Quinn rolled over, looking at the clock. "Oh god, we have to find some curtains."

Huck propped himself on his elbows.

Quinn pointed at the clock. "Its barely 7 AM and this room is brighter than...I don't even know what it's brighter than, but it's pretty damn bright."

"Well, at least we went to bed early. You were exhausted."

Quinn thought back to last night. She had almost fallen asleep with her feet in the pool and Huck's arm around her. Even her excitement from hearing those three little words couldn't cut through the physical exhaustion from moving. The last three and a half months had severely depleted her physical strength and stamina, and so unpacking two rooms worth of boxes had completely wiped her out. Huck had carried her up to their room.

She smiled at him. Their room. This was their room, and their house, and he loved her.

"If you want, we could go look for some curtains before your appointment? Maybe get some other things, too. It'd be nice to have a little decoration."

"That sounds nice," Quinn said, swinging her legs out of bed, "but first, coffee."

Quinn ambled down to the kitchen and started filling the coffeepot with water, glancing out the window at the pool, where she had sat just last night. 'Huck told me he loved me right there,' she thought, leaning against the counter and watching the coffee drip into the pot.

Huck came up behind her, putting his hands on her hips, kissing her shoulder. "Coffee smells great."

"Coffee is great." Quinn laughed, reaching into the cabinet for two cups.

"So, how are you feeling about your appointment with Dr. Wexler?" Huck asked as he handed him his coffee.

"I think I'm fine...I mean, I'm nervous, I don't know what to expect, but I feel okay." She knew, though, if last night's confession of love hadn't happened, she wouldn't be feeling nearly as secure. Just knowing that he loved her, really loved her, made her feel as though she could handle anything.

She sipped her coffee, staring out of the window again. Even after last night, she still felt broken. She felt like an essential part of her was missing. As if Charlie had drilled it out of her. And, if she was being completely honest, she wasn't just nervous. She was scared.

But she didn't want Huck to worry, so she put a smile on her face and lifted her coffee to her lips like a good girl and tried not to scream.

"Maybe we should think about painting. Before we start decorating and everything. We've only gotten two rooms unpacked, now would be the perfect time to paint," Huck said.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. What were you thinking?"

"I'd like yellow for the bedroom. Yellow is a nice color, it's happy and calm. Yellow is nice."

"Oh, and we could find curtains and a bedspread to match the walls! Maybe we could do the kitchen kindof retro...keep the walls white but get red and black decorations?"

"The living room would be nice in light blue. The light in there is nice, it could work."

Quinn smiled, trying not to show the fact that her thoughts were making her head spin. "Huck...a week ago I was laying in a hospital bed eating jello and chicken broth, and now I'm standing in a kitchen with you talking about paint colors. Is this not so weird to you?"

Huck smirked. "Weird is good."

"Weird is good." Quinn raised her cup, tapping it against Huck's. Her thoughts kept racing faster and faster, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it in. "I'm gonna go get dressed."

Quinn went back upstairs, grabbing a simple black dress from the closet, and went in the bathroom, locking the door and sinking down to the floor. Her breathing was heavy, and she felt as though her chest had caved in. Her ears started ringing...and then the ringing turned into the sound of a drill. She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping her head into her hands, but the drill in her head wouldn't stop. She bent down and let her forehead rest against the cold tiles of the floor, she was certain that she was going to break into a million pieces. Her hands pressed on either side of her head, palms shoving into her temples, willing the drill to just stop, stop, stop!

Three knocks, and then everything was silent.

"Quinn? You okay?" Huck's voice came through the door.

Quinn had to take two deep breaths before she could speak. "Yeah! I'm fine!" She tried to keep her breathing quiet and normal, but she felt as though she had run a marathon.

A few seconds passed, and then she heard Huck's footsteps in the bedroom go back down the stairs. She swallowed, forcing herself back up, holding on to the vanity and looking up at herself in the mirror. Outside, she looked fine. Normal. Inside, she felt like she had just been in an earthquake. "Get a grip, Perkins." She muttered to herself, pulling off her pajamas. She put on her dress and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. She took the diamond necklace and fastened it around her neck. After checking herself over, she finally opened the door, throwing on her blue short-sleeved cardigan and black pumps before going down the stairs. Huck was standing at the living room window, staring outside. He had changed into khaki pants and one of his regular plaid shirts. He turned as she came in, and walked over to her, unable to help looking her over.

