The Therapist

by Alextheleo

Rhiannon Gallagher is the luckiest therapist in Mystic Falls when she takes on Elena Gilbert as a patient. With secrets of her own, she’s eager to help the struggling, secretive girl after her parents’ deaths. When an entire supernatural pariah soon follows, her office not only fills, but she becomes more involved. What could possibly go wrong? (Will go M at some point)

2. Two

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."

—John Steinbeck

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Chapter Two

6:30 AM, September 12th, 2009

Home

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Rhiannon.

Yelling in fear as I sit up, I clutch my necklace tightly as my breath comes out in terrified gasps. Heart pounding loudly, I barely register the sound of my alarm droning on the radio about another 'animal attack', finally turning it off after a few moments once I catch my breath.

That dream had been exceptionally horrifying.

I could still see flashes of the horrible image every time my eyes closed. Running my hands through my now-sweaty brown hair, I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth as I mentally process the image. Basically, the nightmare had been of a child being gruesomely devoured by a group of monsters. Vampires.

As my heart rate finally starts to slow, I wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand, spotting a crack of the early dawn sky through my blinds. Glancing over at the alarm clock again now that I'm fully awake, I see that I've woken thirty minutes before my alarm and groan.

If the stupid scary dream is going to wake me up early, can't it at least give me an hour so I can get a little sleep in before work?

Rolling out of my fussed-up bedsheets, I realize that in my sleep, I've tossed my comforter off my queen-size mattress when I trip over said blanket, landing firmly on my ass. Letting out another groan and a slight disbelieving chuckle at how my morning is already going, I sit up in my pajama shorts, tiredly rubbing my eyes with a yawn as I walk into my bathroom.

Blearily reaching into my standing shower, I crank the water as hot as possible, eager to wash off the last night's sweaty fit with my loofah and tea tree body wash.

Climbing in proves to be an excellent decision, because almost immediately, the last night is erased once the hot water hits my back. I do a little victory dance at the quick conquering of my not-so-fabulous early morning.

Let's hope the rest of today goes a bit better.

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Lunch

12:05PM, September 12th, 2009

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Okay, so, the rest of the day hasn't gotten better.

Sighing into the freshly-opened tuna salad sandwich in my hands, I jolt in surprise when someone knocks on the frame of my open office door, dropping said sandwich.

After a gasp of disappointed shock as my perfectly good sandwich hits the shag carpet, I narrow my eyes at the male figure standing at the door to my office. Dressed in all black, tall, and sexy as hell, I'm very confused as to why this mid-20s Abercrombie and Fitch model is in my office, and if he is a walk-in, what possible problems could the guy coated in Varvatos have?

Well, actually, the bigger question is more so 'what problems did this guy's obvious ego create for him?'

Smirking darkly at me from my doorframe, he's very obviously checking me out with that cold, blue gaze as I bend down slightly in my exercise ball to grab the sandwich and toss it directly into the trash. Raising my brow at the attractive, shaggy, black-haired man, my hands fold on my desk professionally and I smile politely at the stranger.

"Did Dana check you in already?" I ask, nonplussed as I eagerly reach for my notepad, wanting already to sort through what I could see was a very, in-need-of-my-help brain.

His smirk drops momentarily, showing me that he wasn't expecting that answer. What answer was he expecting? Rolling my exercise ball around my desk, I grab one of the spare blank sign-up pamphlets from the basket by the beanbags, gesturing for him to come and take a seat in front of me.

Clearly a bit put off by my reaction, he scoffs.

"You want me to sit on a beanbag? What are we? Four?" The dark, handsome stranger sarcastically asks, clearly still trying to lay on the charm thick for me.

"Yup, it was my birthday yesterday," I nonchalantly rapid-fire back, not having time for his deflection techniques since I only had an hour of my lunch left before Mr. Grundy would be in for his appointment. Fixing him with a look, I glance between him and the beanbag before raising my eyes at how childish he's being.

Childish. Uses sarcasm to deflect. Clearly isn't here for help.

But, that's what he was going to get, because Rhiannon Gallagher was nothing if not a stubborn digger into the human psyche.

"Are you going to take a seat? My lunch break ends soon, and I'd hate for this to be a waste of both of our times," I inform him with an arch of my brows. His fierce blue eyes framed by those thick, dark lashes glow a bit brighter at the prodding.

