Trust the Good Doctor [T-Howell and skittish_butterfly]

[skittish_butterfly]

Grace was already sitting in Dr. King's waiting room with a magazine, five minutes early for her second session, prompt as usual, when the front door opened unexpectedly letting in a nerdy looking guy, solid but clearly not athletic or fit. He sauntered in and seemingly thumbed his nose at unwritten social convention by plopping down in the one chair right across from Grace.

It wasn't a waiting room really designed for many people. As Grace learned leaving her previous session through the separate exit door from his office, the doctor went out of his way to protect patient privacy, so even departing patients wouldn't worry about acquaintances spotting them coming out through the waiting room. And Dr. King wasn't sharing office space with another doctor, so why was anyone else here in the room with her at all? Not that Grace was worried about her privacy or anything like that, really, since she didn't know too many people away from campus, not on this side of the country so far from home. But it was just her nature to pay attention, to notice things, and to puzzle over them, the celebrity mag lying in her lap unopened.

There was also the disconcerting way the guy was looking at her after having passed up the 3 other chairs in the room to sit directly in front of her. Grace suddenly felt a little uncomfortable in her pretty summer shorts that had felt so very comfortable just moments earlier, the colorful floral pattern not nearly as important now as the fact the guy's eyes were all over her legs. Grace crossed her legs and held the magazine as much in front of her bare legs as she could, but her light white tank top just seemed to attract his attention next. Even though it didn't show off any of what cleavage she had, her top didn't do a thing to stop him from ogling her bare arms and her chest. But he wouldn't meet her eyes, maybe realizing he was being rude and knowing she was about to call him on it the moment she caught his eye.

Grace thought about getting up to knock on the door and call the doctor out, but it was all to easy for her to imagine the guy just staring at her butt even more if she stood up, and she didn't like the fact she'd have to walk within arm's reach to get past him to the doctor's office door. She cleared her throat, then again more loudly. "Can I help you? Is there something you're looking for? Because I'm pretty sure you're looking in the wrong place for whatever it is."

The guy coughed, glanced at her eyes for a split-second and then back to the floor, or at her suede ankle boots, Grace couldn't be sure. "I... I like your shorts. And your hair. I like dark hair, long like yours. You're really pretty, except your chest isn't so hot. You work out a lot? You're so slender I want to.... would you go out with me?"

The guy was insane, maladjusted, warped, and Grace felt her leg muscles tensing nervously, her eyes glancing to the doctor's door. She really wanted it to open and for the doctor to call her in, and make this guy go away. "I... I sort of have a boyfriend."

The guy smirked, gave one short chuckle and looked her in the eyes, which turned out to be more unnerving than having him stare at her legs. "Sort of? Do you or don't you? If you only sort of have a boyfriend, then you could sort of go out with me." His face looked like he thought he was very clever and funny.

Grace was taken aback, and her fingers clutched the magazine more tightly. "No, I definitely have a boyfriend." She said it like she might be dating a football player or a jealous frat guy with a volatile temper, when in fact her boyfriend was the sweetest guy, a 1st year grad student in the Engineering department, probably even nerdier than this guy. "Besides, I have a strict policy against dating crazy people." Grace immediately regretted letting her mouth get the better of her, which happened all too often in recent years, especially with her mom.

But it was obviously the truth, not the truth would shield her if the guy was upset enough by her remark. The guy deserved it, but it just didn't feel so smart now that he was staring at her again and frowning. "Well, you must be crazy too if you're sitting in this office, so we're perfect for each other."

"I'm not crazy. My mom is making me come here, or she won't contribute to my tuition anymore, that's all. I'm just here to humor her." Now Grace was frowning as well and she really wanted this to end.

Why oh why had her mother done this to her? Grace could still hear her mom's high New Jersey voice. "He's a good doctor, Mrs. Lewinsky's son sees him -- you remember Ralph -- she swears by him. Give the good doctor a call, you can't go on like this Grace, with the hostility, and not coming home for holidays. Something's wrong. Trust the good doctor, I'm sure he can help. Did I mention Mrs. Lewinsky swears by him? Absolutely swears by him." It was infuriating. Grace was almost 20, too old for her mother to still be ordering her around like this, but university was expensive. So now to preserve her college tuition she was stuck here in the good doctor's waiting room, ticking off all the reasons again in her head why her mom was so wrong about her as usual, and hoping this wasn't Ralph Lewinsky leering at her.

