Grohm chuckled and shifted his eyes to the ground. “No, however you’re a rather special case.” He looked up, Anderson’s rather unamused expression digging a hole into his confidence and chest. “You intrigue me, more so, I’d like to be there when things aren’t as easy for you. After all, a therapist is a support system. All that you tell me has and always will be, confidential.” 

It felt in a way, wrong. It felt out of place to be holding Grohm’s phone number in his hand. He swallowed thick before speaking again, letting his eyes blink a few times and his brows furrow. “Right.” He paused, unsure of what to say. Anderson intrigued him? Yes they had been speaking for months, almost every week it felt and now, well now they would be speaking almost as often as friends if he were to be working closely with the doctor. “I’m, leaving now.” His words were flat with a twinge of suspicion.

Anderson fiddled with the paper that now sat in his coat pocket, unable to think of anything other than the cardstock. It was only when he sat himself at his desk, once again to resume his nightly routine, that he pulled it out and stared at it. 

He felt off, initially thinking it might’ve been the seizure he had experienced not more than an hour and a half ago still having lingering effects, but soon realized how unsettled having that slip of paper on his desk made him feel.

He inhaled and closed his eyes, he rubbed his face and let out a long, deep, sigh. He felt as if he was going mad, around the bend, completely out of his mind. A part of him thought that maybe, after The Sculptor had been caught and prosecuted, he might take time for himself.

Time, for himself.

Only there wasn’t time. Was there?

It was the question that echoed behind his eyes as he embraced the colourful dark that consumed his vision. 

He still had Elizabeth to worry for, he had a school to call and an appointment to go to, it seemed that Time, was being taken away from him. Time seemed to be a decision that had been made for him, just like Elizabeth.

Lingering on the thought of Elizabeth, he opened his eyes. The world before him was dark as his eyes adjusted and fixated on the details out the window. He stared at the trees, the pine and evergreen trees with their dark rich fall leaves, and the oaks with the greens that dared to teeter into yellow or orange. His gaze drifted to the trunks and the forest just passed them, and as he stared, with his sight once again adjusting, he could have sworn he saw someone. Someone familiar, someone he had seen before.

Only he couldn’t have.

Standing, ribs splayed open like a cage that had set the birds free. Standing, with a cavern now full of branches. Currants, those branches, were Currants. And yet again, he saw that woman, knowing she to be long rotted in the morgue. He saw her, the victim of Stevens, the victim of The Sculptor, the victim of an unseen puppeteer, and he called her his own. 

His lines had blurred with the case that could have, and in his mind, should have, taken his life. 

Though mentally, who’s to say it won’t take everything he has.

And leave him with nothing?

And suddenly, as if time had left him, a week had gone by.

Mundane and simple, though somehow present as he went through the motions of last week’s endeavors. That being, his seizure, and the body. And it was all Grohm could think about, even as he sat before Elizabeth.

“How is he?” Her voice was tense, hearing the news of Anderson’s incident wasn’t on her bingo board, not at all. When Cali relayed her what had happened, surprisingly to herself, she was worried. She worried that something might’ve been wrong, her mind even convinced itself that he might’ve had cancer or an underlying disease that’d take his life in a matter of weeks.

Only, he wasn’t ill. Not exactly.

“He’s at home.” Grohm sat with one leg over the other and his hands folded in his lap. 

“He’s at home.” Elizabeth paused, her brows furrowing and emphasizing her rather unimpressed and interrogative expression. “That’s it? No, ‘he’s well’ or ‘he’s recovering’?” 

Grohm pushed his glasses flush to his face and cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen him. I do not know what you want me to say, I wouldn’t know if he’s alright or recovering well because-” He found himself frustrated. He inhaled and blinked. “I do not know, how he is doing.”

Elizabeth sat there, her expression had softened as he watched the man grow tense in his seat. She inhaled. “Aren’t you his therapist? Didn’t he talk about it?” It was a question she thought was innocent, it had a simple answer. It was either, yes, he was recovering, or to her complete worry and dismay, no. The latter of which, she dreaded.

“Unfortunately, if I were to talk about his sessions with me I would be breaking confidentiality.” 

Elizabeth groaned and hung her head back, letting it rest against the seat. “He’s supposed to come get me later today. We’re supposed to go school shopping and- see Margot.” She liked Margot, even if she had placed her with a murderer in her eyes. 

She was kind to her, she was pretty and independent, she didn’t have to take an answer she didn’t like. She could change it, to Elizabeth, both her and Cali were role models.

“I’m sure he’ll be here. Perhaps he’s finishing up at work and he’ll be on his way.” Grohm offered her a gentle smile.

“You’re really bad at lying. You don’t think he’s showing up do you.” Her tone was flat, and almost, almost, unbothered.

Grohm blinked, his shoulders relaxed. “No. Frankly, I don’t think he can bring himself to see anyone at the moment.” 

