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mash_slashTitle: Through the Other Side
Synopsis: Post-War. Sidney gets an odd patient.
Characters: Sam Flagg, Sidney Freedman
Word Count: 2044
Date Started: 06/04/10 Date Completed: 06/04/10
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst-y, sort of pre-slash at the end, if you squint. ^^;
Author’s Notes: Got Flagg’s first name from the MASH wikia. Title is from the Riverside song.
After the war, things had been different. There was no off switch, no place to go where crazy doctors would be a breath of fresh air… where sanity had been a passing stranger in the night, who maybe waved, or exchanged a glance or two. There was nothing. Before, at first, there had been his wife, and his children. But that had left quickly too. The war had changed him. He scared his children, his wife couldn’t sleep with his nightmares. They’d left and he didn’t blame them, couldn’t blame them. He wished them the best, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure where he’d stand.
At the office, things were… mundane, routine. People spoke about their problems and compulsions. He felt himself longing for dealing with men wearing dresses and pretending to be plants to get out of the army. He never thought he’d miss Korea, and he supposed he didn’t, not really. But he missed… the challenge it had posed. Here it was all petty. Occasionally, he’d get someone with a real problem. He noticed most of those people were having troubles dealing with a tragedy… or had been in the war before.
Sidney didn’t want to think about Korea, or the boys he’d treated, or the way he’d had to keep sane. But now there was nothing keeping him sane. He felt, at most times, like there was only a thin gossamer sheet separating his sanity and insanity. It was an unappealing sensation. He wished he could get rid of it. He tried to drink it away, he was beginning to think there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world. Times like this, he almost wanted a “Swamp Martini”, something that tasted terrible, but was quick to burn all the unpleasantness away.
It was late in the fall, on a Monday afternoon, and he’d just finished a session with a woman named Claire Potts. She seemed to think her smoking and overeating were habits caused by some unresolved trauma she’d blocked out of her mind. Sidney was trying to help, but he was convinced the unresolved trauma was an excuse to keep doing what she was doing, without feeling the requisite guilt for doing it. She’d tried to cut back a lot, and stop smoking, but it always came back to the trauma. Sidney rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“Doctor Freedman…” A light, female voice said. Sidney looked up and managed a half-smile to his assistant. Haley Green was a good woman, probably was a damn fine nurse, and Sidney felt a bit selfish for keeping her with him. “I know you just finished with a patient, but there’s a man here who wants to know if you were willing to take on a new patient.” Haley explained. Sidney frowned a little.
“I checked your schedule, you do have an hour free on Thursday afternoon, for a regular session. Mr. Parks cancelled his appointment today, last week he said he couldn’t make it due to the birth of his daughter, and you could talk with him now if you’d like. He was referred to you by one of the doctors at an asylum. Said he didn’t need to be locked up, but he definitely needed professional help.” Haley continued to explain, and Sidney could do no more than nod.
What would one more problem be, after all, when it was probably as petty as the rest? What would it matter if there was one more complaint he shut out of his mind once he left this office? It left a bitter taste in his mouth, the lack of compassion he felt for the majority of his patients. Not for the first time, he wondered if he ought to just get out of the game.
“Send him in.” Sidney said after a second as she set the file down in front of him. He flipped open the manila folder to glance through the data there. Flagg, Samuel was the name on it. It didn’t even register a blip on his mind. The diagnosis was all over the place… notes about behavioral diagnosis’. There was a note about him serving in the Korean police action. It made his mouth twitch with a sardonic smile. Anyone who was over there knew it was a war, no matter what the papers said. He crossed out police action and scrawled war.
“Right in here, Mr. Flagg.” Haley’s voice was close by, the door opening. The office was small and cozy, dim lights, dark furniture and carpet. It was… supposed to offer comfort, to keep secrets secret. The darkness gave an illusion, almost like a confessional. Not that Sidney would ever presume to be someone to absolve someone else, but people felt safer like that. He could live with that. Sidney looked up… and it didn’t take more than a heartbeat for it to click.
“Colonel Flagg.” Sidney wasn’t sure how to sound. Equal amounts amused and annoyed, relieved and distressed. The Colonel gave him something that was a shade of a smile, barely a curve to the lips. To be fair, it was more than anything he had in Korea. The man had written the book on deadpan. Sidney wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Just Sam now.” Flagg said and he moved across the room almost purposefully. His stride was the same as it always had been. Deliberate, the man wasted no actions. When he sat, he folded himself exactly how he wanted to sit. No fidgeting. Sidney looked back down at the file in front of him. Things he would have diagnosed if asked on the rare occasion he’d met with him. “Well, maybe.” He added. Sidney raised his brows.
