your knee bounces repeatedly as you sit outside the therapist office, waiting to be called in.
you got released from the hospital yesterday and since then spencer hasn't left your side - today's an exception, you have your first therapy appointment and he's back at work. you really don't want to be here, but it's the directors orders.
"miss y/n?" calls out the middle aged man, smiling kindly when you stand up and walk towards him.
"take a seat" he points towards the sofa across from his desk, taking a seat.
you hesitantly sit down, fiddling with your fingers and twisting the rings that lay on your fingers.
"so... how are you coping after what happened?" he just plainly asks out.
you scoff and look around, trying to find this guys degree.
"i'm fine. aren't you supposed to like, introduce yourself first and ask some other questions not relating to the reason i'm here?" you ask him.
your old best friend was a therapist, when she first started she practised a fake session with you, this isn't how it's supposed to go. besides, you went to therapy after you moms death, you didn't start discussing the matter at hand until your fourth session, at first it was just getting to know each other, discussing other matters in life.
he seems to freeze at your question, taking a while before answering.
"i find it better to skip introductions and get straight to the point. are you answering honestly when you say you're fine?" he questions, looking down at his notes.
"i find it quite rude that you haven't introduced yourself" you tell him.
"mark stewart" he tells you, keeping a straight face.
he reaches into his folder and pulls out a couple stapled pages, "this is a servey, you need to complete it" he tells you, handing you the paper and a pen.
you briefly look down at what he handed you, this has nothing to do with therapy at all or your well-being.
"i'll pass," you pass back the paper and pen, standing up, "i've been to therapy before and this," you point towards him, "isn't therapy. therapy is stupid and for people who think there's some way they can magically get better. news flash, i'm not going to get better by talking to someone i barely know" you protest, pulling open the door and leaving, hearing it slam behind you.
as you quickly walk out of the office you call a cab, heading home. you weren't cleared for driving or work so the only place you really can go is home and watch some tv.
ever since you got back you have these visions? they're more like memories of what happened in that warehouse and you can't stop them which is why you have to distract yourself from reality, fall into the universe of the medical show you're watching or the the university your book is set in.
**
spencer entering your apartment pulls you out of your book you're reading, it's interesting. it's called 'the perfectionists' by sara shepard. it's your type of murder mystery and you'd be lying if you were to say you weren't mad at spencer for interrupting your reading.
you gave spencer your spare key and told him he could come by after work. it was the only way you were able to convince him to actually go to work.
"hey, i brought food. how are you feeling? how was therapy? did you discus-" he starts rambling. asking a billion questions, not literally but it felt like it.
"woah, calm down soldier. i'm fine, therapy... didn't go well" you plainly state, sorting through the food and finding your container of fried rice.
"what do you mean?" he asks as he joins you on the couch.
"he didn't know a thing about therapy or let alone helping people. when you start therapy you're supposed to get to know each other a little, talk about some other matters in your life and slowly make your way up to what you're actually there for. he didn't even introduce himself and he just got straight to my dad and me almost dying" you explain as you move your food around with your fork, not really feeling all that hungry now.
"oh. hotch is going to be mad" spencer tells you.
you sigh out, putting the lid back on the container, "i know" you begin making your way over to the fridge and setting it inside, pulling out the jug of water and pouring yourself and spencer a drink.
"you're not hungry?" he asks as he brings his food over and sits at the island, across from you.
"not really, i'll eat it later, promise" you promise, a soft smile gracing your lips.
a sharp knock at the door draw your attention away, making your way to the door, checking the peep hole to see hotch. he doesn't look happy.
"here we go" you whisper to no one but yourself. opening the door, hotch walks in without invite, standing directly in front of you as he scolds you.
"really? you couldn't even go to therapy?" he asks, an exasperated tone evident in his voice.
"i did go but the therapist that the director chose, is shit. absolute shit. he doesn't know a thing about helping people" you explain to hotch.
"it was an order to see a therapist y/n , you keep pulling stunts like this and i'll have no choice but to believe that you don't want to come back or worse? the director will have you suspended o-or take your credentials, you need to get it together" hotch shows no mercy in his pep talk.
he sees you stunned face, clearly some guilt taking over his earlier scolding manner.
"i know you went through a lot and that it isn't easy to readjust, but you need to keep in mind that the director has to take action when you fail to follow orders" he explain, empathy pouring out of the words.
