Author's Note: This seems to have taken a different style from the others. I'm not sure how well it works. Thanks very much to jjscm01 for being my constant reviewer. You're helping me keep going with this.

"You can't change the past, any of it, and hanging on just eats your life away."

― Soheir Khashoggi, Nadia's Song

Session 1:

Mickey's eyes flickered to the clock on the table next to him. The second hand moved slowly, loudly, in the silence that stretched between him and the counsellor opposite.

They'd been over all the rules. The introductions. The confidentiality agreement. The questionnaires. Now there was nothing left to do but talk.

He could feel the pressure building in his chest.

"How was your week Mickey?"

"Wot?"

"Your week. What have you been up to?"

Mickey frowned in confusion.

"I ain't been up to anything. They put me on the sick after I, you know…."

"Took the overdose."

"Yeah."

The heavy silence settled around them once more.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Mickey picked at a stray thread on his sleeve.

"I was tired," he mumbled finally.

The thread started to unravel.

"Of it always being in me head,"

He twisted the loose thread around his fingers.

The counsellor waited.

"Just wanted it to stop you know?"

He pulled the thread tighter.

"And did it?"

The thread dug sharply into his skin then snapped as he yanked with more force.

"No."

XXX

He was lying on the sofa staring blankly at Countdown when the phone rang, dressed in week old jogging bottoms and a paint spattered shirt. His hair was greasy, his face unshaven. Little things that required too big an effort these days. His body felt heavy. Tired. Numb. He wasn't quite sure what day it was, he seemed to exist in a haze.

He lay there listening as the phone continued to shrill.

He heard the beep of the machine as it clicked in.

"Mickey, it's Jack. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Give me a call when you can."

He made no attempt to move. Moving required effort. Moving meant talking.

He'd done enough talking lately with the counsellor.

XXX

Session 2:

"They put me on pills," Mickey volunteered, "Anti-depressants."

"How are you finding that?"

"Weird."

"Weird?"

"Yeah"

"When I take them-" he faltered.

"When you take them?"

"I think about the last time I took pills"

"It reminds you of the overdose."

"Yeah"

"We can work on that."

XXX

Mickey looked at the pale tablet in his hand. His reflection was peaky in the bathroom mirror, eyes ringed mauve, his hair spiked from where he had briefly slept on it. He pushed the medicine into his mouth and hastily shoved the vial back into the bathroom cabinet, swallowed, and tried to stamp down the urge to take them all.

It had been a stupid idea the first time.

He retreated to the safety of the couch.

The opening strains of This Morning blared from the television. He watched the green blocks rise as he increased the volume, until he could no longer hear his own thoughts.

XXX

Session 3:

"I 'ad a dream."

"Oh?"

"I was back in the warehouse."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

God No.

Mickey shrugged.

"You could tell it to me like it's a story."

"Wot, like once upon a time there was a rape?" Mickey snorted.

"If you like."

"This is stupid."

"Just try it. And if at any point you feel like you want to stop, then stop"

Mickey wet his lips nervously and swallowed. It had been a long time since he talked about the actual rape.

"Once upon a time there was this copper." He started slowly.

"An' he thought he could make everythin' ok again between him an' his DCI if he just caught this psycho named Delaney. He chased him into the warehouse. He wasn't scared. Delaney hit 'im over the head with a shovel, knocked 'im out. When he woke up, he was tied up…"

Mickey hesitated, fingers trembling.

"You're doing really well."

"'Ee was tied up, and he tried to get away, the ropes, they were digging into his wrists. It hurt. Delaney was laughin' at him. An' now he was scared. So scared."

The words were getting harder to push over the lump building in his throat.

"He couldn't get away. He was crying."'Is phone got smashed, he couldn't call for help. But he really thought he was going to be saved. He really did. An' then, then he felt his jeans-"

Mickey stopped his eyes moist. He twisted his fingers anxiously. He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath, forcing himself to finish his story.

"He felt his jeans pulled down. An' Delaney was behind him, in him, an' it hurt. Worse than anything Delaney was touching him, laughing at him when he screamed, while…. while he…..raped him. An' he wouldn't stop…."

The words began to fracture like shards of glass.

"He wouldn't stop touching me."

Mickey spluttered against the tears, his face aflame with embarrassment.

" Even if your body reacted-"

Mickey waved his hand defensively in front of him as if it could somehow protect him from the memories he did not want to confront.

