Sigmund Freud sighed, stroking his clipped white beard wearily. At 63, he was still the number one of his profession, the most highly esteemed one; The Top Dog. Curse Jung, Reich and all those foolish young disciples who had left him to set off on their own misdirected careers. Archetypes. Orgones. Primal shrieks. Shaking his head, Sigmund shuddered in righteous indignation at this heretic mess. Not only in his own mind, but also by professional reputation, Sigmund was the undisputed Master. The Master of the innermost mind; of the emotions and desires, conscious and unconscious, the dreams and fantasies of men and women, high and low. Inside his lofty, 65th floor Coruscant Office, reclining on their backs on the ancient velvet divan in the Herr Doctor's office, his patients would divulge it all. The innermost secrets of the human mind; the secrets of the Galaxy and of the Universe itself. Yet, Sigmund did not consider himself to be a philosopher or a religious man. His clear bright mind was that of a scientist. A pure tool of laser blade sharpness.
Yet, lately one question had kept creeping up on him with alarming frequency. Encroaching on his mind at hours late and early; even in his sleep. Indeed, he blamed that foolish bastard Jung for setting it all off initially. The man's blatant flaunting of all professional rules, turning his most attractive female patients into his lovers, had released a dam of feelings in Sigmund's mind. Indeed, these urgent questions had just been waiting to erupt. Ever since he was in his middle twenties, a brilliant and daring young society doctor inventing the so-called "talking cure", it had all been building up to this. For some reason, people had always trusted Sigmund implicitly, allowing themselves to settle back comfortably and share their innermost thoughts with him. Their innermost thoughts and most secret desires. Frankly, it had been the most exciting thing he could ever imagine. A journey into the abyss and beyond, into heavens and paradises, hells and pleasures that he'd never even imagined could have existed. Force. It had all shook him to the core. At the age of 63, he was firmly addicted to it, shackled to his daily dosage of the hits of secrets. Still…
Of course, being of an analytical and scientific bent, he'd attempted to systemize his newfound knowledge in any ways he could. There were patterns. Patterns, themes and questions. Some of his colleagues preferred to turn their study subjects into 'zeros', humans rendered null and void in terms of personal context and identifiable characteristics. However, Sigmund was the opposite. In fact, he'd always been something of a diehard romantic. Sigmund wouldn't ever dream of turning his patients into 'zeros'. Instead, he recreated them as his 'Case Studies', literary characters that embodied the Human Dramas that he wanted to display and paint. So far, this approach had been ridiculously successful. People loved to read them and discuss them; regardless of whether they were patients or colleagues. Indeed, many people had claimed to be an original Case Study patient, just in order to gain popular celebrity status. Such antics merely made Sigmund shake his venerable white head. Because let's face it, apart from financially, he'd been caught up in a standstill. Trapped in a corner. Facing a mirror, and unable to obtain the answer.
The Question that had haunted him ever since the outset of his career. 40 years of listening, of trying to get it all to make sense. Still, he couldn't understand it. And from all that he'd ever gleaned, neither could any of his male patients. The Question echoed in them all, eternal and unanswerable.
Was Will das Weib?
What does a woman want?
Oh, he'd listened to them all right. In practice a chaste man, he'd been impeccably faithful to his wife of 40 years. But then, his ears were quite another matter. They'd been fucked, gangbanged, seduced, raped and made love to more times than he'd put his cock in his wife's cunt. There wasn't a single cell of innocence left in his body, and it was all his own doing. Sigmund's mapping of human desire had taught him all sides to a story. Except this. No matter how he reached out, he failed to conceptualize the elusive answer.
Maybe she doesn't want anything at all. Except possibly to be desired.
Maybe only men are capable of desire.
That would certainly be the cleanest, easiest solution.
The thought had struck him more than once. Particularly at times like these, when a female patient was failing to make any sense whatsoever to him.
"Ja. Frau Diershmied, it would appear you find your husband quite inadequate in bed. On the other hand, your current lover doesn't treat you with the respect that you crave. In fact, none of them seems to understand who you are or what you want. We'll stop at that point for today."
The beautiful blonde woman swung her long elegant legs down off the deep red velvet of the Freud divan. Rising, she adjusted the tight skirt of her perfectly tailored white suit. She paused briefly to wipe a surreptitious tear out of the corner of one large blue eye, careful not to smudge the black mascara of her long thick lashes. Then, she raised her head to flash the Doctor a warm smile.
"Thank you, Herr Freud. I don't know what I'd do without our weekly sessions. They're so rewarding! That was real eye opener for me! I swear, it's like you sense the very texture of my soul! Well, thank you yet again. I'll see you next Thursday."
"Auf Wiedersehen, Frau Dierschmied."
