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blairsanne · 13 days

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Try Therapy - Part 4: Shaken

For the @deanobingo event!

The Brokenwood Mysteries - Barnaby Buchanan & Reader 3160 words

Summary: Barnaby is diligently befriending you, and invites you for tea. When an unexpected event occurs, memories of your traumatic past come up, leading to both of you opening up about what you've been through.

CW: Mentions of therapy, ombrophobia, claustophobia, anxiety/panic attacks, breathing techniques, brief mention of torture, natural disaster (earthquake) and related destruction.

As the weeks wore on, you and Barnaby continued to have brief chats before he left in the morning and when he returned from his ‘work’.

Barnaby continued to keep a log of these ‘pleasant’ interactions, quite chuffed to report on them to his therapist, who seemed pleased himself that Barnaby had genuinely made a friend.

One evening, as you were readying your bike to leave, he jogged out of his house with a book in hand. “I found it!”

“Hm?” You stood beside your bike, leaning it back against the side of the house again so you could face him.

“That book we were discussing the other day. About the- the librarian. It was just behind some others on the shelf.”

He held out the novel in question, part of a mystery series by an author you both liked. He’d offered to lend it to you the week before, but you’d completely forgotten about it.

“Oh! Keen, ta.” You turned it over in your hands, smiling as you skimmed over the description on the back.

“I really enjoyed it, like I said. Quite a change of setting from her usual novels.” “Hm.” “Do you get out to the library much?”

You looked up at him and your mouth fell open as you struggled with how to answer. “I- used to.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, confused by your discomfort. You were such an avid reader, he’d assumed-

“Oh! Right- with the-” his eye twitched as he fidgeted. “All those shelves in such a small space.” He gestured with his hands to indicate the tight space.

You nodded, pursing your lips. “Something like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “No, no worries. It’s not like I forgot I was claustrophobic.”

“Mm.”

He shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling guilty for the oversight.

He’d not been great at socializing since the accident, and he worried he might run you off at any moment. Still, something had been gnawing at him for the last week.

He licked his lips. “Can I ask you something?” “Of course.”

“No- that’s-” You watched him close his eyes to try to stop his eye twitch. “I mean- I- I want to ask you to answer me honestly, even if- if you don’t think I’d want to hear the answer.”

“Oh…” You furrowed your brow slightly, concerned by what he meant by that.

What was he about to ask? About Betty? Would he ask if you thought he was crazy like the town did?

“Er- the answer is still ‘of course’, then,” you encouraged.

He made eye contact with you, his sheepish, vulnerable expression making your chest ache. “Did Dennis tell you to be nice to me?”

You laughed, confused. “What?”

“Is he paying you to- to be friendly with me, when you’re here?” He watched your amused confusion turn to hurt and horror.

“Of course not.” You closed your eyes, wincing, supposing that wasn’t entirely honest. “Well, obviously since it’s a job, I can’t be rude, either, but-”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him pleadingly. “But getting to know you and whatnot, that’s not- I’m just here to tend to Betty. Being your friend was just a…” You swallowed. “Happy accident.”

He let out a small, relieved laugh. “Right. Alright.” He looked away, wincing. “Sorry, that was a rude thing to ask, then.”

“No, I- I think I understand. When people are so unkind, normally, then, it can be hard to know if someone is pitying you or…” You trailed off, staring at the ground.

Maybe you didn’t think a horse was your wife, but you’d dealt with weird reactions from others yourself on occasion. It was isolating, and you’d often felt frustrated that other people saw your trauma as an inconvenience to them. Like it was something you’d chosen.

“So,” Barnaby’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “In the interest of spending time together- as friends- I wondered if there was anything I could do.” He blinked unevenly as you met his gaze again. “To- To make my home a suitable place for tea or… what have you.”

“Oh, to- not trigger it, you mean?”

“Yes. You’ve been very accommodating, with the sink, and the car, and I thought I ought to- Er- make it easier for you to spend time here. That is-” His face twitched again. “I-in the spirit of reciprocity.”

