The computer ate chapter two! TT

I want to cry…

Now I have to remember what my two pages I typed three periods ago!

::sniffle::

I hate this!

I don't own anything!

Also, the movie you referred to is One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Uozumi

Guilt

Case #2

He was the only child of an affluent New York artist, who instilled his courage and determination into his son from the beginning. Working as hard as possible, the boy grew up to pursue a career in Psychology to understand those around him, and himself better.

He had a temper, but you would never know. Keeping it bottle inside, he kept it away, appearing calm, cool, but if the rage was called for, if something arose that needed him to get angry, he would. He didn't like to get mad, but if he absolutely had to, he would.

He had interned for Dr. Aku Naraku, who took him under his wing, taking him to the boys' psychological/neurological trauma ward, but when Dr. Naraku went to the girls' ward, his intern was told to leave. He didn't "need" him.

The young man knew better, even at nineteen, when they first met, he knew.

That's when he worked as hard as he could on an accelerated course to free those girls of that agony and abuse.

Now, here he was, twenty-two, his own office, and a steady stream of patients starting at about nine the day before with Sango Tanuki. Looking to his watch, he sighed, '7:55 a.m…' Glancing about the room, he wondered if Nurse Wenschwieger was having trouble with this patient. It had been almost the whole hour allotted to one girl before she could be drug into the room. 'That wasn't productive…'

Hearing a knock, his violet eyes snap up, "Come in."

For once, the silhouette that appeared first in the doorway wasn't a nurse, but a young girl, about fifteen or sixteen, he judged. Smiling, she walked over to him, then stuck out a hand, "I'm Kagome Higurashi."

"Dr. Miroku Arisugawa," he returned the smile in kind, shaking her hand. 'She's different, vibrant…maybe she hasn't been here long, or maybe she's been her longer than I can imagine…'

Their hands having dropped, he noted she was waiting for instruction. In her amethyst eyes, she held complete trust for him. Had she never had Dr. Naraku? All the others were afraid that he would be just like the retired psychologist, but… "Why don't you take a seat?"

"Thanks," Kagome sat down; still looking nerved, completely okay with the situation.

"Now," Miroku looked to her, "you don't really seemed intimidated by this situation." He glanced up at a movement, then waved Nurse Wenschwieger away, letting her know that he thought he could handle it for the next hour or so. "Why?"

Kagome thought a moment, her smile never fading, "Because, I feel as though I can trust you."

"What about Dr. Naraku? What did you feel when you met him?"

Kagome lowered her eyes, "I - I almost ran from the room screaming."

Miroku nodded, then held up a manila folder, "Do you know what's in this folder?"

Kagome eyed it hesitantly, the memory of the horrid man flooding into her, "N - no…."

"These are your records," he flipped the folder open, taking out documents, addressing them as he pulled them out, laying them on his desk, "Your personal statistics, hospital records, medication information…" he named a few more vital papers, then pulled out an inch or so thick notebook. "Know what this is?"

She shook her head, still uncertain.

"Notes that Naraku kept on you," he flipped through the notebook. "Want to know what I think of them?"

She offered no reply, afraid to speak.

Unceremoniously, he tossed them in the trashcan beside his desk. He chose how to start each meeting with a new patient by observing them a few minutes. This was the best way to deal with Kagome, get a feel for what could set her off, etc…. "Kagome, let's start this note file over."

"What?" she blinked. Was he senile?

"I know you might not understand, might not want to, but I am not Dr. Naraku," he leaned forward, looking her in the eyes, so his eyes and hers were even, "I won't do what he did. I believe that you can very well direct this session and other subsequent sessions on your own. You are what? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Sixteen, Doctor."

"All right," he leaned back, her eyes following his movement. "You're a grown woman in your own right, two years to go until federally recognized as so," he paused as though choosing words as he conveniently let the others settle into her mind. "So, you should be able to judge what you want to do. If you want to feel fear, feel it. If you want to cry, cry. It's as simple as that."

Kagome stared. This was so radical, liberal in a sense, however, judging by the book she saw lying just inside his briefcase, she guessed he was a Republican.

"Do you want to read this?" Miroku wheeled his chair back, picking the book from his case.

"N - No, I was just thinking about -"

"Here," he pressed it into her hands. "Try it out."

"I couldn't - what if -?"

"If you don't like it, bring it back on Friday when you have your next appointment," he closed her hands around the book, Bush at War, a best seller. "If you like something, then read up on it, watch a program about it. I know that there's three television rooms, so surely if you wished to watch the news, or something of that nature you could."

She stared at him, then looked down at the blue book with a black spine, its paper covering taken off. Her eyes lifting up to meet his, she replied with a small smile, "Thanks."

