I understand that this doctor -- Stanley, I think is his name -- he needs to understand some of what Josh is going through before he can help.  But still.  It feels like I'm ratting Josh out.

But I agreed to meet with Stanley, and so here I am.  Fidgeting.

The door to the Green room opens and a middle-aged man in khakis and a button-down shirt steps out.  I feel overdressed suddenly -- I wore a suit for the occasion, even though it's Saturday.  Defense mechanism, probably.

"CJ?" the man prompts.

"Yes," I move towards him.  "You must be Stanley."

"Good to meet you," he nods.  "This is Kaytha," he says as he ushers me in.  "She's working with me."

I give her a smile and take the seat Stanley indicates.  I am incredibly nervous, and I tend to giggle when I'm nervous.  But I really don't think this is a laughing matter.  I channel that nervous energy into some more fidgeting.

"CJ, I understand you're concerned about Josh."

Okay, that's an easy one.  I can do this.  "Yes.  He's not himself."

Stanley nods.  "Can you elaborate."

"Josh is," I pause.  How do you describe Josh to someone who doesn't know him?  "He would kill me for saying this, but he's incredibly sensitive and quite sweet, but he hides it under this arrogance and cynicism.  He's also brilliant and eloquent."  I smile and amend, "Well, when he doesn't let his mouth get away from him."

"So he's witty?"

"Yes," I say.  "He can be."

"But sometimes his mouth gets away with him and he can be -- what?"

I shrug and offer, "Rude?"

"Okay.  Anything else?"

I weigh my response for a moment.  "Lately, he's been... some things he's said have been mean.  Well, kind of mean."  I sound like a third-grader.  'Josh was mean to me!'

Stanley doesn't seem to notice.  "Can you give me an example?"

"Of something he's said?"

"Yes."

I have to think about it for a moment.  "I don't know if this is will help, but he told us -- Leo, Sam, Toby, and I -- he told us we couldn't possibly understand what it was like for him because we weren't shot."

Stanley gives me a sympathetic smile.  "Well, it's not the nicest thing he could've said.  Can you tell me about the shooting?"

I am caught off guard by the question -- I wasn't expecting it and my heart is beating faster all of a sudden.  It still scares me, Rosslyn.  I still have nightmares.

"CJ?" Stanley looks mildy concerned.

"Yeah," I say.  I fidget some more.  "I honestly don't remember it that well."

Stanley nods.  "That's not unusual."

"No, I mean -- I hit my head.  Sam, he pushed me down when the shooting started and I hit my head."

"Okay."  He is looking at me expectantly.  I guess he wants more details.

"We were next to a police car and the window got shot out.  There was a lot of noise -- screaming and the gunfire."  I stop, lost in that night.  "The pavement was sparkling -- well, I guess it was the glass shards.  Sam landed half on top of me, and then it was over.  There was still screaming, and the Secret Service agents were running around -- utter chaos."

Stanley lets my words linger in the air for a long moment before he asks, "Who found Josh?"

"Toby.  He was over behind this low wall and we didn't--"  I swallow hard and continue softly, "We didn't see him for a couple minutes."

Stanley gives me a piercing look.  "Does Josh blame you for that?"

"No," I answer automatically, surprised he would even ask that.

"Do you blame yourself?"

I stare at the wall above his shoulder.  "I thought we were here to help Josh."

"We are," Stanley agrees easily.  "I'm just asking some questions."

I watch him for a long moment, evaluating.  "Okay," I agree finally.  "Ask me some questions."

***

I wouldn't say Josh is lying in wait, exactly, but when I enter the Operations bullpen after two and a half hours with Stanley, he's immediately at my side.

"What happened with the painting?"

I don't even break stride as Carol hands me some papers.  "We gave it back to Rebecca Houseman."

"The daughter," he says.  "The little girl from the picture."

"Yes," I answer absently, flipping through my messages.

Josh follows me right into my office.  "What happened?"

I give him a look.  "I just told you, we--"

"I'm saying when you gave it to her, how did she react?" he asks impatiently.

I am puzzled.  "She seemed grateful," I offer with a shrug.

"Did she seem to be acting strangely?" he persists.

"Josh, the woman barely said two words.  What are you talking about, acting strangely?"

"You know, did she yell at people or slam doors or something?"

And suddenly I understand where he's going with this.  I am not going to play his game.  "Why don't you just ask me?" I suggest, dropping my messages on the desk.

Josh has his hands on his hips in one of his classic Master Politician at Work poses.  "What are you talking about?"

"You want to know if I met with anyone from ATVA."

Josh stares at me for a moment.  "Stanley Edward Keyworth," he says finally.  "Graduated from the University of Southern California with--"

"Josh, I don't need his life story."

"I do," he answers fiercely.  "He's going to be dissecting my psyche."

I can't give Josh any assurances about his session with Stanley, but I can give him the truth.  "Josh, we're trying to help.  All of us.  And, yes, some of us have talked to Stanley.  But you have to know that Stanley is here to help--"

"I don't want your damn help!" he shouts.  "I am not some crazy old woman who wants her Nazi painting back!"

I don't know what to say to that.  I really don't.  I just wait until his breathing slows down a little.  "Josh, you may not want help, but you need it.  I'll do anything I can -- anything you need--"

"What I need," he says, "is for everyone to leave me the hell alone."

"That's not going to happen, Josh," I answer stubbornly.  He should really know better than to try to out-stubborn a Cregg; we're more obstinate than the proverbial goat.

Josh looks up at me, and for a moment I see all the pain and rage and hurt in his eyes.  I am staggered.  I want to gather him into a hug and hold him until it goes away.

"When is your meeting?" I ask instead.

"Tomorrow," he answers, his voice ragged.

I nod, my eyes stinging with tears that I refuse to shed.  "I hope it helps, Josh."

He holds my gaze for a long moment.  "Me, too," he answers, his tone just louder than a whisper.

But for the first time in a long time, I can hear a note of hope in his voice.  And I'm starting to think that he'll make it to the other side.

THE END

01.02.01