The offer was deeply touching to you, and you felt yourself choking up even as you smiled. “That’s really kind. Nobody ever-” You held your fist to your lips as you looked away.

Barnaby waited as you took a few deep breaths before turning to face him again.

“Mostly it’s small spaces that set it off. So I like to be outside, or in a bigger room… Tall ceilings, like the barn… Or close to an exit.”

He nodded, committing these remarks to memory very seriously.

“But,” You felt your shoulders raising as you hugged yourself. “I’m trying to challenge that. I’m supposed to be practicing the things that make me uncomfortable. Apparently that makes them easier.”

You smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly.

Barnaby met your smile with a genuine one. “My therapist said the same thing. Wants me to try the hard things, a little at a time.”

“Right, exactly.”

“Maybe we could…” He licked his lips, feeling inexplicably nervous. “Practice them together.”

You lit up. “Oh, that’s smart! Then we can lean on each other if things get too hard.”

“Yes,” Barnaby’s voice held a laugh of relief now. “Yes, exactly.”

“Keen.”

You grinned at each other for a beat.

You moved to put the book in your bag. “I should probably get going. But I’ll start this tonight and let you know what I think.”

“Yes, of course.” Barnaby backed up, wiping his hands on his pants as he felt awkward again. “So- Do you think tomorrow you could stay for tea after…?”

You looked up as you got on your bike, thinking of your schedule. “Actually, I have an appointment tomorrow evening. But the next day?”

“Oh. Okay! Then, I-I’ll look forward to that, then.”

You smiled warmly at him, quite chuffed that he wanted to spend more time with you - Betty notwithstanding.

“Me too.” You licked your lips, giving him a quick lookover. “You’re a good friend, Barnaby.”

You watched his face flash through several competing emotions before he pursed his lips and gave you a nod.

Though he wouldn’t say so outside of his sessions, having a (human) friend to talk candidly with about all sorts of things had been surprisingly helpful and enjoyable. He hadn’t thought that shrinking his social circle to just his wife and brother would take such a toll on him, but he realized now that it had.

Not that he’d had much choice, given the way people thought of him.

“You too. See you in the morning.”

“Night, then.”

“Good night.”

Two days later, you found yourself sitting in Barnaby’s living room.

He had rearranged the furniture somewhat since the last time you’d been inside, and had suggested you take a seat on the sofa nearest the door, which afforded you a view out the large window to the early evening sky.

You found yourself glancing out of it periodically as he made several trips to the kitchen and back for the teapot, cups, and a tray of various biscuits.

“Too much, Barnaby,” you murmured, feeling guilty despite him having told you at least three times not to get up to help him.

He poured you a cup of tea, smiling to himself. “It’s been ages since I’ve hosted anyone besides Dennis or Amy.”

“Who’s Amy?”

Barnaby stilled momentarily as he finished pouring his own cup of tea. He carefully set down the pot, then sat in a chair perpendicular to you.

“I was seeing her about- er- everything. But…” Barnaby gripped his hands together on his lap, not making eye contact. “Well, you must have heard what happened to Jakob Deschler.”

You frowned, trying to recall the details of the Deschler murder case.

You knew from what Dennis had told you that Barnaby had briefly been a suspect because of his time at the clinic, but it hadn’t been him of course. It had been some counselor or another who you hadn’t known.

Oh.

“I’m so sorry, that’s…”

“That’s bad,” Barnaby confirmed matter-of-factly, giving a nod.

He took a deep breath and reached forward to take a biscuit. “Sorry; that’s not very friendly conversation.” He hummed in disappointment, silently wondering if he had ruined the whole endeavour.

“It’s fine,” you assured him softly. Then, wanting to lighten the tone, you mirrored his actions and took a biscuit. “In any event, it’s nice to be hosted so thoughtfully.”

Barnaby nodded, straightening up a bit as he put on his most congenial airs. “It is my absolute pleasure.”