The last thing Grohm heard from Anderson, was a text that kept itself stuck in his bones.

I'm losing time.

He inhaled and rubbed his hand of his mouth. “He’s still shaken up I’m sure, if not today than tomorrow.” He offered the phrase in a sense of reassurance, however he could see gears grinding against one another behind Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Or, you, could take me.” She stared at him through her lashes, her hands fiddling with the tares in her jeans. Her fingers picked at the frayed edges as she let the thought simmer between them.

“That would be unprofessional, Elizabeth.” He gave her a sly, knowing smile. “I am your therapist, it would go against the rules I was sent here with.”

“Well, you’re not officially my therapist.” She leaned back in her seat, a scheme brewing in her mind. She cleared her throat and tilted her head to the side.

Grohm chuckled. “And who would you decide is better for the role?”

“Margot.” She gave a soft smile. “I mean it only makes sense.” She said, her voice coming off as a defense.

“It’d only make sense?” He tilted his head.

“She understands- I dunno- Girl? Problems?” She suddenly sounded very unsure.

Grohm blinked, girl problems. What did girl problems mean? Surely nothing he hasn’t had experience with, though the more he thought about it the more he realized his clientele seemed to lay firmly in the male department. 

“Margot appointed me to you, what has you thinking she might go back on her idea? She’s rather- Headstrong.” 

“She won't force me to make you my therapist. I think that’d be illegal.” She chuckled. 

Grohm’s smile was warm and full, something about sitting with Elizabeth, talking about people that they knew, talking about mundane life and simple subjects, was… Kind.

“Okay.” He spoke with an underlying excitement, a giddiness that caught in his throat. Aside the organ harvesting and artful bodies, Grohm took complete pleasure in enabling the joy of others. Even at the cost, and eventual, dismemberment of his own.

Truthfully, Michael wasn’t at home. He wasn’t asleep or laying in bed, he was too restless for that. 

In fact, he had just finished up from the hospital and was now engaged with a walking conversation with Margot. Something he truly wished anything to take him away from this moment.

“You were supposed to get Elizabeth an hour ago.” Margot’s tone was stiff.

“I would have, if I wasn’t in the process of-” He took a deep breath. He could feel the blood running through the veins in his hands. “If I didn’t have a seizure.” The last word came out in a hiss.

“A seizure at a crime scene.” He reiterated. His hands motioning and waving around as if to prove his point further. 

Margot inhaled. “Yes and I’m very worried about you, but I’m also worried about a girl, who right now is alone, and being very patient with you.” 

“Patient with me.” He raised his brows.

“Yes. Patient with, you.” Margot’s brows furrowed.

“Oh, let me drop all these important things like, oh I dunno, solving a fucking murder, and bend to your every will.” 

“You’re being irrational.” 

“And I have every right to be Irrational right now.” He huffed, the two now standing beside his car. He ran his hand through his hair, raking it back from his face. “I will be there. I promised her that.” He turned his head, he raised his brows momentarily, as if he was saying something without words. 

Margot blinked, she folded her arms and let out a huff. “You sound like me.” 

Michael’s lips formed a downturned smile. “Seems like you’re rubbing off on me.” 

The two stood there, Michael’s driver side door open between them as they stared with a tense air and cold eyes. Margot was the first to break away, her eyes shifting to the concrete. 

“Okay, okay, fine.” She huffed.

“Fine?” Michael raised a brow.

“Yeah- Fine. You got me. Just, be there. She needs a home, and she needs it soon. Understand?” Margot and Michael stood there, an awkward silence between them.

“She’ll have a home.” Michael got in his car, and sat there as he watched Margot walk off. Peace, the silence became peaceful to sit in, to breathe in. He let his lungs completely fill and deflate, taking the deep straining breaths slowly. 

“What do you mean she left.” Michael stood in front of a secretarial desk, in front of one of the nurses. 

“She left with a uhm-” She looked down at the monitor. “Atticus Grohm? It was approved by Johnathan Hanes, the, one who brought her in.” 

Michael blinked, baffled by his situation. He scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a groan. “Okay- When did they say they’d be back.” His voice didn’t leave room for question, it was demanding and direct.

“They didn’t say.” The woman frowned.

Michael exhaled and cursed to himself as he turned to look at the doors, maybe by miraculous coincidence they would walk right through as he stared. But they didn’t. “It’s fine- Thank you for your time.” He didn’t turn to look at the woman as he fled through those doors, and as he stuffed his hands in his pockets he was suddenly reminded. 

That little paper, with neatly printed numbers on one side. He had Dr.Grohm’s number, his personal number. The number to the phone he had, always. 

And suddenly, his solution came to him.

Grohm stood, shopping bags lining either arm, with an expression that could only be described as pure and unadulterated bliss.