Happy Enough by SLynn

Disclaimer: Any character you recognize, not mine.

Chapter 27: Issues

Dr. Tracey hadn't been too happy with him. He knew she wouldn't be, especially after he cancelled his appointment the day before. That and he felt horrible. Greg wasn't even on medication right now, not until next week, but he felt horrible. And if he looked like he felt, it had to be bad. Maybe that was why she'd asked so many questions.

Greg couldn't really tell her everything; most of it was personal and had nothing to do with his treatment. He hadn't been sleeping well but he had begun eating better which she'd been glad to hear. Greg hadn't been able to touch anything from a drive thru since this whole mess began, grease made him sicker then usual, so he'd been forced to learn to cook for himself. But these last weeks, while off the meds, he'd been holding done his food better in general and had actually put on a little of the weight he'd lost.

Her main concern wasn't his looks however. Dr. Tracey knew what his job was and that she'd never convince him to take it easier then he already was. Her real concern was his attitude. She thought that group therapy was no longer enough. That maybe it was time for him to see a professional that could help him specifically and not just about the cancer. Dr. Tracey also wanted him back on anti-depressants immediately, but deferred the final say on it to the psychiatrist. The whole thing made Greg pretty angry, but he'd agreed to it. She'd even set up his first session.

That night he'd called in to work and let them know he was staying home. It was the most normal he'd felt. All he did was stay inside, played some video games, read a little, slept and ate. He'd refused to think about anything else. Anything mostly being that tomorrow morning he'd being having a total stranger listen to him whine about his life for an hour. Basically he was paying someone to be his friend.

His appointment was for nine o'clock and he arrived about ten minutes early. The waiting room was thankfully empty and fairly stark. It reminded him of the lab. Nothing was there without a purpose. Even him.

The door opened and a middle aged man stepped out, shook hands once with the woman accompanying him and turned without another word.

"Greg Sanders?" she asked looking his way, smiling in a genuine way.

"Yes," he answered getting to his feet and walking over to her.

She extended a hand in greeting and he shook it politely. Greg was a bit surprised by her. He'd expected someone much older, someone like Dr. Tracey who had to be close to sixty. Not that he'd ever ask. This woman was closer to his age, older, but not much. Probably early to mid-thirties. She was pretty with long dark hair neatly pinned up. She had deep brown eyes and in heels was his almost exactly his height. He wasn't sure if any of that would make this easier or harder.

"I'm Dr. Sanchez," she greeted as she showed him inside.

The room was nice, but not what he'd expected. It was actually cozy. He'd imagined modern, sleek furniture, but there was none. It was all done in warm tones, probably to help calm nerves. There was a simple oak desk on one side, rows of bookcases, and on the other side of the room were a few chairs and a table.

"I thought there'd be a couch," he said absentmindedly.

Dr. Sanchez laughed.

"Common misconception," she said as she took a seat and motioned him to a nearby chair.

"Do you mind?" she asked indicating a tape recorder.

"Do you usually record your sessions?" he asked, feeling somewhat nervous at the idea.

"Yes, but I won't if it makes you uneasy. I use it to avoid taking notes. Most people have an easier time with the recorder then with me scribbling as they talk. They usually forget it's on by the end of the first hour."

Greg thought he could understand that, but still didn't feel right.

"It's just, I feel like I should have a lawyer present or something," he said trying to make it sound like a joke.

"Considering your line of work, I'm not surprised."

"Dr. Tracey filled you in already?"

"We talked yesterday."

Greg nodded as Dr. Sanchez took out a pad and pen leaving the recorder off.

"Did she tell you I was a basket case?" he asked, again trying for lighter tone but not quite achieving it.

"No. She thinks you're exceptionally bright, just troubled."

Greg said nothing, just flushed slightly.

"Do you usually have a hard time excepting praise?"

"No, I guess not. I don't hear it a lot. Especially not lately."

"What do you hear lately?"

"That I'm sick and that I need help."

"That can't be easy."

"No, it's not but I've gotten use to it."

Not a complete lie, but nearly. Dr. Sanchez wrote something down on her pad.

"So, why have you come here today?"

"That's obvious," Greg answered.

"Nothings obvious."

"Okay," he continued "I'm here because Dr. Tracey told be to be here."

"Do you always do everything you're told?"

"No," Greg said starting to get defensive.

"Then why come?"

"Because I like my job."

"You don't work for Dr. Tracey. She's your physician."

"I know that, but I figured if I didn't show then she'd tell my boss."

"And that bothers you?"

"Wouldn't it bother you?" Greg fired back, now a little more then defensive.

"We're not here to talk about me."

Greg let it sink in for a minute.

"Yes, it does. It bothers me a lot."

"Why would that bother you? Do you think he wouldn't care? That he might think less of you?"

"How do I answer that? Grissom might not care, I don't know. He's not easy to understand. I guess it bothers me because he's my boss. He ultimately has a say over how I get to do my job, if I get to do my job, so come on."

"Come on what?"

"You're really going to make me say it?" he asked in disbelief.

"You don't have to say anything you don't want to."

Greg took in a deep breath.

"Okay," he continued. "So he's my boss. How does that look? I'm in therapy, not group support; this isn't about cancer. You're a real psychiatrist who's probably itching to put me on some heavy sedatives or something. I've had a hard enough time convincing him to give me the job, that I can be serious and now it's like I can't even keep my life together. Who's going to trust me to run a scene? How is he going to trust me to anything after this?"

Again she wrote on her pad, and Greg was wishing now he'd opted for the recorder. The writing was unnerving.

"What about your co-workers? Do you think they feel the same? That they might not trust you?"

"I don't know."

"So you're not close with any of them?"

"They're practically the only friends I have."

"So?"

"So," Greg picked up "I don't know, I guess not. I've been pretty abrasively lately. Short even. I'm not sure what they think of me."

"What's making you feel this way? What makes you angry?"

"Everything. I can't seem to stop myself. It's like my brain to mouth filter is malfunctioning."

She smiled at the imagery.

"Have you discussed this with Dr. Tracey?"

"No. I really only talk to her about the leukemia."

"It could be related," she continued. "You should mention it at your next appointment."

Greg said he would.

The rest of the hour was spent talking about his job. It had been tense at first, but as the time wore down Greg found himself relaxing. Dr. Sanchez was straight forward, something he was use to, but never judgmental. All in all, it had gone well.

"That's our time," she said as a bell rang. He'd never even seen her set a timer.

"Okay," Greg said standing, not sure what to do next.

"I'd like you to come back next week," she continued as she walked over to her desk and looked over her calendar. "Same time good?"

"Yes," he answered. "That works."

"Good," she said handing him her card. "I want you to call me if you need too, any time. My cell phone is there and I always have it with me."

"Is that it then?" Greg asked uncertain. He'd expected a diagnosis maybe. And he had been serious before, he thought she would try to push some type of medication off on him.

"Yes," she answered. "Where you expecting more?"

"Actually, straight jackets and men with nets comes to mind."

"You're not crazy," she said laughing. It was refreshing to have a patient who could at least keep a sense of humor about the situation. Most people who came in were in deep denial or deep depression. Greg, she thought, might be as well, but at least he was still fighting it. "You have issues, that's all. Everyone does. I'm not putting you on medication because right now I don't think you need it. I can't promise that I'll always have this opinion. The day may come when I do think you'll need some extra help. Today is not that day."

"Okay," Greg said nodding, walking with her to the door.

"I hope this experience wasn't as horrify as you'd thought it would be."

"No, it really wasn't."

"Good. Next week then."

"Next week," he said as he walked out, shaking her hand briefly as the man before him had done. Glad he'd come.