Part Two: Word Association
**9:38 AM, Tues., June 19th, 2001
(From the notes of Dr. Samuel F. Preston)
Well, considering how well the first part of my study went yesterday, I've decided Mister Larabee's team isn't ready to do any serious sharing with me yet. I can only hope that in reverting to this more primal form of practice, that is, the word association exercise, I will be able to get a read on these very complex men. I am not pleased to say that from the previous session, the only things I know about them is as follow: Chris Larabee is a blood thirsty animal and Vin Tanner is a smart ass hiding in an ignorant's clothing. JD Dunne has been shaped by his teammates' influences and nothing can save him save for intensive, perhaps physically debilitating shock therapy. Josiah Sanchez finds this highly amusing, and Nathan Jackson will kill his teammates and then possibly, resuscitate them just so he can do it again. Buck Wilmington slept with my secretary last night and is currently working on the female security guard downstairs. Ezra Standish is seriously making me reconsider my qualifications in this field of expertise. No one has ever made me reconsider my credentials before.
I can only pray that we will be able to start over again today, perhaps get things going on the right foot. I take the time to note that during the second day of their session, Agent Freemond's team was already listing what they admired about each other most and sharing. I feel that Mister Larabee's team has something more complex to it than the previous teams, something beyond professionalism and respect. I just have yet to figure out what, exactly, that is. I also would like to take the time to note that the pencil shavings in my coffee this morning was childish and uncalled for.**
Word Association: With Chris
"All right Mister Larabee, I sent your teammates back into the reception area so we could do this as expeditiously as possible, I hope you don't mind."
"If you're reception area's still in one piece at the end of this, I'd be surprised," Chris replied, taking the armchair facing the office door.
The doctor furrowed his brow at the comment, but waved it off after a minute. "This won't take ten minutes, Mister Larabee. I doubt they'll be able to do any real damage in such a short amount of time," he chuckled, trying to dissolve the tension in the room.
The ATF supervisor shrugged noncommittally. "Just remember you said that."
"Of course. Now, I'm going to say a series of random words from the list in front of me, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind, okay?"
"Sure."
"All right..." Preston adjusted his glasses, trying to single out a category to begin with.
"Ah...here we are. Food."
"This."
Preston wrote down a note. What a strange answer. "Water."
"Is."
"Clothes?"
"Fucking."
"Shelter?"
"Boring."
Preston decided to change the category, noting with some discomfort that Chris Larabee was telling his psychiatrist exactly what was on his mind right now. "Bears."
"5."
The psychologist brightened slightly. Numbers he could do. "Cats."
"4."
"Dogs?"
"3."
"Birds?"
"2."
"Monkeys."
"1."
"Mister Larabee...what on earth are you counting down for?" Preston asked, already growing exasperated. As if on cue, a crash, a whoop, and a scream came from the receptionist area. Preston put down his notebook and got up. "Oh dear lord," he muttered to himself, opening the door to his office to see what was happening.
Chris lay back in the armchair and stretched out the muscles in his neck, grinning like a particularly satisfied jungle cat. "Told ya."
Word Association: With Vin
"Ah, just for the record doc, we're real sorry 'bout the stapler through your window. I guess Buck weren't kiddin' when he said go long."
"Um...it's quite all right Mister Tanner. Please have a seat. I'm going to do a word association exercise with you right now, okay? I'll read off a list of words, and you tell me the first thing that comes to your mind for each one."
"Sounds simple enough," the Texan shrugged. "Let's get on with it then. When I left me, Nate, and the Ezra were only a touchdown away from victory."
"All right. Um... Chocolate..."
"Chris."
"Vanilla."
"Probably."
"Strawberry."
"Did."
"Banana."
"This."
"Fudge."
"Already."
"Old."
"But."
"New."
"I."
"Used."
"Thought."
"Borrow."
"I'd."
"Return."
"See."
"Exchange."
"If."
"Credit."
"You'd."
"Cash."
"Fall."
"Checks."
"For."
"Trade."
"It."
"Lend."
"Again."
"Books."
"Looks."
"Letters."
"Like."
"Magazines."
"You."
"Newspapers."
"Did."
The doctor stopped, and wrote a few things down, puzzling over the answers.
"We done?"
Preston looked up, at a very amused Tanner. "Um...yes, please send in Mister Standish."
Vin nodded and got out of the chair, slowly making is way towards the door. Halfway out of the room, he heard it. "Oh dear. Yes...that's very funny. Very charming indeed."
"Hey Ezra, your turn. What's the score?"
Word Association: With Ezra
"Are you ready for me, doctor?"
"Yes, please take a seat Mister Standish. I trust you know what a word association exercise is?"
"Of course," Ezra replied, taking the seat facing the door. At least he could see his teammates, still playing stapler football, in the window.
"Well, then lets begin. This shouldn't take more than five minutes."
"Oh, and **today** we're being expedient?"
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Your accusations are getting rather tiresome, doctor."
Preston tried to ignore the flippant undercover agent's remark. "Let's get started then, shall we?"
"Please."
"Time."
"Wasting."
"Clock."
"Mind-numbing."
"Watch."
"Monotonous."
"Evening."
"Dreary."
"Morning."
"Tedious."
"Afternoon."
"Incessant."
"Midnight."
"Boring."
Preston sighed. "You know, you and your friends are certainly something. I'm sorry you find this boring Agent Standish, but I doubt AD Travis will be happy with my findings if this keeps up."