His lips finally retreating into a semi-reserved smile, I can tell just how angry he is at being bossed around by me, for any reason.

Doesn't respect authority. Easy to anger.

The handsome stranger lands in an effortless huff on the beanbag opposite me, and I hand him the packet of entry paper as well as my pen. His gaze takes on a lustful tone when I lean forward to explain some of the paperwork, so I lean back as soon as I hand them to him, crossing my black-slack covered legs while maintaining balance on the exercise ball. Once you have one of these for long enough, your core strength is like iron.

I feel his eyes staring hard at me as I reached over to grab a new pen for myself, and I can't tell whether it's curiously or hungrily.

Slightly predatory behavior. (in the psychotic way, not the other one)

I continue to jot down on my notepad, blinking when I realize that there's no name at the top of the yellowed paper.

"What's your name, stranger?" I ask primly as I slide on my reading glasses that had been hanging on the collar of my white button-up shirt.

His blue eyes are intrigued by me now, glancing from me to my notepad. "What's that for?" He asks, suspicious of what I'm doing.

Was he not aware that I'm a therapist?

Interesting. Then, why was he here?

I decided I didn't really care whether he knew or not, it was obvious he needed one. What a strike of divine intervention.

Smiling up at him, he blinks a bit at me like he didn't know my face could do that when I glance back up at him through my reading glasses. Grey eyes clashing with his blue, I decide then and there to act like I haven't noticed that he's after something else. He would be much more open to communication without getting suspicious.

I would just continue to be the oblivious young woman he wasn't expecting.

"The packet you have there is to confirm your introduction into my therapy sessions. This, here in my hand, is going to be all about you. In fact, it'll be my 'Guidebook to the Stranger in My Office.' Quirks I notice, notes to help me prepare for your next visit, etc. Problem is, it doesn't have a name at the top. Yours?" I ask again.

The stranger's eyes narrow defensively, but his posture stays relaxed, almost as if accepting my digging begrudgingly because he was curious where it'd lead.

"Damon Salvatore," he introduces with an eye roll, irritated with himself for falling for my baiting. Was he a relative of Zach's as well? The loner was having a full-on family reunion down at that boardinghouse.

Self-aware.

Smiling warmly up at him as a reward, he proceeds to lean closer to me, getting very into my personal space as he moves closer, nearly a foot or two away from me, and my smile drops. Intimidation tactic? Or is he just not used to someone telling him what to do? Basically, it was obvious that if I gave an inch as his therapist he would swipe the next 10 miles and a gas station.

Firmly looking him in the eye without being distracted by his closeness, I have to admire this Damon Salvatore. I don't know what is exactly the point of this assault on my personal bubble, but I know what the description for the symptom is. "Damon, I've been a therapist for 6 years now. It takes more than that to make me uncomfortable."

His blue eyes flash at the challenge. Smirking playfully but in an almost feral way, Damon Salvatore flirts, "I'd love to see just how much it takes to make you uncomfortable, Doctor."

Disregard for the feelings of others. Narcissistic. Uses sexuality as a weapon when defensive.

Taking off my glasses so he knows I'm serious, I look him deeply in the eye as I push him back into the beanbag with one finger on his firm chest. "No such luck, Chuckles," I say as he pouts childishly at me from the beanbag.

"I'm your therapist," I emphasize with a wave of my pen, "I'm not your friends-with-benefits or your emotional-support booty call. If you're looking for that type of patient-therapist relationship, I recommend you go to Mrs. Worthington's office, downtown. She's settling evenly into her forties, so I'm sure her mid-life crisis is more than ready to take on a young man of your stature."

Yes, she's married, but I doubt she'll care.

What? I hate her.

Okay, maybe 'hate' was a strong word, but I really didn't like her business practices. She is in the Council's pocket, so any information of interest that her patients give her is automatically up for grabs amongst the elite of Mystic Falls. I don't like disrespecting my clientele like that, but Damon could put up with her if he wasn't here to put in actual work.

Damon didn't seem to be taking the hint though, smug smile on his face as he leans back against the beanbag, "Have you actually seen yourself, Doc? I'd be an idiot to go anywhere else."

Liar, that's not why you're here.

