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chapter fifteen ✧ dr. quinn winters ( season seven, episode two )
❝ going to therapy doesn't mean that you're weak. far from it, actually. ❞
introducing: emily blunt as quinn winters
𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 therapy was a complicated one. For much of her young adult life—a time when therapy would have really come in handy—Arthur Halloway expressed his displeasure for the profession. He forcefully told London, Henry, and McKenna that "no children of mine will ever step foot in a therapist's office!"
And they never did.
"I know that you probably don't want to be here."
London was sitting in a cutely decorated office on a rather comfortable leather couch. She looked over at the side table beside the piece of furniture, seeing a box of tissues resting on the smooth surface.
Was she going to have to cry?
"And that you're only here because it's mandated..." She glanced over at the blonde woman across from her—Dr. Quinn Winters. "But going to therapy doesn't mean that you're weak. Far from it, actually." London stayed silent and Quinn sighed softly, crossing her right leg over the left. "Tell me about your decision not to attend Dr. Yang and Dr. Hunt's wedding."
She shrugged, playing with her fingers. "I don't know..." she said quietly, briefly looking up at her new therapist. "I just—I guess it felt like everybody is moving on so quickly and... I'm happy for them, really, but I buried my sister three weeks ago and..."
Quinn nodded. "You don't feel like celebrating."
"Does that make me a horrible human being?" London asked her and the blonde shook her head. "Really? Because I thought it made me a pretty shitty one..."
"London, you experienced a horrible loss," Quinn said and the resident glanced at her. "It's normal for you to want to not participate in joyful activities. You do everything at your own pace—not everybody else's."
She shook her head. "But I want to participate in the happy things in life," she replied. "I really do. So how do I do that?"
Quinn pressed her lips together. "My job is to help you process your feelings," she said gently. "But I can't tell you how to do anything. That's all up to you."
London sighed and looked down when her pager went off. "Oh—"
"You go ahead," Quinn told her and the brunette looked at her. "We do these sessions based on your availability. And, if you want to talk, my door is open. But if you want to wait until next week, that's fine, too."
She nodded and stood up. "Do you think I can ever be a surgeon again?" she asked her and the blonde tilted her head. "Can I do it?"
"I do," Quinn said with a nod. "I really do, London."
