Bravo Three

Sonny Quinn. Bravo's knuckle dragger. The first man to step up in a tight spot and never back down from a challenge, his fierce loyalty to his team and country, and his seemingly fearless nature is what made him perfect material for the Navy. But behind all that toughness and bravado lies years of trauma that screams to be let out. Emotions are complicated, which is the exact opposite of what Sonny likes, so he avoids them. Which is exactly why he's been silently dreading his turn with Dr. Macdonald.

Sonny rolled his eyes in annoyance when he saw the time on his watch. As much as this leave had been driving him stir crazy and he was itching to get out of the house, sitting in some stuffy room with a shrink was the exact opposite of how he wanted to spend his day. He had more than once seriously considered skipping it, but he knew Blackburn would see through any lie he gave to try to excuse himself from it. So instead, he ambled through his small kitchen into his bedroom to grab the first shirt his drawer offered him. He couldn't quite place what it was, but something made him stop in front of the mirror in his bathroom. He had heard from Jason and Ray that the mandatory meetings created by the brass seemed to have a theme to them: scars. He looked at the reflection of his abdomen in the mirror, and staring back at him was the long, jagged scar that started just below his sternum, and curved down under his top row of abs. The scar wasn't new, which meant that this wasn't the first time that he had looked at it. As he followed its path with his eyes, an ever-familiar thought crept back into his mind. A thought that he had stopped trying to figure out a long time ago, and pushed away. But this time, he let it sit in his mind for a little while longer. No matter how long he looked at the scar, he couldn't remember how he had gotten it. He racked his brain for a few more minutes, and then gave up and pulled the shirt over his head. After a quick lunch - as much as he hated this, a SEAL was never late - he pulled on his hat, let out a reluctant sigh, and pulled the door shut behind him.

Across town…

Clay set his drink back down on the bar, only half watching the news while his mind wandered. Sure, he knew these therapy sessions were necessary after everything the team had been through, but being at home was starting to drive him nuts.

"Ya know, as much as I love this bar, it's starting to get real old." Brock said as he walked up to join Clay.

"I guess we're all thinking the same thing then." Clay answered.

"Yea, but I bet ol' Sonny boy would rather be here than where he's headed right now!" Jason chimed in from the other side of Spenser.

"Hmph. I feel bad for the doctor!" Brock said.

"So I haven't had my turn yet. Is it true that the meeting are to talk about scars?" Brock asked after ordering a drink.

"Yea." Jason replied, trailing off.

"Uh oh." Clay scanned his teammates faces after hearing the tone in their voice.

"I mean I know Sonny hates therapy, but why does that make it worse? Is it because of that scar on his stomach?" Clay asked. As if his already silent teammates could get any quieter, at these words, they did. Finally, Jason saw the confusion on the kids face, and sighed.

"It's a… long story. One that he should probably tell you. If he remembers it." Jason said. This only served to make Clay even more confused, but from the look on the team leader's face, he decided to drop it. For now.

At the office…

"Petty Officer Quinn?" Sonny looked towards the sound of his name, although he always felt a little weird being called by his rank. It always made him feel like he was about to get in trouble. He stood and walked towards the receptionist.

"That's me!" he said, tipping his hat at the brunette behind the counter.

"Dr. MacDonald is ready for you." she said. He thanked her, and then walked in.

Just like the others, Sonny immediately scanned the room before shaking the doctor's hand and taking his seat. He also quickly noticed that she was pretty. Blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that allowed the shorter hairs to fall around her face, framing her brown eyes and smile. Ellie laughed inwardly at the way the sailor had sauntered in the room. Davis really wasn't kidding when she had warned her that he was a charmer. She could also tell by the way he walked that he definitely wasn't lacking any self-esteem.

"Nice to meet you Petty Officer." Ellie said, watching him get comfortable in the chair.

"Please, call me Sonny. I don't like all that formal stuff too much." He replied. She also wasn't kidding about how thick his accent is! Mac thought to herself.

"Alright then Sonny, I'm Dr. Ellie MacDonald. How are you today?" she asked.

"Just peachy. Still not really sure why I gotta be here, but when the brass says jump, we say how high." Sonny quipped.

"Sounds about right. So I take it that you're itching to get back out into the field?"

"I ain't been this bored since the last time I landed myself in a holding cell for the weekend." Sonny retorted.

"That bad huh? It takes a special type of person to choose a war zone over a peaceful week at home. No judgment though, it took me a while to readjust too after I came home." She said, making small talk so that she could get a feel for how the meeting would likely go. And she already had a sneaking suspicion that it likely wouldn't last long.

"You served?" Sonny asked, suddenly sitting up straighter.

"I did. I was a sniper for a few years until some family issues came up, and I realized that the Army wasn't the only place I could use my skills." Ellie replied, watching closely to gauge how her patient would react.