"You've lost a lot of weight," he said, pinching the fabric hanging loosely at her hips that used to be sung against her.

"Thanks, I think?"

"I didn't mean...you're beautiful, Quinn, I'm just worried about you." He took her hand gently. "You ready?"

Quinn nodded, letting him lead her to the car.

…

By the time they got to the hospital, Quinn felt better. It had taken them an hour just to agree on the right shades of color for the walls, but they finally had several cans of paint sitting in the trunk, along with curtains for the bedroom - thick white fabric with tiny yellow flowers along twirling green vines. She felt as ready as she could be.

After checking in with the receptionist, she sat next to Huck.

"You're tense, Quinn." She realized she was sitting straight and rigid on the edge of the chair as he reached for her hand. She tried to sit back.

"I'm just nervous. I've never done anything like this before, obviously."

"You're okay, Quinn." He rubbed circles into her hand with his thumb. "You're safe here. Just relax. You look like a deer about to bolt."

Quinn sighed, but tried to sit more normally, crossing her ankles.

"Quinn Perkins?" A nurse called from the doorway, and they both stood. "I'm sorry, sir, I can only take Miss Perkins back to the office right now, if you want to wait here?"

Quinn looked at Huck, and he nodded. "Go. You'll be fine. I'll be right here when you're done, I'm not going anywhere." He gave her a quick kiss as he let go of her hand, watching her walk through the doors, which clicked shut, and she disappeared.

He sank back down into the chair. He knew something was off this morning with her, and he could only hope that this would help her.

He prayed that his finally saying that he loved her hadn't caused her to push away.

…

"She'll be right with you, Miss Perkins," The nurse said, gesturing for Quinn to sit on the fluffy white couch before shutting the door. Quinn sat and looked around. There was a window to the left, looking out onto the courtyard. A bookshelf full of books, a few potted plants. An armchair a few feet in front of her. The walls a muted beige, the color of coffee with lots of cream. It really was a calm and relaxing room, but she still felt on edge.

Two knocks, and the door opened. "Quinn Perkins?" A woman came in, tall and blonde, pretty in a very professional way. Quinn stood to shake her hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. Wexler. Have a seat." They both sat, Quinn on the couch and Dr. Wexler in the armchair. "So, Quinn, from the notes I recieved from Dr. Mitchell, I gather you're concerned about the possibility of PTSD?" Quinn nodded. "Okay, well the first thing I'd like to do is talk about what symptoms you're experiencing. If we can diagnose you correctly, then we can talk about a treatment plan. PTSD is characterized by three categories of symptoms. The first is hyperarousal. Things like being on edge, trouble sleeping, feeling wired...have you experienced anything like this?"

"Well, I haven't had trouble sleeping, I've had nightmares, but not trouble like insomnia or anything, I sleep fine. I do sometimes feel...jumpy? And my thoughts….they start racing and I can't get it to stop."

"Okay...have you avoided things, like things that you think may remind you of your trauma? Or things you used to enjoy?"

Quinn looked at her hands, remembering what happened when she ended up in the basement of the house they had looked at. "Yes. Yes, I...can't go in dark enclosed places. I don't think I can be around a drill or drilling sounds….I'm not sure, but….I'm not sure if I will be able to have sex again without…" her voice faded.

"It's okay, Quinn. This is what I'm here for. I'm going to help you, we just need to get the basics done first. Have you felt depressed, guilty, or generally numb?"

"Yes…I've felt depressed...and guilty….to the point that I push my...boyfriend...away."

"Have you had any re-experiencing symptoms? Things like flashbacks, nightmares which you already mentioned, frightening thoughts? Sometimes things and places can be triggers."

"Yeah….yes. All of it."

"Have you had any suicidal thoughts?"

Quinn paused. "I...not specifically. Not 'I wish I was dead." More like a feeling, if that makes sense."

"Yes, Quinn, I understand that. You do have the classic symptoms of PTSD, and for good reason. Your chart says you were raped and tortured by your ex-boyfriend, correct?"

"...yes," Quinn whispered.