"Stapler."
"No, you don't understand... we're taking a pause from the exercise right now. I am taking the time to formally berate you for this less than respectful behavior. Forget the exercise!"
"Duck."
Furious, the psychologist stood up, full of righteous indignance and formerly suppressed anger. "Mister Standish!! I am talking to you outside of the exercise, currently and I know you understand that concept so please..."
Ezra decided the man couldn't be helped, no matter how much warning he received. So, the agent ducked himself, just as the stapler posing as a football crashed through the window of the office door, sailing through the air and thumping the psychologist in the back of head rather soundly.
"Heads!!!" JD called, through the broken glass, a little too late.
Ezra, wiping off shards of glass from his suit, sighed as Preston slid bonelessly into his chair, quite obviously unconscious. "I told you."
Word Association: With Nathan
Preston awoke to a very unpleasant odor, and reflexively, waved his hand in front of his face. The world came into focus slowly, but he made out the concerned features of Nathan Jackson standing above him, with a vial of smelling salts. "What..."
"You got hit in the head with Vin's 'spiral' and JD yelled warning a little too late," Nathan stated, as if that explained everything.
Still disoriented, the psychologist struggled to get up, taking Nathan's help in the form of an offered hand. "I was unconscious?"
Nate nodded, putting his salts back into his carry case.
"How long?"
"Ah, ten minutes."
"Oh dear. We really should be moving along then..." Preston mumbled, clutching his aching head and trying to reestablish himself in his armchair.
Nathan pulled out a vial of aspirin from his case. The doctor took it thankfully, downing two pills with his coffee. "Er... do you always keep smelling salts and aspirin handy?" he asked, somewhat disconcerted.
The ex-paramedic shrugged. "Have to. With the shit these boys get into everywhere they go, figure it's just easier for me if I'm prepared. I got supplies to stitch wounds, band aids, syringes of morphine, thermometers, ophthalmoscopes, a stethoscope, bandages, gauze, braces, hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, aloe, aspirin, six forms of Tylenol, cough syrup, and a sling in my case right now. Got crutches, an eye washing bottle, a sphygmomanometer, and a foldable wheelchair in the trunk of my car."
"Right." Preston made a note of that. "Um... shall we start then? The way this exercise works is...I um, I read you off a couple of words, and you reply to each one with the er...first thing that comes to mind."
"You sure you're up to this?" Nathan asked, noting that the doctor was still slightly dizzy.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Positive. Let's get started, shall we?"
Nathan sighed. "Fine. No one listens to me anyway, why should the psychologist?"
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Don't start talkin' like Ezra to me, I know what sort of mind games people like ya'll play."
"I wasn't..."
"Sure ya weren't. Now can we get on with this?"
"Yes, let's get on with it. I explained the rules?"
"Yeah, you did. Are you sure you're all right?" Nathan pulled an ophthalmoscope from his black case, shining it in Preston's eyes.
The psychiatrist blinked. "Mister Jackson, that's not necessary! I'm quite fine."
Sighing, Nathan clicked the light off and shoved the scope back into his bag. "Fine. Just remember to tell your doctor about that short term memory loss and the head injury when ya'll start havin' blackouts."
"I'm all right. Let's get started..."
Buck suddenly poked his head back into the office. "Nate, JD needs a..."
Nathan sighed and grabbed the box of band-aids, tossing to Buck. "I told ya'll to at least unload the stapler first!"
Buck looked sheepish. "Yeah. We'll do that. Can we have the..." The ex-medic tossed Wilmington the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a baggie of cotton balls, and the tube of Neosporin. "Thanks Nate," he replied, ducking back out.
Preston made another note, off to the side on his notepad. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Children."
Nathan's brow furrowed. "JD."
"Games."
"Oh God..."
Preston, examined the chemist's facial expressions carefully. Perhaps he was digging up some bad memories? He kept going. "Tag."
"What if..."
"Hide and seek."
"They need to wash it."
"Marco Polo."
"What if it needs stitching?"
"Peek-a-boo."
"It could be worse than they're letting on..."
"Ring around the rosy."
"It might get infected."
"Time out."
"What if they need bigger bandages?"
Preston sighed, noting that Nathan was no longer with him. "Mister Jackson, is there a problem?"
"Yeah...I need to go doc. Thanks," Nathan replied hastily, getting out of his chair and making for the door. "JD!!! Let me see that cut!!!!!"
Word Association: With JD
JD batted half-heartedly at Nathan to leave his hand alone. "It's fine Nathan!! It doesn't even hurt! Look! It's washed, it's creamed, and it's bandaged. I'll be okay. Can I just do this?" The kid motioned to himself then to Dr. Preston.
Nathan sighed, and threw his hands up in the air. "The thanks I get. Fine. I'm going."
"Thank you, Nathan," JD added, as his older friend made his way back to the reception area.
"I trust you're all right then, Mister Dunne?" Preston asked, massaging his temples with his hands.
"Yeah, I'm good. Uh...sorry about the stapler thing earlier."
"Yes, one would think you gentlemen would have learned after you threw the first stapler out the window and 3 stories down. If someone had been standing outside there would have been quite a lawsuit."
"Well, we only hit some gray neon sitting in the parking lot. I bet there was only a little dent, so no big."
Preston rubbed his head harder. "That was a new car."
"Oh...sorry Doc. Buck'll pay for it. He threw it in the first place."
"We should really get on with this."
