"What's bothering you?"
His palms smooth down his pants. "Nothing really," he mumbles.
"It's something," Dr. Crawford says.
He knows it's his anxious hands that give him away— he had never been one to be able to sit still, even as a child.
"Is your boss doing okay?"
He looks up from the scratch in the hardwood floor he'd been staring at for at least the last three or four minutes.
"She's been great," he tells her. And he thinks these short answers aren't going to fly for much longer, so he decides to elaborate. "She's in therapy of her own, and it seems to be really helping.
He watches as she gives a nod before making a note in her binder. He wondered what it was that she could be writing.
"That doesn't mean something isn't bothering you," Leah comments.
He sighs. There was something bothering him. Had been since before she'd even been treated at Landstuhl… Even before he'd known she was alive. The feelings, the question, was crawling up over his skin, eating away at his brain as he tried to fall asleep at night.
"She didn't tell me she was going to Iran," he says. He leans forwards in the chair, elbows resting on his knees and— "And not only did she not tell me, but she made it point not to." He sits back. "That's the part I can't understand." His right shoulder raises before he lets it fall. "She trusts me with everything, but for some reason she didn't with this, and I can't figure out why."
"Have you asked her about it?"
He shakes his head as his gaze drops to his shoes. "She's been doing so well. I don't want to upend that progress she's made."
"Blake," Leah mutters.
His eyes lift, meeting hers.
"You have your own needs too," she says. "Ask her."
He thinks that's easier said than done.
~MS~
He hovers in the doorway, watching as she reads through the policy brief he'd placed on her desk not even twenty minutes ago. She wets the pad of her thumb before flipping through the packet to another page.
They were having a quiet day. She hadn't had one of those in so long. The last thing he wanted was to turn this quiet day, the one she more than deserved, more than needed, into one where he dragged up those awful memories.
Her bad days were becoming far and few between. She had flare ups of course, and yes, they still watered down some aspects of her schedule— still giving frequent rest breaks and keeping her feed and well hydrated. Though he'd argue that someone without PTSD would have those same needs.
"I see you there, you know." She's looking towards him now. "What's wrong Blake?" She asks. "You're hovering but not in your usual way."
He ducks his head and steps into the room, and just for good measure he softly closes the door to her office.
That must pique her interest because— "Okay, now you're officially scaring me." When he turns, he sees her straighten up in her chair. "What happened?"
He swallows down the lump in his throat as he approaches her desk. "I need to ask you something," he tells her. She's searching his eyes now. "And I need an honest answer."
She folds her hands in her lap. "Okay," she mumbles.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to Iran?"
He watches as her eyes fall to her desk, landing on the binder she'd just been flipping through. She lets out a breath before her head lifts up, and her stare meets his again. "Sit." She points to the couch as she pushes up from her chair.
His heart pounds —he doesn't understand why he's nervous— as he sits back against the cushions.
She had rounded the corner of her desk, and now her arms are crossed over her chest as she leans back against the edge of the wood. He doesn't question the stance— it was her way of keeping control.
"You know—" She begins quietly, and while her eyes are pointed towards the floor, he's watching her face closely. "—Russell. Conrad. Henry. They all told me no."
"I would have too," he comments.
She gives him a glance. "I know."
She's quiet for a moment, and if he listens hard enough, he can hear her breath, the ruffling of silk as her chest rises and falls.
"Henry came from an emotional standpoint. Conrad and Russell from a logistical one."
She leans back on the point of her heel before letting the sole slap down against the carpet.
"And you..." The look on her face makes it seem like she's chewing on the inside of her cheek. "You would have given me both. You would have brought up the kids, and—" She shrugs a shoulder up to her ear before letting it drop. She nods, and then— "You would have been the one who convinced me not to go. And I needed to."
She looks his way. "That's why I didn't tell you," she says.
Of all the reasons he'd been turning over in his head, this one, he hadn't considered.
"I thought you didn't trust me," he tells her.
"I trust you too much." She smiles. "I trust you with everything I have, and that's exactly why I couldn't tell you."
And he thinks what they say about trust is true— being told you're trusted is the biggest compliment.