Dr. Wexler leaned forward. Quinn had to admit she was very nice, and easy to talk to. "I'd like to have you start on medication. It would help lessen the panic attacks, and help stop the racing thoughts and depression. Would you feel comfortable with that?" Quinn nodded as Dr. Wexler pulled a prescription pad from her pocket. "I'm going to put you on Prozac, which you'll want to take two, once daily. Try to take it with food, some people get sick if they take it on an empty stomach. We'll try that, and change if it doesn't work for you. The pharmacy will give you a sheet, which will list the instructions. Okay? Are you comfortable with this?"

"Yes," said Quinn. Dr. Wexler handed her the paper.

"Now, I think right now, with the kind of trauma you've experienced and how severe your symptoms are right now, I'd like to see you here starting with twice a week, and we can do more or less if needed. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes, I can do that, whatever you need from me."

"Let's talk for a minute. You mentioned a boyfriend?"

"Yes, Huck. We just moved into a house together."

"This is the same man who rescued you, correct? I think it was either mentioned in your chart or in the note from Dr. Mitchell."

"Yes...he saved me. Twice. He found me in...Charlie's apartment...and again when I...was…"

"He found you when you were being tortured." Dr. Wexler finished for her, and Quinn nodded. "He saved you twice. He sounds like a good man, and I'm glad to hear you're living together, he can be a great support for you right now. Have you been able to talk to him about these symptoms, what you're feeling?"

"No...yes...sortof. He's been there, he's helped me through panic attacks. It's hard for me to...talk to him about my feelings…"

"You're afraid he's going to reject you?"

"...yes. Before...before Charlie took me, I had found Huck's family, the one he had thought he lost. He got mad because I meddled in his business. I told him….I told him I loved him…" Quinn's voice broke.

"And he rejected you."

"He said he never wanted to speak to me again."

"And that's when Charlie happened."

Quinn nodded. "That's when Charlie happened."

"And then Huck rescued you. Not once but twice."

"He told me he loved me. Last night, he told me he loved me."

"And how did you respond? Were you afraid?"

"I told him I loved him. And I do, I love him. God, I love him. I owe him everything. He's been so good to me, and he has absolutely no reason to."

Dr. Wexler shook her head. "You see, Quinn, he does. He loves you. You treat the people you love good, you pick them up when they fall down. You don't feel like you deserve his love."

"No."

"You have trouble telling him your feelings because you're afraid he's going to reject you because you don't feel good enough."

Quinn nodded. "This morning...this morning, my thoughts started racing. I started….panicing. I tried to hide it, I went into the bathroom. He asked if I was okay, and I lied."

"Can you tell me more about this panic attack, what you felt?"

"I had been wondering if there was something wrong with me. If I was broken, if Charlie...broke me. That's when my thoughts started racing. We were talking about paint. It got so bad, I wanted to scream. I went upstairs to our bathroom...that's when I started hearing it."

"Hearing what?"

A tear slid down Quinn's cheek. "The drill. I heard the drill. I heard the drill and I couldn't move….I couldn't get out, I couldn't turn it off…..I couldn't turn it off, I kept hearing the drill, and it wouldn't stop!" Quinn's hands clutched her heart as she started sobbing. "It wouldn't stop, I couldn't make it stop!"

…

Huck sat in the chair, watching the people come in and out. Old ladies, kids, men. He tried not to worry about Quinn, he knew she would be fine. He just watched people go by.

"Is there a Huck here? For Miss Perkins?" He turned, and a nurse was calling from the doorway. He stood up. "Are you Huck?" He nodded. "Please come with me, you're needed in the office…" His heart began pounding as he followed on the nurse's heels. Something was wrong.

He walked into the office, the nurse closed the door behind him. Quinn was doubled over on the couch, rocking back and forth, sobbing. He ran over, ignoring the doctor, grabbing her shoulders. "Quinn! Quinn, I'm here! I'm here, Quinn, I've got you. Look at me." He took his hand and gently lifted her chin, and her eyes met his, streaked with tears, teeth clenched together and bared. The pain and anguish on her face was prominent ans he took her hands, prying them from her chest. "I'm here, Quinn, I've got you." He wrapped his arms around her, moving up to sit beside her as she leaned into him. He kissed her hair, stroking her back as she clutched his shirt, hushing her. "I've got you, Quinn. You're okay, I'm here...I'm here, I've got you." He finally glanced at the doctor, who gave a small nod, scooting closer to them.

"Quinn, try to calm down. Slow your breathing. You're in a safe place. You are safe here."