The guy didn't seem upset at all. "Ok, then I'm not crazy either. I'm just a sex addict. Well, porn addict actually, but I wish I was a sex addict. You could help me with that though, if you'd..."

Finally grace heard the door open and the good doctor stepped out, thankfully interrupting the strange porn addict before he could get any more specific or embarrassing. The doctor looked at the two of them, as if he could sense the tension in the air right away. The porn addict turned and looked up at him sheepishly, like he was his dad busting him for some minor offense. "Sorry, Doc, i know you said I should always call first to make sure it's ok, but I'm going on vacation and needed a refill on my prescription." The doctor wrote a quick note on his prescription pad, handed it over, and escorted him to the door with a firm but kindly hand on his arm. "Thanks, Doc, nice meeting you too Miss? I didn't get your name..." he winked at Grace with a parting leer on his way out the door.

Grace waited until the door closed before getting up to follow the doctor into the office. "Grace Bellefleur. We said 2 o'clock?" She said it as if she wasn't totally sure now after the disconcerting interactions in the waiting room, like maybe she'd caused that mess herself by coming at the wrong time. She sat down on the very edge of his long couch practically hugging the leather arm and crossing her legs right away as he sat down in the chair facing her just like the previous week. He was just leafing through sheets of paper in a folder, saying nothing, and making her feel very awkward.

"You don't remember? We were talking about whether or not I was stifling grief about my dad's death still -- which is crazy -- and hating my mom -- which makes total sense. Is that ringing a bell?" He should be paying her, instead of the other way around, the way he was still looking through his notes like he didn't even know who she was yet. At least that's how it seemed to Grace as she sat uncomfortably on the couch, wishing evil things on her mother for even making her go through this at all when there was nothing wrong with her, nothing wrong at all.

 

[T-Howell]

Dr. Klayton King was growing tired of everything around him from the terrible coffee he had to endure in his office to the questions that he had to ask to his patients to get to the root of their inane problems. He was bored beyond belief and he was even bored with what was previously a very lovely marriage. So his wife left and that was just what he needed to shake up his life. He was by in large a good normal moral man. But he always wondered if he could use his knowledge of the human brain to manipulate one of his patients. For the moment though he just sat in his office awaiting his next appointment. It was a young woman named Grace that he had seen once before and he had to admit that he found her quite lovely to look at. Her problem was minor, just an issue of hiding her true feelings about her father's death.

He briefly read over the notes and yawned. This particular girl was the exact boring problem having person who was killing his interest in his job. So for the moment his mind shifted to the idea of manipulating her. And after a few minutes he had formulated a bit of a plan for how he could do it. He wasn't sure if it would actually happen, but he did have to admit he liked the idea of bending this young woman to his every will.

Klayton shifted uncomfortably in his seat and his hand stroked his facial hair briefly as he thought. He wore a nice suit as he almost always did even when he wasn't in the office and he adjusted his tie, wanting to look professional for his patients. Klayton was for all intents and purposes a fairly exceptional therapist with numerous satisfied patients.

He listened to the waiting room to see if anyone had turned up yet and then he shook his head before checking his cameras. He looked and saw the young lady, Grace sitting nervously in a chair with one of his stranger patients the porn addict oogling her.

The good doctor just chuckled and watched for a moment as the girl continued shifting around in her chair before he decided that he should put an end to it. He stood up from his chair with his prescription pad in hand to get rid of the strange young porn addict who he was trying to "help" by giving him prescription drugs, because he didn't feel like talking with him anymore.

Once his other far more damaged patient was out of the picture Klayton turned his attention to the lovely and bright young lady who was sent to him by her mother. He smiled pleasantly when she said her name and the time of their appointment inquisitively almost and he nodded. "Ah yes, Ms. Bellefleur it's my pleasure to see you again". He said with a smile on his face. "Come in, we have much to discuss!" He said in a way that would probably lead her to believe that he had completely forgotten who she was, as was his intent. He wanted her unsure of his skills so she would underestimate him and feel totally comfortable sharing her problems with him. After all even if he decided against manipulating her he'd prefer to have the option on the table rather than have her more difficult to condition.

