I spend the first half of my next session waiting for the real Doctor Gyson to reappear. She's not pushing any of my buttons-not pushing at all, in fact-just asking me a series of (relatively) easy questions about my time in the Army and the early years of my NYPD career. I recognize the technique, and privately I have to admit she's extremely good at it, but I really thought we were past this.
Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"You know, whatever it is you're working your way up to here, I'd really rather you just got on with it."
It's not until I see her slight smile as she sits back that I realize she's been waiting for me to challenge her.
"All right, then. Let's talk about your partner."
That surprises me. I thought she was working her way up to some huge and terrible thing from my past. Eames requires the soft lead-in?
"You look surprised," Doctor Gyson murmurs, and I realize I've spent several seconds staring into space.
"I am. Eames... You could've just asked."
"I did ask," she says, and now her voice holds that familiar edge I'm used to hearing. "I asked, and you all but took my head off."
That's a little disingenuous, and I don't bother to hide my annoyance. "Yeah, well, you asked me whether I'm in love with her. It was an inappropriate question."
"Is that what I asked you?" she challenges.
I draw breath for a sharp retort-I know damn well what she asked me-but then my eidetic memory kicks in, and I her voice speaks in my mind.
Do you love her?
And I realize with a shock that she's right to challenge me. The question I answered-no, the question I so dramatically refused to answer-wasn't even the question she asked.
"Oh," I murmur, and from the look of gentle empathy she gives me, I know I must look as broadsided as I feel. "I... I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For assuming that you were baiting me."
"Is that what you thought that day? That I wanted to make you angry?"
I nod. I'm ashamed of that now, but at the time...
"Believe it or not, Bobby-" She actually smiles slightly. "-I intended that to be an easy question."
I sit back, and after a second I manage to laugh at myself a little. "It should have been. I mean, yes, of course I love her. We've been partners for a long time."
Doctor Gyson nods. "You trust her."
It's not really a question, but I answer it anyway. "Yes."
"Why?"
She probably intends that to be an easy question, too, but... "Uhm...this could...take a while."
"Take your time."
I hesitate, but only briefly. "You remember what I said about how everybody lies?"
She nods.
"Well...I guess Eames is the exception that proves the rule."
"So you trust her because she's honest with you?"
"That and...and she hasn't given up on me."
"You say that as if it puzzles you."
"It does. I mean, I gave up on me. When they made her fire me..." I've talked to Doctor Gyson about that already. "...she had the perfect opportunity to walk away."
"Was that what you expected her to do?"
Was it? I lower my head and force myself to go back there in my mind, to that awful night in Ross's office...no, not Ross's office, not anymore...force myself to relive the moment when Alex finally admitted what they'd ordered her to do. I wasn't surprised-I'd seen it coming-but it still hurt. She was trying so hard to be strong, to make it easier on me, but I knew how close she was to losing it.
"No," I hear myself whisper. "I don't know what I expected her to do, but...I knew she wouldn't abandon me."
In my peripheral vision, I can see Doctor Gyson sit forward in her chair. "Say that again."
"I knew she wouldn't abandon me," I repeat, more strongly this time, and look up.
To find Doctor Gyson studying me with an intensity that takes me aback.
"What?"
For a moment I think she isn't going to answer-she's under no obligation to, after all; she's not the one in therapy-but then she sits back and shakes her head and smiles slightly.
"You really have no idea how extraordinary that is, do you?"
If there's one thing I know about psychiatrists, it's that they don't ask rhetorical questions.
"I...guess not."
"This kind of therapy," she says slowly, and gestures between us, "it requires a great deal of trust."
"I'm beginning to understand that," I say wryly.
She smiles in acknowledgement, but then her expression grows serious again.
"There are people who can't do it. Not because they don't want to-almost everyone wants to get well-but because their capacity to trust is too badly damaged by the trauma they've endured. They've been betrayed and hurt and abandoned so many times that they can't open up enough to accomplish anything constructive with me. I have to refer them for another type of treatment."
It's not difficult to figure out what she's really saying, and I have another quick flash of memory, this time of myself shouting at her a few weeks ago.
I'm not a good candidate for therapy!