Shaking his head internally, Sigmund watched the tight wiggling of the lady's small, perfectly rounded ass as she exited his office. Laura Dierschmied was exactly the baffling type of woman who had made him start to pose these questions in the first place. Exhausting and exciting.
What does a woman want, indeed. With a sigh, he turned his eyes to the yellow paper post it note that his wife had left him on the bathroom mirror this morning.
Don't Forget!
Holiday Candles (the thick kind, with writing)
Wrapping Paper & Ribbon (No, for Force's sake no blue this time! Tell salespeople Holiday colours)
Transparent cellotape (not matte!)
Super Glue (empty all their supplies!)
Bantha Baste (the liquid kind)
Well used to receiving these directive missives each morning, Sigmund stared down at the yellow post it note in bafflement. Suddenly, none of the words made any sense.
Was Will das Weib?
Yeah, what the kriff do they want?
Force. He could feel himself approaching some kind of revelation here. Or maybe a massive coronary. Something was rumbling, turning over deep inside his being. Something-
"Herr Doctor, your 10 o'clock is here. Ben Solo." The voice of his receptionist, Chrysella Klein, erupted through the intercom.
Reaching for his notepad, Sigmund nodded to her invisible eyes.
"Send him in, Chrysella."
Sigmund knew the signs. Whenever he was about to reach some kind of major scientific breakthrough or revelation, his thumbs would itch. Well, right now it wasn't just a case of thumbs. Both of his hands were fiddling restlessly, wanting to write things down. Force. The Need. The Want. Oh yes. He was approaching that one perfect, crystal bright moment of pure revelation. The one he'd started to prepare himself for years ago. He-
The door swung open, almost breaking off its hinges. Of course, Sigmund had had all aspects of his office security reinforced some 20 years ago, when he began to take on Force sensitive patients. The tall, broad shouldered young man stopped momentarily, allowing the door to swing back shut with a dramatic bang. He was staring down into the parqueted floor, his longish silky black hair falling down into his eyes. An angry red welt marked the side of his right cheek.
Somewhat annoyed at the intrusion into his private world of revelation, Sigmund nevertheless acknowledged the presence of his current patient. Anything less would have been extremely remiss of him. Besides, he was still examining his new ideas and doodling them down on his notepad.
"Welcome, Ben. The divan is yours."
Well, some of his patients always needed an invitation or acknowledgement in order to lie down on the divan. Ben Solo was certainly one of these. He'd been seeing Sigmund regularly for some four years, but the process hadn't been continuous. During the first three years, the young man had been a severely conflicted teenager, torn apart and unusually affected by the structure and heritage of his family. Abandoned by his mother, who'd been busy with her New Republic General duties, and his errant scoundrel space cowboy of a father, the boy had been prone to violent emotional tantrums on a somewhat reckless scale, causing Sigmund to further reinforce the walls, doors and cabinets of his office. At one particularly poignant moment, 14-year old Ben Solo had caused the entire left wall of Sigmund's office to shatter, reaching out to push an unseen entity away while fighting not to cry over his father failing to appear as promised for his birthday. Now, that particular incident had caused Sigmund to have to relocate his offices to the 15th floor for an entire year while the original walls were being repaired. While recognizing the boy's strong involuntary reactions and powers in the Force, Sigmund had still been, let's face it, somewhat peeved. Still, a year ago he'd allowed the young man to resume his psychoanalysis. The reasons thereof were clouded. Maybe it was because Sigmund had had a secret crush on Leia Organa, the boy's mother, some 30 years ago. Maybe it was because something about the boy had caught in him, embedding itself like a long sharp thorn. Or maybe it was because this time around, Supreme Leader Snoke was paying. A regular, dependable client, sending his young successor to Sigmund for emotional and cognitive alignment.
Or maybe not. Maybe Ben Solo was paying for his psychoanalysis himself.
The young man's deep brown eyes flared dangerously. Still, he was following his usual procedure by unclasping his cloak and throwing it down on a red velvet armchair by the corner near the entry door. For a brief moment, he stood quite still, staring at Sigmund, breathing heavily as if being Force choked by some unseen entity. Then, he tore his black satin and leather tunic open to join the black utility cloak on the armchair. Unbuttoning his thin black silk shirt at the neck, he threw himself down on Sigmund's divan. He was breathing heavily, his broad athletic chest heaving uncontrollably. The long strong fingers of his big right hand pushed his black hair away, tangling in it.
Silently cursing this mental intrusion into the great revelation of his crucial intellectual insight, Sigmund nodded encouragingly.
"Welcome, Ben. Please speak. I can tell that something's happened."
Well, of course things always kriffing happen. That's what life is all about. Still, you try to make them talk and not waste your time with nonsense. Sometimes you have to be direct.
