Addler walked down the hallway with a curious mind. Adjacent to him was a nurse who, by protocol, had to escort him to his destination. It had taken him a very long time for him to get adjusted to having to be escorted like a criminal and treated as though he were a wire waiting to snap; being mistrusted for little to no reason always irritated him to no end, and even in a mental hospital where one had a good reason to mistrust a patient, he still felt a biting since of degradation by being put into a system which, unlike prison, recognized little to no distinction between 'inmates' who were likely to present a low, medium, or high security risk; everyone was one uniform mass.
The hallway which they walked down was a small one, this one and others like it being there to support the large, main hallways of the facility. Gurneys were parked on both sides at various points, nurses and other staff members passed them by as they made their way. They almost had to walk in a single file line due to the thin nature of the passage. As they neared their destination, a place which he hadn't been to before, he slowly grew more anxious and sometimes even fearful.
The circumstances were little different from others, so fear did indeed become a competing emotion within his brain. Even when he found himself in a situation which was entirely positive, the anxiety of such positivity often overwhelmed him to the point that he feared its arrival. What was the reason for his fear today? Someone had come to visit him.
For the last two months he had spent the entirety of his days within the facility of the Semaine Military Hospital, more specifically the rather large compound it had for mental cases. He had come here under orders, intending to endure whatever horrors he found himself exposed to, and even up until now he was primarily doing that and that alone. He had long ago made a commitment to care only about getting by, week by week, day by day, and some days it was indeed a struggle.
To say he was content with his forced residence would not be exactly accurate, however he wasn't necessarily resistant to it either. His passive-aggressive attitude let him avoid any conflicts with the staff or any other patients, not that he interacted with them much, while allowing him to covertly express his distaste. He took on the form of a high school student who was enrolled in a lack-luster and genuinely worthless course. Was he passive and cooperative to the 'teacher'? Yes. Did he refrain from causing any sort of trouble, realizing the futility of wasting effort on a wasteful class? Indeed he did, but did he take every opportunity he could to procure his own entertainment which, although not necessarily in violation of any rules, certainly was sacrificing the opportunities for 'learning'? Certainly!
Such actions were largely harmless, however, as there truly was no 'learning' to be sacrificed at all. He had quickly confirmed that he wouldn't be receiving the care which he believed would truly be beneficial to him. Although the staff was not entirely neglectful as he had feared, they were not terribly involved or concerned with the mental well being of their patients and the progress (or lack there of) they were making; despite his disappointment, he had a semblance of understanding with the acknowledgment that a staff-to-patient ratio of 1 to 3 left little time for intensive and meaningful interactions with each patient on an individual level.
With such confirmations in mind, he merely saw this as an introduction to his recovery, an ineffectual course which would be followed by the real beginnings of healing. Ironically, he saw his best bets of healing with his friends. He had always held the belief that a caring friend can be infinitely more helpful than an apathetic doctor. He merely looked forward to the day when he would be released, when he would finally be able to truly start the healing process with people who, in his opinion, were the true doctors.
He did, however, find one silver lining which he could take solace in: medical theory had evolved to see mental cases, at least non-violent ones, as individuals which should benefit from a more relaxed model of protocol. Having been quite the opposite of what he experienced as an intern in a no-name psychiatric ward, such advances meant patients were scarcely confined to their rooms, often being allowed outside to absorb the sun's rays, and they were often encouraged to interact with fellow patients. Addler did very much enjoy this lax rulebook, taking advantage of the outdoors when it was sunny outside.
He did not, however, take advantage of interacting with others. He had begun to realize after a week or more of incarceration that the majority of people in the compound were not the talkative type, at least not in the logical or coherent sense. Those who were in worse shape than he often either withdrew completely or invested themselves entirely into their own overt lunacy; those in equal or better shape than he were quite reluctant, just as he was, to involve himself with the rest of the mob. Thus, he mainly kept to himself, only conversing when conversed with and only giving the same amount of friendliness and chatter which was gifted to him.