As she began to talk he nodded once again giving the impression that he had no idea who she was and then looked over at her. "Ah yes of course, that all sounds familiar" He said as he shuffled absentmindedly through his files. Then he smirked and looked over at the girl. "I think instead of rehashing that we should try something different for this second session. It's all quite normal for my patients. I don't want you to know what to expect from me so you can prepare for our sessions. I want every conversation you and I have to be completely unplanned and unscripted." He told the young woman as he took his seat behind the desk.

"For this session I want you to take me through the last dream you had so we can break it down and get to the true meaning behind your subconscious sleeping mind. This will help us get to the root of your unresolved grief over your father's passing. As well as your issues with your mother. Who only wants the best for you, which is why she sent you to me." Dr. King laughed to let her know that he was joking and hopefully ease some of her obvious tense feelings towards getting therapy at her mother's behest.

"Now, Grace I'm going to dim the lights and you are going to close your eyes" Klay said in a calm soothing tone as the lights in the room slowly lowered. He controlled them with a small remote on his desk and continued to calmly state. "Grace, what was your most recent dream about? You're in a calm safe environment, so no matter what it is, feel free to let go and share it with me."

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Grace sat quietly for a minute, waiting for Dr. King to get his act together. She sat on the expensive leather couch with her bare legs crossed and her arms folded in front of her, staring at him, wondering how Mrs. Lewinsky could "swear by him." Probably because she still lived back home two blocks from her mom, and her dear son Ralph was probably selling her a load of crap about therapy sessions he never really had. Frankly, as far as Grace could tell, other than a ready prescription pad Dr. King was a quack.

Which was perfect for her. What she didn't want was some probing shrink on a holy quest to get to the bottom of problems she didn't actually have. Why did so many of them seem to think the only possible cure for her healthy mind was enough sob sessions about her parents to end up making her miserable. She'd been through 3 or 4 of them after her dad's death alone, and none of them could simply recognize that she was fine, that she was strong and didn't need to cry like some sappy movie therapy. Watching Dr. King's trouble just with a few sheets of paper left her hoping his brand of incompetence might be easy enough to keep at arm's length, where she wouldn't have to sit and dredge up every sad story of her whole entire life. He scarcely even remembered her name let alone her issues, just nodding with a vacant look in his eyes like the kids in class who never really studied and were trying not to get called on, so maybe he would just be happy to pocket her mom's money and let her sit in peace for an hour. The couch seemed comfortable maybe she could just take a nap while the meter ran. That would be perfect.

Finally he looked at her with a strange, non-therapeutic grin on his face, more smirk than smile, as if he was getting away with something. It was fine with her, he could get away with all he wanted to, she didn't care, he could even sit and read a novel for their hour for all she cared. He seemed to want to get started though. Pity. They'd been off to such a good start for only their second session.

Dr. King was sitting down behind his desk, a big mahogony thing with a little laptop closed in one corner. She remembered it from last time too, remembered wondering why he hid behind it rather than just sitting in a comfy chair like all the other therapists and psychologists she'd visited. But in his fancy suit and fancy office, he seemed like the kind of guy who would want a fancy desk too, and mabe it helped compensate for his lack of self-confidence and incompetence. Most patients were probably a little cowed by it, Grace imagined. Whatever. She didn't care if he was competent, since she didn't actually need his help anyway.

He wanted to move on to something else instead of talking about her mom and dad and Grace couldn't help a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as the rest of them had been. She adjusted her position on the couch, switching her crossed legs and folding her hands in her lap now as she leaned against the big, soft arm rest beside her. "Ok, shoot. Unplanned and unscripted is fine with me. I always do great with surprise quizzes."

Dreams. She almost laughed. Did he actually go to therapist school or whatever? Or did he just watch a bunch of bad movies and decide he could do that too? Grace smirked, her expression pretty similar to his although she coudn't see it heself. Break down her dreams, that's what he wanted to do. Ok. Since her mom and dad weren't in her last dream, she didn't really mind. No sob stories today, thank you very much.

