mattered little to the German because it was just enough to keep the world at an arm's length. He didn’t need ties to execute an operation perfectly; it was a matter of wit and street smarts, of which he had an abundance.
Upon joining Rainbow, Dominic had been cleared. Clean bill of health after his stint in Hannover, a job that had pushed him beyond any undercover assignment ever had and probably ever would. Perhaps that should have been a red flag. He transitioned smoothly after his initial recovery, had excelled at reintegrating as an operative. Perhaps that had been what had impressed Six enough to recruit him. Perhaps that had been her mistake.
The first time he lashed out during an assignment, he was aiding in a bomb diffusion. Midway through the operation, Mira gripped his arm to silently get his attention. The result has been a swing that he had altered when he had realized his reflex, his hand instead meeting the wall. His reaction had startled many of their teammates, and though nobody asked, he knew they were all wondering what deep end he had jumped off of. Maybe the GSG9 operative had finally lost it. The thought made his head feel fuzzy, making his breathing accelerate, his heart crash against his ribs. Some asked if he was okay as he looked around the room at their blurry faces, vaguely aware that they were still doing something important. It had ended with a warm hand on his shoulder - When had he sat down? - and a whispered, “We will talk latare.”
But Bandit didn’t want to talk. Yet, when they returned to Hereford after a thankfully successful defusing, Gustave was waiting outside of his locker, his gaze intent and expectant, which made Dom’s skin itchy and his palms sweaty. No. No. No. No…. He rolled his shoulders in discomfort, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he gave Doc a cocky smile.
“Can I help you, Kateb?” he drawled, eying the Frenchman in an almost predatory way. The key was to seem imposing instead of panicked. Go away. Go away. Go away.
No dice. The GIGN operator simply crossed his arms and nodded toward the exit. “You and I should have a chat…” A chat. There was absolutely no reason for a chat.
Dominic looked passed the Frenchman toward the exit. It briefly crossed his mind that he could make a run for the door, but the logical part of his brain determined that perhaps fleeing would only solidify the ideas his fellow operators were forming about him. His gaze flicked back to Gustave. Had he been staring too long? It was hard to read the doctor’s expression, hard to get passed the horrible realization that there was no getting out of this. So he cleared his throat, inclining his head toward the very door that could have been his salvation.
“Ladies first…”
The first session between them was painful. No amount of prying could have gotten Dominic to open up. Any questions were met with evasive words and empty anecdotes. If Doc was frustrated, he never showed it and the immense patience that smoothed over the man’s face made Bandit even more stubborn. Instead of sighing and throwing his hands up in exasperation, Gustave simply told him they would meet again in five days. He opened the door. Bandit fled.
The second session was much the same. There was gentle prodding from the Doc, though his questions seemed much more superficial. Bandit’s responses remained clipped and sassy. Why should he have to tear open old wounds for the amusement of the Frenchman? He was insane if he thought using the tactics would whittle down Dominic’s carefully crafted facade. At the end of the session, he repeated the events of the last. Five days time. Door open. Bandit nearly running.
On and on, they sparred like this. Dominic was becoming increasingly frustrated with the man, Doc never seeming to change. He kept neutral through each unsuccessful conversation, nodding, making notes. Notes. Notes on what? Though he tried to keep it hidden, Bandit obsessed over Doc’s motives between sessions. Why the hell would the man even try? Dom had pulled himself from his own misery and didn’t need others to help him navigate. Forget that his nightmares had begun to plague him after a particularly gruesome hostage extraction, that he had withdrawn further, that his language only consisted of jabs at his teammates and witty quips.
Another session; Dom shuffled into Gustave’s office, kicking the door shut behind him. His attempt to seem nonchalant and detached was valiant, but his demeanor was exhausted, the fight gone from the tense line of his shoulders. Gustave said nothing, simply watched Bandit drop into his usual chair. The routine was typical, yet this time the Frenchman said nothing, simply watched. Normally that wouldn’t bother Bandit, but today there seemed to be an almost sympathetic edge to his gaze. It was enough to make the German operative crack.
“What do you want from me, Gustave?” Bandit snapped, crossing his arms before him and almost hugging himself in a show of vulnerability. Was this what he wanted to entire time? “Why do you sit here and waste your own time?” His expression was almost wild as he leaned forward in his chair, searching the doctor’s face.
Still neutral, Gustave responded with, “Why do you keep coming back?”
He stared. He stared, dumbfounded with the question. He stared and then rose from his seat. Why did he keep coming back? Why did he? Why? Breath quickening, Dominic fled the room, searching for any place away from the sympathy in Gustave’s eyes.