You started telling him about a new book series you were reading, and it didn’t take long for both of you to put the thoughts of Jakob Deschler and his clinic completely from your minds.

Time passed easily as you discussed various books and films, and Barnaby was just describing an art exhibit he’d seen once in Hamilton when you both felt a rumble beneath you.

The tea set made a tinkling sound as it rattled against the table, and you looked up to see everything in the small home moving as an earthquake shook it.

You gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly, feeling like the air was closing in on you, your throat tight. Your pulse raced, your mind alight with terrifying, unhelpful thoughts.

“I can’t-” You ran out of the house, feeling like you were choking, clutching at your pained chest.

“Where’re you going!?”

Barnaby stared after you out the open door in shock, unable to follow you into the rain. He watched you fall to your knees on the grass, hyperventilating.

You couldn’t push the memories from your mind as your body panicked, reliving your trauma.

The earthquake had been one for the record books.

The city in shambles, you were one of dozens trapped in the rubble.

When the tremor had started, you had been on your way to your usual study spot in the city library. You’d watched someone’s pencil roll off a table, and instinctively thrown yourself under the one closest to you. The people who had dug you out had cited it as having saved you from further injury.

Still, when the roof had collapsed, you’d been confined there, surrounded by the broken pieces of your favourite place. Buried in a small pocket of safety, in the dark.

It had been too small a space to move much, curled over yourself and trying to avoid the jagged bits of glass, metal, plaster, and who-knew-what that had encased you.

You had heard the sirens, muffled, in all directions as emergency responders had triaged the devastation. You had heard the cries of others nearby, too. Some of them had gotten lucky, like you; some of them hadn’t.

When they finally started digging through the library for people, your voice was already hoarse from screaming for help, but you’d kept on, desperate for escape.

Your minor scrapes and bruises had recovered before your voice, so in the days following the event, you’d kept your fears to yourself; crying alone when your body had gone into panic mode every time you tried to sleep - curled up in the dark.

Barnaby grabbed his largest umbrella and paced a bit, making a whining noise as he screwed up his courage.

Finally, he stepped out into the rain, umbrella mostly shielding him, and ran over to where you were. “Please come back inside?!” He crouched near you, holding out another open umbrella.

You looked up at him, still breathing erratically and looking confused about what was going on.

“Deep breaths, right? Four, seven, eight.”

You took the handle of the offered umbrella, only then realizing that you were quite wet, and nodded.

Together you inhaled to a count of four - timed by Barnaby’s head bobbing - held it for a count of seven, and then exhaled for a count of eight. Immediately you felt more grounded in the moment with him.

After a few cycles of this, he glanced toward the house, still deeply uncomfortable.

“Better?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded.

“Inside?”

You hesitated, but nodded as you shivered from the cold. “Sure.”

He led you back to the house, disappearing immediately to leave you standing alone just inside the door, sopping wet.

You looked down at the puddle you were making, and memories of Barnaby’s discomfort with rain and leaks flashed through your chaotic mind, making you feel guilty.

Your pulse raced again, fear and anxiety telling you that you were making a mess; that you were being a burden; that Barnaby wouldn’t want you here; that he would stop being your friend.

He appeared again, wrapped in multiple towels and holding out a large one for you.

“I’m sorry, Barnaby,” you sobbed, pulling the towel he offered against your chest and face. “You were just trying to do something nice and now I’ve forced you out in the storm-”

“No, it’s- It’s fine, you- You panicked, it’s-”

“When the house shook, it was just like that time and I-”

You felt his hand squeeze your shoulder, and you sniffled, looking up from the towel to see him staring back at you solemnly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.”

He searched your eyes, not quite sure yet what had set you off, but knowing that you needed to come out of that panicked response.

“Deep breaths.”

His steady voice and presence had a calming effect on you, and you felt yourself grounding into the moment.

You nodded and started to dry yourself off, counting the timing of your breaths as you broke eye contact with him in shame.

