Chapter 9
Delving Into Dreams

Stoic black eyes gazed across the table to Chris, studying the therapist closely. Uncertainty pecked at Wufei like a hen, causing him to shift a little nervously on the large doctor's couch.

"What's the extent of you memories involving the '02 pilot?" the therapist asked. Wufei looked down, not sure on how he should answer. In the past week since Wufei had been admitted, he hadn't seen the doctor since that first night, and had begun to doubt himself. When he met him today, there were no words exchanged between them to either confirm nor deny his suspicions—just the normal introduction of two people really meeting for the first time. He was beginning to believe that perhaps his troubled mind had made up the whispered words that day. But then again, being surrounded by people who believed they were the Anti-Christ, Trieze, or Queen of Sheba, made him seriously begin to doubt himself in general. Sometimes, late at night, he even started wondering if he really was Wufei…

He blamed these on the dreams which were becoming more and more bothersome. There were nights when, instead of his mind jumping around as normal people would, he found a scenario repeating constantly in his sleep, all centered in the one place he never had any interest in. Ancient Egypt. He would see himself, sprawled out over satins and silks, watching as a pale haired boy slowly approached him with shaking hands and nervous, sad, violet eyes. Another sat beside him, who he suspected was Heero. Although the man, in his dream, looked unmistakably Egyptian, with tawny cheeks and soft brown eyes, covered from head to toe in intricate paintings. The pale one would come before them and drop to his knees, pushing aside the gauze that encased their resting area. He would reach across, lightly trail his fingers over the chains and collars holding them both down.

"Who are you?" the pale one would ask, brows furrowing worriedly. Heero would lift dark eyes as he tilted his head to the size, rising from his lounging position with a fluid grace.

"We are sacrifices...who are you?" he murmured curiously, reaching out to caress across the angled cheek and through chestnut locks. The stranger would look down as he pulled out a lock picking device, eyes lifting.

"I am the one who will claim you..."

That was where it always ended, sometimes trailing into the other memory bothered him as well. Violet orbs and uncompleted kitchen cupboards. Magically erasing permanent markers and disappearing lovers. It was always the same in his head. Never would his throughts give him rest. Shaking his head, he took a slow, deep, steadying breath. Gnawing at the inside of his lip in agitation, he forced himself to lift clear, black eyes up to the therapist and focus on the doctor. Inside, he knew the words had been spoken. He knew he was just being paranoid. Despite this being their first real meeting, he believed this man knew Duo. Whether it was because it was real, or because he refused to admit he was that far gone, he didn't care. He was sane, damn it! The fact that he was sitting in a mental ward notwithstanding!

Taking another deep breath, Wufei kept his straight and calm composure, never letting his inner turmoil show on the calm mask of stoicism.

"Mostly just the dream," he replied, never break eye contact with Christ.

"What happens in that dream?" Chris wondered, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard.

"We're building the house that Heero and I live in," he began, teeth nearly grinding at being forced to talk more than usual.

"Heero is your husband?" Christ interrupted. Wufei cast him a scathing glare at the annoyance of being cut off before he nodded.

"Hai," he replied, shifting slightly. He waited for any other questions before he continued. "In the dream, he's working on a cabinet, and he asks me to bless a pen. Something about me being the last of my clan means it's special or something." Speaking out loud, the common nightmare that had plagued him for the last year began to sound childish and overwhelmingly stupid. Flushing slightly, he tried to hide his growing embarrassment. How asinine! Him? Blessing a pen? Because he's special or something? Sweet Nataku, maybe he was crazy…. "I finally give in, because he can make do anything just by pouting, and he starts to write something on the inside…"

Chris watched as the dragon spoke with a patient resolve, recounting every detail of the dream as if reading from a script. He couldn't help but feel admiration for the tormented man whose entire life had been centered on war and loss. The destruction of his people, the slaughter of his wife, and now the loss of a husband. It was no wonder the man could recall so well the moment Duo had been taken from him. With so many traumatic experiences, his mind had become jaded, and wasn't so willing to let his loss be forgotten to spare himself the pain. He was a stubborn man, that was for certain. And while Chris normally found stubborn people irritating, he was for once grateful at what his tenacity may achieve.

A final freedom for a man enslaved for over 3,000 years….

oOoOo

"I don't want to do this," Wufei growled, glaring at his psychiatrist with utter disdain. Chris sighed his frustration. Stubborn was an understatement when it came to this man. Bull-headed, arrogant, snide bastard was more like it. Grinding his teeth, the therapist slowly counted to ten...then twenty for good measure, and wondered how the hell Demo had managed to put up with this agitating youth for so long. But no matter how annoying the dragon had proven himself to be, the doctor had to keep his cool.

"I need you to trust me," he repeated calmly in the tone one would use to soothe a rabid she-lion in heat. Or maybe a puppy? Or an angry child? Well, it was much calmer than he felt at the moment.

"This is our first meeting!" Wufei cried out, leg twitching as he pressed back against the large sofa. Angrily, he brushed his hair back from his sharply angled face. They allowed no hair ties here, after one genius managed to choke to death after eating one. Wufei never bothered asking how or why. Something told him that he really didn't want to know the details.

"Hypnotism is a perfectly acceptable treatment for dealing with amnesia victims," Chris ground out in a forcibly pleasant tone. He had decided that this would be the best treatment for him after an hour of prodding questions over the cabinet dream. No matter what angles they took or how they looked at it, Wufei was completely baffled on anymore details, and further pushing only brought on migraines. Go figure. Of course that's how Mneme would work it—pain was the most effective deterrent in dealing with mortals. The only way around it was to put Wufei into a state where the subconscious mind became the conscious, therefore surpassing the boundaries put on the oriental boy and allow them free access to his suppressed memories.