"look i'll talk to someone, but i'm not seeing a therapist. i-i'll-" you begin, looking around for something to say.
"i'll talk to spence, he's a doctor and i feel comfortable talking to him, not some stranger" you tell hotch.
he thinks about it for a moment before nodding in agreement.
"fine, but you're explaining this to the director" he says before leaving, not even a good bye exchanged.
you turn around and see a spencer with his eyebrows raised, arms crossed.
"you realise i'm not a therapist, right? i-i don't know the type of questions to ask or- or how to comfort someone" he begins to ramble on, his self doubt peeking out.
"spence... all you have to do is just listen when i talk to you, okay?" you explain to him, watching him nod.
he starts walking over to the couch, patting the spot next to him.
you raise your eyebrows, confused.
"come on, let's talk" he pats the spot again, smiling warmly.
"uh- spencer not now, i-i need to shower" you begin to rush towards your bed room and start to gather your clothes, preparing for a shower. spencer steps in front of you and takes the clothes, laying them on the bed and placing gentle hands on your shoulders.
"come on, if we talk now you'll be able to have a good nights rest and then when you tell the director that you didn't go to therapy, you can tell him that you spoke to me and i can vouch for you" spencer explains. it makes sense, that way it'll limit the consequence you may get from the director for ignoring his orders.
you nod and follow him back to the living room, sitting down next to him.
"alright so... uh- any nightmares?" he oddly starts off. the poor boy has never done this before and is so confused, you can't help but smile at his attempts.
"n-no- no nightmares, but sometimes during the day, i have like... flashbacks? i don't really know how to explain it but it's like memories replaying in my head at random times" you tell him honestly. he nods in response, probably saving you words in his eidetic memory.
"how do you feel when you leave the house? o-or even when you enter your apartment?" he asks next.
"uh i'm with leaving my apartment but sometimes when i enter it, i freeze, but only for a little bit of time" you once again honestly tell him.
"that's a common sign of ptsd. when the trauma victim returns to the point of location where the trauma event started, they can freeze or not want to enter... it's common" he rambles on, smiling awkwardly when he finishes.
"i know, spence... can you please not refer to me as a victim" you tell him.
"right, sorry. moving on, do you often think of how it could've ended if we didn't get there in time? or maybe if you didn't go to his court case? do you think what happened..." his words start to trail off as he asks question after question, not giving you a chance to answer the one before. you know he isn't a therapist and he's never done this before which is exactly why you shouldn't go off, but you couldn't contain yourself.
"stop! just- stop. please, i-i can't handle question after question and i know you've never done this before but just... just stop" you jump up and begin shouting at him.
"i'm sorry, but y/n you said to hotch you'd talk to me and you need to give the director something to be a able to come back to work-" he begins, trying to calm you down.
"maybe i don't want to! m-maybe after everything that has happened, i don't want to go back to work... maybe i just don't have the energy to pretend everything is okay anymore. i'm so sick of this feeling," you whimper out as stored away tears start to fall.
"that's why you need to talk to me" he pleads, taking slow and steady steps towards you.
"what is this feeling? when i figure out this feeling that i've had for years then i'll be able to open up, but i can't- i can't keep doing th-" your words are cut off by your pleading cries. this is your first vulnerable state since you were rescued, it was all bound to come pouring out, but why couldn't it have been when you were alone?
"eccendentiast" he tells you as he comes over to you, kneeling down to your level.
"what?" you ask, shocked he was able to answer your question.
"you're an eccendentiast, someone who hides their pain and or trauma behind a smile. you've being doing it for years and now after everything that has happened, the feeling is more evident because after doing it for so long, it's getting harder to do. and you won't be able to fool everyone for much longer, but we'll all be here for you. we'll all be a shoulder for you to cry on, a person you can rant to. you just need to trust us, to talk to us. to let us in" he explains, a pleading tone evident as he finishes his sentence.
"i'm trying... so hard" you whisper out as you fiddle with his fingers. somehow your position went from you bawled up on the floor with spencer in front of you, to you leaning against his chest.
"i know you are baby, and we're all so proud of you" he kisses your forehead before carefully picking you up and carrying you into bed.
____________________________________
i think we're all eccendentiasts <3