Flushing again at the compliment to my appearance, as per usual, Damon chuckles in what he thinks is his victory, leaning forward and placing his large, cool hand on my knee. Promptly smacking it off, I look at the now-irritated Damon with indifference, not caring that he wasn't getting what he wanted.

Used to getting what he wants. Manipulative. Intelligent. Impulsive.

I can't help but feel a bit frustrated that he wasn't just following along the 'ignorant therapist who is well-intentioned, but clearly blind' idea. We were already ten minutes in, and I had barely even started digging.

"Damon, if you're not here for therapy, why are you here?" I finally ask, standing from my exercise ball and putting my notepad and pen back on my desk, my back facing him as I also put my reading glasses back in their place. This had turned out to be a complete tease of a riveting mind to help, and I once again cursed whoever decided to make today a bad day. Not to mention, the guy had killed my tuna sandwich; a double revelation that made my stomach roll emptily.

"Well, I might not be here for therapy, but I do need your help," he sighs, the Salvatore's voice sounding as tired as I felt. Feeling hands suddenly on my shoulders, I gasp as I'm spun around into Damon, his eyes fierce on mine. I see his pupils fluctuate violently, and instead of being angry, I immediately get concerned that something is wrong with him.

His focus doesn't waver, still piercing my gray eyes with his blue, before saying resolutely, "Don't scream, don't panic. You're going to give me everything you have on Elena Gilbert."

Oh.

Dangerous. Aggressive.

Was that supposed to be convincing?

Reaching my hand back on my desk as he continues to hungrily look me over, I make sure my face is a blank mask as I find my perfume bottle and promptly raise it up, spraying the vervain-drenched alcohol into his face.

Damon gasps in pain at the sudden burning, grabbing at his eyes as he releases me and lands blindly back onto his respective beanbag. I sigh, not wanting to have had to do this to the guy, but you know, can't trust every vampire running around. Glancing down at his painfully obvious, and somewhat-tacky daylight ring, I roll my ball back to the other side of my desk, taking a seat.

Clearly getting on his level wasn't working, he didn't respect me as an equal.

And that's fine, you shouldn't force respect. It's just going to be a bit problematic for his treatment, so we had plenty to work on. Grabbing the small silver key from around my neck, I unlock the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk, promptly grabbing the Glock inside and turning off the safety as I poke my head into the hallway.

"Hey, Dana?" I call out, and I see her sweet brunette head pop out from around the corner with a raised brow, not even aware that I had someone in my office. "Would you mind calling the rest of my appointments today and clearing them out? I'm feeling under the weather."

"Yes, Ms. Gallagher!" She calls back, blissfully unaware. He probably compelled her, too. "Do you want me to wait for you to lock up?"

Shaking my head as Damon finally starts getting his bearings again, I smile warmly at the girl.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about me and head on out. Be safe out there, Dana!" I close the door after I finish telling her to leave, instead pointing the Glock loaded with wooden bullets at Damon Salvatore's chest.

He glares fiercely at me, skin still burning around his eyes, and I genuinely feel bad for having to do that to get him to respect my boundaries. We both walk around each other cautiously until my back is leaned up against my wall so he can't flash behind me.

"Listen, Damon," I say firmly, the gun feeling almost like a part of myself from how much I've used it. "I don't want to hurt you, but you need to not hurt me, too. There's no need for this to escalate. I'm not going to report you to the Council. Believe it or not, I'm more inclined to not tell them that you're here."

Damon scoffs, gaze bitter and cold, "Sure, Dr. Phil."

"I'm serious," I reply steadily, knowing that if he moves aggressively in any way a wooden bullet is going through his heart. Pulling out my wallet from my jeans, I pull out a photo, shooting arm not wavering. "My ex-husband," — I walk closer to him with the gun still aimed, giving him the photo respectfully as he snatches it from my hand, angrily scanning the old wedding photo, "—he was a vampire, too. Split up mutually, and he's still a good friend of mine. I have nothing against your kind."

His gaze narrows in suspicion briefly, but I see his eyebrows raise in slight surprise when he sees Adam's gaudy daylight ring on his finger. "Huh," he says, not to anyone in particular, "Would you look at that."

Crystalline eyes raise back to meet mine, disbelief etched on his face in an almost-funny expression.

"He didn't turn a smoke show like you?" Damon glances down at Adam's still smile before his eyes snap back and forth between me and the still-image before squinting at the photo like my ex had lost his mind, "That guy is an idiot."

