Riza Hawkeye had recently finished straightening her desk when she heard a man's indignant shout travel through the waiting room and into her office. The young woman hastily gathered her hair and secured it in place with her favorite brown clip; she wouldn't appear to be anything less than strictly professional around any of her patients. More shouts echoed down the hallway—well, she had been warned that he could potentially be the most difficult patient she'd be helping. With a quick glance to an elegantly framed PhD hanging behind her desk she started down the hallway, slipping thinly rimmed glasses into her pockets.
The only occupant in the waiting room other than the receptionist, Rebecca, was obviously her client who was dressed in a police uniform and Riza presumed he'd just finished his shift. As she was never one to deviate from the status quo her brown eyes scanned the clipboard in her hand as if there were ten people sitting alongside him. Finding the name Riza asked for one "Mr. Roy Mustang" with surprisingly little inflection. The blonde took note of his fidgeting, quickly promising herself to do everything in her power not to strain his tenuous self composure. He was tall with broad shoulders, high cheek bones, black hair and onyx eyes that were focused entirely on her.
"My name is Riza Hawkeye. Well then, Mr. Mustang, if you would please follow me this way to my office." She stated and watched as he drew himself out of the chair, finding that he was taller than originally thought. He shifted warily, but followed quietly behind to her office listening to the steady hum on rain. Riza settled into a red chair in her sparsely decorated office, indicating with a flick of her eyes that the blue chair opposite her was the one Roy should take. The man did so, mouth twitching with anger.
"If you have any concerns, I would appreciate you divulging them to me now." The doctor stated, fully aware of the unclosed door behind them. Accepting the invitation, Roy's voice rang in Riza's ears,
"I don't need to be here; I'm perfectly fine! All of this is Chief Bradley's f-" Despite his rising temper the deputy held his tongue, remembering that he was in the presence of a woman, "damn fault. He's convinced I need this, but I don't. I am a trained professional. If you'd please excuse me, miss-" He stood abruptly and Riza interrupted, raising her hands in a placating gesture.
"It's Dr, and I'm sure your Chief has your well being in mind. Please, sit down an-"
Roy grit his teeth; she certainly was a stubborn woman. His eyes locked with hers and roared, "I told you that I'm perfectly fine, goddammit!"
Never batting an eye at his outburst, she continued calmly, "If you feel this strongly about it would you at least consider humoring me, Mr. Mustang?"
He deliberated; Dr. Hawkeye seemed intent on gaining some information on him, and even he believed this probably wasn't the worst thing in the world to be doing. His dreams and emotional state were far from normal as of late. Roy sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room. Riza sensed her victory and gestured for him to sit again while closing the door behind him.
"I can assure you that whatever is said in this office will be kept in the strictest confidence."
"Then why the clipboard?" He inquired, focusing his acidic stare on the object in her hands.
"How else am I supposed to remember what you've told me? If," she returned his stare coolly, "hypothetically speaking, of course, there is a problem, don't you think it'd only be beneficial if diagnosed properly?"
Finding no room to argue an almost strangled noise forced its way out of his throat.
"My thoughts exactly. Now then, Mr. Mustang, would you like to tell me why your superior requested you to meet with a psychiatrist?"
"...I'm not sure—he has reasons. I don't know what he thinks."
She nodded, opening a notebook and writing his response neatly on the first margin. There had to be a way to steer him from answering vaguely, though it was to be expected, at first.
"I see. Would you like to tell me anything about him?" Riza questioned gently, hoping that if he would not talk about himself then Mr. Mustang would respond positively to impersonal questions.
At the mention of discussing his commanding officer it seemed as if the raven haired man was compelled by a perverse and fervent desire to mention the personal hell his life had become over the last two years to a complete stranger.
Riza occupied herself with the occasional nod and recording everything Roy had said verbatim, and the result was slightly alarming. In the hour that passed, she could link several diagnosis together.
"...In short, he thinks I'm unfit for service anymore. It's almost as if he wants to make me quit! The last Chief actually had faith in his subordinates! He complains that I'm not eating or sleeping enough, that I'm violent, or that it's too damn hard to trust me on the job. That I'll just decide nothing's worth doing anymore; that I think living's too difficult to handle. He...He's a liar, and he wants to displace me." Having said his piece, Roy had expended the energy to sit straight in his outburst and deflated into his seat, the bags under his eyes betraying his pride. He was a man who had seen the cruelty of the world and had been aged far beyond his twenty eight years of life.
In the silence that followed Dr. Hawkeye pursed her lips, coming to a decision that she hoped would please her patient.
"I feel as though it'd be...beneficial to continue these visits to my fath—to St. Flamel's Clinic—if you want to prove your commanding officer wrong, that is." She sensed the waves of animosity radiating from the deputy and shook her head.
"No, I think with a little attention you'll be able to live with an active job as a police men. Until then, I advise you to tell him that this meeting was satisfactory and you will attend more of them."
The deputy made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, only to meet a chilling glare from his—god forbid permanent-psychiatrist. "If it somehow causes the chief to change his mind then a few meetings is less punishment then I thought he'd put he through." With this, he retrieved his coat and left; Riza could hear the charming goodbye he offered to Rebecca after scheduling his next appointments before slamming the door shut.
At the bottom of the paper she had written the following; has trust issues, is possibly suicidal, paranoid, or depressed, suffers from obvious anger issues and ….."
The young doctor had left a rather wide margin of space for further diagnosis in case any came to mind during their regularly scheduled appointments for four every Monday evening. She rubbed his eyes with her palms, released the clasp on her hair, and closed the door to her office without so much as a sound.
She walked out of the building with her friend, accepting her invitation for dinner that night. The dinners usually consisted of her receptionist's complaints surrounding her love life, animals, and horrible landlord, but they served as a tether to a quaint reality to which the doctor was steadily becoming estranged.
"What're you holding in your hand, Riza?" Rebecca inquired, pointing to the manila folder in the psychiatrist's right hand.
"...Apparently it's my most recent patient's file." She replied, golden brows furrowing as she considering placing it in the green cabinet with the rest of them. No, she thought suddenly, if Mr. Mustang is that concerned about what we discuss, I should probably keep it separate from all the other patient's. It's what he would want...I think.
"I whisked him out to the car before Mustang walked by, I didn't know what sort of mood he'd be in."
Her employee opened the passenger's seat, only to be the recipient of several kisses from Black Hayate. Upon seeing his master he lept into the driver's seat, he let out several shrill yips of joy, and retreated into the back seat so his master could sit.
"He's so loyal, Riza, but you need a real man."
"Black Hayate is a man." The employer responded bluntly.
"He hasn't been a man after he was six months old." Rebecca sniggered, reminding Riza to make a left turn so they wouldn't miss the next intersection.
Yes, it seemed that reality was only pleasant to a select few.