She tensed a little as he explained the goal, that he thought he was cleverly going to sneak around with his dream-business sneak up on her grief, except he didn't realize she didn't have any grief anymore. Yes, she'd been sad, shocked, crushed, all of that when they got the call from France about her dad's heart attack on that last business trip. But her own grief had passed quickly -- a burial, some sad speeches, an awkward group dinner where no one knew what to say to her and she had to carry all the conversation -- and then just years of helping her mom cry and cry and cry like he'd just died yesterday. But Grace herself was fine. No grief to sneak up on. So let Dr. King try, so long as he just wanted to discuss dreams and not reality.

It was his mention of her mother, as if her mother had anything to do with her dreams as well, and especially saying she only wanted what was best for her that made Grace snort with disbelief. "I'm sorry, I.... allergies." She carefully reset her face to neutral. Had he even talked to her mom? Or just cashed the check? He laughed too, so maybe he was just joking, or maybe he was thinking about the check.

He dimmed the lights from a switch he had at his desk, like it was the console of a space ship or something like that, and then he told her to close her eyes. She looked around, and then back at him. "Ok, I guess so, why not. I'm game." Maybe he'd let her get that nap after all. She didn't lie down on the couch though, not with him staring at her from behind the desk. He'd either have to sit in a high-backed chair facing away from her toward the window, or she'd have to wear longer pants and maybe a parka. Enough boys stared at her that she just had a certain sense of when her body was going to be too much on display, too much of a temptation. Of course some guys like the porn addict stared at her no matter what she did, but Dr. King seemed more in control of himself on that point at least, or at least his glances were subtle enough it didn't bother her.

Still, Grace sat with her legs still crossed, curled up protectedly against the corner of the couch and closed her eyes. His voice did sound reassuring, a deep voice with little extra warm tones tossed in like an accidental harmony, almost musical, kind of like her Dad's voice she suddenly remembered. Her eyes flickered open, but then closed again as she pushed that thought aside and tried to dredge up her last dream.

She was silent, trying to remember it, and he kept talking so smoothly she felt half-asleep by the time it came back to her. "Well, Dr. King, I don't know if it's the last, but it's the last one I remember, if that's ok." She sounded as if she was worried she was being graded. She always felt like she was being graded. "It was at the beach. A warm day, and I was with Patrick, my boyfriend. It was weird. Everyone else was in swimsuits and frolicking in the water, but we were fully dressed. I was on the sand and he was dipping a toe in the water but not coming near me. He asked me if I thought we should go in and I didn't know.

"There was a man. Not my Dad. But an older man. He went in a bathroom, I guess it must of been one of those portapotties cuz why would there be a bathroom right there, but that's the dream I guess. I watched him go in the bathroom, and suddenly I decided I should try going in the water. He left the door open and he was watching me, like he knew me. I stripped off my pants and my sweater and my shirt -- I don't know how I wasn't sweating like that -- until I was just in this little bikini, the pink one I used to wear back when I was a teen, not the one-piece I wear when I swim nowadays." Things had been so different back when she wore that bikini. She had just started blossoming and she remembered how obsessed she was with whether boys were interested in her, what she looked like, wanting to look like the other girls at the beach. Her dad had raised an eyebrow at the time but gone along with it. Of course he died a year later and she never wore it again after that, switching to the one-piece when she started swimming again late last year.

"So I went down to the water and I passed Patrick. I didn't say anything to him, and he didn't say anything to me. Just splashing with his toes, still dressed. I went in deeper and the water was so unbelievably warm. I looked back at the man, and the door of the bathroom was still open and he was... well, he was you know, going to the bathroom -- number one, not number two -- and he was looking right at me and making a mess like the guys in the dorm do when they have the keg parties because he wasn't watching where he aimed. I hate that when it gets on the toilet seat. Anyway, I remember wanting to get out of the water right away, like I didn't belong there, but he told me to wait until he was done, which was really, really weird. By the time I came out, Patrick was gone and I just stood there, dripping wet, looking for him but the guy in the bathroom was the only other person left on the beach.

