Chapter Text
Lola sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingers twining nervously in her lap. The office was all earth tones and soft lighting — clearly designed to be soothing. It just made her feel more out of place.
"What brings you in today?" Dr. Foster asked gently.
Lola took a deep breath. “I… I had an argument with my boyfriend, and it made me realize I have some issues with trust and abandonment.” She hesitated. “I thought I could handle it, but it just hit me harder than I expected.”
“Arguments can bring up a lot of emotions,” Dr. Foster replied. “Can you tell me more about what happened?”
"I feel like I need to say something about myself, to put it into proper context. Can I do that, and I will answer the question about what's happening now later?"
"Of course."
Lola's gaze drifted to the window. "I have a hard time trusting people. Men, especially. But people in general. My father died when I was a baby, I don't really remember anything about him. My mother remarried. My stepfather was... not a very good man. He was a prison guard. Authoritative. Controlling. Liked order. I learned fast not to challenge that. He wanted me to be this perfect little girl who reflected well on him, but only if I fit into his narrow idea of what that meant."
She exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t until I was older that I realized he was involved with the mafia. Made life easier for them on the inside, helped them keep their business running. When they got caught, he was charged too.”
“And how did that affect you?”
"I just remember feeling... betrayed. I didn't want anything to do with him. I left the country, so I don't even know what happened with him, whether he was found guilty or not. He and my mom separated earlier, though. I was fifteen when they divorced." She paused. "I think she knew what he was doing, but she didn't do anything about it."
A small knot tightened in her chest. "For the longest time, I didn't understand why she wasn't more... assertive about leaving him behind. Now that I'm around that age she was when it all ended, I think I get it. She was scared of the same thing I'm scared of. That this is as good as it gets. Him, or nothing at all."
Lola blinked, realizing what she’d just said aloud.
“She never married again. Never had another partner. I think she’s been single ever since.”
Dr. Foster’s voice was calm. “That can be difficult to understand, especially at a young age.”
"I really wanted to prove that I would be different," Lola said. "Smart about my relationship choices. No dating around, no dumb choices." She gave a crooked smile. "This was serious business that could have serious consequences, right?"
She swallowed hard, memories flooding back to her. “My first serious relationship was in my early twenties. It was... messy. We never really figured out what we were to each other.” She paused, her brow furrowing as she recalled the tangled emotions. “I think I was really in love with him, but I didn't know how to open up about my feelings. I felt like I had to perform just to keep him interested.”
“That can be very challenging in a relationship,” Dr. Foster tilted her head. “How did that make you feel?”
“Like I wasn’t good enough,” she said after a moment, already hating that her voice trembled slightly. “I started to lose respect for myself. Eventually, I broke it off because I realized I didn’t want to feel like a supporting act in my own relationship. I wanted to be someone’s priority, not just an option.”
Dr. Foster gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s a powerful realization. How did that shape your relationships afterward?”
She hesitated, thinking how to vocalize her thoughts. Usually, she'd have prepared this in her head. Usually, she wouldn't dump her internal monologue on anyone. But in this office, it seemed... right.
“After him, there were men who liked... The idea of me, but not the reality. Mistress material. Not partner material.” Her gaze drifted. Her eyes were burning, but she kept talking. “Tried to make me feel bad for wanting more than they were willing to give me. So eventually I thought, okay — fine. If I can’t be valued for who I am, then I just won’t show anyone the real me. I gave up trying to. Focused on me, my career. After I got my degree from the university, I managed to win a scholarship to write a doctorate. I came here. I went out of my way to stay here. And I did. I thought I'd left it all behind, but it turned out, relationship-wise, here it was... more of the same. People are interested in who I seem to be, not in who I am."
She let out a rough little laugh. “To be fair, I’m very good at being what people want to see. I’m a burlesque artist. I built a stage persona. A safe character to hide behind.” Her lips curled. “People think she’s all there is. And I let them.”
Dr. Foster gave her a moment. “What changed recently?”
"A couple of months ago, I met someone," Lola said slowly. "Spencer. He's an FBI agent. He handled a case involving a stalker who'd targeted me." She swallowed hard, thinking about how she'd have to talk about this, too, at some point.
Not today, though. Today was about her and Spencer.