"So that's why we got assigned to new therapists. You two are vets. They're really tryin' everything." Sonny said, muttering the last under his breath and assuming that she hadn't heard him. Of course, she had.

"That's perfect then. You guys know exactly what I've been through, huh? You've got me all figured out, right?" Sonny said, folding his arms across his chest.

"No. Everyone's experiences in the military are different. But I do know trauma, and I know when other people have seen it too. And I am simply here to help as much as I can." she said, noticing how quickly he had become combative. She knew from his file that he had seen more than his fair share of trauma, but what she was most concerned about was the trauma that she knew he couldn't remember.

"Yea? Tell me Doc, what kind of trauma do I have? In your expert opinion." Sonny said, tilting his head. She paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to approach the situation. She knew it was delicate, and that there was likely no good outcome at first. After another minute or so of thought, she decided to just go directly at it - cautiously, of course - just as she could tell that the man in front of her did everything else in his life.

"Have you ever heard of repressed memories?" she asked with a calm, yet firm tone.

"I ain't heard of any of your mind tricks." Sonny said, shifting his weight in the chair.

"A repressed memory is what happens when an event is so traumatic and deeply painful that a person's unconscious forces the memory so deep into the mind that the event doesn't come up during daily life. It is the brain's way of protecting itself from the trauma so that the individual can go on living, with little to no recollection of the event." Ellie explained. She watched as Sonny's face fought to hold the look of disgust, but his eyes showed something different. Fear and confusion.

"So that's what you think is wrong with my brain? What gave you that idea?" Sonny asked with an edge in his voice, but Ellie could tell whether he wanted to admit it or not, the second question was genuine.

"I'm sure you heard from your teammates that their meetings have been talking about their scars, and the mental trauma they left behind. I've read your file, and it says that you have a pretty large scar on your abdomen. Do you remember how you got it?" Ellie asked, pushing forward carefully. The next few minutes would be crucial to any future meetings.

She watched as Sonny fell silent. She could see that he was searching his brain for both a way out of this situation, but also an answer to the question.

"Uh… no." came the slow, wavering reply.

"Sonny, I can help you remember, but it won't be pleasant." she warned.

"I might as well get my money's worth." Ellie nodded her reply.

"I want you to tell me exactly what comes to your mind when you hear the words Iraq, 2016," she said. She watched as his expression changed. Sonny took a deep breath, blinking a few times in an effort to slow the images that were flashing into his mind.

"That… that was deployment. Before Nate died. We were lookin' for an HVT. That's… all I got." he replied.

"That's good. What about when you hear the name, Amadi Shahid?" Ellie asked. Suddenly, thoughts began flooding Sonny's mind. His stomach started to sting, and his head spun. There were lights, faces, the sound of some sort of electrical current making a popping noise, and blood. There was blood everywhere. Voices were taunting him, then there was the glistening of metal in his eye. "Dammit! Sonny! Bravo One I have Bravo Four. It's…. It's really bad! Sonny, come on man, stay with me! Stay with me. Sonny?!

"Sonny? I need you to talk to me, what do you see?" Ellie asked, trying to pull the man from his thoughts. She could tell by the way he was staring off into space, his knuckles white on the arms of the chair, that whatever was going on in his head wasn't good.

"No… no, I'm done talk… I'm done." Sonny said, trying to hide the panic in his voice as he abruptly stood and made a beeline for the door. He heard MacDonald calling after him as he made his hasty exit, but her voice was muffled by the thoughts and noises spinning in his head.

At the nearest bar…

Sonny squeezed his eyes shut for a second and shook his head before grabbing the shot glass in front of him. He downed the drink, sighing as the alcohol burned down his throat and he added the glass to the pile in front of him. He knew he'd probably been here for a few hours, and that he hadn't left that spot in all that time. His vision had already started to blur, but it wasn't strong enough to blur the images that were racing through his mind.

"Hey Sonny, you sure you don't wanna eat something? You gotta balance out all that booze in your system brother!" The bartender said, walking over to him. He had seen the man drunk before, but not like this.

"Nah mann…. I's fine…." Sonny stammered.

"Look, I know you, and I know that's a lie. You're going on four hours man. Either you call someone to come get you, or I will." the bartender replied.

"Whatshever…" Sonny snapped, nearly breaking the glass as he slammed it onto the counter. After a few more minutes, the bartender looked back over and saw Sonny shakily stand up from the barstool, and try to take a few steps. He started to look away until he saw Sonny shove a hand in his pocket and pull out his keys. He quickly walked out from behind the bar and walked over to Sonny, preparing for what he knew would likely be a fight.

"Hey, not a good idea man. I said to call someone." he said.