"That's all I remember." Grace kept her eyes closed, hoping maybe he could chew on that for ten or fifteen minutes quietly. She felt so relaxed and the couch was comfortable, even just sitting down, that she didn't feel like moving or opening her eyes. That nap felt like a wonderful idea.

 

[T-Howell]

The doctor listened to the girl as she told him it wasn't necessarily her last dream but the last one she remembered. "Of course, it would be rude of me if I were to have you describe dreams you don't remember". He joked as he looked over at her while she started to describe it. He was glad to hear that it was a bit of an odd dream since that would give him plenty of reason to use it against her if need be. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes so he was able to picture the dream as she described it.

Klayton's best skill as a therapist was his ability to empathize with a patient. To be able to put himself in their shoes. He was able to find a way to put himself into his patients shoes and then think of what he would do in their situation and that allowed him to solve their problems. It also made him an expert at manipulation which he used to his advantage in small ways in the past. He was never given a speeding ticket because he was able to get the cop on his side so easily and he never failed a class in school because he was able to talk his teachers out of it at any point.

So he listened to the girl's dream and smirked as she talked about watching an older man going into a portapotty. That was definitely a bit weird and he smirked as she talked about her bikini. This would not be too difficult. He was eager to talk to her about her dream once she finished talking about it. He was also picturing the young beautiful woman in a bikini since that was quite the pleasant mental image. She was gorgeous and she probably looked terrific in a bikini. He then shook that image out of his head and focused on her dream as she talked about it.

Once she got to the end of her dream he smiled at her and looked her up and down. "Interesting." Was all he said for several moments as he formulated his plan of attack on her psyche. He looked up and down the couch to almost study her and then looked in her eyes at the end. "I can certainly see some things in this dream that we'll need to delve into. But before we get into that was this the first time you had this dream? And do you remember what you were doing before you went to bed the night you had it?" He asked her simple questions now to disarm her for the more heavy questions he would have to get into if he wanted to twist this therapy session.

"Also, just out of curiosity, what is your relationship with your boyfriend Patrick like? Is it serious, or is it the usual college "romance"". He asked her this to try and establish both what his role in the dream was, and if she would be able to stay out at his office for long period's of time without her boyfriend getting concerned. Dr. King was a decent man, but he was also bored and an expert manipulator. Which certainly made for some interesting ideas running through his head. He was getting a bit less decent by the day and it sort of felt like this girl would speed that up a little bit.

(sorry this one's fairly short)

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Grace felt relaxed. She knew her dream was weird, but weren't all dreams? It didn't mean anything, because if that one did then so did the hundreds of others and they were all such nonsense they couldn't all be true. So when Dr. King said, "interesting," she just smiled and kept her eyes shut, relaxing with a sense she'd given him enough to chew on to burn up a good fraction of the hour. She recrossed her legs, unaware his eyes were studying her body when she was convinced his clearly disorganized brain had to be mulling over her words.

There was silence for a bit and she could almost imagine him scribbling little notes about the significance of this and that in what she'd just said. It almost made her want to chuckle. Manipulating therapists to waste their own time was almost a game with her at this point. She wish her mom wasn't making her come here at all, but if she had to come, she'd at least try to have a little fun with it.

Grace opened her eyes when he finally started talking again, a little startled by the intensity of his gaze staring back at her in the dim room, almost like a sinister owl in the dark woods. She dismissed that feeling as quick as she could tried to focus on his words instead, looking for any little hook she could hang any of her clever time-wasters on. She looked back at him as he spoke, the room a little too dim for her to see him clearly -- the dim lighting seemed to pool mostly around her, so he seemed to be in the shadows while she was in a very weak form of a spotlight, as if all the focus was supposed to be on her, which she didn't like at all. Looking down and seeing the way the room's faint light was enough to give a pale view of her bare legs, she pulled her crossed legs up onto the couch and curled them up under herself.

As she listed to him talk about delving into her dream, Grace hoped he'd do most of it himself in one of those displays of therapeutic brilliance she was all too used to by now, where the new therapist has to demonstrate how practically psychic he is, as if he should have his own TV show. It was almost laughable at this point.

