Chapter Fifteen
"Agent Kent, thank you for coming to see me today."
The brunette clasped both hands together and crossed her legs, sinking further into the couch. A woman sat opposite her, dressed to impress in a crisp white blouse and slacks.
"I didn't really have a choice, did i?"
Doctor Jameson chose to ignore the snark behind her comment.
"I suppose not...so you know why you're here, then."
Kristina nodded.
"I think it's a little ridiculous, to be honest."
This piqued the psychologist's interest.
"Why is that?"
"Because I don't need a therapist." she shot back, a furrow in her brow.
"What makes me feel better is knowing at the end of the day that i helped make the world a safer place. Taking about my feelings doesn't help achieving anything."
"Peace of mind?" She offered, and Kristina shook her head, looking up at the ceiling, remembering exactly why she hated therapy.
"Oh, I gave up on that a long time ago."
"When was that?"
"After my sister died," she shot back, trying her best to remain straight-faced.
The other woman leaned back in her chair, surprised that she had already breached that subject. Kristina looked out the window, determined not to lose her cool. She had to make it through this session, convince the woman that she wasn't crazy. She needed to get out in the field, needed a distraction.
She needed Doctor Jameson to stop looking at her expectantly.
"I don't want to talk about it," she added.
"We don't have to if you don't want to."
"I don't," she reiterated, and the psychologist quickly changed the subject.
"Okay. So then, tell me about your other relationships. Are you close to your parents?"
She should've known that they would want to bring up her family. It was psych 101-environment played a large part in development, and familial relationships were obviously a large part of that. Her parents were great people, but the relationship was severely strained. Any family who suffered a tragedy like the one they had experienced would see the dynamics change. That's what the experts said, when her mother dragged them into family therapy after Bridget's death. Not surprisingly, that didn't make Kristina feel any better.
"I don't know, not really..." she decided.
"When was the last time you talked to them?"
Kristina sighed.
"When I moved to DC."
"Which was..."
"Three weeks ago."
Doctor Jameson nodded, and Kristina wondered what conclusion she had drawn from that particular line of questioning.
Perhaps the older woman wasn't completely out of touch- she sensed Kristina profiling her and offered a weak smile.
"This isn't an interrogation, Agent Kent," she reminded her gently.
Emily was halfway through her morning routine when she heard someone at the door; a furrow formed in her brow as she poked her head out of her closet, making sure she wasn't just hearing things. She couldn't imagine anyone would be at her apartment this early in the morning; she had to be at work in two hours.
"What the hell..." she muttered when she heard an undeniable second knock, and crossed her apartment to answer the door.
"Good morning," Frank greeted her with a smile, holding up a brown paper bag. He stepped into the doorway and planted a kiss on her cheek as he passed her.
"I brought you something," he announced cheerfully, then turned around to face the dark-haired woman who was still in her pajamas.
"You haven't eaten yet, have you?" he added hopefully, and Emily couldn't help but smile. He was just so happy, so adorably upbeat. Emily could hardly wrestle up the motivation to brew a pot of coffee in the morning.
"No, I haven't," she finally replied.
"Good, because I got scones."
He reached into the bag and pulled out two delicious pastries. Emily chuckled.
"Amazing..." she muttered to herself.
"What was that?" his ears perked up, and the smug grin on his face assured her that he heard exactly what she said.
"Nothing. Pass the scones, would you," she changed the subject and outstretched her hand. He obeyed her order, still grinning.
"So, if you're in town this weekend...I'd like to take you out again."
Emily was about to take a gigantic bite of scone, but halted when he finished speaking, the pastry hovering millimeters from her mouth.
"Sounds great," she smiled, "maybe we could even make it a double date. I know a couple of really great single guys, I could hook Kristina up..."
"Emily," Frank held his hand up to stop her, "trust me when I say this, Kristina would never go for that in a million years."
She sighed, taking a large bite of her scone. He was right, of course. Frank always knew best when it came to Kristina. He had mentioned, over their dinner date, that Kristina would almost always shut someone out if she could sense a pity party on the horizon. She didn't want pity. Frank had also joked that, with a little wine, Kristina could be persuaded to do pretty much anything. Emily had come to her apartment well-prepared to wear the hardened agent down, and after four hours she liked to think that she had at least scratched the surface. Emily knew it was lonely, the life Kristina led.