The young man was breathing heavily, clenching his hands into large fists. Twisting on the red velvet divan, he bit his lower lip. Contorting as if in unbearable pain, he lashed out and smashed his fist into the wall on his left side. Miraculously, the wall stayed put.
"I… I met a girl." An intense shiver ran through his muscular, athletic body.
"Ah. What happened?"
"She… she…"
Oh, he was really struggling. Still, no words came out. Out of pure curiosity, Sigmund decided not to humour him. Silently, he doodled in his notebook.
What does a woman want.
"She… she's always been there. I mean, in my mind! I mean, I sensed her! Oh, you couldn't understand unless you met her… Those green and gold sparks in her eyes …"
The young man was hammering his fist into the reinforced left wall repeatedly. Well, good luck with breaking though that, Ben. Somewhat annoyed, Sigmund nodded.
"Ok, Ben, so you met a girl. Apparently, she made quite an impression on you. What is her name?"
The young man twisted violently on the divan.
"Don't you kriffing call me that! My name's not Ben! Not anymore. It's Kylo. Kylo Ren. I told you so when I came here last year to resume our talks, old man. Ben Solo's dead. I killed him myself. He was weak and foolish, like his father."
Sigmund's white eyebrows rose a fraction. Doodling on his notepad, he considered the options.
Hm. Renouncing the Name of the Father. That's a tough one. Maybe I should refer him to Lacan; he's an expert on that kind of stuff. Still, rejection might cause him to implode. Better focus on the girl.
"Kylo. Tell me about the girl. How did you meet her? Where?"
The young man had covered his eyes with his right hand.
"I met her on Takodana. I was on a mission. I mean, I've told you, haven't I? I tell you everything, Sigmund, and you tell no one. Right?"
Force. The boy must really be scared shitless of his mother. Or maybe he just downright hated her for sending him away to a remote island to train with a bearded hermit in the most obscure kind of boarding school. Momentarily, a fierce arrow of pity shot up through Sigmund's chest. It wasn't the first time that that kind of feeling had surfaced in listening to the young man. Dealing with it in a purely professional manner, he noted it duly and then let it pass right though him.
"I won't tell anyone, Kylo. You know that." Now, that at least was the diehard truth.
The young man had torn his shirt open in some kind of fit of agony, exposing his bare muscular chest. His long black locks tangled around his face. His long legs were contorted around one another, clenching painfully. And then-
And then, he just relaxed. His brown eyes opened to stare out into deep space.
"I met her on Takodana, but it all started on Jakku. I received a message saying that… Well, I mean someone told me that she'd taken care of a droid that belonged to… the enemy." He faltered, then resumed, turning over on his side to stare unseeingly into the left wall.
"She was nothing. Scavenger, slum child, young trash chick who means nothing to nobody. They sent me the reports." A stark tremble passed through his muscular body again.
"You see, I had to find her, don't you?" His voice rose in some kind of desperation.
"Of course I do." Sigmund nodded noncommittally. He was starting to relax, sitting by his patient's head and staring straight into the wall opposite him. There, his own portrait gazed back at him serenely, making him sleepy. The image was starting to speak to him.
Ok, Sigmund, let's do this. What do women want? Our entire scientific career might hinge on this.
Laura Dierschmied stretched out on his divan; her skirt riding up over her long elegant legs. The tight white suit hugging her curves while she lamented the deficiencies of her husband and lover. A discreet tear falling from one of her lovely blue eyes.
His wife's sharp, acid yellow post it notes plastered to the bathroom mirror every morning, with their absurdly specific messages.
His receptionist, Chrysella Klein, who each Thursday appeared to go through a stunning and inexplicable metamorphosis. Upswept hair, bright scarlet lipstick. Her large green eyes edged in black kohl. Tight bright sleeveless dresses; black transparent silky stockings. High heels. The sudden unexpected flashes of cleavage, for Force's sake. Usually, the girl would be conservatively dressed in a prim grey business suit. On Thursday's like today, she sat behind her desk looking like a high priced call girl. More than once, an accidental peek at her exposed cleavage had caused Sigmund to almost stumble on the threshold of his office. Come Friday, the girl's looks would be back to normal.
So, what in the Force's name was going on?
On the divan, the young man formerly known as Ben Solo was staring dreamily up into the ceiling. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. The casually unbuttoned shirt exposed his hairless muscular chest. His athletic arms were carelessly thrown back over his head, as if in complete surrender. Behind the round spectacles, Sigmund's wise old gaze sharpened. Was that a significant hardon, bulging through the young man's tight black trousers?
"I found her there, alone deep in the woods. She'd been attempting to escape. Of course, we both knew it was futile. The girl I'd heard so much about. Oh Force, I don't know why I said that! I mean, no one had mentioned her except for one of our commanding officers. She refused to turn and look at me, but I could sense the fear and hatred in her mind. Her… her mind was open to me. I swear Sigmund, it was kriffing beautiful! I hadn't even seen her kriffing face, and yet I knew she was The One. So, I decided to ignite my lightsaber. You know, to show her my powers in the Force."