But to her surprise, he pulled back from that display, not bothering to deconstruct the whole thing in some sort of Yungian construct, whatever the hell Dr. Popper had meant by that. Dr. King instead just asked her a few questions, simple ones really, and it put Grace a little off guard. He was going off the script. This wasn't how she manipulated the therapists and kept them from making her talk about things she didn't want to.

The questions were so simple she didn't even feel threatened by them. It didn't feel like he was pry into her heart looking for all the painful crevices that if any of them had just asked she could have told them didn't exist, or at least she'd long ago plastered them over and gotten on with her life. It was more like a simple pop quiz in the easiest class on her schedule. Simple.

"The first time? Well, I never had an exact copy of this before, but some pieces of it have appeared before in different combinations in other dreams, at least I think I remember that. Obviously Patrick didn't appear before last spring when we met, and really not even until a few months after when things got... well, not before this summer let's say. But dreams of the water and the beach and being in that bikini? That goes back years, even to when my..." dad died, she didn't finish. Not the complicated place she wanted this simple question ending up. "Well, to when my, uh, my mom, uh, bought it for me. The guy in the bathroom? Ha, I, uh..." She couldn't say she'd been having that in her dream going back even to when she was smaller, to when her dad started leaving all the time on business, when he stopped being a regular part of her life and more like a cherished occasional visitor. "I must have made a mistake on that. Maybe I didn't remember it right. Or maybe it was something else, going way back, but I'm just not remembering it right." The simple question seemed to get more and more complicated the more she answered it, so Grace decided to stop.

He followed it up with another simple question. What had she been doing before she had the dream? Grace stared down at her lap where her slender fingers were somehow twisted together in a tense little ball. When she looked back in his eyes, she was glad the room was so dimly lit, that he hopefully wouldn't see the color on her cheeks. "Before the dream? What was I doing? Eh, well, you know, the usual." He just kept looking at her. "Just... just thinking, lying in bed and thinking, about stuff." Her face felt even hotter as she tiptoed around the bigger picture. It was none of his business really, and it was perfectly normal, but most importantly, Grace knew, it had nothing to do with anything. So she left it at that. "Just thinking about stuff. Weren't you ever young once upon a time, long long ago?" Turning the questions back on them was always a good idea.

Predictably enough that it didn't even annoy her he just seemed to brush aside her question, probably because he thought it was rhetorical, or maybe because he was getting to that age where facing the fact he wasn't young anymore was too painful for him. Her mom had talked her ear about that topic so much in the last year or two before her dad died, when he was always in Europe on business, as if he was a kid playing around instead of trying to earn a living for his family. Instead, Dr. King turned to Patrick, asking to know a little about him.

Grace took a short breath and tried to will her fingers to relax, her legs and torso to untense. Patrick she could talk about. "Patrick, he's sweet. He's a little older than me, a grad student. He's so smart, which I just love about him. Maybe he's not the alpha-athlete type, but we don't live in caves and hunt with our bare hands anymore. We live in the world of the mind, and his burns bright enough to keep me warm." She found herself smiling but only a little. "Yeah, he's sweet. But we, well, I haven't had a boyfriend since... in a long time. So he understands, and we're... we're taking it slow. Which is good, right? Our chemistry is slow and steady and consistent, not something to just ignite and burn out in a week, leaving us both charred with nothing to show for it. Yeah. I can talk to him, about his studies, and my classes, and... it's good, mostly. I mean it's good. Just good."

She didn't like talking this much about herself. It was the questions. Grace wanted to get his ego going, get him to fill the hour with his own ideas rather than her words. The time would pass more quickly if she could laugh silently in her heart at the bombastic absurdity she knew had to be in there somewhere, like all the others. "So, Dr. King, you probably don't have a clue about me, do you? I mean, it's only been a session and, what, a half? Most of the doctors have it all figured out by now, but I can tell by your questions you're not like them... in a good way I mean, slow isn't bad." Yes it is, she thought to herself with a smirk she hoped he could see, a smirk she hoped irked him enough that he would have to prove how little he knew at great length, spewing out stupidity that had absolutely nothing to do with her. Grace pulled her legs back out from under her, putting her feet back down on the floor with her knees still primly together, facing him with an almost challenging look on her face.