Page 1 of Light on Love
1
Mornings on the base are always Laurel’s favorite time of day. In Virginia Beach, the Special Warfare complex is arranged on the edge where land meets sea, and the stretch of shore in front of her building is typically deserted at this hour. She walks along the sidewalk between structure and sand, her white blonde hair dancing in the breeze, until she reaches her preferred bench. From where it is positioned, Laurel can watch the waves without any buildings in her eye line, just unfettered nature. A seagull swoops overhead letting out a squawk as she sits.
Bringing the paper cup in hand up to her lips, Laurel inhales the smell of the coffee and warm caramel, relishing how it mingles with the salty sea air. She has tried to start most days like this for the past year, a way to center herself before being confined to a desk the remainder of the day. Today though, she’s having difficulty finding that center. This week marks her first anniversary in Special Warfare, and instead of celebrating the milestone, she only feels burdened.
I deserve to keep this role, she reminds herself as footsteps approach. Laurel turns to find Lieutenant Ray Mitchell stridingher way. A smile spreads across his face, his tawny skin glowing in the morning sun as he takes a seat beside her.
Ray was Laurel’s first friend when she accepted her position here. She noticed quickly how charismatic and welcoming he was, and he seemed genuinely excited to have her services available. With him being a Navy SEAL, their closeness makes sense, considering his team uses the profiles she builds to help plan their operations.
“I thought I’d find you here. I just got back to town and wanted to see how the presentation is going. Do you need anything?”
“I technically have the presentation done. I’m just feeling uneasy, like I need something to really drive my point home,” she responds, pursing her lips in thought.
“Your profiles are really helpful for operators; the captain knows that.”
“He’s asked me to give this presentation, which means he’s still questioning renewing my grant. I need to do more, Ray. I need to guarantee my job.”
Laurel’s role at the base is that of psychological analyst. She reviews operation reports written by the servicemen and the Navy’s partnering intelligence agencies. Then at times, conducts her own interrogations at high levels of threat. From all of this, she builds profiles describing the mentality of the terrorist and providing other insights used to locate and eliminate the threats.
Essentially, she builds a description of the way the terrorists think to predict what they will try to do next. The problem is that the existence of this position is fully grant funded, meaning it’s not permanent, yet. She was brought in as a great experiment for a one-year period, at which time command would review the benefits of keeping her on. This week, that year and the experiment, are coming to an end.
“Well, if you’re sure you want to do everything in your power, what about looking at a critical threat instead of just presenting your high-level ones? It would show how you could grow the role further.”
“Is that allowed? Would I even have clearance for something like this?”
“If not, I can get that changed.” Ray grins at her confidently before adding, “there’s a critical threat scheduled for interrogation today, related to the op I just ran. I’ll arrange it for you to do the interview.”
Laurel nods as she processes this idea. It was a good one. This way, she could focus on having the captain picture a future with her here. “I’m in.”
—
I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bother to eat breakfast, she thinks as the nausea in her stomach pitches and rolls with each step. When she’s buzzed through the next barrier into the hall of interrogation rooms, Laurel questions if she’s made the right choice agreeing to evaluate a critical level terrorist. The cold concrete walls and fluorescent lights are in stark contrast to her cozy office where she spends most her time. She pauses outside the steel door marked with the large red letter “B” and focuses on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, steadying herself.
It had been a difficult first few months when she started here, initially feeling like many team members weren’t taking her seriously. Laurel received countless comments about being asweet little thingand then would be dismissed when trying to present her profiles. But she had persevered. And having Ray as an ally, highlighting her role in a few successful operations earlyon, the other members of command began to give her a shot. This was now another opportunity to step out of her comfort zone and prove her worth, something Laurel often felt pressure to do. Even if it was only her pressuring herself.
“Ready ma’am?” The officer to her side peers down at her, as she stands at a mere five feet and a single inch.
“Ready,” she responds, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. The officer unlocks the door, and Laurel steps inside, alone with a terrorist.
—
“Laurel! How did it go?” Ray asks a few hours later, his tone laced with worry. He is standing with one combat boot raised from the ground and planted against the wall, his fatigue-clad arms crossed.
She wonders how long he was waiting outside the interrogation hall as he pushes off the wall and falls into step beside her. He’s never made comments like the others, but sometimes she worries that he is always around because he views her as fragile, needing taken care of.
“I got everything we needed,” she responds with pride, shoving the self-doubt out of her thoughts. Besides, she was still reeling from sitting face to face with her first critical-level threat and walking away successful. Ray reaches out and clasps her on the shoulder.
“I knew it. I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think you’d make me look good,” he says smugly. “I’ve got a briefing tomorrow morning, any chance you can you have it ready for me by then?”
“I’ll go work on it now, swing by for it before you leave today?”
“Perfect, you’re the best,” Ray says eagerly. He doesn’t seem to notice Laurel wince at theatta girlmotion he makes before he walks away. She can’t help but wonder if his response would be different if she wasn’t the petite young woman described by others in the department as thepretty analyst.
With the interrogation over and Ray gone, she makes her way back to the tiny corner of Special Warfare she calls her own. Laurel enters her office and smiles to herself. The floor to ceiling bookcase, oversized leather armchairs, and floor lamps flanking the chairs all create an atmosphere of comfort for her amongst the strict military setting. Taking a seat behind her desk and pulling her silken straight, long blonde hair up in a claw clip, she opens her laptop and begins reviewing her notes from the interrogation. On the far wall of her office hangs her psychologist license.
Well into her late twenties now, and a year licensed, Laurel feels confident with the career path she selected. She had become restless with her roles during the clinical rotations in school before starting her rotation at the VA. While there, she felt bolstered getting to work with others who valued a sense of duty like herself. She enjoyed working with the veterans and supporting them after all they had sacrificed. But getting to have a hand in active duty, and make an impact helping the servicemen before the operations, felt like the missing piece of the puzzle for her.
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