Of course, Kristina had Frank- and he wasn't terrible company, Emily had come to find out. He was very detail-oriented. He noticed things. She had ordered almonds on her salad at Tosca; he handed her a cherry-almond scone for breakfast this morning. Kristina had warned her, after a few glasses of wine, that Frank was more about the small gestures than the big ones. That was okay with Emily, though. Sometimes, all you need is just someone who's paying attention.
"Your old partner, Frank...he retired in DC, correct? How often do you see him?"
Finally, something Kristina didn't mind talking about.
"Yeah, i see him two or three times a week. He's my best friend."
"Does he know you're in therapy?"
The brunette shook her head.
"No. No one knows."
The doctor arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Why is that?"
Kristina rolled her eyes.
"Because I don't need any more people thinking I'm crazy."
"Who thinks you're crazy?" she fired back, and Kristina chuckled, counting on her fingers as she spoke.
"My parents, my co-workers, my boss..."
"Why would you say that?"
She struggled with how to phrase it, and the psychologist waited patiently for her answer.
"Because I...I snapped, in the field. I almost ripped a suspect's arm off in interrogation. That's why Hotch sent me to you," she noted, surprised at the lack of reaction from the shrink. She had bigger questions in mind, it seemed.
"What did he do that caused such a reaction?"
Kristina groaned, rearing her head back and wondering how much longer the session would last. Frustrated, she realized that jumping out the third-story window was her only method of escape. And even then, if she survived, she would likely lose her job.
"He was just...he was being creepy, touching one of my co-workers," she mumbled, folding her arms.
"And you didn't like it."
"Of course i didn't," she spat, "he was practically petting her. He was a pedophile. I could've done a lot worse."
Jameson looked down at the file in her lap.
"The co-worker, that's Special Agent Jareau?"
Kristina frowned.
"What all do you have in that file?"
The shrink played it off.
"Standard information. So you were just protecting Agent Jareau from this man."
The young agent shrugged.
"I guess so."
"Your team is composed of very elite agents- why do you think she needed protection? Surely, if she were uncomfortable, she could handle the situation," Jameson offered, and Kristina sighed.
"Look, I know what I did was wrong-"
"That's not what i'm insinuating at all, Kristina," the psychologist assured her, "Suppose it were Agent Morgan in the room, would you still have reacted the way you did?"
Kristina paused.
"What are you getting at?"
Jameson could tell she hit a nerve.
"Is that a no?"
"No, I wouldn't," she conceded.
"So it's just agent Jareau that causes this reaction," the woman concluded.
Kristina shrugged her shoulders.
"I guess. What does that mean?"
"Oh, I don't know yet."
Kristina snorted.
"How much are they paying you for this?"
"Hey, Spence-" JJ greeted her friend on the phone as she got behind the wheel- "i'm about to leave for work, what's up?"
Spencer squinted his eyes to look at the clock across the room.
"Jayje, it's only 8:30, we don't have to be at work until 10."
She sighed, strapping into her seatbelt.
"I have a lot to do today."
The young genius paused, trying to decipher her peculiar behavior.
"Will's back in town, huh," he commented, and the blonde agent frowned, both hands gripping the steering wheel.
"He's spending the day with Henry," she admitted.
Reid could tell she was less than enthused about his surprise visit- and he wasn't all that pleased with the situation either- but he chose to make her feel better about it instead of bringing up the same argument they had been having for months now.
"That's good. Henry deserves to see his dad."
"Yeah, it is..." she muttered, putting the car in reverse and backing out of her driveway. Spencer sighed.
"And it's his weekend, isn't it?"
JJ pulled around the corner a little sharper than necessary, gently bumping the curb with her left rear tire before correcting herself.
"Yes, it is."
She decided to gloss over the fact that Henry did not deserve a father who only stopped by every once in a blue moon. She had a feeling that Spencer agreed with her on that point. When Will dropped everything to move to DC, to be with Henry, she had felt such a sense of relief. All the pieces had fallen into place, it seemed.
But Will found little joy in his new life beyond that little boy. After a while, she knew he would come to resent her, for making him pick up and move across the country. For making him uproot his entire life, and his career. He tried to make it work with the DC police department, but she could tell: he was miserable. Pretty soon, that had rubbed off on her. And the rest, as they say, is history.
