A/N: As soon as I heard Captain Ross say "psych evaluation" my brain started buzzing. I am still playing around with writing in first person, please let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: The LOCI people are not mine. But I love to bring them out to play.
I had just finished entering some notes on my last client. Some were follow-up actions, some were reminders. I realized I had about 5 minutes before my next appointment, so I grabbed my I-pod to listen to something and clear my mind. My next appointment was a new patient, a referral, so I had a feeling he was going to be especially challenging. I closed my eyes and listened to a favorite Nina Simone song. Even though I had on earphones, I had the volume so loud that a person standing next to me could probably hear the music as well.
Darling, you are always needed
And your tenderness is needed too
And it seems that I'm never tired
loving you, loving you
never was a feeling stronger
aching for the sweet things you do
and it seems that I'm never tired loving you
should the mountains crumble to ashes
and the rain should cease to fall
and if the river stopped its flowing
you'd still be my all in all
and if the clouds cover the sky
so the sunlight wont come through
then I will never, never, never, never, never,
never, tire loving you
When I opened my eyes, I could see by the light flashing on my phone that my next appointment had arrived. I set my I-pod aside and stood from behind my desk. I smoothed my plain black skirt and checked my pale blue blouse. I ran my hands across my hair, feeling that for the most part it was still fastened securely near the nape of my neck. I smiled to myself, knowing that I did these same three things just before each appointment.
"Mr. Goren." I opened the door to my office, extending my hand to shake his. He was a tall man, big, brown eyes, salt-and-pepper short hair. He kind of had a lumbering walk, but I sensed that he could probably move pretty quickly if provoked.
"Dr. Jones." He replied.
"You can call me Lucy if you like." I offered. I usually offered, and it was interesting to see what people did with that. A lot of people stayed with "Dr. Jones."
I stepped aside, gesturing for him to sit. I watched him sit on the couch, in the middle. He placed his hands on his knees and looked around my office. I walked over to my desk and lifted up his folder. My colleague who was on contract with NYPD had referred him to me, and had forwarded his file.
I sat down in a chair a bit diagonal from him, and set the file on the ottoman the sat between us.
"Dr. Lewis forwarded this to me. I reviewed the materials inside. In case you wanted to see what I read…" I gestured to the file, for him to pick up. He looked at me for a long moment, and then reached forward for the file. He leafed through the contents. Basically, the file portrayed him as a highly intelligent, well-trained criminal profiler, who had an exceptional case record as a detective with NYPD. It was also noted he was not great with authority, often went outside protocol, and my colleague Jonathon Lewis found him to be uncommunicative.
"You can see, Jon found you to be a bit uncommunicative." I was candid, referring to my colleague by his first name. He looked at me, placing the file back down in front of him.
"What am I supposed to communicate about?" He asked, looking at me.
I thought he looked caged. I could tell it took every fiber of will within him to sit still, with an open body posture, facing me. I knew that he knew enough to know that was the appropriate way to sit when being psychologically evaluated. It was important to be open, relaxed. But, I could tell he was neither of those things.
"Well, I guess you are supposed to say that at all points during this unauthorized investigation you were in complete control of what you were doing, what you were feeling. That you were driven out of concern for a family member, and that you recognize, in retrospect that you probably should have taken an alternative path than simply taking it upon yourself to get jailed and committed to a mental observation ward. You could go onto say, that you appreciate that you put your partner at risk as well as your Captain. And, that you regret putting other members of NYPD at risk, and will not let that happen again." I gave him the speech that he was supposed to give me.
"Would you like to say that?" I asked him, crossing my legs at the ankles and repositioning myself in my seat a bit. He looked at me some more, and I could see something in his eyes change, as if he were reforming his opinion of me.
"I bet even though you know that is what you should say to make this go away, you probably still cannot bring yourself to say it. Because, if put in the same position again, you would likely follow the same course of action." I hazarded, and again, he simply looked at me, but this time he moved his hands from his knees, placing them in front of him, palms together, kind of rubbing his fingers against each other.
"It's killing you to sit still like that." I stated it as a fact. "You can move around if you like." I stood, inviting him to stand.
"I have a nice view." I offered. He took a moment to stand, and then I watched him walk across my office, slowly by the bookshelf, slowly by my desk, then toward the window. I knew he was profiling me, trying to get as much of a read on me as I was trying to get on him.
"It's cold. The window." I moved to stand in front of the large window as well. I placed my hand against the glass and watched condensation form to outline my warm palm. He did the same. I could tell, he needed to touch things, to think about them, to manipulate them in his mind.
"So, what does my office say about me?" I asked, and with that question, I actually think he looked a bit surprised.
He turned, and looked around my office.
"And don't comment on the colors, or the furniture arrangement, or the books on my shelves. Tell me something I can't readily see." I could practically see him arranging information in his brain.
I watched him breathe in, deeply, heavily, and he turned to face me, looking down at me.
"You don't like lilies." He said. I smiled, and nodded. He was absolutely correct. I could not stand the smell of lilies, and I did not like what they looked like.
"You have an arrangement in reception, and you have one on your side table. Fresh flowers, big arrangements, no lilies. You must ask for "no lilies." Most arrangements like those have some kind of lily." He offered, I watched him move his hands freely in the air, as he gestured toward the door to reception, to the side table. I watched his breathing ease a bit; I could practically see him relax a little.
"I love flowers." I admitted. "But lilies, their smell is very strong." I provided. I let him look around my office a bit more, he seemed happy that he had pegged that piece of information about me.
"So, tell me, when is the last time you slept for more than a few hours?" I asked, changing the conversation back to him. He looked at me, and for a moment I wondered if he would answer. He placed his warm hand back on the cold glass.
"A while." He admitted, and I realized that was something. He did not answer my question with a question of his own. He had just provided more information to me than he had my colleague. I realized, that maybe I had a chance of getting some where after all.
A/N: As always, I encourage you to drop a review - that will encourage me to write some more.