---

Sango was not looking forward to her meeting with Dr. Arisugawa. Kagome had come back, a book in hand, smile on her features, referring to him as "Dr. Miroku," and beaming like a schoolgirl who's had a class with her favorite male professor. Perhaps Kagome had found him nice and friendly, but Sango was still wary.

He had told her he was the intern of Dr. Naraku at their past meeting the day before, and that just didn't sit well with her. She had nightmare upon nightmare, guilt upon guilt, almost as though she had spent a day with the dreaded psychologist.

Bristling, she found herself before that horrid wooden door, "Dr. Arisugawa, Psychological/Neurological Trauma, M.D.," written across it. Sure, it was more comfortable than the blue, dry walled room that Dr. Naraku had used, but it could…it could….

It could be better, if it was a room for freedom and not a room that could bring back such trying memories.

"Come in," the same muffled voice instructed, more pleasant than the day before.

Feeling a tiny shove from Nurse Wenschwieger, Sango opened the door, reasoning that he was more pleasant due to Kagome. Somehow that girl could stay optimistic to the end, and it was infectious, however…however, when Dr. Naraku had been around, Kagome had never been so happy after a visit….

"Good morning," Miroku smiled warmly. "Do you plan to stay today?"

Sango silently took a seat.

Miroku waved Nurse Wenschwieger away; acknowledging that he thought everything would turn out just fine.

"If you don't want to say anything, that's fine," he crossed his legs. "I can wait."

Sango studied him intently, scrutinizing, taking in every detail.

Miroku tried not to flinch under the gaze. He felt like a gift horse that was being inspected. He was there to help; yet, there was still skepticism.

"Tell me about you."

He blinked, almost toppling in his chair as he resituated himself to gain balance, both feet firmly on the floor now, "What?"

She indicated the manila envelope on her desk, her photo and name on it. "You have access to everything about me, so tell me about you. It's only fair."

"Then ask any question, but if I don't want to answer it, I won't."

"I didn't get that freedom."

His eyes met hers, a long gaze going between them. Even the "notorious Kikyô," as the nurses called the sixteen-year-old, was easier to get along with. She just went with the flow, but this Sango Tanuki…this "coral raccoon" was another thing. She wanted answers and a fair game.

He opened the folder, sliding out the papers he looked at, "Here, these are all the questions they ask you. These are the ones that I cannot pass up, but if they aren't on this sheet, I can pass them if I want. That would be fair, right?"

Sango nodded, then studied the sheet. So much of the sheet would need to be changed since a year had passed. She had lost weight; her measurements had gotten weirder in a sense…. It was obsolete. She passed the papers back to him, "They're not accurate."

He stared at her, taking them, "What?"

"I'm not like any of that now," she leaned over, pointing to certain parts, "I'm seventeen now, I'm 120 pounds now…" she went down the list, unintentionally divulging what she didn't tell anyone else to him.

Miroku made necessary changes, updating the file. After it was completed, he slipped the papers back into the notebookless file (he had removed the notebook after their meeting), and looked to her, "I wonder how many of you need to do that."

"More than will tell you," Sango intertwined her fingers. "What time is it?"

Miroku looked to his watch, "Nine-forty-four."

Sango mulled it over as though it would affect any decision she could make from now on, as though the world hung in balance it seemed. "We have from nine until ten every day except weekends, right?"

"Yeah."

"When's the next prisoner come in?"

"Excuse me?" Miroku blinked. This term was new, even the most jaded of patients hadn't referred to themselves as "prisoners."

"Prisoner, another patient as you lovingly call them," Sango was fed up. She had no sleep the night before, she had no breakfast because she hadn't bothered to go to the food room when the time arose. She just wanted to go "home."

He sensed her exhaustion. He didn't know why, but with her, he could tell what she was feeling, what she was thinking. He knew this wasn't a reflection on him, or just another smart-ass. This was plain exhaustion. It was as simple as that.

"How about you go back to the ward?"

Sango blinked, caught off-guard. Had she said something wrong?!

Miroku rose, "I'll escort you. You're too tired, and you're hungry."

"How did you -" Sango blushed as her stomach growled in acknowledgement.

"I want to see this facility anyway," Miroku stepped around his desk. "Come on, let's go," he offered a hand. All nurses brought their patients to and from by holding their hand. It wasn't just a reassurance for the patient and nurse, but also a form of control without a leash.

Sango took it, surprised at how warm it was when it wrapped around hers. Looking away, she hoped her hair covered up how red she was getting. It was too much, but why? So many people held her hand, so why was she red? It was a normal occurrence, even male staff did, so…

"Come on," Miroku squeezed her hand, "let's get you back to the ward and get you something to eat."

Sango simply nodded in reply.

To be continued…