Her eyes were warm and understanding as they met his, inviting him to open up and talk. He knew better. She was no different than any other interrogator, fishing for information. People like her claimed to "know his pain" and "understand" what he'd gone through. People like her were liars. She had not been out on the street that day. She didn't get ambushed. She didn't make the choice that cost him his partner.
She wanted him to talk. Of course she wanted him to talk. So why didn't she ask? Why was she just sitting there, seemingly as comfortable as she would have looked if she were reading a favorite book?
'What do you want from me?' he wondered, sizing her up.
'I can remain silent and motionless for 8 hours if need be.' He thought. He could swear she was thinking the same thing. She certainly looked like she could. She didn't look uneasy in the slightest. Could it be that she wasn't uneasy? Could she possibly really be as comfortable as she looked??
'What the hell do you want from me?'
Apparently she didn't read minds, because it didn't seem like she got that question. She continued her appearance of calm and quiet, unwilling to betray what it was that she wanted from him. How could she possibly be so calm at a time like this?? How could the word 'calm' even exist anymore?? At that moment, he hated her for it. She had peace and calm- and he didn't. That calm had to end, and it was not going to happen with her getting what she wanted. He pulled out his weapon instead. Her eyes opened wider as he did so, but not in alarm. What was it...interest? She was interested?? The peace and calm were definitely still there, but now he had given her something else.
'Damn you.'
She wasn't alarmed or afraid. She had made him blink first. And he hated her even more for it. She wanted him to cry, to talk about his feelings. He was not about to do that. No fucking way. What went on that day was between him and his partner. It was sacred. No one had the right to insert themselves into it, no matter what orders the Chief gave him.
'I'm not letting you in.' He vowed as he looked her up and down a few more times, silently cursing his superior for forcing him to do this. This was all a fucking waste of time- talking to a complete stranger- as if doing so would somehow make his pain go away.
'Who the hell are you, anyway?' He wondered. She was that psychologist that had worked with O'Hara on a couple occasions, when she had first transferred. But she wasn't Madeline Spencer. No, making him talk to her would make sense. Madeline wasn't available, anyway. She was off nursing her own kid's wounds. At least she still had a kid, and Guster still had his partner.
Spencer was wounded, he remembered through the hazy fog that was his memory. Idiot kid. Why the hell would he have run into it like he did?? As much as he tried, he couldn't make sense of what Spencer had done. Didn't matter. Spencer rarely made sense, anyway.
She really couldn't read minds...could she? Did she actually understand what he had just thought? What was that look in her eye, and why the hell was she choosing this exact moment to sit back in her chair?? Now she was relaxed?? Now she had peace, calm, interest, and relaxation.
Shrink: 4 Lassiter: 0
Ok, so she'd won a couple minor battles. Stands to reason she would. She wasn't going through the hell he'd gone through over the past 3 weeks. She was clearly not going to crack with the silence. She almost seemed to be enjoying it. Maybe messing with her would help get things moving, to put her in her place. If the silence was to be broken, he was going to make it happen on his terms. He held up his gun again and regarded it carefully.
"This is what I used to shoot him." He said simply, "Just point and shoot. Who needs a camera when I've got this?"
Her eyebrows raised slightly now as she nodded, but it wasn't the 'tell me more' nod he had half expected. It was more of...could it be?...and agreement nod?? So now she was amused by this??
Shrink: 5 Lassiter: 0
********************
He was hurting. She could tell that, but it didn't take graduate degrees or endless hours of training to figure that out. There were several layers to that hurt, and soon enough he would have to start digging through them, but for the moment, all that mattered was that he was hurting.
He was also defensive, unwilling...no...unable to let down that wall. It was firm and high, definitely not letting anything in. She knew that at least up to this point, he had needed that wall. It was protecting him, and she had too much respect for it...for him, to try to even so much as chip it herself. Wading through all the hurt would have to wait, because it was all being kept behind that barrier. He would have to willingly open that door and let her in. That was her first job- only get the invitation to come in.
She knew within a few minutes that it would be a heck of a first job to fulfill. Trust was not something he was handing out freely, much less to her. No doubt stereotypes of her and her profession were filling his mind right now, along with a healthy dose of contempt. No, her first job was not the invitation. Her first job was getting him to see that she was truly on his side, that she wasn't there to judge, and that she was there to take on his burden with him.
Her heart broke as she watched his face and posture. She was grieving for Detective O'Hara, also. Her loss had been a major blow to the entire department. She could only imagine how many times that loss had been magnified inside of Detective Lassiter. She shifted in her seat and forced herself to push her own feelings aside in order to be there for him.