"Sure."
"All right, this is a word association exercise..."
"Don't need to explain, Vin and Ezra told us all about it while we were playin' football. Say, why didn't you duck when Ezra warned you?"
"I thought he was still doing the exercise," the psychologist started, sheepishly. At JD's less than impressed look, he coughed. "Um, you had to be there, it was rather confusing."
"Oh. Okay. Let's do this, then."
"All right. Thanksgiving."
"Um... uh..."
"The first thing that comes to mind, Mister Dunne."
"Well, last Thanksgiving, we were all up at Chris' cabin and Vin said he'd make the pie, cuz that was easy, and any idiot could follow the instructions on the back of the can. So he was makin' it, then he got into an argument with Ezra over how he thought it would be better if we had baked potatoes insteada mashed potatoes and he forgot about the pie... and whew... we had to put it out with a fire extinguisher and Chris weren't too happy. Luckily Inez had brought and apple cobbler else we woulda..."
"Mister Dunne. The first **thing** that comes to your mind."
"That WAS the first thing. I was sharing! We were communicating and all that. What kind of psychiatrist are you anyway? I thought you were supposed to **listen**?"
"I was listening. It was a fascinating story. But we don't have time for such...sojourns into your past right now. We're already behind schedule as it is, and..."
"Wow, and people pay you for this kinda session?" JD looked skeptical. "Figures you'd be desperate enough to do a job for the government."
"Mister Dunne, your sarcasm isn't appreciated, either."
"Well excuse me. Go on then."
"Valentine's Day."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Mister Dunne, that isn't relevant."
"It was the first thing that came to my mind!!!"
"For your information, no I don't have a girlfriend. Now, let's keep going. St. Patrick's Day."
"Figures."
Preston was insulted at the ridicule of his love life, or lack thereof. "What exactly, do you mean by THAT, Mister Dunne?"
"NOW you want me to elaborate? This is crazy."
"I suppose that's why you're here," Preston drawled.
"Yeah, guess so. Anyone in their right mind would go to a psychologist that DIDN'T work for the government."
"YOU work for the government."
"Yeah, and you think I'm crazy. You're workin' for the Fed. too, what does that make you?"
"This isn't getting us anywhere Mister Dunne."
"Can I leave then? We were winning!"
"No, you can't leave until we're through. Now, concentrate. 4th of July."
"Buck lit his shirt on fire when he reached across the grill to give the receptionist from billings a pinch at the bureau BBQ."
"Yes, very good." Preston scribbled something down hastily. "Can you be slightly more concise than that?"
"You want SHORTER? God, how'd you get Ezra to do it?"
"He was bored out of his skull..."
"And you think I'm not?!"
"All right, enough Mister Dunne. Let's just finish this, all right?"
"Okay."
"June 14th."
"Is that supposed to be some sort of holiday?"
"Flag Day."
"Wait, is that June 14th, or the next question?"
"JD, there is no question. Only the first thing that comes to mind."
"Fine."
"All right. Money."
"Whatever."
"Earnings."
"Sure."
"Losings."
"Kay."
"Bills."
"Cool."
"Taxes."
"Great."
"Mister Dunne, there's no need to be huffy."
"Ass."
"And there's no need to call names!"
"Sissy."
"Look, stop the exercise. What exactly, is wrong, now?"
"You want the first thing that comes to mind?" JD asked, before he could help himself.
"This sucks. How can you possibly tell me what kind of agent I am by asking me about taxes and Valentine's Day?"
"Because it's...well, it's part of the procedure."
"And you get paid for this?"
"Again, with the sarcasm..."
"Doc, this is boring. There's no point. I kinda wish another stapler would fly through the door and hit ME in the head right now. I could use the ten minutes of unconsciousness. Look, are we done?"
The psychologist sighed. "Yes, I suppose we are. Go... go get hit in the head with an office supply, if it makes you feel any better."
"Oh trust me it does...thanks, doc!" JD flashed out of the room in record time. Preston heard him yelling that he was open to Buck a second later, then another crash and his secretary screaming.
Word Association: With Josiah
"Have a seat, Mister Sanchez."
"Doctor."
"I trust your teammates have informed you as to the nature of our exercise?"
"Well, all I was told was, and I quote, that you, "in an act of desperation, pulled out your big yellow book of Psychology For Dummies, closed your eyes, opened the literature, if it could be called that, and put your finger down randomly to plan our activity for the day". Let me ask you doctor, do they really make a Psychology book for Dummies?"
Preston looked injured. "Let me guess, that was... Mister Standish?"
Josiah shrugged. "He's always been elaborate in his gripes."
"And for the record, yes, that title is available, and no, I don't own a copy."
"Good to know."
"What we're doing is a word association game. I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind."
Sanchez's eyebrows knitted. "And this will tell you what kind of agents we are?"
The psychiatrist sighed at the older man's tone, and after a moment, gave up. "Yes. Yes it will. It will tell me your methods, your experience, and your principles. For example, if I say, "cheese," and you answer, "mouse," I'll know you have a conventional train of thought. If I say "cheese," and you say, "fuck you," then I'll know you're a part of Mister Larabee's team."
Josiah appreciated the humor. This man certainly sounded like he had been touched by Team 7's charm in a not so good way. The preacher's son grinned largely. Was this a bad time to tell the man Ezra had tackled Buck onto the bonsai tree back in the receptionist area? Looking at the slight tick Preston was developing near his left eye, Sanchez decided that could wait. "Okay then, let's begin."
