A/N: I am back! Of course, this is violent. Be prepared as well for foul language.
You take a deep breath and crackyour knuckles before standing up and stretching. It was time for your weekly client, his most reliable client. Every Friday at noon for the past two years, Will LaMontagne had sat in your office to process the loss of his wife, Jennifer Jareau.
Over the past two years, you and Will had developed a close rapport, but you made sure to ensure the therapeutic relationship was honored. Will knew he could always call you, but also understood that you were acting as his therapist and therefore could not be his friend.
But your heart hurt for the man who had lost so much and had never really gotten the closure he so desperately needed.
Will had been referred by a family friend, begging the detective to go and see someone for the sake of his children. After his oldest son, Henry, had found his father with a gun loaded on the table. And right then and there, Will conceded that he needed help.
And he had called you asking for an appointment. The rest was history.
You had gathered information over the years, his wife, a talented federal agent had been working an undercover case. Something had gone horribly wrong and she had disappeared without a trace. She had never been seen again. And there was very little hope that she would ever be found alive.
You had sat with Will as he began moving forward with his life without his wife, he had dealt with the anger, the guilt, denial, barraging and finally accepted that his wife was most likely gone. He still held onto a tiny bit of hope, a strand of it, and until her body was found, that shred of hope existed.
And you allowed that, there was no sense in destroying his hope, or his sons' hope that one day their mother and wife would return home.
"Hey Will" You greet him, shaking his hand and leading him into your office. He looks upset and you see one tear roll down his cheek. "Tell me what that tear is about?"
He nods and swallows. "Today is her birthday." He whispers.
You lick your lips, it's a classic trigger for anyone. "How old would she have been?"
"38." He says softly.
"Do you and the boys have any plans to celebrate her?"
"No. I.." He shakes his head. "I didn't think about doing anything."
"Do you think it would help? Maybe get a cake, write her a letter, play soccer? Do something in her memory?"
And so the session moves forward, talking about ways to get passed the birthday. It is decided that Will and Henry and Michael will hold a party for JJ's 38th birthday, all of her friends will be invited. And by the time the session is done, Will is calmer.
You remind him to call you if needed. And smile as he walks out.
It is finally time for you to head home. It has been an exhausting day.
You stop at the store and pick up a few things for dinner, and remembering your client earlier, you grab a cake. Cake sounds amazing.
The drive home is uneventful and you smile when pull into your driveway. Home at last, and it is the weekend. Thank God.
You walk in, pet your dog and change your clothes.
"Screw dinner." You say to yourself and cut into the cake, before heading to the media room. You grab your keys and unlock the door before walking in.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but you walk forward and grin, unzipping your pants. Before bending down.
You kick out and laugh at the site in front of you. You lay the cake in front of her, just in front of her where she cannot access it. The only food she has seen in days.
"Happy birthday, bitch."