Oh yes, the old 'pull the gun out' trick. If only she'd had a nickel for each time a cop pulled a gun out during session, she'd be making a much better living than she currently was on her half a civil servant's salary. She'd handled and fired guns herself many times before, and had gained much more field experience than anyone had ever given her credit for. Clearly a cop pulling a gun out in a situation like this often meant to intimidate her. She wasn't intimidated. She knew the real underlying reason was the cop's feeling of vulnerability, and his need to protect himself from it.
********************
"That's your favorite one, isn't it?" She finally spoke. What? No 'how does that make you feel' questions?? He regarded her carefully now. He hadn't expected her to ask that. How did she know this was his favorite gun?
"Uh, yeah, it is." He answered cautiously, turning the weapon over in his hand and gathering strength from it before setting it down on the end table by the couch. She didn't answer. She wasn't speaking again. What the hell??
He decided to throw her a real curve ball and started talking about the details of his gun- caliber, care and maintenance, etc. As much as he meant to amuse himself by doing it, he found himself strangely drawing some comfort from it. Not once did she ask about his feelings. In fact, she seemed rather interested in what he was saying- smiling and nodding, and actually seeming like she was learning a few things in the process.
For a moment, he was so engrossed in talking about his weapon, and delighting in the fact that she was so interested, that he forgot who she really was and what they were really here for. He even reminisced about the time he got it, and what a great fit it had been for him from the beginning. He spoke freely until he got to the point where he started to talk about how it compared to O'Hara's weapon. His voice faltered then, and he fell silent once again.
"What about her weapon?" She probed gently. It was probably a good minute before he found his voice again while he tried to control his breathing,
'Damn, if all I have to do is talk about guns, at least it'll make the time go by faster,' He thought.
"It was...smaller. She had small hands." He began, then chuckled, "I don't think I made a good first impression on her when we first met. I kind of made a joke about it. Tried, anyway. But she was a hell of a shot with it." He smiled in spite of himself as he remembered the many ways he had underestimated his partner during those first few days.
"She was underestimated a lot." She said thoughtfully now. Lassiter nodded,
"Damn right she was. She was a damn good cop." He replied, falling silent once again as he felt a lump form in this throat. How in the hell did she do this?? Weren't they just talking about guns?? How did he get to talking about O'Hara specifically??
Shrink: 6 Lassiter: 0
He waited for her to take her shot. She had done it, made him go there and give up a part of what was inside of him. He'd make her pay for it. He'd pounce on her just as soon as she came in for the win.
And then it...didn't happen. Why wasn't she speaking??
What the hell are you waiting for?? What the HELL do you want from me??
********************
At least he's talking now, she thought. Sure, about guns, but at least it's something. Even O'Hara couldn't help brining them up during session with her one day. Then again, having been Lassiter's partner, it was to be expected. It has been her who revealed to her the gun that Lassiter considered his favorite. O'Hara had giggled at the time, thinking of Lassiter's fondness for his weapons. How right she had been! He almost seemed giddy as he spoke and went on about what could otherwise be considered mundane details.
The wall was still up strong, no denying that. But she could hear footsteps on the other side, approaching the door. He was there, on the other side. He still wasn't considering opening it. No, not yet. He was just at the point of realizing the wall's presence, and starting to see just how tall it truly was.
Wait, no....maybe the wall wasn't as strong as it had first seemed. There was a definite weakness there, and he was struggling to hold it up. They had moved a little too far, a little too fast. He was more exhausted than she had thought. He didn't have the energy to keep holding back as much. Her professional mind wanted to say it was a little too far and fast for him, but she couldn't help feeling that she hadn't been ready to go there quite yet, either.
There was anger in his eyes. He was angry at her, she could tell. His increased breathing undoing any doubt she might have had about it. Now would be a good moment to strategically select a spot on the wall that would bring it down, causing a cathartic reaction to follow. It would be intense, but they would get through it. Her chance was now.
He wasn't ready for that just yet. She had built up a small amount of trust through his gun discussion, but it wasn't enough to support catharsis...not coming from her, at least. He would get there very soon, she could feel it, but he would have to get there himself. Her instincts told her that what he needed more than anything right now was to trust, and doing this was not going to get him there. At best it would only destroy his protective cover, maybe push him a couple steps in the right direction, but then leave him stranded there- unable to trust enough to take anymore steps, and unprotected from the further feelings that were sure to follow.
Instead, she retreated, and said nothing, choosing to wait instead. She waited until his breathing slowed. He had used a lot of energy just now. Expending emotional energy can drain a person just as much as physical exertion. He looked back up at her now, his eyes starting to appear misty.