"Fire."
"The 4th of July barbeque, where Buck..."
"I've heard this story."
Josiah looked less than impressed with Preston's approach to psychology. "Do you do that often? Interrupt a story and tell your patient you've already heard one just like it?"
"No, but I normally don't have to. Most of the time, my patients aren't trying to drive me crazy. We get along fine, and they tell me their problems. You know, I've never had to deal with this sort of thing before. I thought that if I ever did, I'd be able to handle it. But, I suppose that's my mother in me talking. She always had unbelievable confidence, but when things got rough, she got defensive and..."
Josiah folded his hands in his lap and nodded. "Tell me all about it, son."
Twenty minutes later, an irate Buck knocked on the door. "Josiah! You done in there!? What the hell did he say to you, "theology," or something?"
"One minute, brother Buck!" Josiah replied. He turned back to Preston. "What I'm seeing here is some unresolved issues between you and your mother. It does sound like she's been tough on you, but I'm betting it's only because she loved you. I think you need to call her and confront her with your feelings, be honest for once. You'll be surprised what happens."
The doctor blinked watery eyes at Sanchez. "But, I can't call mother and tell her..."
Josiah stopped him. "It's the only way we'll get past these frustration issues. Now, I want you to do as I ask, and call me after you've don it to tell me how you feel. I can almost guarantee it will be 100% better, and you and your mother will be just that much closer."
Preston sniffled and nodded, blowing his nose again. "Yes, I'll do that, Mister Sanchez, thank you very much."
"Josiah! You done yet!? I wanna have time ta grab some lunch fore we have to get back to the office!" Buck demanded, once again, growing impatient. Giving up, he finally opened the door and peered inside, to see Preston dabbing his eyes and Josiah sitting in his chair, hands folded in his lap, with that 'fatherly wisdom' look on his face. Buck sighed. "I interrupt something?"
"Just a man baring his soul, brother Buck. I believe I'm done here," Josiah replied, getting up and shaking Preston's hand. "I hope I helped, son."
Word Association: With Buck
"Well, seein' as to how you seem to be in a happier mood, I think it's safe ta tell you that I squished that rat tree ya had next to Linda's desk."
Preston sighed, trying to reign in his temper. "It's a bonsai tree, Mister Wilmington. Very expensive."
"Looked like an underfed weed ta me, doc. And what was with all the little rocks? Those sorta hurt."
"Look Mister Wilmington, I know you don't want to be here. The faster we do this, the faster you gentlemen can leave."
Buck's eyebrows and moustache twitched comically. "Sure, doc."
"All right. This is a word association game."
"Game?"
"Yes, most commonly played with 5 year olds in school counseling sessions."
"Wow, and they pay you for this?" Wilmington asked, with striking likeness to Mister Dunne's question earlier. Preston could see who the kid got it from.
"Yes, I get paid for this. The way it's played is, I will read you a word. You say the first thing that comes to mind."
"The very first thing?"
"Yes."
The ladies man's forehead creased. "But, what if it's wrong?"
"There is no right or wrong answer."
"Then how the hell do you keep score? I thought this was a game."
"It's not a game where there's a winner or a loser Mister Wilmington. We're here to delve into your inner psyche."
"By making me list random words?"
"Yes. That's the gist of it. Can we just begin?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Summer."
"The 4th of July party where I..."
"Already heard this one."
"Do you want to get into my inner psyche or not?"
"I don't see how you setting yourself ablaze shows me anything except the fact that you might be a fire hazard."
"You know, you're startin' to pick up Ezra's sarcasm," Buck said, pointing an accusing finger at Preston.
The doctor swallowed. There was no way, was there? That level of sarcasm required years of practice. He had only been frustrated for one day. "Um, sorry about that. Shall we continue then?"
"Sure."
"Winter."
"This one ski lodge up in the Rockies...me'n Chris found some snow bunnies, needed warmin' up...if ya catch my drift..." Buck silhouetted a shapely figure in the air with his hands and waggled his eyebrows.
Preston looked down at his notepad instantly. "Please Mister Wilmington, can we skip the innuendo and get serious about this?"
"Damn, but you do sound like a coupla ladies I know," Buck laughed. "Next you'll be talkin' bout our future together."
"Mister Wilmington! Why must my sexuality always be questioned in your presence?!"
Buck backed away from that one. "Now, it don't matter either way to me what ya prefer Doc, that's your private life. I kinda wish you'd kept it private though, 'cause I don't really wanna hear about it. Besides, I thought we were here to talk about MY problems?"
"As numerous as they are, Mister Wilmington, I don't think we'll have time."
"Well then, what's the point? I thought that was what a shrink was supposed to do."
"This isn't a personal session, I'm here to analyze the dynamics of your team."
Buck laughed. "Is that all? Well, why didn't ya say so in the first place?" Wilmington asked, mustache twitching on one side, rather comically. "It's like this, doc. Chris is a mean son of a bitch. And that's **all** you gotta know."
Apparently, the older agent believed that explained **everything** that had anything to do with Team 7, because with that, he got up, patted the psychologist on the shoulder once, and bound out the door again. Preston pulled out the aspirin bottle Nathan had left with him the other day. At the time, he had wondered what the medic meant when he had said, "keep it, 'cause ya'll will need it." Now... well, now, he knew.
TBC
*Watches as Muse gasps for breath*
Maybe...
