"How are you doing?"
One question, a simple one at that, but she didn't know the answer. How was she doing?
"Well, I'm back from the dead so things can't be too bad," she finally replied to the therapist, the sarcasm scratching the surface of her words.
"And how is being back?" he asked, continuing to scribble on his notepad. What the hell was he writing? Maybe he was making a grocery list or something. There sure wasn't anything interesting about this to write.
"It's fine," she responded mechanically.
"Emily," he replied dauntingly, a sad smile on his face, "You can tell me."
"Don't Emily me," she shot back, glaring at him, "And what am I supposed to say?"
"Well, tell me about your first week back at work. How are your colleagues doing?"
Biting her tongue, she struggled to find the words to explain. How could she even start to tell him what was happening when she didn't even know?
Garcia acts like she's going to disappear any second, Reid can't even talk to her, and Morgan looks like an abused puppy.
What kind of words explain how terrible it is to feel so lost in the one place that you used to call home?