“I…” Sam started, then frowned a little. It took Sidney aback, so much emotion in the space of a few minutes. In the times they’d met, he’d never seen him show anything but tightly reined anger. He wasn’t emoting strongly but enough that Sidney felt discomfited when it came from him. He forced himself to relax. “I’m not sure who I am. My records say Sam Flagg, the things in there, I know I did but beyond that. There’s so much other stuff.” Sam admitted.
“People I had been, at the time, I never believed I was them, which was weird, and it was fine because no one believed I was them either. But some time, near the end of the conflict, it felt like I was being smothered by these identities I took. People would call me Sam or Colonel Flagg, and I wouldn’t realize they were talking to me at first because I was too busy thinking I was someone else.” Once he got talking, Sam found it very hard to stop. Sidney’s hand was poised, pen over paper, to make notes, but he’d gone still once Sam started speaking.
“I don’t know when it started, but there was a time right after the armistice was called, when I didn’t feel like anybody at all. I wasn’t Flagg, I wasn’t anyone at all.” His voice broke, just slightly, it startled Sidney. He groped for words to say. It didn’t seem fair to give Colonel Flagg, no, Sam, the same platitudes he gave other people.
“It took some time, but I remembered. Being Flagg. I remembered the CIA.” Sam’s voice was serious then, like he was telling a secret of great magnitude. Sidney couldn’t help but lean a bit closer. He couldn’t close the distance, the desk separated them, like a wall. It made Sidney feel safe and untouchable. Flagg didn’t seem to notice.
“Some other people took it better.” Sam started speaking again, but he seemed like he changed subjects. Sidney’s brow furrowed and he tried to keep up. Flagg swallowed and Sidney followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. “After the war.” Flagg’s hands tightened on the armrests of the chair. Sidney noticed it and wondered if he should make a note of it. Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore.
“They were able to move on to the next assignment, not even a second thought. They easily slipped in to a new identity, a new mission, but I feel.” Sam stopped speaking, the laugh he let out was bitter and mirthless, and anger twisted his mouth in to a smile that was more like a grimace. “Don’t take that the wrong way.” He added.
“I feel like I left something behind in Korea.” Sam continued, “But as far as that goes, I don’t know what it means, or what it was. Just that it is.” Sam seemed to have finished pouring out his soul, and that grimace didn’t fade from the way it twisted his mouth. Sidney felt like there should be something that he could say. But Sidney also knew there were no instant cures for the things he could diagnose.
“I hope you can just do me a favor.” Sam continued. His voice was back to being blank, and Sidney thought if he squinted just a little, he could forget the whole thing had ever happened. Gone was any trace of the emotion from before. Sidney wondered if he’d imagined it. “Sign this release, let me go back to doing my job, a clean bill of health if you will.” Sam said.
“Sam…” Sidney started, his voice tentative. The scowl was creeping back on to Sam’s face and for a moment, Sidney wasn’t sure he should say what he was going to. But he forged on ahead, he was a doctor, and Sam obviously needed help. “Sam, you’re not okay. You don’t have a clean bill of health, at least not mentally.” Sidney ran a hand through his curly hair and sat back, shaking his head.
Sam jumped up so quick the chair toppled to the ground. “The CIA is my life!” Flagg snapped, his face twisting with anger. It was still more emotion than Sidney was used to, and it felt like it was radiating in waves. Sidney had to draw upon all of his reserves to not shrink back from the force of it.
“You’re ruining it! I knew your psychobabble couldn’t be trusted.” Flagg continued, his voice raising. “Just sign the damned paper, Freedman.” He added in a quieter tone. It was threatening. Sidney fell back behind his scruples, using it as a defense from the anger.
“Not on your life.” Sidney said, wishing sarcasm and subtlety wasn’t lost so much on the man. “You need help, whether you want to admit that or not, it doesn’t make it not true.” Sidney’s voice was steady and he kept his head high and his jaw set in spite of the murderous look that flashed in Sam’s eyes. Sam pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the office… perhaps to find a psychiatrist he could bully.
Sidney pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking his head. Now he wasn’t sure how much of any of that had been an act. The anger, the vulnerability, the admittance. Sidney needed a drink. He needed some sanity. He needed something to hold on to. He had a coffee instead, steadied his shaking hands by pure force of will, and finished his appointments for the day without further incident.
When he left the office for the night, he took Sam’s file with him, hoping to find something… someone beneath the layers of masks he wore. He could only hope that that person would come to him for help. But Sidney didn’t really count on it.
Sidney found, upon going home to his empty apartment, that he couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. The emotions, sham or not, had felt so real. Sidney wasn’t sure Sam’s grasp on reality had ever been very solid, but he could see that it was slipping even more. He wanted to help. Sidney knew that he shouldn’t worry about it. After a few drinks, he was too worried to not think about it.
Sidney wished there was someone that he could talk to… someone that he’d be able to talk with about what had happened. He pushed it from his mind, after a few more drinks, and wondered if Sam just needed to be held… like everyone else.