"He saw me, the real me, when I was stressed out, panicking, basically the worst of myself. We just... started talking. And something clicked. I was a mess, understandably. And he... held me through it. He made me feel safe. Like it was okay to be scared. And after everything was over, he said he wanted to get to know me better." Her fingers stilled for a moment before moving again. "Honestly, it's terrifying."
"Terrifying?" Dr. Foster prompted.
Lola leaned back. “How easy it’s been, after so many years alone. It feels too good to be real. Part of me’s just waiting for something to go wrong — some big, cosmic ‘gotcha.’ But the worse part is, I’m scared it’ll be me. That I’ll be the one who screws it up. By wanting too much."
Dr. Foster stayed quiet, letting the weight of it hang for a beat. “You mentioned a recent argument with your partner. Can you tell me more about it?”
Lola let out a slow breath, glancing away for a moment. “It was… well, it was about a lot of things,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “Spencer’s good to me, really. He’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, if I’m honest.” She risked a glance up, half-expecting a raised brow. “But that’s also the problem, I think.”
Dr. Foster stayed quiet, pen resting idle on her notebook.
"He was away for work and didn’t message me. For days. Nothing. And I told myself not to overreact. That he was busy. That it wasn’t about me.” Her voice turned brittle. “But it felt like it was about me.”
Dr. Foster said gently, “Did you tell him how it made you feel?”
“That was the argument,” Lola said. “I tried not to say anything, but I ended up yelling at him for something he didn't know I needed him to do." She sighed. "I don’t really know how to ask for what I need. I tell myself that if he really cared, he’d just know. He’s a profiler. Isn't that ironic?” Her hands stilled in her lap as she spoke. “I know it's stupid. That's not how it works. But part of me clings to it anyway.”
Dr. Foster’s tone was gentle. “It sounds like there’s a part of you that’s learned to hold back, out of fear that expressing what you need might push someone away.”
Lola nodded. “Yes. I feel like I should just… be enough as I am, without asking. If I don’t need anything, I'll be easier to keep around. Less likely to be abandoned.” She blinked hard. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. I should just be grateful that he’s here, right?”
“It's not ridiculous at all,” Dr. Foster said, her voice steady.“It sounds like a survival strategy that made sense at the time.”
Lola looked away. “It’s lonely, though. And it’s not working anymore. Because with him…” Her voice softened. “For the first time, I think he’s worth the risk.”
Dr. Foster offered her a warm smile. Dr. Foster nodded once. “Vulnerability is difficult, especially when self-reliance has kept you safe. But real connection often begins there — in the space where you stop hiding.”
A tear slipped down Lola’s cheek. She wiped it away fast.
“There's this quote by Peter McWilliams, I keep thinking about it. It is a risk to love. What if it doesn't work out? Ah, but what if it does? I used to only hear that first part. What if it doesn't? What if I get hurt?” Her voice dropped. “But lately, I keep thinking about the second part. And that's even scarier."
Her mouth twisted into a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Spencer's not like the others, I know that. I don’t know how to navigate it, because it means I can’t keep doing what I’ve always done—pushing things down, handling everything on my own, avoiding vulnerability.”
Dr. Foster gave her time. Then: "The risk is there, Lola. It's always there. It sounds like with this relationship, you're wondering if the reward of it might be worth it."
"Yeah. But that's why it's scaring the shit out of me." The corner of the rug had started to fray. Lola focused on that. "I care about him. I don't want to lose him."
“If you didn’t feel this fear,” Dr. Foster said carefully, “if you trusted that you could ask for what you needed — what would that look like?”
Lola swallowed. “I think… I’d tell him I need reassurance sometimes. That when he’s gone for days, it triggers this old fear that people can disappear whenever they want, without explanation, and I just have to... take it. Take whatever he gives me and be grateful that he wants anything from me at all.”
She let the words settle. Dr. Foster didn’t rush her.
“You’re carrying the weight of expectations you set for yourself a long time ago," the therapist said. "But if Spencer has shown you he’s there for you, maybe it’s time to start asking him for what you need. Relationships are built on communication and trust, and he might be relieved to know how he can support you.”
Lola chewed the inside of her cheek. “But what do I do with the voice that says I’m asking too much?”
“You tell that voice that it's a possibility, yes. But what if it's not? What if, instead, he sees it as an invitation to know you better? To support you?”
That quieted something inside her.
