Martin's sitting in the folding chair, listening to the usual Bureau liason drone on about the importance of sharing their memories, when the world tilts just ever so slightly.
He's still sitting in a folding chair. Still wearing the sweater that showed up neatly folded on the foot of his bed back in November with no preamble. But the scrubs underneath are not his jeans and cotton shirt, and those are crocs, not winter boots on his feet. Even so, the stillness in the room is the same.
When he comes back up out of the memory, he starts laughing, pulling his hands up and back through his hair.
"Dr. Whitly?" The Bureau therapist squints at him, trying her best not to look absolutely offended at his sudden outburst and interruption. "What are you laughing at?"
"Oh, dear." He pulls himself together and presses his fingertips to his mouth until the urge to grin fades, and he dulls the rush of endorphins to a slight shimmer of a smile. "My apologies. I've never been hit by a memory at Group before, and I must say ... you might find it a bit of a relief."
She's not impressed. "How so?"
"Well, you see ... I've been in a group like this before. And it seems my previous therapist was even worse than you are at this." He turns in his chair and raises a hand. "Show of hands? People here who've had better therapists?"
CW: violence depicted in memory link
He's still sitting in a folding chair. Still wearing the sweater that showed up neatly folded on the foot of his bed back in November with no preamble. But the scrubs underneath are not his jeans and cotton shirt, and those are crocs, not winter boots on his feet. Even so, the stillness in the room is the same.
When he comes back up out of the memory, he starts laughing, pulling his hands up and back through his hair.
"Dr. Whitly?" The Bureau therapist squints at him, trying her best not to look absolutely offended at his sudden outburst and interruption. "What are you laughing at?"
"Oh, dear." He pulls himself together and presses his fingertips to his mouth until the urge to grin fades, and he dulls the rush of endorphins to a slight shimmer of a smile. "My apologies. I've never been hit by a memory at Group before, and I must say ... you might find it a bit of a relief."
She's not impressed. "How so?"
"Well, you see ... I've been in a group like this before. And it seems my previous therapist was even worse than you are at this." He turns in his chair and raises a hand. "Show of hands? People here who've had better therapists?"