"...so if there is anything you can do to help, I'd be really fucking grateful."

Despite the seriousness of the meeting, Foster had to smile at Ashton's brashness. Because of their Orphanmaker mask, the doctor had never really seen them smile, necessarily, but he was starting to recognize certain tells. They would pick at the nails on their left hand when nervous, would roll their green eye when they were annoyed. Now they pulled at the gauge in their good ear. Uncertainty. Desperation.

How could Foster possibly tell him no?

Instead, he adjusted his thick glasses and picked up a pen.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I voiced an opinion to the courts," they explained. "And I think you're making real progress outside."

"I do, too. More than I ever did in fucking juvie."

"They taught you not to get caught. I'm teaching you not to lash out."

"Yeah," Ashton sighed, picking at his hand.

"Something else bothering you?"

"Just a flare up."

Foster nodded, writing himself a note to contact Hexum about the situation.

"You know stress can make that worse."

"No shit."

"Maybe relax this weekend," they suggested. "The pain will only stress you more. More stress, more pain, more stress… You don't want to be an asshole in front of your probation officer, do you?"

"God, I wanna fucking smack her."

"That sure wouldn't help your case."

Ashton sighed again, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Yeah. I'll… try."

"Tell Milo I'm prescribing you a spa day. They way you talk about them, I trust they'll take care of you."

Ashton laughed as they stood up and said, "I think they take better care of me than I do."

"We can talk about that more Wednesday."

"One way or another, right?"

Foster stared at them over his glasses.

"Ashton. I will see you, here, in this room, on Wednesday," he said firmly. "Deal?"

The man flinched, a lock of purple hair falling over his eyebrow, and they turned away.

"Deal," they whispered.

Oh, poor thing. Foster twisted the dark ring on his middle finger, their own nervous habit.

"I know how hard trust is for you, Ashton. So thank you for trusting me," said Foster gently.

Ashton nodded and slipped away, shutting the door behind him. Foster removed their glasses and leaned back in their chair.

Kid sure was a piece of work. If he could stomach it, they would cancel their morning appointments on Monday to be in the room with them personally. Instead, he used those appointments as an excuse not to attend.

Police made them anxious, and his anxiety was dangerous.

Even now, they could feel the stress rising. Foster put his glasses back on and opened his desk drawer. He found the pill bottle quickly, opened it, and tipped one into their hand. He swallowed it dry. He just needed a moment, even knowing their next patient was one of the most mellow people they'd ever met. Real sweetheart. Her ability to seem forthcoming while keeping her walls up was… truly enviable. And after that, he was supposed to meet a new patient, Orym. Boy howdy, had Dorian gushed about him! When Foster brought up that it sounded like Orym was avoiding addressing something in himself, the boy became deeply concerned and spent the rest of his session speaking of nothing else.

That was a good thing, Foster reminded himself. That Dorian cared and was cared for. They saw it in how Ashton talked about Milo, too, how the pair propped each other up in their weakest moments.

Foster pulled out his ponytail, gathered their dark locks back up, and re-tied their hair. The streaks of blue in them might not have looked professional, but their clients trended young, twenties and thirties, and it helped connect to them. Gave them a talking point. Reminded them that they could express themselves without judgment here. Plus, he liked how it looked against his golden dark skin.

He reached over for his crutches, slid his arms in, and pushed himself to his foot. Then he moved with practiced comfort to the door and opened it.

In the waiting room, Ashton rubbed his arm as a young woman smiled up at him, chattering.

"...old stuff is better than their new songs, anyway," she was saying. "I listen to 'Shackles' every time I'm in a bad mood. Not that her new vibe is bad. That's just my preference."

"Smiley day, Laudna," Foster interrupted with a smile, "I think it's time we let them go, though, don't you?"

"Oh, right, of course," she said, sweeping up her skirts to stand. "Well, I hope to see you again, Ashton!"

"That's a first," the punk mumbled as they finally escaped the clinic.

"He's a bit… abrasive," said Laudna, entering the office and plopping onto the sofa.

