intent on gazing out over the similarly cottage-themed back garden.
"In my experience doctors always want the whys. You didn't get them this morning, hence you followed me to the one safe place I have so you can criticise, poke, prod, force, and generally make a nuisance of yourself until you crack me open like a nut."
Ouch, that was harsh. Clearly Daniel had had enough of it all and describing this cottage as his one safe place was telling. Sean bit his tongue from snapping back that he wouldn't be here if Daniel hadn't fucked up his medications.
"How about… Jeez, look, I'm not your doctor, not officially, but I wanted to talk to you about some of the stuff you are taking."
"I'm not taking advice from some kid who plays at doctors and nurses." Irritation and anger spiked in Daniel's voice, and he finally turned from gazing at the garden to face Sean. His features were composed into a mask of indifference.
"My dad may have thirty years on me, but don't for one minute think I don't know my job," Sean snapped back with just as much anger and irritation in his own voice. It was hard enough being taken seriously in this village as the young Doctor Lester, let alone having that same crap shoved at him by someone he had bloody well helped.
"I apologise," Daniel offered softly, "that was uncalled for. You clearly knew how to help me. I thank you for that. Now is that all?"
"No. Your meds are contra-indicating." Shit. He hadn't meant for it to sound like he was countermanding his father's recommendations, but hey, it was out there now. "The prescription that helps you sleep, the pain killers, and the anti-inflammatory aren't working together properly. I think we could get together a better regime."
Daniel looked at him suspiciously and raised a single eyebrow. "And my doctor didn't suggest changes because?"
"Dad—Doctor Lester—inherited the prescription from when you were probably at your worst. No disrespect, but he's old school. Look, can I be frank with you here?"
"Go on."
"I have new evidence that I'm pulling from. For instance, I'm guessing that the meds you take make you lethargic?" He waited expectantly for an answer, tilting his head in question.
"Like a mist around my mind," Daniel finally admitted with a small nod. "I feel like I can't make decisions or even make sense of what is going on around me. It's why…" His voice trailed off, and Sean saw the naked pain in Daniel's eyes.
"It's why you don't take them all, because they make you feel out of control."
"Like an addict, desperate for my next hit. No better than that kid in the surgery. I won't allow that; I'm not that person." Daniel's voice resonated with the strength of the words as though they'd been ripped from inside him, and Sean nodded gently.
"Put the kettle on, Daniel. Let's talk."
* * * *
They sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table drinking tea, and Daniel listened carefully, as he always did, to what the doc was telling him. His head worked best when he knew every reason why things were happening. Sean explained about his pills. One was the "upper," one was a sedative, and the third contra-indicated both. It was no wonder he felt like a zombie. He hated them all.
"It isn't a bad thing to be taking these, Daniel." Sean was so damned patient even as Daniel cringed inwardly. "PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of."
"I don't have PTSD. The docs at the hospital signed me off. These are for anxiety." Daniel was lying to himself. He was damned sure that, whatever this nebulous PTSD was, he had it. He just wasn't ready to accept it.
"Have you thought of counselling? To lose your friends like you did—"
"Been there done that. Look, Doc, guys who are on bomb squads have their own front lines. We only had each other to look to. Every move, every step, could be the last one. We were brothers, but we couldn't be. There had to be distance between us, 'cause we knew not all of us were going to make it home."
"Your notes said you were one
"In my experience doctors always want the whys. You didn't get them this morning, hence you followed me to the one safe place I have so you can criticise, poke, prod, force, and generally make a nuisance of yourself until you crack me open like a nut."
Ouch, that was harsh. Clearly Daniel had had enough of it all and describing this cottage as his one safe place was telling. Sean bit his tongue from snapping back that he wouldn't be here if Daniel hadn't fucked up his medications.
"How about… Jeez, look, I'm not your doctor, not officially, but I wanted to talk to you about some of the stuff you are taking."
"I'm not taking advice from some kid who plays at doctors and nurses." Irritation and anger spiked in Daniel's voice, and he finally turned from gazing at the garden to face Sean. His features were composed into a mask of indifference.
"My dad may have thirty years on me, but don't for one minute think I don't know my job," Sean snapped back with just as much anger and irritation in his own voice. It was hard enough being taken seriously in this village as the young Doctor Lester, let alone having that same crap shoved at him by someone he had bloody well helped.
"I apologise," Daniel offered softly, "that was uncalled for. You clearly knew how to help me. I thank you for that. Now is that all?"
"No. Your meds are contra-indicating." Shit. He hadn't meant for it to sound like he was countermanding his father's recommendations, but hey, it was out there now. "The prescription that helps you sleep, the pain killers, and the anti-inflammatory aren't working together properly. I think we could get together a better regime."
Daniel looked at him suspiciously and raised a single eyebrow. "And my doctor didn't suggest changes because?"
"Dad—Doctor Lester—inherited the prescription from when you were probably at your worst. No disrespect, but he's old school. Look, can I be frank with you here?"
"Go on."
"I have new evidence that I'm pulling from. For instance, I'm guessing that the meds you take make you lethargic?" He waited expectantly for an answer, tilting his head in question.
"Like a mist around my mind," Daniel finally admitted with a small nod. "I feel like I can't make decisions or even make sense of what is going on around me. It's why…" His voice trailed off, and Sean saw the naked pain in Daniel's eyes.
"It's why you don't take them all, because they make you feel out of control."
"Like an addict, desperate for my next hit. No better than that kid in the surgery. I won't allow that; I'm not that person." Daniel's voice resonated with the strength of the words as though they'd been ripped from inside him, and Sean nodded gently.
"Put the kettle on, Daniel. Let's talk."
* * * *
They sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table drinking tea, and Daniel listened carefully, as he always did, to what the doc was telling him. His head worked best when he knew every reason why things were happening. Sean explained about his pills. One was the "upper," one was a sedative, and the third contra-indicated both. It was no wonder he felt like a zombie. He hated them all.
"It isn't a bad thing to be taking these, Daniel." Sean was so damned patient even as Daniel cringed inwardly. "PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of."
"I don't have PTSD. The docs at the hospital signed me off. These are for anxiety." Daniel was lying to himself. He was damned sure that, whatever this nebulous PTSD was, he had it. He just wasn't ready to accept it.
"Have you thought of counselling? To lose your friends like you did—"
"Been there done that. Look, Doc, guys who are on bomb squads have their own front lines. We only had each other to look to. Every move, every step, could be the last one. We were brothers, but we couldn't be. There had to be distance between us, 'cause we knew not all of us were going to make it home."
"Your notes said you were one
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