Sigmund flicked his bushy white eyebrows, staring distractedly down into his notepad. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to carry a long fiery weapon like the one that his young patient had. Of course, he'd always known about the boy's inferiority complex. For years, it had been one of the main themes in the psychoanalytic work. Now, it also appeared to be erupting into his relationships with the fairer sex.
"Ok, B… Kylo. So, you hoped to impress the girl by flashing her your lightsaber. You told me six months ago that you have a new deluxe kind. I gather that you placed it in the Cabinet as usual on entering?"
He cast a sideways leftwise glance at his prostrate patient. Of course, having them lying down flat on their backs had some decided security advantages. Apart from the sizeable bulge in his black trousers, the young man's crotch area was indeed devoid of weapons. Sigmund nodded, satisfied.
"Yes, yes. Chrysella took care of it, along with my other gear. Don't distract me by asking crap questions like that."
Galvanized by irritation, the young man twisted restlessly on the divan. In his seat next to the silky black haired head, Sigmund didn't even deign to answer.
"So, I decided to take her. I mean, I just reached out and passed my hand behind her head. The Force did the rest. It's like extinguishing a light, really, except of course it will turn back on again. She passed out, just like that. I caught her in my arms and lifted her. That was the first time that I saw her face. I swear to you, old man. That was the loveliest sight I ever saw. Her long dark eyelashes, shading her cheeks. That smooth pale skin, so soft to the touch. The pulse in her long neck, beating like a drum. Her full red lips…" The young man's voice was hoarse.
"Of course, I didn't kiss her. You can't kiss an unconscious girl. But Force, Sigmund, I really wanted to! I really kriffing… Never mind. So I just carried her onto my spacecraft and locked her into the Interrogation Unit. We didn't need the droid. The girl had all I wanted."
In his chair, Sigmund sighed with the world-weary wisdom of an ancient man. Really, his patient's seduction technique left much to be desired. Here, clearly was another one as baffled as himself at the eternal question.
Was Will das Weib?
What do those kriffing bitches want?
But clearly, the answer was close. He could sense it, with every fibre of his being. Also, something else was prodding him. The urgent mental push of his young patient's need for verbal feedback. Distractedly, he nodded.
"So, you met a young female and was attracted to her. You abducted her and locked her down in the Interrogation Unit of your starship. Then what?"
The young man covered his face with his big hands. A sudden intense tremble of emotion shook his large athletic body. The solid foundations of the antique red velvet and ebony divan, built some two thousand years ago on Alderaan, creaked ominously.
"I… I just sat there, looking at her. I can't explain it, Sigmund! I just couldn't tear my eyes away. She looked like she was sleeping. Peaceful, beautiful. I had a sudden wild longing to keep her there with me, forever. Oh Force. Whoever placed that crazy urge in my mind? Force. I just couldn't stand the thought. So, I was kind of relieved when she finally woke up."
Women. Crazy, beautiful, elusive. Utterly incomprehensible. Whatever you do or say, it's always somehow wrong.
The mirror image on the opposite wall was speaking, nodding sagely.
Writing something on his notepad, Sigmund nodded distractedly. Really, he had no idea what that one word was. Instead, he attempted to sharpen his mind and focus on his patient's tale.
"Ok, Kylo. Tell me what happened."
The young man was panting, staring off into the distance. On his right cheek, the angry red welt seemed to flare up. Something about the wound caught Sigmund's sudden interest. Was that a laserblade injure? If so, his patient had better get into bacta straight away to avoid being permanently scarred.
"She… She called me a monster. She said I was a coward not to show my face. So, I removed my helmet. I mean she… I… Ok, so Snoke would never, ever, understand. But you do, don't you, Sigmund? I mean, I just wanted her to see…"
The old psychoanalyst nodded sagely. "You wanted her to see the real you."
"NOOO!"
The young man trashed violently on the divan, punching his fists up at the reinforced ceiling as if striking at an unseen enemy.
"Fuck it, Sigmund! I just wanted to overpower her! I mean, if she would see I was a human being, just like her, she'd…" He faltered, attempting to get his breath under control.
Bored by the human drama that he'd seen a thousand times before, Sigmund doodled in his notebook. This only proved his point. In spite of being young and possibly the most powerful Force sensitive being that the Galaxy had ever seen, the boy was floundering in the same impossible dilemma as himself.
What does a woman want?
Oh, screw it a thousand times over. Why wouldn't blue ribbon do? He'd always liked the colour. In the background, his young patient's voice kept droning on.