" I feel so dirty. All the time."

XXX

The alarm clock was blinking in the darkness, flashing 1:02 at him mockingly. Mickey was drenched in sweat, chest heaving in fear.

The nightmares were back.

And all the false comforts of "it wasn't your fault" and "You have nothing to be ashamed of," meant nothing in the dark of night when Delaney haunted him from the shadows.

No amount of journaling was going to make him disappear.

He rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, returned to his duvet with an open can of lager, a six-pack placed beside him on the bedside cabinet.

He would drink it into oblivion.

XXX

Session 4:

"Do you have any coping strategies you find particularly helpful Mickey?"

Getting smashed.

"Things that help you when your feelings seem out of control?"

Fighting.

"Some people find medication helps."

Vodka.

"Or breathing exercises."

Sleeping around.

"Or even just talking. You did really well at our last session, talking about the rape. I think it brought back a lot of emotions you're not quite sure how to deal with."

Mickey lay his pounding head against his arm and tried to block the counsellor out.

"I can see you don't really feel like talking today."

Piss off.

"But I think it would be really helpful for you if we discussed some coping strategies."

XXX

Beep.

"This is a message for Mickey Webb. I just wanted to check how you were doing as you missed our last two sessions. It's really important you continue to attend counselling –

Message deleted.

Mickey pulled the blanket back up over his head and turned to face the cushion of the couch.

He didn't want to talk about it anymore. It hurt too much.

No amount of breathing exercises were going to change that.

XXX

Session 5:

"It's been a while since I saw you."

Mickey scratched the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Did something happen after the last session? Did it bring up something that you perhaps found a bit too overwhelming?"

"I ain't scared alright!"

"Would it be a problem for you if you were?"

" No but I wasn't okay?"

"Okay."

" It was making me think about it."

"What was?"

"You know what."

"I'd like you to tell me, just to make sure I've got it right."

"Talking about the rape!"" Mickey blurted angrily, "I don't want to think about it. That was the whole bloody point of coming 'ere!"

"You thought if you had counselling, you would no longer think about the rape?"

"That's the point isn't it? I talk about it and it goes away. It doesn't stick in me head all the time!"

"Mickey, it's a trauma. It's always going to be there."

Mickey exhaled frustration.

" When Delaney raped you, he exerted power over you. He wanted to control you."

Mickey's leg started jiggling nervously.

" You can make a choice here."

Mickey looked up sharply.

"You can choose to let him keep that power."

The jiggling got worse.

"Or you can choose to take some power back."

Mickey let out a shaky breath.

"Don't let him control you anymore."

Mickey's foot tapped rapidly against the floor in reply.

Session 6:

" Me mate offered me a job."

"That sounds promising."

" 'Ee works down a building site."

"Quite a change from policing then"

"Yeah."

"Do you miss it?"

"Wot, being a copper?"

"Yes."

"Suppose. Sometimes."

"Do you ever think about going back?"

Mickey scoffed.

"Yeah, the MET are dying for people like me to play detective."

XXX

The doorbell rang as he was coming downstairs.

Jack stood on the doorstep; Mickey found himself reluctant to let him in.

They were in different worlds now.

Jack was still at Sun Hill. He still had some purpose to his day.

Mickey's consisted of pizza, booze and getting a few hours kip on the couch before he awoke and tried the next day to do more than watch daytime television and muster up the energy to bathe or shave.

He listened to the empty beer can ricochet against the rim of the bin as he attempted to clean the filthy living room.

He could feel Jack watching him as he did so.

"What do you want Jack?"

"It's Delaney. He's absconded from prison last night. We think he's looking for you."

His heart thudded against his chest.

This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be happening.

How the hell had this happened?

He felt the self-pity wash over him. The fierce tug of panic.

He almost missed what Jack said as the fear pulsated through him.

"Why don't you come back to Sun Hill? Help with the investigation?"

Mickey almost wanted to laugh. Go back to Sun Hill? Where it all started?

Try and track Delaney? After it had worked out so well the first time?

Help with an investigation? He hadn't even realised his own fiancée was bent!

And Jack wanted to trust him with this.

He rubbed his face anxiously against his sleeve, using the mantelpiece for support.

"So are you in or out?"

He remembered the same ultimatum when they were trying to bring Chandler down.

Another lifetime ago.

He turned to face Jack, his eyes watery, gaze steady.

"In,"

Jack smiled, something almost akin to pride in his eyes.