Chapter Text
Something that no one told him about therapy was how many memories it drags up that you could have sworn didn't exist. No one tells you that the nightmares actually get worse, that you get more trauma after you start therapy.
When he brought this up, Dr Copeland informed him that it was actually quite a common experience, that finally being in a safe space allowed people's brains to relax and leave fight or flight mode, which caused repressed memories to come to the forefront. Evan Buckley could safely say that this was his least favourite part of therapy.
What had initially started as biweekly sessions during the pandemic had turned into twice-weekly sessions three years later. Buck had been under the impression that, at some point, he could finish therapy. That he could go off into the world as a completely healthy and healed individual. He was now learning that that was not the case.
Dr Copeland was an excellent therapist. There was no question about that. She was a calm, comforting presence that he grew to appreciate more as time went on. She was intelligent and sensitive, and he couldn't have chosen a better person to start this journey with. Buck had also never met her in person. Which may seem odd, but it made sense to him. There was a pandemic, and he had, in recent years, felt oddly uncomfortable with the idea of an in-person therapy session. When Dr Copeland had brought up the possibility once, a couple of years ago, he had a panic attack.
He doesn't know why. It had surprised him more than his therapist, which he was mildly offended by. She had talked him through the breathing exercises, sat with him until he could think again, and let him change the subject, never bringing it up again.
Until now.
Now, on a Tuesday afternoon, twenty-seven minutes into their ninety minute session, Dr Copeland asked him, "Would you feel comfortable discussing why the suggestion of an in-person session caused such a strong reaction in you?"
Buck just about choked. That had been years ago. How long had she been sitting on this? He stared at her, wide-eyed. She stared back, calmly. He was always irritated by her impassiveness when bringing up topics that made him panic. He understood, obviously, but that didn't stop it from annoying him.
"Um, I guess? I don't have much to say though, I don't know why I reacted like that."
"That's okay Buck. We'll go through it, step by step." she smiled reassuringly. "Think back, what words made you react?"
"I was fine until you suggested the in-person session. I don't know why though. I like you, I would like to do these face-to-face but the idea makes me want to die a little bit."
"Alright, let's go from there. Do you think it's the idea of the therapy or the therapist that's causing your distress?"
"What?"
"Do you think the idea of seeing me, your therapist, is causing the issue? Or is it the therapy itself being in-person. Is it perhaps related to your feelings about therapy in general or is it something else?"
"Um, I don't think I'm still bothered by the idea of therapy, I mean, it's been really good for me. I feel so much better about my parents, and Maddie, and all of those childhood things."
Dr Copeland tilted her head to the right and nodded encouragingly at him, smiling softly.
"So, maybe it's the therapist thing then?" Buck frowned, "But I really like you! You're a great therapist, I'm not scared of you or anything." He rushed to defend himself.
Dr Copeland ducked her head, smiling widely, "Evan, I don't think you're scared of me. You don't need to reassure me, this is about you and getting to the bottom of the cause here so we can help you make decisions for you, not for your fears."
Buck chewed his cheek, wringing his hands together. "I just don't know what's wrong with me." The knowing look from the woman on the screen made him reassess, "Sorry. What's going on? I don't know what's going on with me." She smiled at his correction.
"Well, let's think about it properly. Before we started our sessions, have you ever been to therapy before?"
"Yeah, you know I have. We talked about it at the beginning."
"Play along, please."
"Okay, yeah. I've had therapy before this. Um, I went to the counsellor when I was in high school for anxiety. He wasn't very good so I only went a handful of times." His hands were starting to chafe from rubbing them together so roughly. He leaned over and grabbed a fidget toy from the basket on his coffee table, making himself comfortable again. Dr Copeland once again beamed at his self-correction.
"Then I went to a therapist when I was... twenty? I think. I kept having panic attacks after I left home and I thought maybe I was making a bad choice." his face scrunched up then, "But she wanted me to pray it away or something."
"And then that was it until department mandated therapy?"
"Mhm." Buck nodded, flicking the tangle around his fingers faster, "Bobby made me do that twice, then I started seeing you. And you sent me to the psychologist for my ADHD diagnosis."
"Buck, I think we're skipping a few steps here. Talk to me about the department therapy, please."
"Okay, um, the therapist I saw before you was for the bombing, just to clear me to go back to work. I just saw him once so he could make sure I was mentally stable, I guess." Buck chuckled awkwardly. He was getting more fidgety and uncomfortable as this conversation went on, and he just could not think of why.
"The first department therapy session was after I lost the kid on the rollercoaster, back when I was a probie. Um, I went to her for just the one session 'cause Bobby was worried about me."
Dr Copeland watched her client carefully. Buck's eyes were on the floor, his legs were bouncing, and his hands were squeezing the fidget toy so tightly his knuckles were stark white. She knew that this was the source, now she just needed to get Buck to recognise it too. "Evan, what happened in that appointment?"