"She… She was drawing me in, Sigmund! I mean, her mind was calling to me! Something about her…I mean… It's like the first strawberries that you pick in summer. The kind my Mother used to give me, before she sent me off to Uncle Luke's training camp. The taste is like a kiss and a stab at the same time. The sweetest taste, and yet you know it means she hates you and can't wait to get rid of you. She…"
The words were muffled underneath the big hands, covering the young man's face like a mask. Unless Sigmund had known that the current occupant of his divan belonged to the First Order, he would have sworn that there were tears running predictably underneath those hands. But Ben Solo, or Kylo Ren as he was currently styling himself, was nothing but not unpredictable. Removing his large hands from his big nosed, slashed young face, he stared into the ceiling with a beatific expression. Suddenly, his big form was quite relaxed. The sudden change made Sigmund somewhat wary.
"So… So I decided to enter her. Her mind, I mean. She'd give it to me, willingly or not. I told her so. 'You know, I can take whatever I want.' I… I wanted…"
He closed his brown eyes momentarily. With the long black eyelashes spread out over his pale cheeks like twin fans, his face looked unexpectedly young and peaceful.
"I saw her, Sigmund! Her parents had left her on that sandy dumpster of a planet when she was just 5 years old. Her mind kept crying out for them. Still, she's a survivor. She knew how to take care of herself. I sensed the need in her. She wanted to return there to wait for them. It's kriffing sad. I could sense they'd left her there, to go away and die for something that mattered more to them than their own child. They'd abandoned her for something more important. Well, that's what parents are like. So, I told her it was useless. Just like her harking on to kriffing Han Solo. Apparently, she's got some piloting skills. The old bastard picked up on that and offered her a job. She didn't take him up on it. Smart girl." His voice turned into a vicious snarl.
Startled, the old psychoanalyst turned to examine his patient's prostrate form.
"This girl met your father, B…?" He checked himself hastily. Still, the unspoken name hovered in both their minds. On the divan, the big muscular young man stiffened. Then, he just nodded, his voice grim.
"Yes. Apparently, she hijacked his old starship from a junkyard on Jakku. Yep, that's the Millenium Falcon, Sigmund. Kriffing pile of junk. The first thing I drove while learning how to pilot things that move and travel in deep space. Anyway old man, we've been through that some 4000 times already. I'm not paying you 80 000 GCS per session for reruns."
So, the boy was paying for his psychoanalysis himself, instead of charging Supreme Leader Snoke or Leia Organa. Now, that actually meant that he was making huge progress and seriously invested in his treatment. Sigmund nodded approvingly. Possibly, this line of investigation might also lead him to some interesting revelations of the workings of the female mind.
"Of course, B… Kylo. So, how did the girl respond to you reading her mind and revealing her secrets? You know, as a psychoanalyst I have to advise you to approach with extreme caution on that kind of road."
Something wild flared up in the young man's brown eyes. The already impressive bulge in his tight black trousers expanded significantly.
"I entered her mind, Sigmund. She yielded easily enough. However, I could feel her responding in an unexpected way. I mean she…"
He closed his eyes momentarily. "It's like my presence started some kind of reaction. As if I set her off. I mean, big time. She literally exploded, all around me. Stars and fireworks. Then, she set about to do the same to me."
Sigmund's bushy white eyebrows flew up. "You mean you actually had intercourse with this young woman, Kylo? And that she… ehrm… penetrated you in some unladylike fashion?"
The young man shook his black locked head wildly.
"NO! May the Sarlac eat your stupid brain, old man! Haven't you been paying any kind of attention whatsoever? The girl's a Force sensitive, like me. She is exceptionally strong. When I entered her mind, she just retaliated, ok? She went into my head and sensed an ancient fear of mine by means of the Force. Excuse me? Which one? Oh, we've been through that one a thousand times already! Something about Grandfather and what he means to me. But shit Sigmund, she really scared me! I mean, I know that I'd removed my mask for her. But she… She took it one step further. During those brief moments, she walked into my mind and saw everything about me. The girl's a kriffing Force sensitive, Sigmund! That's why I can't get her out of my mind. She's like me, just untrained. We're two of a kind."
"Ah. You consider this girl to be your chosen mate?"
In spite of himself, Sigmund was intrigued. Of course, he figured that with women being what they were, his young patient was in for some kind of unpleasant surprise. Then again, you never knew.
Down on the divan, Ben Solo was clenching his hands tightly together as if fighting hard to avoid strangling someone. Then, he just relaxed and fell back, staring eerily into space.
"She's strong in the Force. If you don't know what that's like, you really cannot understand. I wanted to take care of her, to teach her how to use her powers. I… Ok, so I wanted her. It's like an odd kind of hunger. Like it's all been pre decided, by somebody else. I can't explain it, Sigmund! I just knew the Force was pulling us together. It charged me up like lightning. And then, I made a mistake. Although in retrospect, I'm wondering if I didn't set her up for some kind of test."