**9:38 AM, Tues., June 19th, 2001
(From the notes of Dr. Samuel F. Preston)
Well, considering how well the first part of my study went yesterday, I've decided Mister Larabee's team isn't ready to do any serious sharing with me yet. I can only hope that in reverting to this more primal form of practice, that is, the word association exercise, I will be able to get a read on these very complex men. I am not pleased to say that from the previous session, the only things I know about them is as follow: Chris Larabee is a blood thirsty animal and Vin Tanner is a smart ass hiding in an ignorant's clothing. JD Dunne has been shaped by his teammates' influences and nothing can save him save for intensive, perhaps physically debilitating shock therapy. Josiah Sanchez finds this highly amusing, and Nathan Jackson will kill his teammates and then possibly, resuscitate them just so he can do it again. Buck Wilmington slept with my secretary last night and is currently working on the female security guard downstairs. Ezra Standish is seriously making me reconsider my qualifications in this field of expertise. No one has ever made me reconsider my credentials before.
I can only pray that we will be able to start over again today, perhaps get things going on the right foot. I take the time to note that during the second day of their session, Agent Freemond's team was already listing what they admired about each other most and sharing. I feel that Mister Larabee's team has something more complex to it than the previous teams, something beyond professionalism and respect. I just have yet to figure out what, exactly, that is. I also would like to take the time to note that the pencil shavings in my coffee this morning was childish and uncalled for.**
Word Association: With Chris
"All right Mister Larabee, I sent your teammates back into the reception area so we could do this as expeditiously as possible, I hope you don't mind."
"If you're reception area's still in one piece at the end of this, I'd be surprised," Chris replied, taking the armchair facing the office door.
The doctor furrowed his brow at the comment, but waved it off after a minute. "This won't take ten minutes, Mister Larabee. I doubt they'll be able to do any real damage in such a short amount of time," he chuckled, trying to dissolve the tension in the room.
The ATF supervisor shrugged noncommittally. "Just remember you said that."
"Of course. Now, I'm going to say a series of random words from the list in front of me, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind, okay?"
"Sure."
"All right..." Preston adjusted his glasses, trying to single out a category to begin with.
"Ah...here we are. Food."
"This."
Preston wrote down a note. What a strange answer. "Water."
"Is."
"Clothes?"
"Fucking."
"Shelter?"
"Boring."
Preston decided to change the category, noting with some discomfort that Chris Larabee was telling his psychiatrist exactly what was on his mind right now. "Bears."
"5."
The psychologist brightened slightly. Numbers he could do. "Cats."
"4."
"Dogs?"
"3."
"Birds?"
"2."
"Monkeys."
"1."
"Mister Larabee...what on earth are you counting down for?" Preston asked, already growing exasperated. As if on cue, a crash, a whoop, and a scream came from the receptionist area. Preston put down his notebook and got up. "Oh dear lord," he muttered to himself, opening the door to his office to see what was happening.
Chris lay back in the armchair and stretched out the muscles in his neck, grinning like a particularly satisfied jungle cat. "Told ya."
Word Association: With Vin
"Ah, just for the record doc, we're real sorry 'bout the stapler through your window. I guess Buck weren't kiddin' when he said go long."
"Um...it's quite all right Mister Tanner. Please have a seat. I'm going to do a word association exercise with you right now, okay? I'll read off a list of words, and you tell me the first thing that comes to your mind for each one."
"Sounds simple enough," the Texan shrugged. "Let's get on with it then. When I left me, Nate, and the Ezra were only a touchdown away from victory."
"All right. Um... Chocolate..."
"Chris."
"Vanilla."
"Probably."
"Strawberry."
"Did."
"Banana."
"This."
"Fudge."
"Already."
"Old."
"But."
"New."
"I."
"Used."
"Thought."
"Borrow."
"I'd."
"Return."
"See."
"Exchange."
"If."
"Credit."
"You'd."
"Cash."
"Fall."
"Checks."
"For."
"Trade."
"It."
"Lend."
"Again."
"Books."
"Looks."
"Letters."
"Like."
"Magazines."
"You."
"Newspapers."
"Did."
The doctor stopped, and wrote a few things down, puzzling over the answers.
"We done?"
Preston looked up, at a very amused Tanner. "Um...yes, please send in Mister Standish."
Vin nodded and got out of the chair, slowly making is way towards the door. Halfway out of the room, he heard it. "Oh dear. Yes...that's very funny. Very charming indeed."
"Hey Ezra, your turn. What's the score?"
Word Association: With Ezra
"Are you ready for me, doctor?"
"Yes, please take a seat Mister Standish. I trust you know what a word association exercise is?"
"Of course," Ezra replied, taking the seat facing the door. At least he could see his teammates, still playing stapler football, in the window.
"Well, then lets begin. This shouldn't take more than five minutes."
"Oh, and **today** we're being expedient?"
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Your accusations are getting rather tiresome, doctor."
Preston tried to ignore the flippant undercover agent's remark. "Let's get started then, shall we?"
"Please."
"Time."
"Wasting."
"Clock."
"Mind-numbing."
"Watch."
"Monotonous."
"Evening."
"Dreary."
"Morning."
"Tedious."
"Afternoon."
"Incessant."
"Midnight."
"Boring."
Preston sighed. "You know, you and your friends are certainly something. I'm sorry you find this boring Agent Standish, but I doubt AD Travis will be happy with my findings if this keeps up."