Dr. Foster offered, “What if you started with something small? Not a test. Just practice. One honest ask.”
Lola took a shaky breath. “Like… telling him I’d like to hear from him more when he's away?”
Dr. Foster nodded. “Exactly. It might not feel comfortable at first, but it could help you begin changing those reflexes.”
Lola’s mouth curved in a tentative smile. “I think… I could try that. Just a little thing, here and there.” She paused, her voice softening with realization. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Maybe… I can take it one small step at a time.”
Dr. Foster smiled back. “That’s a beautiful way to start. One small step at a time. And if he’s as understanding as he seems, he’ll want to know what matters to you.”
Lola stood outside Spencer’s apartment door, taking one last deep breath. Her therapy session had stirred up more than she expected. She wasn’t sure if she felt ready — but she needed to say these things before she talked herself out of it.
Before she could change her mind, she knocked.
Spencer opened the door almost immediately. “Hey.” His face lit up, surprised but clearly happy to see her. “Come in.”
She stepped inside, giving him a small, nervous smile. “I, um… I wanted to talk.”
“Of course,” he said, ushering her to sit. “Everything okay?”
She nodded, but her shoulders were tight as they sat. A long, awkward beat passed before she spoke.
“I talked about you today,” she said finally. “With a therapist.”
He blinked, warmth flickering in his eyes, a little amusement behind them. "Oh, I’m a therapy topic? Should I be flattered or worried?"
Lola chuckled, feeling a little of her nervousness ease. Of course, he would remember having this conversation when it was him talking about his experience. "Flattered, definitely." She paused, gathering the courage.
He smiled at that but didn’t press. Just waited. That quiet patience — it cracked something open.
“Is this something your therapist taught you? Or are you doing your FBI interrogation thing? Just… letting people talk until they self-incriminate?”
Spencer tilted his head a little, like he was weighing that. “Maybe a little bit of both. Mostly, I just want you to say whatever it is you need to say.”
His gentleness made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.
She exhaled slowly. “I have a hard time asking for things,” she began. “That's... the headline. I learned a long time ago that if I don’t need anything, I can’t be disappointed. I can’t scare people off or make them angry. And I know it’s a ‘me’ problem. You haven’t done anything to make me think that. You didn’t disappear on purpose. I know that in my head.”
Her voice cracked on 'head', and she looked away. “But the reflex? It’s still there. I don’t trust myself to know how to act when something isn’t okay. It’s like this ancient little feral part of me that just panics. Like, oh shit, this is when he leaves. And then I get quiet, and small, and weird, because I don’t want to give you any reason to go.”
Spencer didn’t speak right away, just shifted slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. He let her keep talking, and that was both comforting and infuriating at the same time.
“I kept thinking you should just know. Because you’re brilliant, and you read people for a living. Which is dumb, I know. And hypocritical. It’s not your job to read my mind, and I hate it when people expect me to do that. So I want to work on it,” she said. “I am working on it. But I also want to ask you something.”
Now he sat up a little straighter.
"I really want you to text me when you’re away. Even if it’s late, even if it’s literally just ‘alive, not dead, thinking of you’.” She gave a brittle half-laugh. “I don’t need a whole novel. I just… I need to know you’re okay. And that you’re coming back.”
He didn’t respond right away. Which, normally, would have set off alarms in her head. But his eyes hadn’t changed. Not guarded. Not blank. Just… thoughtful.
“I can do that,” he said simply. “Of course I can.”
Something loosened in her spine. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself together until it started to ease.
She looked down at her hands. “There’s more,” she said. “Not a big thing, but… I realized something today. I’ve spent so much time worrying about what I need or what I’m doing wrong that I haven’t really asked what you want or need from me.”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I keep acting like I’m the one with all the issues, and you’re just this perfectly functioning support beam holding up the whole house. Which is obviously bullshit. So — is there anything you’re missing? From me? Do you ever feel like you’re missing something in this?”
He looked startled for half a second. Then something flickered in his expression — guilt, maybe, or something harder to name. Something older than them.
“I think I’ve been protecting this relationship from everything else…” he said after a moment. “Treating it like it’s a safe zone where nothing from the outside can hurt us. But that’s not real. And it’s not fair to you, either.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “Turns out if you want to keep someone, you actually have to let them see all of you, the messy parts included. Who knew?”