********************
"She hated it when people underestimated her." his whisper was just barely audible, "She was trying so hard to prove herself, and she was really good at it." He focused on a spot on the carpet now, thinking of O'Hara's constant desire to show her worth. He realized he had never acknowledged her efforts as much as he could have. Instead, he even allowed himself to feel insecure by her efforts and accomplishments. He had given her such a hard time about her scoring higher on the Exam, and whenever she gave an impressive performance on the field, it was often Vick who would congratulate her while he passed on the paperwork to her to finish. He had recognized this earlier and had started making more of an effort to remedy it, but still felt like it was nowhere near enough.
"You didn't underestimate her." She replied gently. Lassiter only shook his head and ran a hand through his hair,
"No, I didn't. If anything, I overestimated her. Or maybe I didn't do either, but just expected her to do her job. I didn't THINK is what the problem was. Or I wouldn't have sent her in the way I did."
"You didn't send her in, Detective, not according to the report."
"No, right. I didn't SEND her in. I LEFT her in. I allowed myself to lose focus, and left her completely uncovered. Gee, thanks, Doc."
"You blame yourself then." She said softly. He chuckled cynically,
"You think? She TRUSTED me! She put her life in my hands and..." he held up both shaking palms, "And in the end all they did was hold her while she died." Focusing on his fingers, he swore he could still see her blood on them, as it had covered his hands and arms that horrible day. It wasn't until that day that he understood the true meaning of having someone's blood on his hands- literally or figuratively. Now he had both, and it was something he would never be able to wash off. Great, he thought, now she got me to tell her this much.
Shrink: 7 Lassiter: 0
Fine. If she was so insistent on getting him to talk, he would talk, alright, and show her all the anger, wrath, and ugliness that he had turned to inside. Careful what you wish for, you just might get it.
********************
Her heart broke into a few more pieces as she watched him begin to dig through some of the guilt that was suffocating him. It was so intense, that he couldn't even remember the details of what had happened. It seemed, to him, that the only relevant part of the whole story was that he had failed her.
She had read the report of what went on that day. She could argue details with him, make him question whether his actions were truly a lapse in judgement, force him to consider O'Hara's own decisions for her actions that day, force him to consider the impossibility of knowing ahead of time what they were walking into...but none of it mattered. It wasn't her job to hash out the happenings anyway, not now.
She braced herself to handle the onslaught of emotion that he was now beginning to throw at her. He was beginning to truly feel and acknowledge his guilt now, but was not at a point where he could actually experience it as his own process. Instead, it was coming out as anger- at anyone and everyone, and she happened to be the only (and most convenient) target at the moment.
She held her composure, allowing it to bend just enough to show her humanity as the shots kept coming. He blamed her for assessing O'Hara and declaring her fit for duty when she first transferred from Miami, for holding sessions with O'Hara as she adjusted to her move to a new city and away from her former life. He blamed her for agreeing that O'Hara would be a good partner for him. He blamed her for forcing him to sit here today and remember that O'Hara's death was all his fault. She remained calm and collected as his breathing became shaky, and he turned from blaming her to simply yelling at her for not having to deal with his hell, for not having to know what it's like to lose a partner in the line of duty.
The "humanity" and "empathy" she showed as he expressed his anger was not out of professional obligation or training, not anymore. She, too, had lost a dear co-worker that day. Her empathy came from having lost someone that she had come to know on quite a deep level through the sessions that O'Hara had attended. It's hard not to feel close and connected with those who place their lives on the line everyday, then come to talk to you about it.
She was very used to dealing with the stresses of their jobs in whatever ways they came- starting from the reason she had asked for her office to be located next to a restroom (people tended to throw up more often than she cared to admit), all the way to the disorganized, shell-shocked, and lost reactions of those who had lost a partner.
Still, she persevered, and provided the grieving detective a constant and gentle path to navigate through his anger. It was not her feelings that mattered at this moment, after all.
********************
He hung his head, setting his forearms on his thighs as he hunched over, beginning to feel the exhaustion overtaking him. He couldn't understand where it was coming from, but there was no denying it. And as his exhaustion grew, his ability to hold back everything he'd been fighting against waned.
And finally, the tears came.
He had thought the main reason for holding everything back was his fear that if he allowed it to come out, it would come in an uncontrollable flood.
And he was right.
The tears came hard and unrelenting, coming in sobs that shook his whole body. Normally, he would have been horrified to allow himself to react to anything like this, much less allow someone to witness it. But there was nothing normal about losing your partner. There was nothing normal about seeing her go down, then watching her life drift away while powerless to do anything about it. There was nothing normal about having to look her family in the eye at her funeral, nor having to watch her young nieces and nephews grieving and crying for their favorite Aunt Julie.
'Normal' and 'Fair' were words that no longer existed.
