On The Couch: Lay Down Your Arms
Rest
“I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping this much.”
Murphy turned around quickly in her desk chair and stared in horror, “Dr. Hendricks? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was consulting for another detective on a case. Your shift ended four hours ago.” Her therapist sat down in the second chair in her cubical. “What’s wrong? Are your pills not working?”
“This isn’t a therapy session, keep your voice down.” She started closing her files. She didn’t want her therapist knowing what she was working on. She didn’t want her to know she was still working the Vincent case.
“These aren’t your detectives…”
“I work with them,” she snapped, shoving the files into her cold case drawer. “I don’t need them knowing my mental problems.”
“Probably half of them have the same.”
She slammed the drawer closed and faced her therapist. “Doc, this isn’t a session, this is my office and that means you’re not poking around in my brain, okay?”
Hendricks actually looked hurt. Murphy frowned slightly. She hurt her therapist? Her therapist was her therapist, not a friend, not even a colleague. She was just someone who poked around and made her face painful things she’d rather not think about. She provided useless pills and didn’t make anything better, anything right.
But it wasn’t Hendricks fault was it? Boone was responsible for the scars she couldn’t heal, or the ache that wouldn’t go away. She didn’t know how it wasn’t life that damaged her soul, but magic. Murphy couldn’t take that out on her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“Sorry, doc, it’s been a long night.” She meant it.
“You should get some rest, Lieutenant.” Hendricks got up, smiling slightly. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”
“Same time, same place. Like always.”
“I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping this much.”
Murphy turned around quickly in her desk chair and stared in horror, “Dr. Hendricks? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was consulting for another detective on a case. Your shift ended four hours ago.” Her therapist sat down in the second chair in her cubical. “What’s wrong? Are your pills not working?”
“This isn’t a therapy session, keep your voice down.” She started closing her files. She didn’t want her therapist knowing what she was working on. She didn’t want her to know she was still working the Vincent case.
“These aren’t your detectives…”
“I work with them,” she snapped, shoving the files into her cold case drawer. “I don’t need them knowing my mental problems.”
“Probably half of them have the same.”
She slammed the drawer closed and faced her therapist. “Doc, this isn’t a session, this is my office and that means you’re not poking around in my brain, okay?”
Hendricks actually looked hurt. Murphy frowned slightly. She hurt her therapist? Her therapist was her therapist, not a friend, not even a colleague. She was just someone who poked around and made her face painful things she’d rather not think about. She provided useless pills and didn’t make anything better, anything right.
But it wasn’t Hendricks fault was it? Boone was responsible for the scars she couldn’t heal, or the ache that wouldn’t go away. She didn’t know how it wasn’t life that damaged her soul, but magic. Murphy couldn’t take that out on her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“Sorry, doc, it’s been a long night.” She meant it.
“You should get some rest, Lieutenant.” Hendricks got up, smiling slightly. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”
“Same time, same place. Like always.”