"Oh, they're real sweet underneath it all," Foster assured her. "It just takes them time. Like you. You bury your anger, and he buries his kindness."

"Well. That makes sense. I suppose."

She smoothed her long, black skirts over her lap with pale, thin hands. Foster settled into his more comfortable chair, removed his crutches, and picked up their clipboard.

"So. How are you doing today?"

Launda wiggled in place, clearly considering dodging as she was so fond of doing.

"Not… badly. Classes start again soon. And I took your advice. I'm getting a roommate this year."

"Nervous?"

"Of course I'm nervous. I'm not used to people."

"You're not used to sharing space. But we've been working on it, and I think you're ready."

"What if I relapse in front of her?"

"You told me you haven't hurt yourself in months."

"Well… not on purpose. I'm a bit clumsy."

"As am I."

"You have an excuse."

Foster shook their head. "No one needs an excuse for imperfection. You're not going to be punished for it anymore."

"Right," sighed Laudna. "They're gone."

"They're in jail. Briarwood Academy was shut down. If you're ready to talk about it-."

"Not yet," Laudna snapped softly. "I'm not ready."

"I understand. We'll come to it in your own time. Are your medications helping, at least?"

Laudna shrugged and started rocking in place. They were pushing.

"Some," she said. "I still… hear her. Still feel them breathing down my neck when I mess up."

"Everyone messes up," they assured the girl. "Give me an example."

"Mmm. Knocked over a bowl on Sunday. I… panicked. Zhudanna had to… talk me down. She's… sweet like that."

"It got cleaned up, right?"

"Yes…"

"And who got hurt?"

"Well…"

"It's a process," Foster said gently. "The things that kept you safe at school are bad for your health. You spent your formative years afraid. It's going to take time to stop being afraid."

"'S been four years."

"That's still less time than you spent at the academy."

Laudna nodded, still rocking and staring a hole into the floor. Foster just watched her for a few minutes, the way her black hair fell over her face in greasy strings. She bit her black painted nails. It struck them for a moment how like her wardrobe her attitude was. Black and white. Good people and bad people. Friends and traitors, she had said a while back, and so many of them were traitors. He just watched, let her soothe herself the way a child would. She was still a child, after all, in spite of being 21. After a moment, though, he decided she was only falling deeper into her mind.

"Laudna, I need you to come back to me," he told her. "Can you hear me in there?"

"Y- yes."

"Do your exercises. Five things you see."

"Yes, right. Um, rug. Clock. Name plate. Trash can. Is that five? No, no, that's four. Um, crutches."

Foster chuckled. Well, a multipurpose tool was the best tool.

"And four things you can touch."

They watched as Laudna ran her hands over the lace of her skirt. The shag of the throw pillow on the sofa. The velvet upholstery. The clumping locks of hair.

"I need a shower," she muttered after naming them.

"Hi, there, Laudna. Do we need to go through the rest," asked Foster, "or are you back with me again?"

"I'm here," she breathed.

"Do you want to tell me where you went?"

"No."

"How about where you're going, then? Still studying horticulture?"

"Yes. Yes, I want to be an arborist."

"That's great. Trees are a lot like you, you know? Resilient. Tall. Pretty in their imperfections. Always growing."

"I've been… thinking. About trying out the new maker's space," Laudna said, hiding a blush. "They say the guy who runs it is… weird."

"Weird is your brand, isn't it?"

"Yes. And I want to try… being around people more. Opening up. Tr- trusting them."

"Well, you're certainly creative!" Foster laughed as they remembered a plush toy Laudna had brought in her first few sessions. "How's Paté?"

To his surprise, Laudna laughed back. "I still need him. From time to time. I think I'll always need him. But he's… less a safety blanket now. More of a… a dear friend."

"Now, see, that's good to hear. You've grown so much, Miss Bradbury. I'm so proud of you."

The corners of her lips turned up, and she looked about ready to cry at that. Foster made a note in the margins to call her doctor.

"I think you should go back in," he explained, "and ask your psychiatrist about something that can bring you down when you feel an attack coming on. I can give you tools, but I think you need a little extra help. There's no shame in that, now, Laudna. People are all different. Some need more support. Some need more quiet time. I think you just need a little more aid to help you calm yourself down."