Gradually, as Huck rythmically stroked her hair, Quinn began to calm. Slowly, she sat up, and the doctor offered her a box of tissues. "Huck, I'm Dr. Wexler. It's nice to meet you."

"What happened?"

"Quinn was telling me about her panic attack this morning, and she began having a flashback."

"Wait, you had a panic attack this morning?" Huck turned to Quinn, who looked at him guiltily. He brought his hand up to caress her cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dr. Wexler spoke. "She is afraid you'll reject her. Shes afraid that by telling you her feelings, she will push you away."

"Is this my fault?" Huck asked.

"No, not at all," Dr. Wexler said. "It's very common for victims to feel unworthy of love or help, and sometimes it is hard to trust someone they care about with these kinds of feelings."

"I'm sorry, Huck…" Quinn squeaked.

"Don't be sorry, Quinn, you're fine. I just want to help you. But I want you to be able to tell me when you need help."

"What you'll need to do, Huck," Dr. Wexler said, "is watch. Look for signs that she may be having a trigger moment, or a flashback. If she looks dizzy, is breathing heavily, sweating. Then, let her know the you're available, you're there for her. Comfort her. Don't force her to open to you, because she needs to feel comfortable." She turned to Quinn. "Quinn, you need to try to talk to Huck. Tell him occasionally how you feel. Very simple 'I' statements, just say 'I feel happy,' 'I feel depressed,' ' I feel stressed.' Elaborate on it or not, but just randomly let him know how you feel. It will help you become more comfortable trusting him to accept your feelings." She turned back to Huck. "You did a very wonderful job of calming her down. Just letting her know you're there for her without being overbearing is just what she needs when she's breaking down. She just needs to know you're there, that she's in a safe place. But, I am concerned if these attack get any worse. If they do, I'd like to admit her into the hospital where we can work on getting her thoughts and emotions under control. But, I don't want to do that now. I feel like she can handle it as long as she has you, and she's going to start her medication, which should also help."

Huck turned to Quinn. "Are you okay with this, do you think you can do this?"

She nodded, blowing her nose. "Huck," Dr. Wexler said, "do you think you can handle being her support?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for her."

"Quinn," Dr. Wexler said, "did you hear that? That's what someone says when they love you. You didn't have to do anything to deserve that love. He loves you and wants to support you and help you, he's not asking for anything in return. But you need to meet him halfway, you need to help him help you. Work on talking to him, work on letting him in. It's going to be hard, but it will help you and help your relationship with each other." As she spoke, Huck gently took Quinn's hand and cradled it in his. Quinn nodded, looking up at him.

"I'll try," she whispered. "I'll try."

"I'd like to see you twice a week, as I said, so I'll see you in a few days, but I would like you to work on talking." Quinn nodded, and they all stood. "The receptionist can make your next appointments, and probably schedule a few in advance." Quinn nodded and started back down the hallway. "Huck…" Dr. Wexler said softly, pressing a card into his hand, "This is my direct phone number, as well as my office line and the crisis hotline. If she has another attack or breakdown and you can't get her back to reality, call me. If I don't answer, use your best judgement and either call the crisis hotline or bring her to the ER. Right now the risk is very real, but I don't believe right now that putting her in the hospital this second will be of any benefit to her."

Huck nodded. "I'll take care of her."

"I know you will," said Dr. Wexler. "Take care."

Huck caught up with Quinn at the reception desk. "We'll see you back Friday at 1, and every Tuesday and Friday for the next three weeks, okay?" the receptionist asked.

"Yeah, that's fine," Quinn said, taking the appointment card. "Thank you." She turned to Huck and let him take her hand as they walked back to the car.

Before he pulled out, Huck spoke. "Are you okay, Quinn?"

"Yeah. I'm just tired," she said. Her voice was weak and small, but Huck didn't push her as he drove them home. When they got home, he opened her door for her.

"Why don't you go lay down for a bit. Rest." She nodded, not speaking as she walked up to the house. She felt so drained. she kicked off her heels, leaving them laying on the floor as she climbed onto the bed and curled up.

...

Huck could tell the appointment had taken a lot out of her. Hopefully laying down for a while would help. He opened the trunk, hauling a box of paint out to take into the house.

Once he got the paint and curtains into the house, he stood in the doorway to the living room. The boxes were all in the middle of the room, and the couch, chairs, end tables, coffee table, and bookcase were all against the far wall, the TV leaning against the wall waiting to be mounted.