JJ knew there was no use in rehashing all of that now, so she changed the subject.
"So why are you calling me so early?"
"Pen and I were going to take a long lunch break today. Thought you'd be interested," he replied. He knew JJ would be needing a distraction, and Penelope Garcia was great at creating distractions.
And JJ was grateful for them.
"Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to you later, Spence."
"What would you say is your worst fear?" Jameson changed the subject again, and Kristina looked down at her lap, jaw clenched as she muttered.
"Failure."
"That's interesting," she remarked, "most people say dying is their worst fear."
The experienced FBI agent shook her head.
"I'm not afraid of dying. I deal with the possibility of that happening every day."
The shrink took in her words, then continued with caution.
"So why is failure your worst fear?"
"Because if i fail, somebody else dies-" she snapped and folded her arms, obviously uncomfortable- "Someone's daughter, someone's sister."
"So do you consider Nashville to be a failure?"
Kristina's jaw clenched again. She knew the answer to her question before she even asked.
"Do we have to talk about that?"
Jameson cocked her head to the side, and Kristina shrunk back in her chair as the psychologist finally leveled with her.
"I think we both know that's why you're really here, Agent Kent."
Kristina's lips tightened as she physically tried to stop the tears from clouding her eyes by sheer force of will.
"Nashville was...the lowest point of my career," she muttered.
"You and your partner had the highest rate of closed cases in San Francisco's history," Jameson noted, not missing how the woman before her was an inch away from losing her composure.
"So?" Kristina frowned.
The older woman sighed.
"So your record is still very impressive, Kristina."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she shot back with a snarl.
Doctor Jameson remained unaffected.
"Do you still feel guilty about what happened?"
Kristina dug her hands into her scalp in an effort to remain calm.
"Of course i still feel guilty!" she spoke through gritted teeth. "It was my fault- the whole case, everything fell apart because of me."
Jameson paused, lowering her voice as the brunette covered her face with her hands.
"Kristina, I need you to listen to me...Katie's death was not your fault."
"The hell it wasn't!" she frowned, hazel eyes searing right through the older woman's caring baby blues.
"Wouldn't the fault lie with the psychopath holding the match?"
"She wouldn't have been anywhere near the case if it weren't for me," she shot back immediately, a bite to her words that told the psychologist that she was on the right track for finding the source of the problem.
"Katie went into that building by herself."
"I should've been there," Kristina mumbled.
"You obviously cared a lot about Katie...but you have to know that punishing yourself for her death isn't healthy," she noted, and Kristina shook her head.
"No, you know what isn't healthy?" she spat, giving up all pretense of holding in the tears now flooding her eyes.
"Every time i close my eyes, i see her face. Every night, I hear her screaming for my help, and every night I have to watch her die, over and over. I can't sleep. And if I let any of that effect my job, then I lose the only redemptive thing about my entire existence- putting the bad guys away."
"You're allowed to be human, Kristina," she assured her.
"Can i make a suggestion?"
"You're the therapist," she sniffed, rubbing her face into her sleeve.
Glad that the confrontational portion of their talk was over, Jameson leaned back in her chair.
"I think that the reason you reacted poorly in the field may be because you are still trying to rectify past failures. That maybe, when you perceive a threat to someone, you project them to be a surrogate for the loss you suffered."
Kristina clasped her hands together, index fingers pressed to her lips as she processed the psychologist's conclusion.
"You think I have PTSD?"
"I don't think it's a ridiculous hypothesis, given the circumstances," she countered.
"That doesn't make sense-" she frowned- "i've been doing this for thirteen years, why now?"
Jameson shrugged.
"I couldn't tell you."
Kristina's jaw hung loose.
"Seriously?"
"Nobody has all the answers, Agent Kent," the older woman gently reminded her.
"Well then, what's the point?" Kristina began, but was interrupted by her cell phone in her pocket.
She checked the caller ID. It was Dave- there was a change of plans. They had a new case, and team was jetting off to San Diego in a half hour. She was saved by the bell.
"I have to go," she announced, standing up and shoving the phone back into her pocket.
The doctor nodded in understanding.
"I hope to see you again, Agent Kent."