"Yes. I think… I can do that."

"As for your roommate, make sure you set clear boundaries. She's not going to be able to read your mind. And remember that you will 'mess up' in front of her. She'll mess up, too. It's entirely normal."

"Right. Mistakes… are normal."

"And?"

"Being alone doesn't have to make me lonely, and being lonely doesn't have to mean I'm alone."

"There you are. You're doing so well," Foster praised.

"Thank you, Dr. Grass."

"And no more cutting?"

Laudna shook her head and raised her arms to show only the same nearly healed marks she'd sported two weeks ago.

"Wow, look at that! You're healing."

Laudna beamed. "It was so hard. But it's been worth it."

"You are worth it, Laudna. Don't you think?"

"I'm… trying to."

Foster pushed his glasses up again with a smile. "Progress."

"Progress," she repeated, examining her arms with her own smile.

"Speaking of progress, what courses do you have this year?"

A safe topic, sure, but the girl had already had a panic attack this session. Besides, Foster reminded themself as he listened to her, sometimes the future was more important than the past. God knew it had gotten them through more than one day. He nodded along, twisting his ring around his middle finger.

"...much kinder grading than Dr. Thelyss," Laudna finished, "so I'm hoping not to break down sobbing mid-exam this year."

Ah, yes, that was a rough day. Laudna had called him, still weeping, after being taken out of the exam and given an incomplete grade.

Foster grinned, saying, "See? There's always a recovery to be made."

Maybe not always, but Laudna needed positivity.

"Well, my advisor said I was over-reaching with physics, anyway. Chemistry should be more in-line with my career needs."

"Do you feel like your class load is better this year?"

"I do, actually," she said. "I made sure to take one course just for fun. 'Tal'Doran Romantic Literature.'"

"Well, that sounds nice."

"I thought, well, since I'm from Tal'Dorei… it might be less stressful. Than some other classes. But, uh, I think my time is over."

Foster glanced up at the clock. "So it is," they said. "How are you feeling, Laudna?"

"About the same. But I have… ideas."

"You'll have to tell me about your new roommate next time. Two weeks still good?"

Laudna pulled at her hair, not quite brushing it but not tugging either.

"I have a course, actually. I… Do you have time open on Tuesdays? I'm free all afternoon," she said.

Foster leaned over to pluck their schedule off his desk.

"Iiiiiiii actually do! If two-thirty works for you-."

"I can do that."

"Sounds good. So I'll see you September second, then. And always feel free to call if you need to talk."

"Except on Saturdays."

"That's right. You have Allura's number, don't you?"

"I… do. Somewhere," Laudna murmured.

Foster chuckled and picked up his crutches. They rounded the desk, pulled open a drawer, and plucked out a card.

"Maybe just go ahead and add it to your contacts when you get home," Foster suggested. "I hope you never have to use it, but better to have and not need than need and not have, right?"

They passed the card to the girl, who turned it over carefully in her thin hands. She suddenly stood up and squeezed him around the shoulders. Foster held very still.

"Thank you, doctor," she whispered with a sniffle. "I- I'm trying."

"Aw, Laudna… I'd hug you back, but I don't want to hit you with a crutch," Foster chuckled.

Laudna laughed back, pulling away to wipe her eyes.

"Alright. I should… get back home."

"Yep, go get ready for classes."

Laudna muttered a quick "right" and shuffled out of the room. Foster's smile instantly vanished. They leaned back against the desk, slipped a hand out of his crutch, and picked up a framed picture. A young woman smiled at the camera, two very young children in her lap and another at her feet. A fourth child, older than the others, leaned against the chair she sat in. Blue eyes lit up behind thick glasses, skin just a hair darker than hers, dreadlocks falling across his shoulders, the strap of a crutch just visible on his arm. Foster ran a thumb across the woman's face.

"I'm trying, too, Mom," they whispered.

They put the portrait back down, grabbed their crutches, and walked towards the door again.

"Smiley day, Dorian! Is this your friend Orym?"