"Get outta ma face!" Sonny yelled, giving the man a shove, and effectively dropping his keys in the process. The bartender grabbed them and stood back up just in time to catch Sonny before he face-planted after tripping over the leg of a nearby chair. He sat him down in the closest booth and made sure he was blocking the door. Not wanting to leave the man to get his own phone, he pulled Sonny's out of his hand and dialed the first one he knew.

On base…

"Hey Trent, throw me one of those clothes," Clay said, catching the rag soon after. The team, minus Sonny, of course, was in the tack room cleaning their weapons and gear and getting it ready for another training exercise called for by Blackburn.

"Thank god for Blackburn. As much as I hate training exercises, I'd much rather do that than just sit on my hands and wait for the shrinks to clear us for duty!" Brock said.

"Amen to that! He knows we're all climbing the walls, and he's probably just scared we'll break something!" Ray chimed in.

"Yea, especially Sonny. Wonder how his session went. Or how short it was." Clay quipped.

"Speak of the devil!" Trent said after feeling his phone buzz in his pocket and pulling it out to see the caller ID.

"Hey man! Were…. Dale? What's wrong? Keep him there, I'll be there in 10 tops." Trent said. Everyone looked up as they heard Trent's voice change, and at the name of the bartender, they had all befriended.

"Trent, what's going on?" Jason asked as soon as the phone call ended.
"Sonny's in bad shape. Causing problems at the bar, and just tried to drive away. I gotta go get him. Clay, your up. You know as well as I do this is a two-man job." Trent said. Clay nodded silently and followed him out of the room after promising to keep the rest of them updated, even though they'd all been there before.

Later…

Clay tightened his grip on the Texan's belt loop as he and Trent steered him up the stairs to his apartment. He waited impatiently as Trent unlocked the door and led them inside. Sonny was starting to get heavy. Within seconds of the three of them getting into the apartment, Sonny flung himself towards the kitchen sink and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach. Clay and Trent made eye contact from across the room, each one's look mirroring the other's.

"Alright, time to sleep it off." Trent said after Sonny finished washing his mouth out. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and steered him down the hall, leaving Clay to clean up the mess left behind.

A few minutes later, Trent joined Clay in the living room.

"So… what's all this about? I mean I know the sessions are about scars and the way Jase and Brock were talking about it earlier it seemed like they were hiding something. I don't know that it was from me, they were just being really vague. Is that why he's like this?" Clay asked. Trent sighed.

"Yea. I called Davis on the way over, she gave me the number of the therapist. It took some convincing because of the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing, but she told me about the meeting. It also helped because I uh… I was there when his injury happened. It was a few years ago, before your time which is why you're confused. According to the therapist, he repressed the memory, which makes sense. It was one of the worst injuries I've ever seen." Trent said as he started to slip into his thoughts.

"We all figured if he hadn't already that he'd tell you one day, but I guess what the doctor said explains why he hasn't. And seeing the state he's in right now, he likely won't for a little while, so I guess it's up to me. We were on deployment in Iraq a few years ago. One of our main objectives was to locate and eliminate an arms dealer named Amadi Shahid. We were on our way to his compound one day, and we got ambushed. Sonny got put on overwatch by pure chance. They found his position and grabbed him while the rest of us were in the middle of a firefight. They had him for about two weeks when we finally got into the compound again…"

"TOC, this is One, we're passing Romeo," Jason said as they snuck through the front gates.

"Good copy one, making entrance. Comms might be a little spotty, just keep us updated as much as possible. Get our man back." Blackburn answered trading skeptical but hopeful looks with the two other members of the command center.

"Yes, sir." Jason replied.

"Alright, you know our only option is to split up. This team is the only people getting out of this building alive, understood?" Jason said. Each man nodded, and even though they hated separating, they did it anyway. They had spent the last few days studying the layout of the building, so they each knew where they needed to go.

Trent moved silently down the stairs, using only his nods to show him the way through the dark hallways.

"This is Five. No joy on the third floor." Brock radioed in.

"Do another sweep. We can't risk missing anything." Jason answered. A few minutes later, the same calls came from the rest of the team. No joy. No one had found their brother. That left one person. Trent kept moving slowly down the hall, stopping short when he heard voices in the distance. They were speaking a different language.

"Bravo One this is four. I'm hearing what sounds like two… three voices down the hall. I'm approaching the room now. Two guards out in front of the door. This has to be where they're holding him!" Trent said, feeling his heart start to pound.

"Copy Four, we're headed your way. Wait for us." Jason said. Just as Trent was about to reply, a blood-curdling scream reverberated through the walls, coming from inside the room. That's Sonny! Trent thought as he felt his body already starting to move towards the room.

"There's no time! I can hear him in there Jase!" Trent said as he moved closer towards the room.

"Trent! Shit! All Bravo elements, get to the basement now!" Jason yelled. By the time Jason's voice sounded over the comms, Trent had already taken out the guards by the door and set a breaching charge. The door blew off the hinges, and once the dust settled, he took stock of the sight in front of him. Sonny was there, in front of him, his limp body being held up by the HVT.