Ok, so Ben Solo had finally fallen in love and was now going about it in the same way he always did things; pure obsessive-compulsive style alternating with impulsive explosiveness. As far as Sigmund could tell, his chosen lady would be in for quite a ride. However, he himself had more important things on his mind. While the young man was talking, droning on in the background, he sensed the answer to his question pushing up through his unconscious, struggling to be recognized.
What does a woman want?
Maybe if he'd get her some yellow ribbons for this year's Hanukka presents? Yellow is the opposite of blue. How would Martha react to that? Was that what she wanted?
"I swear on the Force, Sigmund, I could only have been gone for like ten minutes. Call of nature. Ok, so I was embarrassed to have her see the state of me, ok? I had to take care of things to gain control. I can't perform interrogations with a raging hardon. It's difficult enough to have to suffer them in here, with you."
"That's quite all right, Kylo. We all get them occasionally."
"Yeah, right. I bet when some hot chick lies down here on this very divan to tell you all about her sexual fantasies, you're all raring to go, right? Force, forget I ever said that! I mean, that sounds like something Han would say! Anyway, he's history."
"History?"
A slight blush tinged the young man's pale cheeks.
"Yeah. He kind of, might have, you know… fallen onto my lightsaber."
"Fallen!?"
The beautiful, slashed young face froze. The young man struggled, gaining control of his breathing with some amount of effort.
"Snoke ordered me to do it. It was a kind of test, to check my strength. I did it, Sigmund! I passed the test. I proved my strength. Surely you see that, right?" There was a tinge of desperation in his voice.
Sigmund frowned. "You actually killed your father, Ben? I mean, we've been through this fantasy of yours before. It's not uncommon for young males with neglectful fathers to have dreams of killing them. In fact, it's quite common."
The young man was twisting restlessly on the divan, as if attempting to escape. When he finally spoke, his voice was strangled.
"Just can it, old man. Ok? Han Solo's dead. I did it. If you don't believe me, check things on the holonet. It's bound to be all over the place."
For once, Sigmund was speechless. Speechless, but neither shocked nor horrified. In fact, the capacity for moral outrage had abandoned him a long time ago. Nowadays, nothing could surprise or shock him. Instead, there was just intense interest and curiosity.
"How do you feel about this, Ben?"
He'd dropped the pretences altogether. Clearly, nothing but addressing the young man by his given name would do. Oh well. You gain some and you lose some. After all, the 15th floor wasn't that bad. He guessed that in the name of science, he could endure another year there.
On the red velvet divan, the young man had curled up in a fetal position. Sigmund couldn't see his face. Still, without actually being a Force sensitive, over the years he'd developed a near preternatural sense of the feelings and emotions of others.
Pain.
Oh fuck. This was bad.
Without seeing his face, he sensed the tears in the young man's eyes. The pain and rage ravaging him, that had struck a core in Sigmund some 16 years ago, when the boy first began his treatment. Then, suddenly the large body relaxed. An odd sense of peace invaded Sigmund's mind. On the divan, the young man was staring up into the ceiling. His face had gone ghostly pale.
"He stroked my face, Sigmund. That bastard dared to caress my cheek. Even after he realized that he was a kriffing goner. He begged me to come home. What a kriffing joke. Where was he when I needed him? Out scouring the Galaxy, scoring a trade deal or another. Force. Snoke was a better father to me than he ever was. So were you, Sigmund. At least, you were both there. You still are. That's… But he's fucking gone for real this time. At least… I mean, in my mind he's…"
Frowning, Sigmund stared into the eyes of his own image, emptying his mind. His own personal trick of clearing his head of his patients' pain, in order to be able to focus.
"It's all a kriffing jumble after that. Something hit me. A bowcaster shot, I think. The pain kind of woke me up. Someone was screaming at me not to do it. Her voice kept echoing into my mind. Nails were tearing the flesh off my bones. It… She… She saw me do it, Sigmund! And then, she just took that kriffing traitor's hand and ran away. She ran away from me! I mean, I just couldn't let her escape. Force, I need her!"
The frown deepened.
"Wait, Ben. Please, slow down. You're losing me here. You're talking about the young woman that you'd just interrogated? She saw you kill your father? How did she… Oh."
"Yes. It's my own fault! I awakened her Force powers, and she used them to escape. Kriffing ironic, isn't it? She saw me do the deed, and now she hates me for it. There… there was another guy there. A black dude. One of the stormtroopers, who had defected. Force! I sensed he was a traitor, even back on Jakku. They ran away together. Force! I just had to get her back, Sigmund! You understand that, right?"