Buck's head shot up, eyes wide and terrified as he stared past the laptop camera, off into the distance. He swallowed loudly, "I... I don't know. I don't remember."
Dr Copeland smiled sadly, knowing far too well what the man was experiencing. "Buck, look at me, please." His eyes found hers through the screen. "Do you want to drop this? We can pick it up at another time if you don't feel like you're ready to remember."
Buck shook his head frantically. "I need to know. I - I didn't know that I didn't know, that's probably not good is it?" He shook out his body, dropping the tangle and sitting up straight. "I need to know. I have to know. I can't just leave this, this is important."
"Okay then, let's start from the beginning. Tell me everything you can remember about the session."
"It was warm, I remember that. I don't know what day it was but I had to take a day off work to go, Bobby wanted me to have the session before I had my next shift. Um, her name was Dr Wells. I remember that she had friended me on Facebook the day of the accident. It was all over the news, they interviewed me. I thought that was weird but whatever."
Dr Copeland, out of the camera's view, gripped the arms of her chair so hard she felt her nails bending. She had suspected that Buck had some trauma regarding therapy, but nothing like this. Nothing like a therapist so unprofessional she saw a client she was interested in. She whispered a silent prayer to anyone who was listening that this story was not going in the direction she suspected. She took a deep breath and returned her attention to the lost looking man in front of her.
"I remember that she was nice. Like, she smiled and stuff, she seemed sympathetic. You know that's not really my thing but it was okay I suppose. I told her about losing Devon and she said it wasn't my fault. I know that now but she wasn't super convincing." Buck grimaced, "I suppose I only had her for the one session though, so maybe that's not fair. She's probably a great therapist if you give her a chance."
"If you think she's such a great therapist, why didn't you give her a chance?"
"Well, she said I couldn't see her again after what I did. I'm just glad she didn't report me."
"What?"
"Yeah, I mean, maybe that's why I feel uncomfortable with in-person therapy. Deep down, I'm probably afraid that I'll sleep with you."
"You'll what!?" Dr Rachel Copeland had never been so shocked in her life. A therapist had slept with a patient, and nothing had been done. Evan Buckley had been sexually assaulted by his therapist and he thought it was his fault. Dr Copeland surely had her work cut out for her. But Rachel, Rachel was fuming.
To sleep with a patient was one of the worst things a therapist could do. To sleep with a patient in-session? To pre-meditate it by looking him up on social media before the session? To make him feel like it's his fault? To scar a young man so thoroughly that he's terrified to have a therapy session in-person, no matter the benefit it would have to him? Dr Copeland was going to do everything in her power to help Evan Buckley. Rachel Copeland was going to ruin this bitch.
Buck ducked his head on the other side of the screen, embarrassed, "Yeah, I mean, I know it's fucked up of me but, it felt good? Well, not good, but it felt like something I knew how to do. She said it was good, but that we shouldn't tell anyone about it and I should probably see a different therapist next time I need one. Said it was a conflict of interest."
Buck was worried about what revealing this would mean. He was terrified that Dr Copeland would be scared of him now, that she wouldn't feel safe to keep seeing him. Making a woman, any person really, but particularly a woman, feel unsafe around him was one of Buck's biggest anxieties.
"Buck, I need you to know that this wasn't your fault. It wasn't your doing. She did this to you." Dr Copeland felt a nail break against the arm of her chair. She took a deep breath. "What she did is sexual assault. You were vulnerable, you were in therapy, you had just lost a patient. You could not consent. Buck, I need you to know that you did nothing wrong."
Buck stared at his therapist, shocked. She must have heard him wrong. "No, Doc, she didn't assault me. If anything, I assaulted her. She was just trying to do her job, and I told her I thought I was a sex addict and she tried to comfort me." His hands were shaking, she had to have it wrong.
"Buck. Take a deep breath and think about this logically. If Maddie told you that she went to therapy after losing someone on a call, and she opened up to her therapist about using sex as a coping mechanism. If she let herself be vulnerable with a medical professional and they had sex with her during the session, maybe even while she was crying about it. If she told you that that had happened to her, would you say to her what you are saying to me right now? That she was at fault? That she assaulted her therapist?"
"No, of course not!"
"Then why is it different for you?"
Buck choked on air, then burst into tears. Loud, hiccuping sobs wracked his body as he curled in on himself, seeking comfort. Dr Copeland blinked back tears, watching the large man shrink into himself. It was always difficult to watch someone so strong, so put together finally accept the release they needed. Nothing pulled at her heartstrings more.
Several minutes later, Buck managed to stop the sobs long enough to get some words out, "It wasn't my fault, was it?"
Dr Copeland looked softly at her patient, a man who had been through so much in his short life, and been given so little in return. The tall, muscular man who sat with his knees to his chest, a blanket around his shoulders and surrounded by the tissues he used to try and clean up his breakdown.
"No, Evan. It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve it."
Evan Buckley sniffed loudly, fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt as he glanced down, "What do I do now?"
"Well, if you're interested in reporting her, I can help you with that."