He pursed his lips, letting go of your shoulder.

He felt a drop of water run over his skin and his eye twitched, suddenly reminded of his own discomfort once again.

“I’ll be right back. Going to dry off and change. I’ll bring you something dry, too.”

“That’s okay, Barna…” You trailed off, looking up to see that he was already leaving the room.

---

You stared down at the mug of hot tea you were cradling.

You were sitting on the couch opposite Barnaby again, dressed in a pair of joggers and a “Brains Matter” t-shirt that were too large for Barnaby; gifts from his brother Dennis, apparently.

You had both dried off, and Barnaby had refreshed the teapot to help warm you up after your soaking.

A thick silence had fallen between you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of the judgment you were sure you’d read on his face.

Barnaby shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers against his lap briefly as he anticipated sharing what he was about to.

“When I was in the clinic,” he began, taking off his glasses to clean them despite having done so several times already since going outside.

You glanced over to him, surprised that he was talking about that.

“They, um- They would drip water on us. It was- well- literally, torture. W-water torture. That’s why I…”

You nodded. Dennis had told you briefly about Barnaby’s time at the Deschler Clinic, by way of explaining his many quirks. It occurred to you now that Barnaby probably hadn’t given Dennis permission to do that.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, voice small. “That should never have happened to you.”

“No,” Barnaby almost laughed in anger. “No, it shouldn’t have.”

He leaned forward to pour himself another mug of tea.

“But I’ve learned to move forward. Therapy is helping again, and having someone to-” He glanced briefly at you. “Having you as a friend.”

You nodded, pursing your lips. You held your mug up to blow on the steaming liquid inside, listening to the sound of the rain outside, muffled by the sturdy house.

“I suppose you’re curious why I ran out.” “You don’t have to tell me-” “It was the shaking.”

He settled into his seat, watching you intently.

You put down your tea, then proceeded to explain to him how you’d been trapped in the rubble during the big earthquake a few years prior.

“When the ground rumbled like that… I thought- It’s happening again. I’m going to get stuck again, and-” You shut your mouth and eyes, trying to fight the hot tears that rolled over your cheek.

Barnaby got up, grabbing a box of tissues from one of his side tables, and moved to sit at your side. He tapped your knee with the box.

You tensed at his proximity, but took a tissue to try to clean yourself up.

“But you didn’t get stuck again,” he reassured you.

You nodded, looking down.

“It was hard, but you got through it, eh?”

“Mm.”

“Just like how I was able to go out to get you.”

In truth, he was feeling a significant amount of pride for how he’d handled it, already planning to cite the experience to his therapist.

“I’m so sorry, Barnaby. I made you do something like-” “No, it’s fine-”

“I completely overreacted. My body just panics, and sometimes I can’t stop it. I feel so foolish.” You pressed the tissue against your eyes, covering your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Barnaby hesitated as he reached out, then placed his warm hand on your back.

“You needn’t apologize for that. Not to me.”

He felt the rhythm of your breath as you forced yourself to calm down.

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you.

You let out a small, laughing huff. “I reckon.” You finished drying your face, feeling a bit better.

You turned to face him, and realized you were much closer than usual. His pale blue eyes were searching yours, his genuine concern for you evident. You glanced at his lips and then down again, feeling your heart in your throat as you imagined kissing him.

“Would you like a hug?” Barnaby offered, unsure.

It had been ages since he’d hugged someone, and he worried it might set off your claustrophobia, but he had a strong urge to comfort and protect you.

You nodded, humming in mild agreement. You leaned into him, reaching your arms under his to hold him from your awkward seat beside him.

His own arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him even more as he rested his head against the side of yours. “She’ll be right.”

You nodded, feeling safer in his hold than you’d expected. For a moment, it was more than you could have asked for, wrapped in his warmth and scent like the day he’d lent you his cardigan.

You relaxed, the painful knot in your back easing as your body accepted that nothing terrible was likely to happen for now.

“Ta.”

-----

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