But maybe yellow ribbon is too Easter-ish. What about white? It's no colour at all, yet encompasses them all. I bet Laura Dierschmied picks white ribbon for Hanukka. Hm. But Martha might…
"Yes, Ben. You fell for a young woman and she ran away with another man, while you were at a particularly vulnerable moment. That must have been a disappointment to you."
On the divan, the young man was lethally still, staring out into deep space with his dark eyes. His features had gone deathly pale, like frozen snow.
"I stopped them in the woods. The girl rushed at me to attack me, but I used the Force to throw her into a tree and knocked her out. Then, the guy attacked me with a lightsaber. A kriffing lightsaber, Sigmund! And not just any old blue blade. That weapon belonged to my grandfather! Yes, I know! That's kriffing sacrilege. Force knows how he'd come by it. That blue blade is mine. And he kriffing dared to attack me with it! What a moron. Everyone knows non Force sensitives can't handle lightsabres."
Sigmund's white eyebrows knitted in interest. "You felt attracted to a blue blade, Ben? Why, that's…"
The deep voice was a snarl. "Of course I kriffing did! That sabre's mine, by birth! That filthy traitor had stolen it from me. That and my girl. So, I decided to teach him a lesson. His lightsaber technique was a joke. Complete disaster. I had him knocked out cold in 30 seconds flat. Stupid bastard passed out and dropped the weapon. I reached out to call it up into my hand. But then… Then…"
His voice was trembling. Curious, Sigmund noticed the odd arousal in it.
"The girl. She willed the weapon to her by means of the Force. Yes, of course she used telekinesis! Force, she's so strong! When she ignited the weapon, I could see that strange gleam in her eyes. She'd found her calling. Of course, she'd never used one of them before. It was her first time. But brother, did she know how to fight! I know true talent when I see it."
He shook his black locked head in admiration. The bulge in his black trousers seemed to have expanded.
"Still, I mean she was untrained. I kept driving her back through the woods, poking her just enough with my sabre to show her I meant business. Her reflexes were so fast, her movements so precise, so sharp… Whenever she stopped to face me, her thrusts and parries were kriffing perfect. Still, I was closing in on her. I knew I'd get her in the end."
"Hm. And just what had you planned to do to her once you caught up with her, Ben?"
Sigmund realized that his own male organ had expanded alarmingly from listening to this somewhat sordid tale. At the outset of his career, this had occurred with a worrying frequency, causing him to arrange for his patients to lie down at his left side in order to ensure they couldn't see him. 40 years later, he hadn't gotten a rise out of a patient's story for some 15 years. But here it was. Well, this might be significant.
"I… I… I've no idea, Sigmund! I mean, I just wanted to bring her back with me. To keep her with me. I wanted to show her everything, to… You know, introduce her to all the marvellous parts of having powers in the Force. To show her all the wonders it might bring. So, when she stumbled back and almost fell over the edge of a precipice, I caught her and held on to her. Force, Sigmund! I had the hardon of a lifetime. Still, I… I mean, with a girl like that, you can't just… Her lips were just so close, I…"
"So, I told her the truth. That she needed a teacher. That she needed me."
Was Will das Weib? Poor Ben. Sigmund shook his head in a mixture of admiration and genuine pity.
"You mean you told her that you needed her. Somehow, I doubt she heard you."
The young man's brown eyes stared dreamily up into the ceiling. Doubtlessly, he was imagining the face and figure of his errant goddess.
"She closed her eyes. And then, something miraculous happened. I mean, she just blossomed before my eyes. Her face, it… It turned so kriffing beautiful, it stabbed me through the heart. It was like a kriffing revelation. In that moment, I saw everything I'd ever wanted. I hadn't even realized it before."
He was panting, tearing his black silk shirt down further to bare his broad muscular chest down to his spectacularly toned abs. Leaning back into his armchair, Sigmund was pulled with him into the dark snowy forest of a faraway planet, staring down at the pale beautiful face of a young brunette. Force. Ben Solo was doing it again. Pulling him into his mind by means of his Force powers. But yes, that girl was rather cute. Also, she looked like she was about to-
Fascinated, he stared at the ecstatic face.
"And then, she just erupted! I mean, she was like a force of nature! Threw me off and drove me back, lightsaber in hand. Those moves, the power, that technique of hers… Whew! She even did Juyo, without being taught. It's in her kriffing soul. That girl's a true warrior, down to the core. Force! I didn't want to hurt her, Sigmund! But after a while, I just found myself fighting for my life. Fuck! She really tried to kill me." He shook his head in shocked admiration.
"Is that how you acquired that cheek wound, Ben? By the way, I think that needs some seeing to. You'd better ask Chrysella for some bacta gel on the way out."
Ben Solo shook his head slowly. A strange smile curled his full lips.
