Sterling hadn't been expecting to feel entirely different overnight since they lowered his dosage of PTSD meds. He was functioning basically the same as the higher doses of meds made their way out of his system. Sleep was still elusive but with a baby in the house that was to be expected. Still, when he did sleep it was deeper and he stayed asleep longer as far as Ara allowed it. Even she was beginning to sleep a little longer each night as she got older. He could see the change in her as each day rolled by and soon he began seeing the changes in himself.
He first noticed his walls starting to come down one morning after he'd had one too many cups of coffee to compensate for the sleepless night before. A headache and lack of sleep were subtle trigger enough on their own but he began to notice a gentle buzzing of the light fixture above him in his office, something he'd never really noticed before in the higher dosage of meds. It wasn't altogether triggering but the buzz, in his more fragile state, reminded him of the buzz of electricity from the car battery Merc was about to touch his chair with in that warehouse. The moments he resigned himself to a most violent death.
Hours later he felt the heel of his left leg began to bounce rapidly with his increased agitation and he rubbed his face of the cold sweat that started gathering on his forehead. He put down his pen and tried to breathe through it, using those techniques his therapist had taught him. It helped some, but he wondered if perhaps he should go home for the day. It only seemed to be getting worse and his focus was suffering because of it.
He had decided to stop by the break room that afternoon to grab a slice of an agent's birthday cake they were storing in the fridge when someone beside him began running water from the sink. His grip on the handle of the refrigerator door tightened and his breathing shook with the effort to stay present. This was what he was doing this for. To confront his triggers and finally ride through them. He knew he would have bad days like this but the hope was that he could get through them without incident. If he went home every time someone around him ran water he couldn't function and he couldn't have that. He had to calm down.
Sterling groped the air beside him and took a seat at one of the break room tables to steady himself but when a familiar voice he hadn't heard in a while echoed in the room he visibly jumped in his chair.
‘You know they aren’t going to find your body, right?’
Sterling pressed the heel of his left palm into the side of his head, a habit he picked up to ease the pressure of the headache Merc's voice usually brought.
"Stop it." He whispered to the auditory hallucination in his head. He'd been told to ignore Merc. He'd been told to drown him out with music or conversation, but that's usually when he got louder. Deafeningly so. He was afraid to try it now, in public, but he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through, ignoring the voice. However, the voice ignored his request right back.
‘Repeat after me, Agent Sterling.’
He slammed his fist into the table of the break room as if hoping to startle the voice into submission when all it accomplished was making him look unstable. His eyes stayed cast down and the perspiration on his pale face increased the more nervous the voice made him. He ran his fingers into his hair and kept them there, gripping his head. Breathe, Sterling. Breathe through it. It's ok. You've got this.
“Sorry.” Sterling whispered, not looking up but holding out a hand to anyone who might still be in the room. He didn’t mean to surprise or startle anyone because he was having a bit of a break down.