Face heating up from the compliment at yet another inopportune moment, I roll my eyes at Damon's commentary. After a moment of checking his gaze to see if I think he's still going to kill me, I really just want to put my tiring arm down.

"Damon, if you're going to keep trying to kill me I need to know now so I don't get my hopes up about putting my a down anytime soon," I say nonchalantly, violently contrasting to the dangerous situation i was insinuating.

He's testing me. But why? And what are the repercussions for passing and failing?

I never have to find out, I guess, because as Damon's face heals itself in front of me miraculously, he shrugs as if he never intended to harm me in the first place.

"Fine. I'll keep you alive.. for now," he adds, wicked smile letting me know that he 100% means it. "If you tell me all about Elena Gilbert."

Immediately, I mimic the sound of a buzzer going off for a wrong answer on a game show, and he rolls his eyes back at me, clearly getting frustrated by how off-the-rails his spy mission has gone paired with how difficult I'm being.

Impatient. Impetuous.

"Wrong-o, Damon," I say with a cock of my hip against the wall, placing the gun back on the table to prove a point as Damon arches a dark brow at me curiously.

"You're a grown man, and a vampire. If I thought you were stupid enough not to know how the law works, I'd explain further, but I actually can't tell you anything any of my patients tell me. In fact, I can't even confirm or deny whether Elena Gilbert is even my patient. No offense to you, but I did over six years of schooling and two years of internships to get this job, Salvatore. I'd rather have my throat ripped out with those pretty white teeth of yours than lose my license."

Damon looks, if not slightly shocked, a bit amused, and the second a wry grin cracks across his handsome face, I know I've passed whatever test this was.

"You're crazy," he announces, finally reaching his own conclusions on my character. "But, you're an entertaining little human, so I'll let you live."

He pauses, eyes taking on a murderous glint before continuing, "If, however, I hear a whisper of a word of you going to the Council, you'll wish I killed you today."

Blinking at the threat, I nod as Damon walks back up to me, trapping me up against the wall yet again. He's trying to make me nervous again, so I do some mental grounding techniques to try and keep my heartbeat steady.

Damon's looking for a reaction to his antics. He leans even closer, to where if I leaned forward even slightly, we'd be brushing noses. Damon is a very handsome man, stark jawline, bad attitude, and all, but I know that he's just trying to push my buttons and scare me.

Pushes people who try to get close away. Sociopathic tendencies. Emotionally sporadic. Selfish. Places humans firmly in the 'pet' category.

Damon comes ever closer, brushing his lips against my cheek before pulling back to see my unamused face. Chuckling at my reaction like I'm an amusing toy to him, he pinches the cheek he's just pecked with a mock-scowl, before smirking down darkly at me. "Ta ta for now, Rhiannon."

Then, he vanishes, leaving me in my office, alone, with a ruined tuna fish sandwich and a blush firmly claiming my cheeks.

That's going to be a difficult case, I think with a sigh as I drop down to the floor, heart pounding at my near-death experience. Taking a few moments to myself, I straighten my blouse and pants as I stand back up, starting to tidy up my office now that my appointments were canceled for the day. I had needed a day off, anyways.

Now, the real question was, what was a vampire doing around the teenage Elena Gilbert, and why did he want to know more about her? Obviously, he's someone from Zach's brood, god knows when; but, why was he back in Mystic Falls in the first place? He knows about the Council, he knows this place isn't safe, so why is a

Did this mean that the Stefan that she told me about is also a vampire?

Groaning at the overwhelming amount of questions rattling in my brain, I glance down and see Damon's packet of information. Grabbing it to toss the blank pages back onto the basket of papers, I freeze when I see that he's filled out the form in it's entirety, me flipping the pages to ensure so and seeing that on the very last page, he had left something rather interesting in the next appointment section:

—

I, the patient, wish to continue my visitations with Gallagher Therapy Center. The next date that works best for me is:

Next Appt. Date: September 22, 2009

Signature: Damon Salvatore

919-399-2507

— See you soon

x,

D.S.

—

What a douche, I think with a grin as I place the packet in an empty folder, grabbing a sharpie to pen in my latest patient's name on the label.

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Thanks for all the likes and comments guys, this is super exciting since this is my first fanfic. Also, thanks for the read in general, you're valued and appreciated.

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