It was another 15 minutes before he was able to catch his breath enough to sit back up and lift his head, only to notice that she was sitting next to him now, seemingly at the ready for him whenever he was ready. She was still as composed and put-together as she had looked when he first entered the room, but his skills as a detective told him something more as he accepted a tissue and regarded her more closely. Could it be? Did she appear misty-eyed? Or maybe not...who knows. He couldn't see much through his tear-streaked, blurry vision, anyhow. Still, as he tossed the tissue in the trash can, he couldn't help but notice that there was already another one in there.
'Score? What's the score now? How the hell do I score that one??'
He took a deep breath, the exhaustion was still there. If anything, it had intensified. As if he had been carrying a one-ton weight on his back that was finally lifted, the relief was instant and surprising. At the same time, now that he could take his mind away from the constant strain, he truly felt the toll that it had been taking on him. It wasn't the burden that was heavy anymore, but his body, and he wondered if he could even muster the strength to stand.
"How are you feeling?" She asked. Right, yeah, now she asks the 'feeling' question. He furrowed his brow, unsure of how to answer.
"Tired." He finally conceded. A nap. There was nothing in the world he wanted more now than a good, long nap.
"You just did some great work. Some hard work." She replied, "I want you to know that I'm not here to take your pain away. Your pain is your testament to the connection that you and O'Hara shared. Let yourself feel it. Honor it, and honor O'Hara through it. You just did a major thing- letting down your defenses. You'll probably hurt even more now for a while because of it. This is when you really need to take things easy. Don't expect too much from yourself right now." Lassiter thought for a moment, trying to make sense of her words before speaking again.
"I'm fine." He replied simply, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple in anticipation of the headache that he could feel was coming. He wasn't ready to continue letting anything out just now...actually, he felt like he didn't have anything left to let out, anyhow. He lowered his head again, sure that he could fall asleep right there if given the chance. Then again, his own bed was once again very inviting, as was the private space of his home where he could finally allow himself to think and try to make sense of the foggy haze that had been his mind for the past 3 weeks.
"I'd like to go now, if that's ok." He requested absently. She ran through a quick checklist in her mind, assessing his mental state before answering,
"You can go, if you want, but I'm free if you need some more time."
"I should go." He said again, taking a deep breath while he gathered the strength to stand. He did so slowly, carefully, picking up his gun in the process. Even the gun suddenly felt heavy, he noticed before replacing it in his holster. After what had just occurred, the last thing he wanted was to continue talking...about anything. "You tell the Chief that I didn't just sit around wasting your time, ok? I...uh...may have led her to believe I might do that."
"I'll tell her that, Detective, and that's all she needs to know." She said, as if to reassure his confidence in her.
"Right. Thanks." He looked around, still trying to compose himself and making sure he had everything before leaving- gun, jacket, cell phone- check. Pretending he was just getting everything together was also a good way to avoid having to make eye contact with her again. At the time of his breakdown, he was far beyond even beginning to care that she was watching him. Now, however, his discomfort was difficult to ignore as he fumbled his phone and struggled to get it back in his pocket without dropping it. 'So what am I supposed to say now? See ya? A handshake?' He wondered as he caught a sideways glance at her. He settled on a handshake, considering it was the safest route since it didn't require him to say anything. She smiled warmly at him as she accepted his hand and placed her other hand reassuringly on his shoulder. He finally met her eyes again before turning to leave and said quickly before losing his nerve,
"Oh, and maybe you're right, you know, maybe another session would be good."
"Of course." She smiled, "See you next week. In the meantime, like I said before, be kind to yourself, and always feel free to call me anytime if you need to. I mean it, I'm willing to see you even between our scheduled sessions."
********************
His eyes scanned the station as he stepped out of the room, noticing everyone purposefully going about their daily business or carefree smiling as they stopped to chat with someone else. The pain of seeing them going back to their normal lives tore at his insides again as his sights settled on his partner's empty desk, and he struggled to keep his composure while avoiding eye contact with anyone. At least this time, he figured, the pain didn't turn into anger that manifested in an intense desire to pin a rookie against the wall...again.
Maybe she had a point, about the pain, he thought. It would be his testament to the relationship he had shared with his partner. At least that's what he would tell himself when tempted to drown it away with alcohol. But, damn it, why did it have to hurt SO much?? Looking inwards, he felt exposed now that his wall had come down, and he braced himself for everything that would come. He had to admit that he would need help getting through it even as much as he hated the thought. He knew his partner would want that.
'I'll get through this, O'Hara, somehow.' He thought, 'And I'll honor you. I'll make you proud. I promise.'
'But first I'll have to figure out the scoring system before next session. I must have gotten a point in there...somehwere..."