Silent Symphony//Jack Avery Fanfiction

Chapter 20

I got everything sorted out with Bennett and what happened the next day. We agreed that because the physical healing process won't be too long, I don't need to have any 'partners' so long as I take precautions to not endanger the boys. I also agreed to meet up with the FBI's psychotherapist and get an evaluation of my mental state once I'm walking on both feet.

The wounds look worse after the second day when I take the bandages off, starting with my leg. The bruises have darkened the skin around the area.

Each time the bandages are changed, the less bloody and gooey they are.

Even though I can't walk on it quite yet, I don't let myself get lazy. Instead, I do light physio with it; moving my toes, doing circles with my ankle, bending the leg. But I'm carefull not to do too much and agitate the healing process.

Just like before, the boys hover over me. They make sure I'm comfortable and always bring me a little something when they go out without me.

I always start with cleaning my leg. Unwrapping the dressing, patting it down with a damp cloth, disinfecting it, and wrapping it back up with gauze.

Then I work with my belly and side. It's a little trickier to wrap it back up because I have to try and hold the gauze in place as I circle my torso with the stretchy wrap. Jack often helps me with this one, and with my shoulder because I can't really see that one.

By the second week I'm walking short distances without the crutches. I lost one or two stitches early, but the rest started to unravel themselves a little past the tenth day. But as I hypothesized, I started my period. What made it worse is that they don't sell the type of foods that I normally crave here in the United States.

I don't like the chocolate here because it's got a more chalky bitterness to it. They don't sell all dressed or ketchup chips either. Hickery Sticks aren't a thing here, and neither are beaver tails or donairs.

I can't even have my favorite brand of ice cream; Chapman's.

I speak with the therapist on a stop in Atlanta.

I don't hide anything from her. I don't feel I have to. I tell her how useless and lazy I feel when I'm injured. I tell her how I've had a few nightmares here and there since the shooting (but don't mention anything about the parasomnia from before, which hasn't happened in a while.) I tell her about my anxiousness to let the boys go out without me.

She listens as I vent to her in a car parked just down the street from the tour bus.

In the end she tells me to wait for Bennett's call, but that it's normal to feel the way I do.

I wait for the call afterwards, updating my logs and checking through security.

When it comes I'm hit with relief.

"You've got the okay from the psychotherapist." Bennett congradulates. "You're coping well and aren't in any sort of denial. We do suggest you follow up with her in a month just to check up."

"Because it can take gunshot survivours over a year to heal from the mental scars of the event. I know, Director. I've gotta keep myself in top shape in order to carry out my job." I reply, watching him on my laptop screen. "Mentally and physically. Director if I didn't feel like I'm fit to carry this out; if I felt like I wasn't healing up and getting better, I would have asked for back up."

"I know that, Finch." He sighs with a slight smirk. "I wouldn't be so leanient with you if you weren't such an honest agent."

"I'm sorry, was that just a complement?" I ask, blinking in mock flattery.

"Don't push it, Finch." Bennett's expression betrays his stern words as a smirk flashes.

"I won't!" I answer. "Now, may I go?"