Healing wasn't linear. Tess knew that, had been told it from her youngest years, the earliest and easiest heartbreaks so it was something she understood on a deep and intimate level. Grief was every person's most constant companion and she didn't believe in comparing trauma's but she did feel like she'd dealt with more than her fair share and at twenty-eight that was a sobering thought. A terrifying one. But grief wasn't something you could escape, not easily anyway and she didn't like the consequences of trying. Or of succeeding. But that didn't mean she liked grief. She was just used to it, as much as you could be used to something that broke apart your dreams and tore through your heart, jagged holes that might get smoothed but would never get filled. Grief was a thief, a judge, a watcher. A builder. Because grief could build, great, big, beautiful things.

But only after it destroyed first.

Maybe that was why when she was shuffling into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and the weight of Jay's sweatshirt suddenly went from comforting to confining she didn't immediately shove the feeling down. Instead she let it ripple through her, let it throw her back into the moment she'd finally been allowed out of that white fucking room, the t-shirt and jeans she'd gone in there wearing traded for the agency regulated sweats, something more comfortable than her denim one of the nurses had quietly suggested. And she'd been right. The agency didn't scrimp on anything except ethics. But it had felt weird to care about her comfort in that moment, like she was doing something wrong. She felt like she was doing all of this wrong and even though logically she knew that wasn't the case, that however she or any other woman who had been in this or a similar situation felt was valid thinking something and believing it were two different things. And that didn't stop them from existing in the same spaces. Like in her head.

She was stuck there right now, between that moment and this one, the one where she'd told her team, the one where she'd told Lydia, the one where she'd told Jay, the one where she'd seen the look on Greg's face after Lydia had told him. Imagining all the potential faces of that little being that had been growing inside her.

Girl or boy?

Black hair or brown? Or red?

Blue eyes or green?

Freckles?

The weight of those possibilities, an infinity's worth made her knees buckle and it was instinct alone that had Tess grabbing onto the counter to keep herself upright, coming back enough that she could latch onto one specific thought.

She needed to get out of these clothes.

So she started ripping them off, just barely aware of her wheezing breaths and the way she bumped into the fridge; at this point in her life she was no stranger to panic attacks but fuck if they didn't suck every damn time. Finally she was free but she only got a brief moment of relief before the vulnerability swooped in, not because she was practically naked but because she was without any form of the armour she hadn't realized she'd begun relying on more and more. And there was only one defense she wanted right now. She quickly stumbled into Jay's room, the same instincts from before saving her again when she forgot her strength and opened one of his dresser drawers too hard and too fast, jumping back just in time to stop her toes from getting crushed when the whole thing came out. But that didn't slow her down and neither did the burn of the rug on her knees, frantically searching for something that was right. Something that covered but didn't cage, that wrapped around her without suffocating her, eventually settling on one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts, again ignoring everything she bashed into as she struggled to get them on.

Everything was a struggle now.

But with them on her, with the scent of chocolate and moss surrounding her she could finally take in a full breath, though it quickly came back out as a sob. She hated this. This panic, this lack of control, this pain she was supposed to have been protected from. One she would have given anything to protect others from. One that she now worried she might face again, either the same way or something different. Something worse. Before she knew it her foot swung out and landed right against that drawer, shoving it back a few inches until it thudded into the dresser but that wasn't enough. There was still so much fear inside her, so much anger, but she only got in one more kick before a hand grabbed her ankle and those instincts had her swinging, grateful when her fist was stopped right before it made contact with Mouse's face.

Mouse.

He was on his hands and knees too, his usually dancing eyes unusually somber. When had he gotten here? How long had he been sitting at the door, silently waiting for her to need him? How long had she been ignoring him?

Again?

The thought almost made her crumple, another wave of grief; for the past three weeks they'd been intermittently crashing over her, shoving her back into the surf whenever she tried to lift her head but still she'd kept trying. She had let herself be beaten like it was some kind of sick penitence. And she said Jay had a twisted sense of faith. But what else could she do?

A soft tug on her ankle brought her eyes back to Greg's, as simple and clear an answer as she would get. Let someone else pull her up. It probably wasn't totally healthy but there was a part of her that recoiled, even though she was the first to tell everyone else that it was a strength to know when to ask for help, and how to accept it. That was what made her slowly crawl over and sink into his arms, letting her tears flow once more as he gently rocked her back and forth. It turned out there weren't many more she could shed, her panic had exhausted her but it still felt good to stop holding everything in. To break.

It was the only way Tess could put herself back together.