Meredith sat rigid on the soft couch cushions; arms crossed tightly over her chest. She focused on her breathing as she watched the therapist scratch sloppy notes down in her file. Every time something was noted she grew more anxious. She couldn't tell if the notations indicated improvement, or if she'd gotten worse. Meredith loathed going to therapy. It required her to bare her very essence to a random stranger who she was supposed to innately trust, and everything about that scenario made uncomfortable itches worm their way down her arms.

Her therapist was a squat, curvy ginger with large, brown eyes and a questionable fashion sense. Coming from Meredith, that was saying something. Mumus seemed to be Janet's favorite garment of choice, and her curly red hair was always piled haphazardly on her head.

The office was welcoming enough, Meredith supposed. Lots of natural light flowed through large windows, and comfortable chairs and couches hung around to accommodate any seating arrangement. Bold colors and a bohemian style decor mirrored the eccentric personality of the therapist.

Meredith watched with bated breath as Janet tapped the pen against her tablet. Her brows were furrowed in thought.

"Go back a little for me, Meredith." She requested. "I'm having trouble understanding what set you off and sent you to me for the second time this week."

"Well." Meredith cleared her throat; a perpetual lump had set up residence back there since she'd stepped foot into the room. "He touched my arm."

Janet twitched almost imperceptibly, cocking a brow at Meredith and meeting her eyes. "Say his name, Mer. It will help you filter through what is bothering you. Recognizing the object of your discomfort is crucial if you want to move forward."

Meredith chewed her lip, pulling her arms in tighter around her. "Jet." She shivered as his name left her lips.

"Good. What did Jet do?"

"Jet." Meredith issued through clenched teeth. Uttering his name outside of the office had an odd effect on her. When they were speaking to one another at work, she could articulate perfectly well, but if anybody brought him up in passing, she suddenly forgot how to think: and speak, and breathe, no less. "He touched my arm." She murmured, heat rising in her face. Her chest felt hot as well, and she imagined she must be having a regressive episode.

Janet nodded and bobbed her head, all the while scribbling furiously on the pad. Jet was a common denominator in many of their conversations. "Has he ever touched you before?"

Meredith frowned slightly. "No, not that I can recall." She blushed, images of him caressing her arm, and their awkward embrace in the office flooded her mind. "Maybe he bumped into me once or twice, but I always manage to brush that off." She shrugged, aware that her chest was a beginning to feel tight, and she felt oddly detached from herself; a sign of an impending attack.

"And that is when you had the episode?" Janet prompted, glancing up for a moment.

"Yes." Meredith whispered, shivering slightly, barely controlling her breathing.

"How did you come out of it?"

"He hugged me." Meredith replied flatly, though her heartbeat had picked up tempo rapidly, a tell she hoped would go unnoticed. Though she understood she needed psychiatric help, she also longed to improve, and worried constantly about her reaction to things. Sometimes she hid her true feelings from Janet, if only to quench the fear that her condition wasn't improving. Odds were, Janet could see right through Meredith's flimsy guise, rendering Meredith's efforts to deflect useless. These worries upon worries compiled themselves into the unmanageable anxiety that continuously weighed her down.

"He hugged you?" Janet perked up and inclined her body toward Meredith, eyes sharp and inquisitive. "He knew to apply pressure to ground you?"

"No." Meredith admitted embarrassedly. The question threw her off, and her breathing regulated slightly. "I asked him." She admitted in a shy, light voice. Her fingers picked at a beaded pillow in absent minded detachment.

"You felt comfortable asking your boss to do something like that for you?" Janet leaned further in her seat, hanging onto every word Meredith spoke. Her pen dangled limply in her hand, notepad slipping precariously down her knees.

"I don't know." Puzzlement crossed Meredith's face as she pondered the idea. "I don't usually feel comfortable talking to anyone."

"You talk to me." Janet stared pointedly.

"I have to talk to you. You're my therapist." Meredith scoffed, crossing her arms defiantly. In truth, Meredith did enjoy Janet's company, and occasionally they would go to lunch together, though Janet wrote off their excursions as therapeutic socializing. Meredith knew it was just to make sure she covered her ass, but it was a mutual arrangement. Having someone to talk to regularly made her feel almost normal: laughable, that her only friend was her therapist, but it brought a sense of normality, nonetheless.

"Quit trying to divert my attention. Tell me about Jet." Janet pressed, settling back in her chair, an indescribable gleam in her eye.

"There's nothing to tell." Meredith lied, cheeks reddening. "I just feel comfortable around him." She chuckled a bit at that. "More comfortable than usual, anyway."

"Tell me, Meredith." Janet began slowly, mulling over her thoughts. "Why it is that one moment this particular man triggers your anxiety from a simple touch, and that very same man is the person you trusted to bring you back down? Can you guess why that is? He was caressing your arm, from what you've told me. Why wouldn't his embrace have the same effect? What would cause such conflicting reactions, if the irritant is also the antidote?"

"I don't know." Meredith struggled to hide her sigh. Janet could be cryptic at times, and Meredith wasn't in the mood for a verbal runaround. "It's highly illogical. If I knew, I wouldn't be here."

"You don't see the problem with that?"

"I do. I just don't comprehend it." Meredith frowned. "I'm usually good at figuring out what triggers me. I just don't know why, in this case."

Janet's face lit up with perceptible glee. "Interesting." She mused, grinning widely at Meredith. "I know what is wrong with you."