'Well, no time like the present,' Huck thought. He grabbed the sheet of plastic and began spreading it across the floor, and then pried open a can of light sky blue paint.

…

When Quinn woke, the room was significantly darker. The dark clouds full of rain hovered in the sky outside. She looked over at the clock; she had been asleep for two hours. Stretching, she sat up. She felt better, in a way, but also slightly depressed, as though she had failed someone in some way. It didn't make much sense, and she was still too mentally tired to try to figure it out as she turned to stand. As she did, a loud bang came from downstairs that froze her in her tracks. It took a minute for her mind to start working again, and she realized that there was only one thing it could be. Huck.

She ran down the stairs and found Huck standing in front of a ladder that had fallen sideways and apparently knocked a box off of the top of a stack.

"Sorry!" Huck said. "I bumped the ladder when I bent over. Did I wake you?"

"No...Huck, you look...you look ridiculous."

"What?"

"You're…" Quinn started laughing. "You're covered in paint!"

Huck had taken off his plaid shirt and was wearing what once used to be a white t-shirt and khaki pants but were now covered in splotches of blue paint. A bit of blue paint smeared on his face, where he had obviously scratched his cheek with paint-covered hands.

"Well...it happens." He chuckled, shrugging. "I was just going to quit for the day anyways, tomorrow if you want to help, we might get the bedroom done, too."

"I'll help. I've never painted before, but it can't be that hard. I think I might be able to keep myself a bit cleaner than you, at least," she teased.

"Yeah, I'll jump in the shower before we figure out dinner. I didn't think I'd get this crazy with the paint."

"Maybe tomorrow you should just paint naked. Easier cleanup." Quinn wiggled her eyebrows at him as he shook his head, laughing. He went up the stairs, and she stood, looking at his work. He really had done a good job. Not a drop of paint on the trim or the ceiling. Only the wall with the window was still white.

She heard the shower turn on upstairs, and her thoughts turned to Huck. He was so good to her, and her heart ached at the thought of just how good to her he had been. He had saved her life over and over. He loved her. She looked again at the blue walls, trying and failing to imagine what her life would be like if she had never met him. She didn't want a life without him. Her heart cried out for him, and she found herself slowly climbing the stairs.

She knew what her body wanted.

Stepping into the bedroom, her hand found the zipper at the back of the dress and pulled, letting it fall to the floor. Her bra and panties followed suit before she stepped into the bathroom silently. It was already steamy from the hot water, and she saw the outline of Hucks body in the shower. She opened the shower door and slipped in just as Huck's eyes opened and connected with hers, blinking to make sure she was real.

"Quinn…" He breathed.

"Shhh…." she came toward him and pressed her lips to his. He froze for a moment, confused, but soon brought his hands to pull her close, his fingers tickling her back, winding in her hair. His wet skin against hers sent shockwaves through her body, and she couldn't stop. Her tongue entered his mouth as he pressed her against the shower wall with his body. His hands found her wrists as he brought them up, holding them above her head as he had done the first time they had ever kissed. His lips trailed down to her neck, and she found herself unable to stifle a small moan.

A deep rumble came from Huck's chest as he came back up, attacking her lips with renewed fervor. She felt him pressed against her, hard and as ready as she was and she loosened her wrist from his hand, gently trailing it down to touch him. Breathing heavily, Huck pulled away and looked into Quinn's eyes.

"Are you sure you want to?" He asked.

"Yes," she breathed, pulling him to her, and Huck kissed her again, her mouth opening wide as he pushed himself into her.

No, she had no regrets, no wishing they had waited, no flashbacks from the violent past. She was submerged in a shower of bliss, and she was home with him.

…

A/N:

Yeah. That just happened.

BREATHE.

Sorry for the longer wait than usual - I had a research paper to write on plagiarism and very little time given to do it in, but I finally got it done. And MLA formatting can go die. In a hole. With a bomb. I hate it.

I also feel I have to note that even though I try to be as factual as possible, I want to point out that everything about PTSD mentioned here is true. I had a friend under the impression only soldiers could get PTSD. That is false - you can develop PTSD from any traumatic event.

With the sex, I'm trying to be as tasteful as possible without sounding like some porn story. Hopefully I accomplished that tonight.

Hope you're still enjoying this as much as I am!