Therapy was hard. It was maybe the hardest thing Mouse had ever done. Somehow talking about the first time that he shot a man, the first time he shot a boy, was harder than walking into battle, harder than stepping into the line of fire. But it was also good. For all of them.
Dr. Garner was kind and stern and she didn't put up with Mouse's bullshit, but she also got him water and a blanket and sat with him quietly the first time he had a panic attack on her couch. She reminded him of Erin in the way that she could be both soft and steel at once. And when the panic attack passed, she treated it like an injury, like a bout of illness—despite Mouse's best efforts to shrug it off and move on like nothing had happened. It was refreshing compared to the usual reactions. People tended to either treat him like shattered glass, something irreparably damaged, or pretend nothing was wrong. Somehow what Dr. Garner did was neither of those things. It had happened, and she wouldn't let it pass without comment, but nor did it make him broken. It seemed in some way no different than if he'd had a nose bleed, or a sprained wrist. Something to be cared for carefully, but passing no judgement on his character.
The nightmares got worse, at first. Dr. Garner had told him they probably would. Darkest before the dawn and all that. But he could go back to her and together they would unweave the rat's nest of shadows that had haunted his sleep, and slowly some of the nightmares started to easy just a little.
Erin got happier, lighter, looser, more free with her touch and her words. Jay got tense, and then he relaxed, something seeming to begin to unwind where once it had been unravelling. Therapy was good for all of them.
They slipped back into a rhythm, and he slipped back into the empty space that seemed to be waiting for him in their lives, an empty space that fit just right. A space that made something inside of him feel less empty.
The text comes one evening when Mouse is relaxing at home alone one Thursday. "We're going out for dinner tomorrow," Erin sends. Just as Mouse reads it and is about to tell them to have fun, another text comes through. "Pick you up at 6:30. Wear something nice."
Mouse pulls back, looks around the room as though expecting to see a unicorn or some other hallucination, then reads the text again. He doesn't know what to make of it. Dinner at home is something they do all the time, and they go out to Molly's together sometimes, but this is new. This is odd. This is… a date? The thought flashes through his mind unwilled and he shakes his head to clear it. No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn't it?
He realizes his jaw is clenched and tries to loosen it, still staring at the phone in his hand. He chews at his bottom lip thoughtfully, then shakes his head again. It's probably nothing.
"Okay," he types back, and then sets his phone aside and tries to forget about it for the night—not that it's very effective. He finds his gaze drifting constantly back to his phone, his fingers tapping anxiously against his leg. Not a bad anxiety really, just… uncertainty. He doesn't know what's happening and that makes him nervous.
Time passes agonizingly slowly that night, but finally he flicks off the light and falls into sleep.
The next day is odd.
He's anxious and on edge at work, watching Erin and Jay too closely, his eyes on them at any little movement. And they seem on edge too. He glances up and catches Erin watching him, and she smiles bashfully and looks quickly away. He feels Jay's eyes on him when he goes to refill his coffee. The top of his head tingles when he's staring at his screen, the feeling of being watched. His fingers tap impatiently on the desk. Erin's chair squeaks as she shifts, sounding unusually loud to Mouse's alert ears. It is quiet torture, the way the three of them dance around each other, pretending everything is normal all day, and Mouse feels nervous and bewildered. He had been trying so hard to convince himself there was nothing going on, but clearly something is up.
The day ends. Finally.
Mouse waves at Erin and Jay standing close together by Jay's desk on his way out, chatting with Adam about a new facial recognition program. Adam isn't a tech guy really, but he's curious by nature, and friendly. He knows that tech is something you can always talk to Mouse about.
Mouse's apartment is, as always, quiet and a bit chilly. It's 5:30, which means he has an hour to kill before Erin and Jay pick him up. It feels at once far too long and far too short. Whatever is going on, there's no turning back and it's coming at him full speed ahead. He breathes out slowly, trying to expel the jitters that are ramping up in his stomach.
It's just Jay and Erin. But…
He wanders over to his closet to contemplate his wardrobe. These days it's pretty colourful, if still a little meager. He only has so much to work with, and he's particular about textures which unfortunately often translates into expensive tastes.
His t-shirts are unceremoniously pushed to the side. He fingers a silky striped short-sleeved collared shirt, then runs a thumb over the soft wool of a creamy sweater. While he's put care into the pieces he buys, he still doesn't spend that long usually on putting outfits together. He feels like a kid again, nervously getting ready for a dateless dance. The familiar pang of remembered loneliness hits as he remembers all those years of youth empty of romance. He knew so young that he was different from other guys. With the internet, it didn't take him long to figure it out—for which he's unbelievably grateful. He didn't have to spend long worrying about being broken or wrong, not when the word was right there waiting for him. But he thinks other people could sense there was something different too. Something that kept girls or boys from making a move. And Mouse was too awkward and afraid to make the first move.
Mouse had all but given up on love—and then he met Jay. The first time he realized what he was feeling his heart broke. He could see his hopeless future stretching out before him, and he resigned himself to a lifetime of making do. He knew he would never fall out of love with Jay, and he would never settle for anyone else; not for his own sake, but because no one deserved to be a second choice.
His fingers reach another sweater, a soft grey one; his Christmas present to himself last year. Real cashmere. He's hardly worn it, too afraid of ruining it with some moment of carelessness, some stroke of bad luck. But tonight… Yes. He pulls it out of the closet and lays it on the bed. It's not too fancy, but it's nice. He flicks through his pants, settling more quickly on his nicest black jeans. He's not one for slacks.
5:50. He strips out of his work clothes and slips into the shower to wash the dusty smell of the precinct off of himself, and just because he can. He stands under the warm water for a while, until the anxiety gets the better of him – he thinks to himself that he needs to invest in a waterproof clock for the shower so he never has to worry about losing track of time.
He's dressed and ready, hair carefully put in its place, by 6:15, and then there's nothing to do but wait. It's too close to time to start anything, but he doesn't know what to do with himself. When the knock comes at his door ten minutes early, he pulls it open with a breath of relief. The waiting is done.