Page 17 of Stryker

One of the only things left thatremained from when his life wasn’t so screwed up. It was one of theonly things he could still hold on to of his father’s.

John shook his head at his stupidsentimental thoughts and continued undressing, before pulling onhis shorts and climbing into bed. He couldn’t help but wonder howmuch sleep he’d get tonight. The nightmares would come when theywanted to, but he hoped he remained quiet enough not to alertStryker.

He’s already doing enoughfor me. The least I can do is give him a quiet night’ssleep.

***

Stryker

Stryker heard the first groan from theadjoining room and waited. By the second and third, he was on hisfeet. As the sounds continued, he walked unerringly to John’sbedroom door and opened it to find the man thrashing about on hisbed. Stryker was familiar with PTSD—he and the team were nostrangers to it.

He approached the bed. “John, wake up.You’re having a nightmare.”

John continued to flail across themattress. Muffled moans and odd words broke the silence.

“Please, help them,” hemoaned.

Stryker shuddered at the pain-filledwords and reached down to grab John’s arms to stop him before heinjured himself. Furniture could be a nasty weapon. He recoiledwhen a fist to the jaw was his reward.

“Shit,” he growled loudlyas he pulled back. “John, wake up, buddy. Wake the fuckup.”

That was enough to finally bring theman out of his nightmare. John’s eyes popped open and he scannedthe room, stopping on Stryker still hovering above him.

“What are you doing in myroom?”

Stryker rubbed his jaw. “Trying towake you up. You were having a nightmare.”

“Why does my hand hurt?”John tried to push himself up into a seated position.

“Because you punched me.”Stryker wiped his bottom lip, looking for blood.

“Oh shit,” John said inmortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Stryker shrugged. “It wasn’t thathard, I’m fine. Are you?”

John sat up fully, holding the coversclose. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.“

“I can’t help it. Ifucking hit you.”

“You didn’t mean to doit.”

“I was hoping I’d not haveone tonight,” John said. “Would make a change.”

“So they happen everynight?” Stryker asked.

“Pretty much. It’s weirdto say, but I’ve gotten used to them.”

John looked ashamed, and Strykercouldn’t have that.

“I have nightmares on theregular.”

“You do?” John appearedshocked. “But you face scary shit head-on all the time.”

“Doesn’t matter. Prettymuch the entire team has ’em. You can’t go through the shit we’veall been through and not have some fucked-up shit or seriousmemories floating around in your subconscious. It makes sense thatyou’d have them too.”

“They’ve gotten worsesince the detective called me,” John admitted.

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