"Stapler."
"No, you don't understand... we're taking a pause from the exercise right now. I am taking the time to formally berate you for this less than respectful behavior. Forget the exercise!"
"Duck."
Furious, the psychologist stood up, full of righteous indignance and formerly suppressed anger. "Mister Standish!! I am talking to you outside of the exercise, currently and I know you understand that concept so please..."
Ezra decided the man couldn't be helped, no matter how much warning he received. So, the agent ducked himself, just as the stapler posing as a football crashed through the window of the office door, sailing through the air and thumping the psychologist in the back of head rather soundly.
"Heads!!!" JD called, through the broken glass, a little too late.
Ezra, wiping off shards of glass from his suit, sighed as Preston slid bonelessly into his chair, quite obviously unconscious. "I told you."
Word Association: With Nathan
Preston awoke to a very unpleasant odor, and reflexively, waved his hand in front of his face. The world came into focus slowly, but he made out the concerned features of Nathan Jackson standing above him, with a vial of smelling salts. "What..."
"You got hit in the head with Vin's 'spiral' and JD yelled warning a little too late," Nathan stated, as if that explained everything.
Still disoriented, the psychologist struggled to get up, taking Nathan's help in the form of an offered hand. "I was unconscious?"
Nate nodded, putting his salts back into his carry case.
"How long?"
"Ah, ten minutes."
"Oh dear. We really should be moving along then..." Preston mumbled, clutching his aching head and trying to reestablish himself in his armchair.
Nathan pulled out a vial of aspirin from his case. The doctor took it thankfully, downing two pills with his coffee. "Er... do you always keep smelling salts and aspirin handy?" he asked, somewhat disconcerted.
The ex-paramedic shrugged. "Have to. With the shit these boys get into everywhere they go, figure it's just easier for me if I'm prepared. I got supplies to stitch wounds, band aids, syringes of morphine, thermometers, ophthalmoscopes, a stethoscope, bandages, gauze, braces, hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, aloe, aspirin, six forms of Tylenol, cough syrup, and a sling in my case right now. Got crutches, an eye washing bottle, a sphygmomanometer, and a foldable wheelchair in the trunk of my car."
"Right." Preston made a note of that. "Um... shall we start then? The way this exercise works is...I um, I read you off a couple of words, and you reply to each one with the er...first thing that comes to mind."
"You sure you're up to this?" Nathan asked, noting that the doctor was still slightly dizzy.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Positive. Let's get started, shall we?"
Nathan sighed. "Fine. No one listens to me anyway, why should the psychologist?"
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Don't start talkin' like Ezra to me, I know what sort of mind games people like ya'll play."
"I wasn't..."
"Sure ya weren't. Now can we get on with this?"
"Yes, let's get on with it. I explained the rules?"
"Yeah, you did. Are you sure you're all right?" Nathan pulled an ophthalmoscope from his black case, shining it in Preston's eyes.
The psychiatrist blinked. "Mister Jackson, that's not necessary! I'm quite fine."
Sighing, Nathan clicked the light off and shoved the scope back into his bag. "Fine. Just remember to tell your doctor about that short term memory loss and the head injury when ya'll start havin' blackouts."
"I'm all right. Let's get started..."
Buck suddenly poked his head back into the office. "Nate, JD needs a..."
Nathan sighed and grabbed the box of band-aids, tossing to Buck. "I told ya'll to at least unload the stapler first!"
Buck looked sheepish. "Yeah. We'll do that. Can we have the..." The ex-medic tossed Wilmington the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a baggie of cotton balls, and the tube of Neosporin. "Thanks Nate," he replied, ducking back out.
Preston made another note, off to the side on his notepad. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Children."
Nathan's brow furrowed. "JD."
"Games."
"Oh God..."
Preston, examined the chemist's facial expressions carefully. Perhaps he was digging up some bad memories? He kept going. "Tag."
"What if..."
"Hide and seek."
"They need to wash it."
"Marco Polo."
"What if it needs stitching?"
"Peek-a-boo."
"It could be worse than they're letting on..."
"Ring around the rosy."
"It might get infected."
"Time out."
"What if they need bigger bandages?"
Preston sighed, noting that Nathan was no longer with him. "Mister Jackson, is there a problem?"
"Yeah...I need to go doc. Thanks," Nathan replied hastily, getting out of his chair and making for the door. "JD!!! Let me see that cut!!!!!"
Word Association: With JD
JD batted half-heartedly at Nathan to leave his hand alone. "It's fine Nathan!! It doesn't even hurt! Look! It's washed, it's creamed, and it's bandaged. I'll be okay. Can I just do this?" The kid motioned to himself then to Dr. Preston.
Nathan sighed, and threw his hands up in the air. "The thanks I get. Fine. I'm going."
"Thank you, Nathan," JD added, as his older friend made his way back to the reception area.
"I trust you're all right then, Mister Dunne?" Preston asked, massaging his temples with his hands.
"Yeah, I'm good. Uh...sorry about the stapler thing earlier."
"Yes, one would think you gentlemen would have learned after you threw the first stapler out the window and 3 stories down. If someone had been standing outside there would have been quite a lawsuit."
"Well, we only hit some gray neon sitting in the parking lot. I bet there was only a little dent, so no big."
Preston rubbed his head harder. "That was a new car."
"Oh...sorry Doc. Buck'll pay for it. He threw it in the first place."
"We should really get on with this."