He gave a small smile. “I think I’m still figuring out what I need. But I want to try. With you. To make space for that.”
Lola glanced around his living room, not sure what made her do it, until she saw them — a stack of books on the coffee table, half-tucked under his battered chess set. She leaned forward, squinting.
Mapping the Heart: Relationships in the Neurodivergent World
Safe but Alone: Emotional Self-Sufficiency and How It Shapes Love
Emotional Safety in Relationships: Balancing Independence and Intimacy
Her throat closed for a second.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, picking one up.
Spencer winced. “Okay, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to be creepy—”
“You’ve been reading about how to... deal with me?”
“I mean… yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… wanted to understand. I want to be better. For you.”
Her eyes blurred suddenly, and she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “You absolute nerd.”
Spencer gave a weak smile. “You say that like it's news.”
“You’ve been doing research on how to be a better boyfriend?”
He shrugged. “It’s my only real superpower. That and a couple sleight-of-hand tricks.”
She laughed wetly. “God. That’s… really touching, actually.”
“Too much?”
She shook her head, still grinning. “No. It’s too much in the exactly right way. You beautiful weirdo.”
His smile turned lopsided. “I’ll take that.”
She softened, scooting closer until their knees bumped. “Spencer. You try so hard not to mess up that you kind of forget you’re allowed to be messed up.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“You don’t have to research your way into being lovable,” she added, quieter now.
Spencer gave a weak smile. “I’ve always been better at research than feelings.”
“Yeah, well.” She sniffed, swiping at her face. “For the record, this is helping my feelings. A lot. But I don't want you to feel like you have to do all this for me to care about you. I already do. Just... be yourself.”
There was a pause. A small, warm silence. Resting.
Then she said, softer: “We’ve both got work to do, don’t we?”
“I think so,” he said. After a moment, he added: “I didn’t text because I thought if I couldn’t be present properly, it was better to say nothing than give you some half-version of me. Easier to say nothing than risk saying the wrong thing."
She raised an eyebrow. “That's a very 'you' way to say you were scared.”
“You didn’t text me either,” he said after a beat. “Just saying.”
She winced, but nodded. “I know. I didn’t want to seem… clingy. Or needy. Or like I was trying to get in the way of your Very Important Genius Work.”
“You never would’ve been.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “I mean, I knew, but I didn’t. You know?”
He did. He nodded.
They shared a long look, something unspoken passing between them.
Lola tucked her legs under herself. “We have to stop treating this like it’s some perfect pocket universe. It’s not. You’re not just my escape hatch, and I’m not your sanctuary.”
He nodded slowly. “We need to let real life in.”
“Yeah. Let our lives overlap."
“I come to the club,” he said, “you come to dinner with the team. We stop pretending this exists outside of the mess.”
She smiled. “Because we are the mess.”
He smiled back. “Yeah. We are.”
He reached for her hand. Not dramatically — just something instinctive and quiet.
“You know what? You could just send me a picture of your face next time,” she said, her voice low, teasing. “Just the face. I’ll know you’re alive, and I get to admire what I’m missing.”
Spencer blinked. “Just my face?”
“Yep. I'm a simple woman with simple needs,” she smirked. "But, I mean, I’m not against getting a little creative with it if you’re feeling adventurous.”
Spencer’s eyebrows shot up, like he was trying to figure out if she was joking. “Are you implying I send you some sort of sexy picture?”
Lola tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening. “You’re the genius profiler.”
Spencer’s expression morphed into utter confusion, like he’d just been asked to solve an equation he’d never seen before. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… not sure that’s in my skill set.”
Lola chuckled, leaning in just a little, her voice quieter now. “No pressure. Just a suggestion, for when you feel... daring.” She winked.
He snorted, surprised by her bluntness, and laughed — full and sudden and genuine. Then he pulled her gently toward him, and she curled into his side, legs tangled, head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being here.” She pressed their joined hands against her chest. “For being messed up with me. This is...” she hesitated. "I didn’t realize I was missing this—getting to work through things, instead of pretending they’re not there."
She paused, and then, with a quiet, almost hesitant smile, she added, “I think... this is healing something I didn’t even know was broken.”
Spencer’s expression softened. He nodded and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “One step at a time?”
Lola smiled, her cheek against his shoulder.
“One step at a time.”