Thus, a reclusive attitude which refrained from bad behavior and attempting new friendships was the attitude of his stay. He was not overly interactive with either staff or patient, but also not necessarily reclusive to the point where he avoided contact. He listened to the occasional spout of conversation from the random patient beside him, and he also, admittedly, pleasantly welcomed it as long as it wasn't being emitted from the mouth of a mad man. He fed off such energy as much as he could, for even he knew at the back of his head, as much as he tried to deny it, that he wouldn't make it through his stay in solitude.
They stopped at a door which, unlike the doors in the majority of the building, was made out of wood and possessed a window, unlike the metal doors which were more akin to jail cells in a prison. He noted that the room number was 421 with a sign above which read "Visitation". His escort took out a large ring of keys and spent some time trying numerous ones until the correct one was discovered, opening the door and allowing them in.
"You'll have up to two hours to meet," she said, "you can fetch a staff member if you want to be returned to the main block; your visitor may also do the same". She overlooked a small notepad which she obtained from her back pocket and looked it over with an expression of thought.
"Hmm, ah, yes! You're gonna be looking for panel #5"
With that last bit of instruction she emitted a formal wave before exiting through the door which they just entered through. With her absence Addler was able to observe the room itself. It was rather simplistic. The room was full of nothing more than 30 or so tables with a staff members posted at some of the corners for what was assumed to be for security and supervision. Usually, he would have been rather pessimistic in complaining about how there wasn't much privacy between everyone, however he soon came to lose such negative ambitions when his eyes glanced over towards his his panel.
Sitting there, with a blank expression of boredom and awkwardness, was her. Granted, he got off to a pretty rough start with her when they first met, but he was somehow able push the anxiety and fear out of his mind to make room for excitement and joy. He was terribly happy to see someone from his unit, overcome to the point where he suddenly found himself walking over towards her. Despite his sudden and unpredicted sense of new found bravery, his eyes still darted in another direction when they met hers.
He sat down in front of her, unable to weaken his smile to anything less than a small grin as he said hi with an equally eager voice. "I was wondering if they forcefully transported you back to Rome; happy to see they didn't."
She smiled and nodded, "I've come to be another little member of the platoon. Noel ensured my place as a family member more than anyone."
"I-it's Aisha, right?"
"Ja"
Although he expected Kanata to be the most likely to visit him, as he was perhaps the closest to her and vice-versa, he found himself face-to-face with the Roman who unnerved him to no end whenever they encountered one another, whose conversations he begged to end and whose glaring eyes he tired to escape. Yet, despite the paranoid nature in which he viewed her, such feelings seemed to be washed away by the knowledge that she had come to see him after two months of being around no one he knew or cared to know.
"What brings you here?" he asked her. He knew the basis, which was that she had come to visit him, but as to why she came when no one else did, he did wish to inquire.
"I came to see you" she answered
"Yes, and I am terribly grateful that you have come to see me, but I do wonder, why have you come alone? In my opinion we haven't had the most prosperous relationship; you're quite honestly the last person I'd expect to come."
It was with a sigh that she rested her chin upon her hand which was supported by the table placed between them. "Felicia told me about why you're here. There's three of us which know your ailment all too well: Felicia, Noel, and myself. Felicia's busy filing a company report so we'll have food to eat and fuel to burn for the next month, and Noel is, well..."
"Slipping in and out of consciousness as she dreams the day away?"
She nodded with a blush. "We all know her too well."
"So you came to help me?"
She affirmed the question. He did believe that she possessed a unique circumstance which no one else he knew possessed: being Roman. A friend in uniform can't exactly match a friendly enemy when one's problems stem from exactly that. He was confident about being her sincerity, however his own sincerity in trusting her completely was at the very least quite questionable.
He smiled once more, "I need a friendly Roman in m'life"
She smiled as she readjusted herself into a position with suggested she was more open for conversation. "Felicia said you weren't too optimistic about these kinds of places; I've kinda been worried about you being over here."
"Well," he replied, "The place itself is boring and the nature of solitude is a bit oppressive, but I can assure that the solitude is the result of my own doings. Mainly just leaves boredom as a genuine side affect."
"Sounds like you're handling it alright"
"Luckily I am, but it's a day-by-day struggle for me." he confided, "Although I love my alone time, you could probably tell from what you've seen of me as of yet that I usually take every chance I can to interact with my friends. The people here aren't the kind of friends that I'd like to make."