"Sure."
"All right, this is a word association exercise..."
"Don't need to explain, Vin and Ezra told us all about it while we were playin' football. Say, why didn't you duck when Ezra warned you?"
"I thought he was still doing the exercise," the psychologist started, sheepishly. At JD's less than impressed look, he coughed. "Um, you had to be there, it was rather confusing."
"Oh. Okay. Let's do this, then."
"All right. Thanksgiving."
"Um... uh..."
"The first thing that comes to mind, Mister Dunne."
"Well, last Thanksgiving, we were all up at Chris' cabin and Vin said he'd make the pie, cuz that was easy, and any idiot could follow the instructions on the back of the can. So he was makin' it, then he got into an argument with Ezra over how he thought it would be better if we had baked potatoes insteada mashed potatoes and he forgot about the pie... and whew... we had to put it out with a fire extinguisher and Chris weren't too happy. Luckily Inez had brought and apple cobbler else we woulda..."
"Mister Dunne. The first **thing** that comes to your mind."
"That WAS the first thing. I was sharing! We were communicating and all that. What kind of psychiatrist are you anyway? I thought you were supposed to **listen**?"
"I was listening. It was a fascinating story. But we don't have time for such...sojourns into your past right now. We're already behind schedule as it is, and..."
"Wow, and people pay you for this kinda session?" JD looked skeptical. "Figures you'd be desperate enough to do a job for the government."
"Mister Dunne, your sarcasm isn't appreciated, either."
"Well excuse me. Go on then."
"Valentine's Day."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Mister Dunne, that isn't relevant."
"It was the first thing that came to my mind!!!"
"For your information, no I don't have a girlfriend. Now, let's keep going. St. Patrick's Day."
"Figures."
Preston was insulted at the ridicule of his love life, or lack thereof. "What exactly, do you mean by THAT, Mister Dunne?"
"NOW you want me to elaborate? This is crazy."
"I suppose that's why you're here," Preston drawled.
"Yeah, guess so. Anyone in their right mind would go to a psychologist that DIDN'T work for the government."
"YOU work for the government."
"Yeah, and you think I'm crazy. You're workin' for the Fed. too, what does that make you?"
"This isn't getting us anywhere Mister Dunne."
"Can I leave then? We were winning!"
"No, you can't leave until we're through. Now, concentrate. 4th of July."
"Buck lit his shirt on fire when he reached across the grill to give the receptionist from billings a pinch at the bureau BBQ."
"Yes, very good." Preston scribbled something down hastily. "Can you be slightly more concise than that?"
"You want SHORTER? God, how'd you get Ezra to do it?"
"He was bored out of his skull..."
"And you think I'm not?!"
"All right, enough Mister Dunne. Let's just finish this, all right?"
"Okay."
"June 14th."
"Is that supposed to be some sort of holiday?"
"Flag Day."
"Wait, is that June 14th, or the next question?"
"JD, there is no question. Only the first thing that comes to mind."
"Fine."
"All right. Money."
"Whatever."
"Earnings."
"Sure."
"Losings."
"Kay."
"Bills."
"Cool."
"Taxes."
"Great."
"Mister Dunne, there's no need to be huffy."
"Ass."
"And there's no need to call names!"
"Sissy."
"Look, stop the exercise. What exactly, is wrong, now?"
"You want the first thing that comes to mind?" JD asked, before he could help himself.
"This sucks. How can you possibly tell me what kind of agent I am by asking me about taxes and Valentine's Day?"
"Because it's...well, it's part of the procedure."
"And you get paid for this?"
"Again, with the sarcasm..."
"Doc, this is boring. There's no point. I kinda wish another stapler would fly through the door and hit ME in the head right now. I could use the ten minutes of unconsciousness. Look, are we done?"
The psychologist sighed. "Yes, I suppose we are. Go... go get hit in the head with an office supply, if it makes you feel any better."
"Oh trust me it does...thanks, doc!" JD flashed out of the room in record time. Preston heard him yelling that he was open to Buck a second later, then another crash and his secretary screaming.
Word Association: With Josiah
"Have a seat, Mister Sanchez."
"Doctor."
"I trust your teammates have informed you as to the nature of our exercise?"
"Well, all I was told was, and I quote, that you, "in an act of desperation, pulled out your big yellow book of Psychology For Dummies, closed your eyes, opened the literature, if it could be called that, and put your finger down randomly to plan our activity for the day". Let me ask you doctor, do they really make a Psychology book for Dummies?"
Preston looked injured. "Let me guess, that was... Mister Standish?"
Josiah shrugged. "He's always been elaborate in his gripes."
"And for the record, yes, that title is available, and no, I don't own a copy."
"Good to know."
"What we're doing is a word association game. I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind."
Sanchez's eyebrows knitted. "And this will tell you what kind of agents we are?"
The psychiatrist sighed at the older man's tone, and after a moment, gave up. "Yes. Yes it will. It will tell me your methods, your experience, and your principles. For example, if I say, "cheese," and you answer, "mouse," I'll know you have a conventional train of thought. If I say "cheese," and you say, "fuck you," then I'll know you're a part of Mister Larabee's team."
Josiah appreciated the humor. This man certainly sounded like he had been touched by Team 7's charm in a not so good way. The preacher's son grinned largely. Was this a bad time to tell the man Ezra had tackled Buck onto the bonsai tree back in the receptionist area? Looking at the slight tick Preston was developing near his left eye, Sanchez decided that could wait. "Okay then, let's begin."