Synopsis: Post-War. Sidney gets an odd patient.
Characters: Sam Flagg, Sidney Freedman
Word Count: 2044
Date Started: 06/04/10 Date Completed: 06/04/10
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst-y, sort of pre-slash at the end, if you squint. ^^;
Author’s Notes: Got Flagg’s first name from the MASH wikia. Title is from the Riverside song.
After the war, things had been different. There was no off switch, no place to go where crazy doctors would be a breath of fresh air… where sanity had been a passing stranger in the night, who maybe waved, or exchanged a glance or two. There was nothing. Before, at first, there had been his wife, and his children. But that had left quickly too. The war had changed him. He scared his children, his wife couldn’t sleep with his nightmares. They’d left and he didn’t blame them, couldn’t blame them. He wished them the best, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure where he’d stand.
At the office, things were… mundane, routine. People spoke about their problems and compulsions. He felt himself longing for dealing with men wearing dresses and pretending to be plants to get out of the army. He never thought he’d miss Korea, and he supposed he didn’t, not really. But he missed… the challenge it had posed. Here it was all petty. Occasionally, he’d get someone with a real problem. He noticed most of those people were having troubles dealing with a tragedy… or had been in the war before.
Sidney didn’t want to think about Korea, or the boys he’d treated, or the way he’d had to keep sane. But now there was nothing keeping him sane. He felt, at most times, like there was only a thin gossamer sheet separating his sanity and insanity. It was an unappealing sensation. He wished he could get rid of it. He tried to drink it away, he was beginning to think there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world. Times like this, he almost wanted a “Swamp Martini”, something that tasted terrible, but was quick to burn all the unpleasantness away.
It was late in the fall, on a Monday afternoon, and he’d just finished a session with a woman named Claire Potts. She seemed to think her smoking and overeating were habits caused by some unresolved trauma she’d blocked out of her mind. Sidney was trying to help, but he was convinced the unresolved trauma was an excuse to keep doing what she was doing, without feeling the requisite guilt for doing it. She’d tried to cut back a lot, and stop smoking, but it always came back to the trauma. Sidney rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“Doctor Freedman…” A light, female voice said. Sidney looked up and managed a half-smile to his assistant. Haley Green was a good woman, probably was a damn fine nurse, and Sidney felt a bit selfish for keeping her with him. “I know you just finished with a patient, but there’s a man here who wants to know if you were willing to take on a new patient.” Haley explained. Sidney frowned a little.
“I checked your schedule, you do have an hour free on Thursday afternoon, for a regular session. Mr. Parks cancelled his appointment today, last week he said he couldn’t make it due to the birth of his daughter, and you could talk with him now if you’d like. He was referred to you by one of the doctors at an asylum. Said he didn’t need to be locked up, but he definitely needed professional help.” Haley continued to explain, and Sidney could do no more than nod.
What would one more problem be, after all, when it was probably as petty as the rest? What would it matter if there was one more complaint he shut out of his mind once he left this office? It left a bitter taste in his mouth, the lack of compassion he felt for the majority of his patients. Not for the first time, he wondered if he ought to just get out of the game.
“Send him in.” Sidney said after a second as she set the file down in front of him. He flipped open the manila folder to glance through the data there. Flagg, Samuel was the name on it. It didn’t even register a blip on his mind. The diagnosis was all over the place… notes about behavioral diagnosis’. There was a note about him serving in the Korean police action. It made his mouth twitch with a sardonic smile. Anyone who was over there knew it was a war, no matter what the papers said. He crossed out police action and scrawled war.
“Right in here, Mr. Flagg.” Haley’s voice was close by, the door opening. The office was small and cozy, dim lights, dark furniture and carpet. It was… supposed to offer comfort, to keep secrets secret. The darkness gave an illusion, almost like a confessional. Not that Sidney would ever presume to be someone to absolve someone else, but people felt safer like that. He could live with that. Sidney looked up… and it didn’t take more than a heartbeat for it to click.
“Colonel Flagg.” Sidney wasn’t sure how to sound. Equal amounts amused and annoyed, relieved and distressed. The Colonel gave him something that was a shade of a smile, barely a curve to the lips. To be fair, it was more than anything he had in Korea. The man had written the book on deadpan. Sidney wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Just Sam now.” Flagg said and he moved across the room almost purposefully. His stride was the same as it always had been. Deliberate, the man wasted no actions. When he sat, he folded himself exactly how he wanted to sit. No fidgeting. Sidney looked back down at the file in front of him. Things he would have diagnosed if asked on the rare occasion he’d met with him. “Well, maybe.” He added. Sidney raised his brows.