"But...you've continued to work with me," I say slowly, sounding as puzzled as I feel.
"Yes, because against all odds you're making tremendous progress. And I have a theory about why. It's because somehow, in the midst of everything you've been through, you've managed to find one person you feel safe putting your faith in."
"Eames."
She nods and repeats, "The relationship you have with her is extraordinary."
"She's extraordinary." I didn't really mean to say that out loud, but that doesn't make it any less true.
"Tell me about her."
"Uhm..."
"Just start with one true thing," she suggests. "What was your first impression of her?"
"That she was tiny." There I go again, speaking without thinking.
Doctor Gyson's brows rise. "Tiny?"
I remember belatedly that Doctor Gyson has never seen Eames.
"Yeah. She's, uhm, five-three and...I don't know...maybe a hundred twenty pounds with all her hardware on. I don't notice so much anymore, but that first day...yeah, that was the first thing I thought."
"And did it bother you, having this tiny woman for a partner?"
I laugh.
It's apparently not the reaction Doctor Gyson was expecting.
"Why is that funny?"
"Because it did-bother me, I mean-for an hour or so, and then I realized what a relief it was going to be, not having to go through all that macho bullshit."
"Macho bullshit?" she repeats, now sounding amused herself.
"The whole stupid routine guys go through when we get partnered up. You know, figuring out who's the alpha dog. Who's a better shot and who can bench more weight and who can take who down sparring and who's going to drive the car. It's idiotic, but we do it."
"I see. And you didn't have to go through that with Eames?"
"Eames has a very low tolerance for macho bullshit."
Now it's Doctor Gyson's turn to laugh. "Somehow I imagine that's a massive understatement."
"It is," I admit. "She's got a pretty low tolerance for bullshit, period, actually. It's one of the things I respect most about her. She's not interested in putting on a show."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She's not fake. I mean, she's got the same professional facade that all cops have-that's a survival mechanism-but once you get underneath that...what you see is what you get."
"And what is it that you see?"
"I... I don't know how to answer that." I'm not just stalling-it's the truth.
Doctor Gyson seems to realize that.
"Okay. We can come back to that," she says easily. "Tell me something else about Eames. Anything that seems important to you."
"She's brave."
"It makes you feel better, knowing she's backing you up?"
"Safer, yeah. She's not scared of much."
Doctor Gyson nods. "What else?"
"She's smart."
"As smart as you are?"
"What the hell kind of question is that? You don't know her."
Doctor Gyson holds up her hand and leans forward, into the force of my sudden anger.
"Stop," she says firmly. "What just happened?"
"I..." I force myself to take a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I got defensive."
"Why?"
"You said-" No, that's further defensiveness. "It sounded like you were questioning her intelligence."
"Has someone done that in the past-assumed she's not as smart as you are?"
For the second time in just a few minutes, my memory blindsides me with a voice from the past. Eames's voice this time, bitter with hurt.
I get it. You're the genius. I just carry your water, right?
You're the genius.
You're the genius.
"Bobby?"
I realize that I have no idea how many times Doctor Gyson has said my name. Several, I think. I drag myself out of the memory and suck in a deep breath and make myself meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I was..."
"Remembering?" she prompts gently.
"Yes." I brace myself for the inevitable question.
But Doctor Gyson rises and crosses the room to the mini-fridge behind her desk, and a returns a moment later with a bottle of water.
"Here."
I accept it gratefully and drain about half the bottle before I look up again to find her studying me.
"Better?" she murmurs.
"Yeah. That was, uhm...unexpected."
"And powerful," she says, not a question.
I nod anyway.
"Can you talk about it?"
I'm surprised to realize that yes, I probably could. But...
"I think...I think it's something I need to talk to Eames about."
Doctor Gyson studies me for another moment, then nods slowly.
"All right. I'll accept that, but only if you're actually going to talk to her."
TBC
Author's Notes:
The memory that rises up and grabs Bobby is from the episode "Purgatory," just in case anybody wants to run to the DVR. More about that next chapter…
Oh, and JamiW is as awesome a beta reader as she is a writer. And I'm sure that's all I have to say about that.