Mental health, especially men's mental health, is an issue that is all too often diminished, shoved aside or hidden out of shame or fear. Please, never be ashamed or afraid to seek out help. As a different Captain in another universe once said, the three most beautiful words in any language are ‘Please help me’.
It had become their little ritual.
She had woken up as soon as her brain registered the sound of her door unlocking and the light from the hallway spilled in just long enough to let someone enter her apartment. As soon as she recognised the soft but familiar footsteps, she rolled over with a sleepy sound and faced the wall, cuddling her pillow with closed eyes as she feigned sleep.
He navigated the darkened apartment by touch and memory. Nearly silent, he crept to her bedside and checked to make sure she was undisturbed, leaning so close she could smell the soap he’d used that day and the traces of aftershave from that morning.
Thump. Thud, thud. Zzzzz, shhphfff. Sshhph, click, shhhpphh.
That was the sound of him divesting himself of RadioCap, boots and clothes; then the bed creaked slightly and the mattress dipped as he slipped under the covers and into bed with her. He curled his tall frame around her and fitted one arm around her, using the other to pillow his head.
She waited as he settled in and moulded himself to her curves, keeping her breathing slow and even, to maintain the fiction that he hadn’t woken her. The bed shifted a little as he lifted himself up to press a gentle kiss to her cheek and laid himself back down again.
They lay like that in the warm darkness for several long minutes. She listened to his breathing as it evened out; they were so close she could feel the tension in his muscles ease away as he finally relaxed.
Ah, there it was.
The long, shuddering inhalation heralded the jerky tremors of muffled sobs as Paul buried his face into her neck and wept.
Dianne’s heart broke for her beloved. She wished she could roll over, hold him close and tuck his head protectively under her chin while he cried, like she had seen Karen do for Adam one sleepless night on the Promenade, after a mission went very badly. She wished she could ask him what was wrong - was it a nightmare, a flashback to a previous mission, bad news about a friend or even just the very human need for comfort and release from the stress of the burden he shouldered each time he pulled on that red uniform.
But she and Paul weren’t there yet.
The fear of vulnerability, fear of showing emotions, fear of weakness and the fear of judgement for seeking help - all these things that were still being drummed into men from boyhood, were still written large upon his psyche. He had to be strong for the others, to suffer what they could not. But that didn’t leave much room for him when he needed someone to be strong for his sake.
So she pretended she was asleep, so he could pretend he didn’t know she was awake, so he could feel safe enough to drop his guard, be vulnerable and seek the comfort and solace that he just couldn’t bring himself to ask for just yet.
Eventually, the tears stopped and he drew in a long, deep breath as he composed himself.
Paul shifted and let go of her just long enough to reach out for the box of tissues she kept on her nightstand and dry his face. His dignity protected, she now made a sleepy grumble as if to protest at the absence of his warmth and rolled over to snuggle up against him. She tucked her head against his bare chest and draped an arm around him as he wrapped his arms around her. She knew he relished her trust and acceptance and found strength in the comfort he had from her touch.
He could never stay long enough, in her opinion. A few minutes of mutual embracing, then a reluctant sigh, another gentle kiss on her cheek and a murmured ‘thank you’ as he eased himself out of the bed and dressed in the dark, slipping out as quietly as he slipped in.