“I…” Sam started, then frowned a little. It took Sidney aback, so much emotion in the space of a few minutes. In the times they’d met, he’d never seen him show anything but tightly reined anger. He wasn’t emoting strongly but enough that Sidney felt discomfited when it came from him. He forced himself to relax. “I’m not sure who I am. My records say Sam Flagg, the things in there, I know I did but beyond that. There’s so much other stuff.” Sam admitted.
“People I had been, at the time, I never believed I was them, which was weird, and it was fine because no one believed I was them either. But some time, near the end of the conflict, it felt like I was being smothered by these identities I took. People would call me Sam or Colonel Flagg, and I wouldn’t realize they were talking to me at first because I was too busy thinking I was someone else.” Once he got talking, Sam found it very hard to stop. Sidney’s hand was poised, pen over paper, to make notes, but he’d gone still once Sam started speaking.
“I don’t know when it started, but there was a time right after the armistice was called, when I didn’t feel like anybody at all. I wasn’t Flagg, I wasn’t anyone at all.” His voice broke, just slightly, it startled Sidney. He groped for words to say. It didn’t seem fair to give Colonel Flagg, no, Sam, the same platitudes he gave other people.
“It took some time, but I remembered. Being Flagg. I remembered the CIA.” Sam’s voice was serious then, like he was telling a secret of great magnitude. Sidney couldn’t help but lean a bit closer. He couldn’t close the distance, the desk separated them, like a wall. It made Sidney feel safe and untouchable. Flagg didn’t seem to notice.
“Some other people took it better.” Sam started speaking again, but he seemed like he changed subjects. Sidney’s brow furrowed and he tried to keep up. Flagg swallowed and Sidney followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. “After the war.” Flagg’s hands tightened on the armrests of the chair. Sidney noticed it and wondered if he should make a note of it. Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore.
“They were able to move on to the next assignment, not even a second thought. They easily slipped in to a new identity, a new mission, but I feel.” Sam stopped speaking, the laugh he let out was bitter and mirthless, and anger twisted his mouth in to a smile that was more like a grimace. “Don’t take that the wrong way.” He added.
“I feel like I left something behind in Korea.” Sam continued, “But as far as that goes, I don’t know what it means, or what it was. Just that it is.” Sam seemed to have finished pouring out his soul, and that grimace didn’t fade from the way it twisted his mouth. Sidney felt like there should be something that he could say. But Sidney also knew there were no instant cures for the things he could diagnose.
“I hope you can just do me a favor.” Sam continued. His voice was back to being blank, and Sidney thought if he squinted just a little, he could forget the whole thing had ever happened. Gone was any trace of the emotion from before. Sidney wondered if he’d imagined it. “Sign this release, let me go back to doing my job, a clean bill of health if you will.” Sam said.
“Sam…” Sidney started, his voice tentative. The scowl was creeping back on to Sam’s face and for a moment, Sidney wasn’t sure he should say what he was going to. But he forged on ahead, he was a doctor, and Sam obviously needed help. “Sam, you’re not okay. You don’t have a clean bill of health, at least not mentally.” Sidney ran a hand through his curly hair and sat back, shaking his head.
Sam jumped up so quick the chair toppled to the ground. “The CIA is my life!” Flagg snapped, his face twisting with anger. It was still more emotion than Sidney was used to, and it felt like it was radiating in waves. Sidney had to draw upon all of his reserves to not shrink back from the force of it.
“You’re ruining it! I knew your psychobabble couldn’t be trusted.” Flagg continued, his voice raising. “Just sign the damned paper, Freedman.” He added in a quieter tone. It was threatening. Sidney fell back behind his scruples, using it as a defense from the anger.
“Not on your life.” Sidney said, wishing sarcasm and subtlety wasn’t lost so much on the man. “You need help, whether you want to admit that or not, it doesn’t make it not true.” Sidney’s voice was steady and he kept his head high and his jaw set in spite of the murderous look that flashed in Sam’s eyes. Sam pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the office… perhaps to find a psychiatrist he could bully.
Sidney pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking his head. Now he wasn’t sure how much of any of that had been an act. The anger, the vulnerability, the admittance. Sidney needed a drink. He needed some sanity. He needed something to hold on to. He had a coffee instead, steadied his shaking hands by pure force of will, and finished his appointments for the day without further incident.
When he left the office for the night, he took Sam’s file with him, hoping to find something… someone beneath the layers of masks he wore. He could only hope that that person would come to him for help. But Sidney didn’t really count on it.
Sidney found, upon going home to his empty apartment, that he couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. The emotions, sham or not, had felt so real. Sidney wasn’t sure Sam’s grasp on reality had ever been very solid, but he could see that it was slipping even more. He wanted to help. Sidney knew that he shouldn’t worry about it. After a few drinks, he was too worried to not think about it.
Sidney wished there was someone that he could talk to… someone that he’d be able to talk with about what had happened. He pushed it from his mind, after a few more drinks, and wondered if Sam just needed to be held… like everyone else.
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