"Fire."
"The 4th of July barbeque, where Buck..."
"I've heard this story."
Josiah looked less than impressed with Preston's approach to psychology. "Do you do that often? Interrupt a story and tell your patient you've already heard one just like it?"
"No, but I normally don't have to. Most of the time, my patients aren't trying to drive me crazy. We get along fine, and they tell me their problems. You know, I've never had to deal with this sort of thing before. I thought that if I ever did, I'd be able to handle it. But, I suppose that's my mother in me talking. She always had unbelievable confidence, but when things got rough, she got defensive and..."
Josiah folded his hands in his lap and nodded. "Tell me all about it, son."
Twenty minutes later, an irate Buck knocked on the door. "Josiah! You done in there!? What the hell did he say to you, "theology," or something?"
"One minute, brother Buck!" Josiah replied. He turned back to Preston. "What I'm seeing here is some unresolved issues between you and your mother. It does sound like she's been tough on you, but I'm betting it's only because she loved you. I think you need to call her and confront her with your feelings, be honest for once. You'll be surprised what happens."
The doctor blinked watery eyes at Sanchez. "But, I can't call mother and tell her..."
Josiah stopped him. "It's the only way we'll get past these frustration issues. Now, I want you to do as I ask, and call me after you've don it to tell me how you feel. I can almost guarantee it will be 100% better, and you and your mother will be just that much closer."
Preston sniffled and nodded, blowing his nose again. "Yes, I'll do that, Mister Sanchez, thank you very much."
"Josiah! You done yet!? I wanna have time ta grab some lunch fore we have to get back to the office!" Buck demanded, once again, growing impatient. Giving up, he finally opened the door and peered inside, to see Preston dabbing his eyes and Josiah sitting in his chair, hands folded in his lap, with that 'fatherly wisdom' look on his face. Buck sighed. "I interrupt something?"
"Just a man baring his soul, brother Buck. I believe I'm done here," Josiah replied, getting up and shaking Preston's hand. "I hope I helped, son."
Word Association: With Buck
"Well, seein' as to how you seem to be in a happier mood, I think it's safe ta tell you that I squished that rat tree ya had next to Linda's desk."
Preston sighed, trying to reign in his temper. "It's a bonsai tree, Mister Wilmington. Very expensive."
"Looked like an underfed weed ta me, doc. And what was with all the little rocks? Those sorta hurt."
"Look Mister Wilmington, I know you don't want to be here. The faster we do this, the faster you gentlemen can leave."
Buck's eyebrows and moustache twitched comically. "Sure, doc."
"All right. This is a word association game."
"Game?"
"Yes, most commonly played with 5 year olds in school counseling sessions."
"Wow, and they pay you for this?" Wilmington asked, with striking likeness to Mister Dunne's question earlier. Preston could see who the kid got it from.
"Yes, I get paid for this. The way it's played is, I will read you a word. You say the first thing that comes to mind."
"The very first thing?"
"Yes."
The ladies man's forehead creased. "But, what if it's wrong?"
"There is no right or wrong answer."
"Then how the hell do you keep score? I thought this was a game."
"It's not a game where there's a winner or a loser Mister Wilmington. We're here to delve into your inner psyche."
"By making me list random words?"
"Yes. That's the gist of it. Can we just begin?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Summer."
"The 4th of July party where I..."
"Already heard this one."
"Do you want to get into my inner psyche or not?"
"I don't see how you setting yourself ablaze shows me anything except the fact that you might be a fire hazard."
"You know, you're startin' to pick up Ezra's sarcasm," Buck said, pointing an accusing finger at Preston.
The doctor swallowed. There was no way, was there? That level of sarcasm required years of practice. He had only been frustrated for one day. "Um, sorry about that. Shall we continue then?"
"Sure."
"Winter."
"This one ski lodge up in the Rockies...me'n Chris found some snow bunnies, needed warmin' up...if ya catch my drift..." Buck silhouetted a shapely figure in the air with his hands and waggled his eyebrows.
Preston looked down at his notepad instantly. "Please Mister Wilmington, can we skip the innuendo and get serious about this?"
"Damn, but you do sound like a coupla ladies I know," Buck laughed. "Next you'll be talkin' bout our future together."
"Mister Wilmington! Why must my sexuality always be questioned in your presence?!"
Buck backed away from that one. "Now, it don't matter either way to me what ya prefer Doc, that's your private life. I kinda wish you'd kept it private though, 'cause I don't really wanna hear about it. Besides, I thought we were here to talk about MY problems?"
"As numerous as they are, Mister Wilmington, I don't think we'll have time."
"Well then, what's the point? I thought that was what a shrink was supposed to do."
"This isn't a personal session, I'm here to analyze the dynamics of your team."
Buck laughed. "Is that all? Well, why didn't ya say so in the first place?" Wilmington asked, mustache twitching on one side, rather comically. "It's like this, doc. Chris is a mean son of a bitch. And that's **all** you gotta know."
Apparently, the older agent believed that explained **everything** that had anything to do with Team 7, because with that, he got up, patted the psychologist on the shoulder once, and bound out the door again. Preston pulled out the aspirin bottle Nathan had left with him the other day. At the time, he had wondered what the medic meant when he had said, "keep it, 'cause ya'll will need it." Now... well, now, he knew.
TBC
*Watches as Muse gasps for breath*
Maybe...
