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Slamming doors felt like second-nature to Andrew.
Really, it shouldn’t have. He was supposed to be working on his temper, practicing exercises to help him calm down, breathing more steadily and all that. Both his school guidance counsellor and his therapist had mentioned stuff about how having a bad temper could be a detriment to his health, how it was a symptom of his PTSD from everything he’d gone through, and how his acting out in anger not only hurt him but the people around him.
It didn’t stop him from doing it, though.
And it didn’t stop Gibbs from telling him off every time.
“Stop slamming the damn doors!” Gibbs called up the stairs. Andrew heard him through his bedroom door. Lying on his bed, though, he wasn’t sure he cared enough to respond. Not when he knew what was on the kitchen counter downstairs.
Report cards were in.
Andrew’s was… less than satisfactory.
When they’d received their cards at school that day, Andrew’s first instinct was to feel embarrassed by it. After all, he used to at least be decent at school. Now it looked like he was scraping by, when he had literal geniuses who could help him with his school work and as much time as he needed to get his homework done (thanks to the school guidance counsellor having words with his teachers). And his friends were all doing well. He was the only one drifting behind.
And then had come the frustration. Why was he the only one drifting behind? How come he wasn’t actually doing well? He was doing everything the same as normal! His grades shouldn’t be slipping like that, no matter what.
And finally, the anger.
The anger had appeared on the way home. Anger at the fact that the report card was so bad compared to his usual, anger at the lack of positivity on the report card in general.
Anger that he had to bring that damn thing into the house, and that all he’d got from the guidance counsellor when he’d had to show her the card was a sympathetic smile and, “Your next grades will be better, just hold on.”
In other words, bullshit.
He hadn’t shown Gibbs the report card when he and Jessica had arrived at the office later that day — it was office day, and not after school or “straight home” day, so whilst everyone else was doing paperwork they just got to hang out and relax. Jessica had relaxed. Andrew had quietly seethed, avoiding conversation until it was time to go home, despite the team’s numerous attempts to try and get him to talk about what was bothering him.
And that is how he ended up slamming his bedroom door shut.
As soon as he’d done so, he flopped down onto his bed, pressing his fists into his eyes. He knew that if he didn’t do that, he would end up getting up and throwing stuff, and then eventually cry out of frustration and also because he’d broken stuff and his hands hurt. So pressing his fists into his eyes was the next best alternative.
He didn’t know exactly how long he lay there doing that, but at some point he drifted off, only to be woken by a knock on the door. Moving his hands from his face, he looked up to see Gibbs standing by his now open bedroom door, holding something.
His report card.
He felt the anger beginning to flare again.
“You ready to talk?” Gibbs asked. And there it was again, the soft, sympathetic tone of voice that people had been giving Andrew all day, every day. The same old bullshit that people were using to pretend that everything was going to be okay.
Apparently, Gibbs took his silence as an affirmative, and he stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. Not trapped, just talking.
“So, your report card is in—”
“I know.”
Gibbs paused to see whether Andrew would add anything else. “It’s got comments on your grades—”
“I know.”
“—and your behaviour and attitude.”
Andrew’s lips pursed shut at that.
Gibbs seemed to be trying to consider how to proceed with the conversation. Andrew was still angry — he knew he was, and he also knew that he probably looked like he was, because he was bad at hiding how he felt — and an angry Andrew could react in pretty much any way to the situation at hand. He took a slow breath. “I know this year has been hard for you—”
Andrew’s only response to that was to roll over and face away from Gibbs, clearly signalling that he wanted the conversation to end from his side.
“Andrew.”
“No.”
“I know it’s been hard—”
“No.”
“With everything that’s happened—”
“No.”
“And it’s taking time to adapt—”
“Would you quit that?!” Andrew suddenly turned back over, glaring at Gibbs. “God!”
Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him. “Andrew—”
“All I’m getting from anyone is sympathy! Repeated, bullshit sympathy because my grades were crap and I should be doing better or some shit like that!” Andrew pressed his fists into his eyes again, feeling them beginning to heat up, beginning to hurt. “Over and over and over, all I’m getting from anyone is sympathy! About anything! About everything!” He dropped his hands, and as soon as he did, he felt the first tears begin to well up in his eyes.
“Would it hurt for anyone to give me a ‘well done’ every once in a while? Well done for surviving? Well done for trying to cope? Well done for even getting grades when I could’ve just given up and flunked off this year?”
Gibbs gently put down the report card, facing Andrew fully. “Andrew…”
“I’m trying, Gibbs. I am.”
“I know.” The older man hesitated, before gently placing a hand on Andrew’s knee, rubbing softly. “You’re trying real hard. And you’ve done good with it.”
Andrew took a shaky breath through his nose, his body shaking a bit. Whether it was with anger or because he was trying to stop himself from all out crying, Andrew wasn’t sure himself.
“I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished.”
That was enough to set more tears rolling down his cheeks.
The two sat like that for a little while, with Gibbs keeping a comofrting hand on Andrew’s leg and the teen silently crying. Just enjoying the silence. And then Gibbs moved his hand, and instead picked up the report card again, holding it up.
“We’ll talk about this later. Properly.” He lowered it. “For now, let’s get dinner.”
Andrew pursed his lips, rubbing the tears off his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “I’m not hungry.”
“We’ll get takeout tonight.”
“…Okay, maybe I’m a little hungry.”
Gibbs cracked a smile at that, before patting Andrew’s knee and pushing himself to his feet. “You choose tonight. And we’ll relax, take our time with it all. Sound good?”
Andrew eventually nodded slowly. “That… that sounds good.”
“Good.” Gibbs reached over and ruffled Andrew’s hair, pulling a smile out of him, before dropping the report card on Andrew’s bedside table. “Come on, let’s go pick takeout and order before your sister finishes every snack in the kitchen.”