"Let him go, Shahid. We've cleared the building. Your men are dead. You've got no way out." Trent said, all the while moving further into the room in an effort to get a clear shot on the man holding a machete to Sonny's chest.

"Then what have I got to lose? Nothing. It's up to you now who dies, me, or your friend." Shahid said, and Trent watched in horror as he stuck the blade into the middle of Sonny's chest, just below his sternum, and pulled it down towards his left hip. The scream that ripped through Sonny was stopped by the gurgling of the blood already in his mouth. Fear tore through Trent's being as the target drug towards a door in the back of the room dropped him on the hard ground, and took off into another dark hallway.

"All Bravo elements, Shahid is on the move towards the east side of the building! I have Bravo three but… its….. Bad. Real bad." Trent said as he fell to his knees next to his teammate and ripped open his med bag. The sight in front of him stopped his breath. Beneath the blood and torn flesh, a light pink stared back at him. He was staring at Sonny's intestines.

After a moment of shock, Trent snapped back to reality and the task in front of him. He wasn't a very religious man, not like Ray, but he thanked God anyway when he looked up and saw that Sonny was somehow still conscious even though he knew it definitely wouldn't last.

"Stay with me, Sonny. I'm gonna get you out of here, alright! Hang on! Stay with me!" He pleaded.

"One, this is two. Target eliminated. Shahid's dead." Nate said. It would've been a joyous call, had it not been for the fact that they were all racing to get downstairs to their fallen brother. They all seemed to reach the room at once, skidding to a stop when they saw the scene that greeted them.

"Holy m…" Jason said, before turning away to empty his stomach onto the floor. Nate stepped up while Jason recovered.

"What's happening? Is he alive?" Massey asked.

"Shahid cut him with a machete. Partial evisceration. I'm sure there are other things, but there're obviously more important things right now. I can't… I can't do much for him right now other than bandage it and get him out of here. If he doesn't get to an OR within the hour, he's gonna bleed out. Where's exfil?!" Trent said as he taped a large bandage over the wound and dressed it the best he knew how to get him ready for exfil.

Silence hung over the room like a thick, heavy cloud as Clay let the story sink in. He didn't even know what to say. He knew that Sonny had been through a lot with Danny and everything, and he had been curious about the scar for a while, but this was not what he had expected.

The next day…

Sonny yawned and slowly opened his eyes, groaning and quickly slamming them shut again when he was swiftly met with a fierce pounding behind his eyes. He gave it a few minutes to subside a little and rolled himself out of bed. As he slowly wobbled out into the kitchen for some water, he stopped when a note on the counter caught his eye.

Got you home from the bar last night. I guess the session didn't go very well. Told Clay about everything, and talked to Dr. MacDonald. She was really worried, you should call and set up another appointment. I know it was really rough, and I can answer your questions, but I can only help you so much. Whatever you decide, you know we've got you.

Anyway, by the looks of things last night, you'll be nursing a nasty hangover for a while. Drink this, the boys and I'll be over in a few hours with food - something really greasy. Take some time to get your head on straight again. Oh, and you might wanna apologize to Dale.

Trent

Sonny sighed and picked the Gatorade up off the counter and cracked it open while he thought over what he could remember of the day before. After a shower to remove the stench of the night of being drunk out of his wits from his body, he flopped down onto his couch and pulled the phone out of his pocket. He dialed the number Trent had left on a separate note for him.

"Hello, this is the Mills Therapy Practice, Alli speaking. How can I help you today?"

"Uh….yea. Hi. I'm uh, I'm calling to speak with Dr. MacDonald?" Sonny stuttered at first, but then pulled himself together.

"Ok, I can patch you through. What is your name sir?" the receptionist asked.

"Sonny Quinn," he answered. The woman thanked him, and after a minute or two of holding music, he heard the phone being picked up.

"This is Dr. MacDonald speaking, what can I do for you today?" the familiar voice sounded on the other end.

"Uh..um… Hey. I uh, sorry about running out yesterday, I didn't mean to waste your time… I just…" Sonny said, trying to figure out how to explain himself.

"It's ok. You went through something incredibly traumatic, and repressed memories can be hard to handle when they finally return. I'd like to help you process them if you'll let me." She answered with compassion in her voice.

"Yea… yea I think that'd be good." Sonny answered.

"I'm glad. Let me pull up my schedule so we can get you in for a time." she said. After a few more minutes of planning and thanking, Sonny hung up and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. He soon heard a knock on the door, and got up - but not too quickly - to let the guys in. All it took was a few moments of silence, then some joking and pizza for Sonny to realize that maybe, just maybe, this whole therapy thing wasn't so bad. But he'd jump in a tank full of various kinds of sharks before he'd admit that out loud. After all, he had a reputation to keep up.