"No. If she's scarred me for life, then so be it. I'm keeping this one, Sigmund. She's mine."
"All right, Ben. I think that just about concludes today's session. Same time next Thursday?"
The young man had flung his long legs off of the divan and risen, buttoning his shirt decisively. Now, he was pulling on his tunic, draping his black utility cloak around his shoulders and snapping the clasp shut.
"Same time next Thursday, Sigmund. I knew I could rely on you. By the way, if some red headed fellow named Hux turns up here, just tell him that you've never heard of me. Bye."
As the door to his office slammed shut behind the tall exiting form, Sigmund rose and leaned back against one of his tall Chandrilan bookcases for support. Force. For the first time in some 30 years, he felt the urgent need for a cigarette. But no. His thumbs were itching, worse than ever.
Yes. Of course. He had to turn Ben Solo into a Case Study. Just in order to make sense of things, to understand what he'd just heard. Leaning back heavily against the bookcase, Sigmund searched the floor for his lost notepad. The kriffing thing was nowhere to be seen. Shaking his head in frustration, he accidentally banged his right elbow against a heavy tome. The book fell out, hitting his big toe painfully. Cursing, he reached down.
Greek Tragedies, Vol III. Euripides
Frowning slightly, he opened the volume.
As the door to the Herr Doctor's office slammed back shut, Chrysella Klein's eyes widened significantly. Futilely, she attempted to still her breathing. Underneath the large black ebony desk, her long silk clad legs contorted, twisting around one another. Her large green eyes flashed open, staring in pure adoration at the tall, broad shouldered young man. Reaching up with a long slender, bare pale arm, she checked automatically that her shiny, brunette upswept hairdo was firmly attached. One long silky strand of hair fell casually down over her smooth, pale forehead.
"Don't charge this to the Organa tab. No. Not to the First Order either. I'm paying for this in cash."
The young receptionist trembled slightly. Her large, kohl rimmed eyes focused on those of the tall, black clad young man. Luckily, the Herr Doctor's 11 o'clock patient hadn't arrived yet. Gazing into the brown eyes, she faltered slightly.
"We… We don't…"
The young man frowned. "Is there a problem here, Chrysella? I'm paying you 80 000 GCS in cash straight up. There. It's right in front of you."
Flinging the money down disdainfully on the receptionist's desk, he pushed his long silky black hair out of his face to stare morosely out into the distance.
The receptionist's beautiful green eyes widened significantly. A sudden shockwave seemed to galvanize her, causing a brief shudder to run though her slender but curvaceous body. Oblivious, Ben Solo stared out at the heavily enforced hologlass exit area. Suddenly decisive, the girl nodded briskly. Taking the cash, she stashed it in a drawer of her desk. Force knew how she'd deal with this problem, but never mind. She'd just have to present it to her employer in some clever way.
"Of course. Thank you very much. Do you want a receipt, Master Ren?"
That earned her a brief look of approval. Momentarily, the brown gaze travelled down her long slender neck, losing itself in the dizzying topography of her cleavage.
Yeah. You'd better look at them, you beautiful bastard. That's a 32E bra size, and this very dress I'm wearing cost me 120 000 GCS. That's three months wages, by the way. Just look at what you're doing to me here.
He flicked a black gloved hand at her.
"Ok. I mean, whatever. I need my lightsaber, thank you very much. If you'd care to get it out of that thing."
"Of course, Master Ren."
Rising obediently, she wiggled over to the Cabinet. The skintight, bright red dress hugged her body like a glove. As she leaned forward to unlock the tall, security enforced hologlass case, her small round ass poked out at him suggestively. Her smooth, perfect pale skin had a light, velvety sheen.
"Here you are, Master Ren. Do you want me to help you attach them?"
Once more, young Ben Solo stared distractedly at her exposed cleavage. Then, he reached out for his lightsaber and clipped the weapon to his holster belt.
"No, Chrysella. I'm ok. Thank you. I'll see you next week, ok?"
Reaching for his helmet, he pulled it on decisively. Chrysella Klein nodded briefly, a look of pain shading her face.
"Of course, Master Ren. By the way, don't forget this. Your receipt and our contact info. You never know when you might need it."
Behind the black and silver helmet, the young man stared down at the combination of letters and numbers. A holocam number. Unless it was invisible, there was no receipt info to be seen. You never know when you might need it. Ok.
He pushed the note into an inner pocket of his utility cloak.
"Make sure my booking for next Thursday's there, Chrysella. Thanks."
The hologlass door swung back shut behind his tall exiting form. With a deep sigh, Chrysella Klein sank back into her comfortable office chair. Her heart was beating furiously. From behind the closed doors to the Herr Doctor Freud's office, a triumphant shriek erupted.
"OEDIPUS!"