I got a couple of reviews that were confused at the level of Spencer's anger during the last chapter... This chapter should clear it up.
Derek was right. Spencer was pissed at having to stay in the hospital, but he'd get over it. For now, he seemed to be doing better. Pissy as hell, but that was to be expected. He had a right to be pissed and Derek couldn't help but feel awful every time he saw the way that his beautiful, shy Spencer had turned into a jaded, angry person at age eleven.
He still wouldn't communicate much, but he would write on his dry erase board and used sign language with the members of the staff who understood it. Derek had an "ASL for Dummies" book that he was trying to figure out, although the signs were difficult to make out on a two dimension plane.
Health wise, though, Spencer was remarkably better. His concussion was no longer a threat and his ribs were healing nicely. The doctor also wanted him to speak with the physical therapist about speech and learn how to 'train' his vocal cords again. He'd gone without speaking for so long now that, even if he wanted to, he probably couldn't physically speak.
He'd "spoken" with an on-site psychologist a couple times and she was ready to talk to Spencer and Derek about future plans and treatment. Spencer wasn't happy having to sit in a room alone with Derek for the period of time while they were waiting for her and Derek was trying not to watch the clock and feel the awkwardness of the moment.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten or twenty minutes, Dr. Pond came in.
"Hello," she greeted, shaking Derek's hand with a smile and giving Spencer a small wave, which he returned.
"How are you today, Spencer?" she asked. Spencer signed something, then glared at Derek. Derek winced at the intensity of the look and the only word he managed to understand was "so-so."
"Spencer," Dr. Pond said in a somewhat disapproving tone, "we've talked about that." Spencer just rolled his eyes and Dr. Pond decided to move on.
"Anyhow, that's not what we're here to discuss. After observing Spencer's behavior and our meetings, I've diagnosed his with what's called C-PTSD, Complex- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."
"How is that different from normal PTSD?" asked Derek.
"Well, C-PTSD tends to develop in people that have been in a situation long term and feel like they have no escape, whereas PTSD can occur after something like a car crash. For instance, a soldier coming back from war might suffer PTSD, where a soldier that was held prisoner as a POW might develop C-PTSD," explained Dr. Pond.
"Are the symptoms more severe or just different?" Derek asked again.
"Well, as you know, people with any illness or disorder, especially a psychological one, will suffer from different symptoms per person, but C-PTSD shows all the signs of PTSD, plus some other ones. People with C-PTSD tend to become dissociative and lose control over their emotions easily. They'll also try and blame others around them for the situation they were in. Things like low-self esteem and dependency also appear along with depression, self-loathing, denial, avoidance, fear of abandonment, hyper-vigilance and a whole spiel of other," she explained to Derek. Spencer sitting on the hospital bed looking completely put out with the whole situation.
His behavior could not be explained by some psychological disorder and he was not displaying any of those signs!
He started to sign that to Dr. Pond, but Derek and her weren't looking at him. She was giving him some pamphlet on "C-PTSD" or whatever and pointing things out to pay attention to.
He banged on the wall behind him with his fist until they looked his way, then started to sign again.
'I'm not acting like any of those things that you just listed and I do not have some fucking disorder-"
"Language," Dr. Pond scolded. Spencer rolled his eyes.
'Whatever. I'm perfectly fine. Pissed and hell, but fine. Stop trying to tell me that I feel a certain way because of your psychology. I feel what I feel because that's who I am, not because my uncle touched me in naughty ways.'
"Why don't you use your whiteboard so Derek can understand what you're saying?" she said, way too calmly
'Cause I don't want to!'
"Why?" she asked Spencer.
'Oh you want me to say something like "I don't want Derek to know what I'm saying because I'm mad at him because he hurt me, so maybe I'm not mad at him" and everything will be better. Maybe I just don't want to use the whiteboard!'
"You are way too smart for your own good," she said. Spencer smirked. Derek just looked confused.
'So, you'll admit I don't have C-PTSD?'
"I didn't say that, Spencer. In fact, denial is a major symptom also, so this just solidifies me suspicion. The smirk fell off of Spencer's face.
Derek, who was having trouble understanding the conversation beyond that Spencer didn't think he had C-PTSD, decided to change the subject.
"So, what do we do?"
He saw Spencer start to wildly sign something with his hands, but Dr. Pond went on like she didn't see him.
"Well, removing him from his uncle and having him stay with you is huge step in that way already. I'll prescribe an anti-depressant and I'd highly suggest therapy when you get home. I can send a list of people that I would recommend, and after a few sessions with her, we'll decide what's best for Spencer," she responded. "But don't let that sound too simple. This is going to be an inevitably long and hard journey."
At this point, Spencer had stopped signing and pulled out his dry-erase board.
'I don't need drugs and I don't need a therapist! What I need is to leave this damn hospital!'
"Language," Morgan and Dr. Pond scolded simultaneously.
Spencer "hmphed" and crossed his arms. Dr. Pond said her good-byes and left Derek and Spencer to themselves. Spencer fell asleep soon after she left and Derek watched the anger and hostility fade off his face in sleep only to be replaced with hurt and innocence.
"Ready to get out of here, kid?"
Spencer looked up at his guardian in disdain. He started to write on the whiteboard resting on his lap while he was in the wheelchair, but Derek corrected him.
"Spencer," he said knowingly, with a raised eyebrow. Spencer grimaced. His speech-therapist wanted him to start speaking aloud to people and get used to speech in everyday settings.
"Y-y-esss," he finally managed to stutter in a scratchy, underused voice.
"Let's blow this popsicle stand then," Derek said with a smile. He started walking and the nurse pushing Spencer's wheelchair followed.
Spencer stood up and hopped in the back seat of Derek's SUV and Derek put Spencer's meager belongings in the trunk next to his go-bag.
The drive to the airport was extraordinarily awkward. Over the past week, Spencer had grown more used to and a little less hostile than Derek, but he was still extremely hurt and trying to use his anger to cover it. Derek knew this, yet he can't help but feel hurt at Spencer's accusations. He blames himself also.
They finally arrived at the airport though, and once they boarded the plane, Derek felt better. He just had to survive back to Quantico, and everything could be okay. Small steps.