The Cutty Wren

III - Snap

"You're getting flashbacks again?"

The person sitting opposite Sergei shuffled through his personal file - part of it at least. She was severe, with a sharp nose, flat chest, and an even flatter voice. Pulling a paper out, she nodded. "Last time was a few weeks back?"

Sergei nodded a little, although they had been springing onto him near constantly, digging their claws into him and ravaging him with their teeth. He rubbed his face, leaning on the table and watching Inke. She looked down, sliding a finger under each word Sergei's old therapist had typed up. Her mouth moved silently with the words, often struggling to form the letters.

"What brought it on this time?"

Sergei shrugged. "I saw a man missing an arm."

He gulped a little, hand drifting to rub at his right arm. Even after all these years it felt a little heavier than his left, despite how quick the fingers could curl around the trigger of his gun or draw a knife. Inke's pale eyes tracked him, her fingers drumming on the table now.

"Understandable. Most would feel the same, having lost their arm in such a gruesome manner and then seeing someone else suffering the same way, even years later. Do you still get phantom limb syndrome?" she asked, drumming away.

Sergei looked down at his arm as if to check - he flexed his fingers, feeling the semi-artificial skin stretch. "No. I haven't since you installed my arm a few years ago. It just... this man with the missing arm. It just made me panic. That's it, nothing more to it."

Inke sighed and tapped her fingers more, searching through the papers again, trying to find a copy of a prescription, or proof of Sergei being given medication. Sergei shifted in his chair as he watched her, then peered around her office. The steel desk, the white walls, the linoleum floor... all were spotless. There was a little oil on Inke's white sleeveless shirt, the only clue as to her profession. Muttering in Finnish, she dropped the folder back on the table.

"Sergei. Your last prescription is from five years ago. Are you taking anything?"

Sergei's stomach clenched and he rubbed his face, feeling a shudder pass through him.

"Don't start, Inke, or I swear to - "

"Don't be a brat," Inke said, snapping a little.

The scars criss-crossing her face contorted when she scowled, standing up. Her eyes narrowed and she watched the way he fidgeted and hunched over under her steely glare. She had seen him reach for his gun if it was anyone else, or start shouting in his military voice rather than his usual charming, soft tone. She would rather be staring down a frightened man than the barrel of the gun, although it gave her a twinge of pity to see him squirm like that.

He eventually uncurled, staring up at her, trying not to avoid her eyes.

"I could have you shot for that."

She barked out a laugh, folding her arms. "But you won't. I'm your friend, and I'm helping you. You won't shoot me."

Those last few words were spat, fire blazing in her voice. She sat again, shuffling through the notes.

"I'll have you set up to see a psychiatrist, and - "

Now Sergei was the one to stand, pacing up and down and up and down almost compulsively, his hands curled into fists. The nails bit into the skin of his palms, deep enough to draw blood on his real hand.

"I'm not crazy!" His voice trembled now, a whine entering it. "I'm not, Inke! I'm just stressed, I don't need another bloody therapist, not after what happened last time!"

Inke watched him, nodding a little and making a messy note on the back of one of the sheets of paper.

"What have you been taking? Neurospeed again?" she asked, leaning back on her chair.

The wail coming from Sergei's mouth was more animal than man, and he sank down in a corner, burying his face against his skinny knees. His fingers turned to claws, raking through his hair and over his face, leaving red trails down his cheeks, over his nose. His chest heaved as he sobbed, shaking his head.

"I want to go home."

"I thought we were over this, Sergei."

"I want to go home!"

Inke's jaw clenched and she scribbled another note. "No, you listen to me. You are the leader of the UCEA. You aren't going back down this slope of drugs and drink and boys, not at all. I'm going to help you, you don't need to do this. Now, would you like me to walk you back to your quarters?"

With a whimper, Sergei clutched at his coat and pulled it around himself further, burying his sore face against the soft fleece, sobbing against it. Like this, he was a child again, cowering from his father or the grim face of the men who tortured him when he was fresh out of school. All at once, his angles and bones became more obvious, his eyes sunken into his face, cheeks sallow. His eyes glazed over, and that calm confidence was shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Sergei?"

"Yes! Go on! Whatever, I don't care anymore!"

Inke stood and headed over to help him up, ignoring the adolescent griping. She had managed it last time.

After much gentle encouragement, Sergei sloped outside with her. His teeth chattered and his breath plumed in the air, the ground crackling under his boots. The hair on Inke's bare arms stood on end, but she led him towards his quarters, unlocking the door for him. The dogs milled around her feet, sniffing at their master and his friend, tails wagging a little until Inke helped Sergei pull his coat and boots off. He let her, limbs limp and heavy. He flopped onto the bed, looking up at her as she put his coat and boots away and checked the bowls on the floor for the dogs.

"You're going to take away my Neurospeed now," Sergei mumbled from where he lay, foetal-position, on the bed.

She shook her head as she filled the water bowls and turned the other halogen heaters on. They hummed, radiating heat and light. Even Sergei's pallid face took a healthier glow under their soft light. Sergei uncurled a little, leaning on his elbows.

"Really?"

"Really. This will be dealt with when you return to headquarters, however. I'll make sure they sort it properly. For now, you need to sleep and concentrate on finishing the job over here. If Neurospeed helps you with that, whatever, then," she said, bringing over a blanket for Sergei, who was wriggling out of his uniform shirt and tie to his undershirt.

She huffed, taking them from him when offered.

"I'm a scientist, not a maid. But we'll sort this out. You'll be like you were again," she said.

Freki jumped onto the bed, curling at her master's feet and watching Inke lazily, nose on her paws. Sergei reached to pet her, and Geri when he bothered Sergei for attention.

"Where's your aide de camp, anyway? Izaak, isn't it? Izaak... something," Inke said, leaning on the wardrobe.

Sergei rolled over, burying his face against the pillow. "Indisposed," he mumbled.

Clenching her fists, Inke had to try her hardest not to kick over the heater closest to her, or scream at Sergei.

"Right. Of course. I'll see you tomorrow."

The door slammed behind her, rattling the entire place and making the dogs sit up with perked ears. Sergei sighed and pulled the blanket over his head, drifting off into a sleep shaken up by dreams and paralysis, waking him and grabbing him in their clutches.