Work Text:
Salvage--
Colby helped Charlie salvage cookies from the remains of the plate. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize how that would sound.”
Charlie grumbled, “It sounded horrific.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Colby said again. He felt utterly drained. He didn’t actually have much interest in cookies at the moment, but he appreciated the gesture. Pushing open the kitchen door, he got the broom and dustpan.
“That was one of your mother’s china plates, wasn’t it?” Colby asked as he swept up the china shards.
“Yeah,” Charlie said glumly. “I thought the cookies looked good on it.”
“I’m sure you can find a replacement online.”
“Won’t be the same,” Charlie said, putting the remaining cookies on a fresh plate.
“Sorry,” Colby said again. He picked up a cookie and stumbled back to the couch. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and took a bite of the cookie. It was hot and melty and tasted like home.
Colby heard Charlie set the plate on the table and come sit next to him. Colby reached out blindly, found Charlie, and pulled him close. “Good cookies, Angel.”
“Good,” Charlie responded then waited.
Keeping his eyes closed, Colby sighed. “The guy I saw today was not the nicest guy. But he also wasn’t a counselor.”
“Huh?”
“Or rather, he was a counselor but what the appointment was about was an assessment. You have to get officially diagnosed with PTSD to get the benefits.”
Colby felt Charlie nod.
“So he’s asking and asking me stuff for over an hour, and at first it was all about my childhood and then my time in the Army. Then he starts asking me about my current life and I was stupid, stupid. I forgot I was talking to the military. Everyone around us has been so great about – okay, not everyone but most people – about us that I managed to block out the Army’s stance on it.” Colby ate more of his cookie as he remembered that moment where he’d said he lived with his boyfriend and the counselor’s eyes had lit up, like a sniper that had just spotted his target.
The counselor says, ‘By openly engaging in homosexual behavior, you’re endangering your Veteran benefits.’
I say, ‘I don’t care.’
He pauses, looks at me, then says, ‘Based on your family history, I believe you come from a highly conservative background. How do you feel about participating in activities that your family finds sinful?’
‘My family has nothing to do with this.’
‘I think your family has everything to do with this. Perhaps you are using this method to strike back at your family who allowed your father to kill himself, or maybe at your father himself who abandoned you?’
I stare at him in horror. How can he think such things? ‘My relationship with Charlie isn’t trying to get back at anyone, he’s really good for me. We’re happy.’
‘But only now you’re coming to see a counselor. This relationship seems to be triggering a resurfacing of various trauma.’
‘Huh? It’s Charlie that got me to come here and talk to you!’
He nods. ‘He recognizes that he is destructive for you so he’s trying to get you to see that. I believe the sooner you leave him and return to a normal life, the better.’
I’ve had enough. I jump to my feet. ‘Okay, screw you. I don’t need to listen to this trash. If you think I’m going to leave the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you can go to Hell!’ I begin to stomp out of the room.
At the door, he calls ‘Wait!’
Something about his voice makes me pause and turn to look at him.
‘I apologize,’ he says. ‘I needed to test your reaction to personal attack.’ He starts writing on his clipboard.
I stand there for a moment, just looking at him. Maybe there’s an item on his assessment checklist about testing my reactions, but he took way too much pleasure in that. Something personal … or he’s just cruel.
He says, ‘I will be making a formal diagnosis later, but my initial assessment is that you are only suffering from mild PTSD, if that, which does not cause significant distress, or affect your ability to function socially, occupationally, or domestically. I will most likely be denying your petition for VA disability benefits.’
My throat is so tight with anger that I can’t say anything. I want to scream at him that he has no idea what it is like to relive your father’s suicide over and over or to have flashes of a gun battle intrude on your thoughts without warning. He sits there in his safe chair, smug in his psychologist superiority, writing on his clipboard.
He continues, ‘I’ll send you a formal letter within a few weeks, which will include a list of civilian counselors that specialize in situations like yours. I recommend that you look one of them up.’
I wait, trembling with fury, but he has nothing more to say. I push open the door and walk unsteadily to my car. I need to go home, home to Charlie. He told me I should leave you, Charlie, how stupid is that?
Colby finished his cookie and opened his eyes. He brushed a lock of hair away from Charlie’s face and stroked his cheek. “It turned out that he was testing me, making a personal attack to see how I would react.”
Charlie stared at him. “That’s crazy!”
“Yeah, sick bastard. And he decided that I don’t suffer from PTSD, at least not bad enough to qualify for benefits.”
“But …” Charlie said, his eyes growing even wider. “You need to talk to someone about your nightmares and your dad …”
“He’s gonna give me a list of ‘civilian counselors’ and I’ll try one of them out. But I swear, that counselor better be a good one because I don’t think I can go to a third.”
“What was this guy’s name?” Charlie asked. “I think I need to go … beat him up or something.”
Colby barked a laugh, unable to stop himself.
“What?” Charlie said with a weak attempt at huffiness. “You don’t think I could?”
“I’ve learned to never underestimate you,” Colby said, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “But maybe it’s better that I don’t go through the Army shrinks anyway. I couldn’t stand any … prejudice against you and me.”
“When you get that list of civilian counselors, I’m gonna have Don run some checks on them, make sure they’re okay before you go there,” Charlie said firmly. “Then I’m gonna call them myself to make sure they’re not sick bastards before you go there.”
“Thanks,” Colby said sincerely. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
“Not if I can help it!” Charlie agreed.
At home, safe, with his arm around Charlie, Colby could feel a little more understanding towards the counselor. A little.
He mumbled, “You know, that VA guy is probably under pressure to diagnose fewer people with PTSD to save money.”
“That’s no excuse!” Charlie said stoutly. “He made me break one of Mom’s plates!”