"Are they violent?" she asked with a hint of concern.
"No, just wahnsinn, but again, not the kind of friends you'd want to have. Lunacy isn't a very appealing trait."
They both chuckled at the remark.
As their spurt of laughter dragged to an end, she began to notice his rather gaunt appearance. He had gray bags under his eyes from lack of sleep; such impurities made his entire figure look rather bleak.
"You don't look to be in good health."
"They took away my medication; I need it to sleep. I've been an insomniac since childhood."
A long silence followed as Addler retired from an open posture, slouching into his chair as he rested his head on his hands which were placed upon the table, looking down at the wooden table as he tried to collect his thoughts. He finally began to realize that perhaps she should confide in her what he was beginning to feel more and more as every day passed by, a rising feeling of discomfort which yearned to be let loose so that it might be known. He knew he could trust her.
"Aisha, you want to know the truth?" he asked her.
She looked at him with curiosity, her nod barely noticeable.
"I've found that this place holds little for me here. I'm not being helped here"
"They don't have good doctors here?"
"They just prescribe medication to make more calm, they don't really care to delve deep into my past. I don't really like shrinks anyway, although you need to make a livin', I kind of find it unnerving to think that one earns money from helping others. Figured it'd be easy to become corrupt."
"They charge you here!?" she asked surprised.
"No, but I've had such an image in my head for a long time, and it's hard to see them in any other light."
"Don't you think you're being stubborn?" she asked."
"Perhaps," he said with a smile he couldn't hide, "but...I don't really feel comfortable opening up to most people...shrinks have all the knowledge, they have coping strategies, but they can't exactly relate"
She put a hand on his.
"Can't you simply do both?"
He sighed. "I can be stubborn, and I reckon this is another example. This atmosphere is...suffocating me. Makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. I'm not deranged or twisted, I'm not psycho"
She look at him with a quick glance before shunning her gaze away in embarrassment; her expression, although brief, silently argued that perhaps he should reexamine his statement. He was here for a reason, after all.
"You interned at a place like this, didn't you? Didn't you have aspirations of being a good therapist?"
He looked up at her, she looked at him. He finally returned her previous favor and took her hand; he felt like she could understand him when very few did not. Had she begun to grasp him? Could she truly be the one person who could feel for what he thought, felt, desired, and wanted to be? Was she one to understand his previous ambitions and his current dreams of life?
"Yes," spoke he in a low and quiet voice. "I felt like I was the most aspiring psych in the world. I wanted to help. I knew my weaknesses, how I could easily be destroyed in such a profession where you're forced to delve into the mind of the depressed, suicidal, insane, et cetera. I still wanted to be there for others, either through ignorance or pure dreams of hope...I wanted to be a caring therapist, not just one who analyzes and prescribes like your standard scientist. I had aspired to such things, unfortunately, I kinda..."
Aisha looked at him with another expression of concern and curiosity. She probed him further in a way which bore neither condemnation or judgment, but merely in a desire for answers. "Hmm?"
"A key point in therapy, or any kind profession where you're inclined to help others, such as nursing, you're heavily encouraged to not develop attachments to your patients. You'd be setting yourself up for disaster, grief, overwhelmed with sadness. I understand why many do that, yet I still can't help but hate it; emotional connection is beautiful, at least in my opinion...a psych who doesn't put emotion into his work makes me-"
A nurse stopped by, interrupting their conversation which had drawn them both into a sort of alternate realm in which all that was around them seemed to melt away and disappear up until now.
"Time's up, I'm afraid" she said.
Addler looked back to Aisha. "Please," he said, "tell Felicia to consider getting me out of here."
"I don't know" she said to him, watching him get up and place himself beside his escort. He asked her once more, a hint of desperation in his voice as he made his second attempt. "Aisha...perhaps you're beginning to know me. I may be stubborn-"
"You are," she added
"But...have I not made a decent case?"
As he was ushered away by the nurse, he looked back to see her in her own train of thought, reflecting over possibly what would be her course of action.
He anxiously made his way back to his block, hoping she would honor his request.