33 Apocalypse Ave, Sunday Morning

Talking time with Kaidan's therapist didn't go any easier this week - instead, going by the disapproving look on Sheila's face, it was probably going worse. Her question from last week still weighed heavily on his mind, but that just meant he didn't want to talk about it - didn't have it worked out yet, didn't want to bother anyone with it.

At least this time she wasn't prodding too hard. He knew that'd change in no time flat if he kept it up, but... he appreciated the breathing space, even if her eyes and tone made it very clear she knew he was clamming up again.

Sometimes talking helped. Sometimes it didn't.

"I'm glad you talked to someone," Sheila said near the end of it. "You shouldn't keep this all so close, Kaidan. You need support - and it sounds like these people are willing to give it to you."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess they are."

Mostly he still felt guilty about... well, bothering Jack with his own problems. They weren't exactly close, and... Jack had enough trouble of his own, as Kaidan had been reminded of when he didn't show up back at the house the other night.

He ended the conversation with Sheila two minutes early. More to write, more thinking. Plenty of homework to do. But he found himself wanting to avoid doing it, and eventually he got to his feet and went out, dropping his last JGoB's pastry and a bottle of water off in front of Jack's door.

Werewolf changes probably weren't anything like migraines, but it was the best he could think of doing.

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