Author's Note: This is for everyone who ever said Stephen needs to be more nurturing.
Prompt Table: Phrases.
Prompt: "Don't dream it. Be it."
Epic Fail
He wasn't necessarily doing a bad job, it was just blatantly obvious that he wasn't doing a good one either. You don't usually see someone with a bark strong enough to make an intern cry turn around and comfort them five minutes later. There was a reason for that, and that was because they didn't have the time to practice being nice to people.
He'd tell you it was all Natalie's fault. Like a scolding mother, she had wagged her finger up at him and gave him her two cents on his infamous way of treating the new kids. She'd tell him that it was his fault. Technically both were correct.
"It's okay," he tested, thick hand falling awkwardly on the sobbing girl's shoulder.
"Noit'snot!" She wailed into her paperwork.
Stephen would have agreed wholeheartedly if he knew he wasn't being spied on by two pairs of judging eyes. The blue were there to chide him if he failed, and the brown ones were there to mock him if he succeeded. It was a lose-lose situation, and he was weighing which lose was worse.
"You're doing fine," he tried again.
"NoI'mnot!" The young woman had turned to sobbing into her hands.
Stephen felt himself frantically trying to think what Natalie would do. Well, Natalie wouldn't be in this situation in the first place, the voice of reason, that sounded awfully a lot like her, stated as-a-matter-of-factly. She would have helped the girl instead of yelling at her. That's why Natalie's not the supervisor, the voice of authority, which sounded remarkably like him at his worst, snapped back at the voice of reason. She'd never get any work done because she coddles everyone!
Great, he thought, giving the intern a pat on the back, Natalie and I even argue in my head. Was there no reprieve?
"What's really wrong?" He asked the girl, nearly failing to hide his impatience.
She looked up at him with doe eyes; large, round, and brimming with tears (he wanted to throttle his spying pathologist). Then she sniffled and began her tale. "I'm just not cut out for this type of work. I...I can't be a doctor, but mom and dad wouldn't pay for college otherwise."
That revelation hit him like a two ton truck of 'duh!' He could have told her that she wasn't cut out for medicine two weeks ago, but Natalie would have bared her claws and...
"And it's just not working!" The girl continued. "This isn't my dream! My dream is to be a photographer, to travel and...I'm awful at medicine! I'm just no good..." The sobbing continued.
He was reaching, Stephen realized, stretching for any jumble of words that could make the girl feel better about herself; something to reverse the sting of his criticism that led to this fest of tears. It needed to be something so profound that she'd spring from her seat in excitement and run smiling from his site and never return again.
Nothing.
So, he was left with only one alternative.
"Well, then stop failing to act like a doctor." His words were stern, he was opting for a fatherly approach to this.
She stared at him with those wide eyes again.
"If you want to be a photographer, don't dream it," he continued with a near visible flinch, conviction dripping from every word as he squeezed her shoulder. "Be it."
The girl stared at him, as if digesting his attempt at raising her morale. Five seconds later, when it finally sank in, she gave a trembling wail, voice high-pitched as she ran from the room crying. Stephen couldn't help but dig the bottom of his palms into his eyes when the sounds of Natalie and Frank's laughter floated in through the doorway.