"What?" Meredith urged, easing forward in her seat.

"I can't tell you." Janet sighed, the joy in her eyes dimming slightly. "You have to figure it out for yourself."

Meredith gaped at her in disbelief. "What do you mean? You're my doctor! Surely you don't leave it up to the patients to self-diagnose."

"You're right, for the most part. Sometimes, it is far easier to accept your shortcomings if you realize them, rather than someone spelling them out for you."

"What?" Meredith shook with shock, hives threatening to erupt on her skin. "You're not going to help me?" She hung her head dejectedly.

"I'm helping you help yourself." Janet tapped her pen on her chin thoughtfully. "I have just the thing to prescribe." She quickly jotted down something on a corner of her paper. "Visit this address, tonight at eight." She commanded excitedly. "They will know I sent you." Her voice rushed out as she tore out the page.

Meredith grabbed the piece of paper from Janet's outstretched hand skeptically. "What is this?"

"Hopefully, your saving grace, if you manage to figure it out." Janet gazed warmly at Meredith. "I do hope you figure it out Meredith. You are an extraordinary woman, and you are a good friend of mine." She tentatively placed a soothing hand on Meredith's arm. Meredith cringed slightly at the close contact. Janet's eyes fell slightly. "Promise me you will try."

Her eyes searched Meredith's frantically. Meredith was startled by the sincere care she saw there. "I will, I promise." She whispered, tearing her gaze to the paper. "Gentlemen Only?" Her voice hitched questioningly. "What is this?"

"You've never heard of a gentleman's club?"

"Of course." Meredith flushed at the idea of a room filled with men. "I just don't see how this is going to help me. What am I supposed to do there?"

Janet brightened, eyes twinkling with mirth. "You'll find out." She sang teasingly.

"What if I don't?" Meredith whispered, more to herself than Janet.

"I have faith that you will."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Meredith."

"Jet."

"Where did you go for lunch?" He asked casually, leaning against the office door. Truthfully, he had an inkling where she did go, but he knew she would never tell him.

"I had lunch with a friend." Meredith replied. It was a far cry from the truth, and Jet knew it: she'd had lunch with a friend, except lunch really meant therapy session with her shrink. He would never call her out to her face, though, and the inevitable bear-like growl of her stomach in a couple hours was a sure tell that she'd foregone eating. Jet always knew when she went to her therapist. It was impossible for him to ignore the signs, so much so that he worried he was blurring the line between employer and something else; something else that he couldn't identify.

Meredith typed resolutely, attempting to ignore the fact that his eyes were boring holes in the back of her head. Jet grunted gruffly, running a hand through his already tousled hair. It stuck up a little where he'd disturbed it.

"What did you have?" His tone was nonchalant, but Meredith knew better. She had figured out long ago that Jet was rather intelligent, and sometime soon after joining the company he had figured out where she was going several times a week.

"Don't do this, Jet." She warned, heat rising up the back of her neck.

"Don't do what, Meredith?"

"Push my buttons." She pleaded; voice smaller than she hoped as her bravado quickly shrunk. Her ears started ringing: she was being far too forward, and her embarrassment at potentially overstepping a boundary was stirring up the familiar symptoms. "Don't set me off, please." She begged.

Jet's eyes met hers and he blanched. Her liquid pools were swimming with anxiety.

"Okay Meredith." He sighed, glancing out into the office behind him before gently shutting the door. "Do you want to talk about it?" He inwardly flinched. He was supposed to be helping her, not provoking her.

"No, Jet. Not right now." She replied, still holding his gaze. "Maybe someday."

"I'll hold you to that." He smiled genuinely. "For now, how about that coffee after work?"

Meredith smiled for a brief moment, despite the color that creeped into her cheeks. Her arms were tingling like crazy just thinking about doing something outside of work with him. "You know, that might be-Oh!" She jumped, startled. "I have something to do tonight." She shrugged awkwardly, not knowing how to continue the conversation. Technically, Jet was asking her out, even if it was only as work acquaintances. He probably felt sorry for her.

"Okay." Jet answered slowly, skeptical. He had a funny feeling she was just nervous, didn't want to go with him and had no idea how to tell him that. "Don't worry about it." He winked churlishly. "You have a hot date?"

Meredith blushed darkly as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You wish." She shot back, quick wit the only thing that kept her sane during their conversations. She froze, realizing the implication.

"Maybe so." Jet murmured evenly. "It would be good for you to let your hair down." His cool blue eyes held hers in an even stare.

Shock ripped through Meredith. "You're mocking me." She croaked out, throat suddenly dry as sandpaper as she lifted a trembling hand to palm the tight bun on her head." I know I'm just a frumpy, dateless sob but you don't have to rub it in. That's cruel." Her eyes watered and breathing hitched.

"What? No!" Jet blurted. " I'm not making fun of you, I swear." He tentatively placed a placating hand on her shoulder. She flinched, internally pulling inward on herself, like a snail retreating into its shell.

Jet could feel the tension in the shoulder his hand was resting on. "Don't shut down on me, Meredith." He gulped visibly, shifting awkwardly in response. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you."

"Okay." Meredith's voice sounded flat as she attempted to detach herself. She was having trouble handling Jet's presence.

She pulled inward, drawing her mind into a fixed point of focus deep within, forcing herself to breathe. In and out, in and out, in a constant loop that played repeatedly, like a record with a scratch.

Breathe in and out, in and out.

Meredith wanted it to end.

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