Wufei glanced around the warm and pleasant office. Certificates and degrees hung on every wall. A large black book shelf to his right was piled with information on self-image and volumes of "Alphabetical Encyclopedia of Medical Conditions." Beside that was a desk and computer, locked cabinets probably keeping holed up all the valuable and personal information on every soul he worked with. All their secrets shared with anyone who had a key and an ability to read. It felt like a violation; physically, mentally, and figuratively. To know the entirety of his love, life, and fears were so easily reduced to meaningless notes on gaudy yellow legal paper and tucked away in forgotten metal drawers. Grimacing at the thought of his own mind and what he might say under hypnosis becoming nothing more than half assed short hand on piss colored parchment, he turned a cruel sneer back to the doctor.

Watching him intently from across the expensive glass coffee table, he trailed his eyes up and down him. Chris shifted in his recliner.

"I don't like being helpless," Wufei growled, hands folded and white knuckled in his lap.

"Sometimes, you just have to learn to trust people, no matter how much you don't want to," Chris replied as he moved over to his desk, gathering up the necessary materials to get the man into a trance. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he caught site of the snarl directed towards him, and Chris sighed. "Look, you want to remember what happened that night, don't you?" he demanded. Wufei's body tensed at the words, eyes turning guarded as his posture straightened.

"What do you mean?" he asked, off-hand and far too casual.

"The night Duo left!" Chris finally exclaimed, hands going up in exasperation before he continued to collect the needed items. A metal pen, a strobe light, notebook, water… Frustrated, he brushed back a loose strand of red hair. Cold shock coursed through Wufei as he stared, onyx orbs going wide and mouth going dry.

"So he is real…" he breathed, chest constricting. The emotional side of him, which had for so long been clinging to phantom, now rejoiced at the thought that his lover was real. The other side, logical and proud, was torn between its reactions. On one hand, he was being proven right, which was always a good thing. On the other, he was angry. Maybe he really had lost it, and this man was doing his best to sabotage his recovery. He didn't know why that would happen. Maybe an old grudge from the war?

Chris untied his hair, smoothing back the rebellious locks and once again tucking it nice and neat up into the ponytail. Wrapping the elastic back up, he glanced over to him, quirking a brow.

"That's what I told you when you first came," he replied. Tools in hand, he pulled a wheeling chair over and sat down near the edge of the couch, sitting less than three feet from his patient.

"How do I know you're not lying?" the Oriental demanded, glowering dangerously to him.

"Look, Chang…do you really feel like I am? When I said the name Duo, didn't it trigger up anything?" the therapist questioned, voice professional and collected. Wufei unconsciously leaned back from him, turning his eyes downward. He hated to admit it, but it did. Though he would never tell him that. There was no need to describe the way that one name could make his heart hurt so, or how it made his body long for that familiar touch.

Heero had told him once that he felt like Wufei loved his dream more than he loved him. In truth, Heero couldn't be more off. Heero was his heart—his soul. The strength in the storm, and the comfort in his pain. The only reason Wufei was so distraught over the dream was because his mind could not lay off of him. Every time he closed his eyes, there he was, staring back. Every time he saw a Catholic church, he remembered the golden cross. And every time he saw the characteristic shade of reddish brown hair, he recalled that luxurious chestnut braid.

If he could, he would banish all the thoughts of the strange person his mind so desperately clung to, so he could gladly spend the rest of his life just loving and holding Heero.

"Wufei?"

The voice caught him off guard, jerking him from his thoughts. That's right. He and Chris were talking. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, he took in a deep breath and held it. Since when did you start daydreaming? his mind demanded. You're starting to act like Duo!

His body froze. His mind went quiet.

…awkward…

Clearing his throat, he grumbled to himself before giving a reluctant sigh.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll do it." It couldn't be any worse than dealing with himself.

Flashing him a charming, happy smile, Chris started setting up the materials excitedly. Lifting up a pen, he leaned over and flicked off the fluorescent lights, leaving only the pale yellow emergency bulbs illuminated. Holding up the pen, he steadied it in front of his patient's line of sight.

"Remember…if he performed the proper ritual, then the writing is still there. We just need to find out exactly where it is, and then we can call your husband and have him find it for you…that way, he'll know you're not lying," Chris assured. Wufei felt a hint of hope swell up in him as he nodded, swallowing hard. Proof. Real god given proof! "Now, focus on this for me," Chris said soothingly, motioning to the pen. Wufei did as told, watching it closely as the therapist flicked on the strobe light. Brows pulling together, Wufei felt a hint of nervous doubt form in the pool of his stomach.

"How do I know you're not going to alter my mind with this? Like, plant memories or something?" he demanded. Chris gave a short, amused laugh, looking to him as if he had just asked how to tell if he were man or woman.

"Trust me, Wufei. If a goddess can't fuck with your mind, then I sure as hell can't. No one can mess with your stubborn ass," he replied bemused. Wufei opened his mouth to speak, but was promptly cut off when Chris waved him quiet. A goddess? What the hell could he be talking about? Was he high or something? Instead of asking though, he just focused on the pen. Either he was insane, and staring at this stupid piece of metal would aid in the quick decent he was already taking, or he was right, and this would help him figure out what happened. One way or the other, Wufei was filled with the nervous apprehension that things were going to get worse either way. "Now," Chris continued. "Follow my pen, and listen closely to the sound of my voice…"

10 minutes later, the strobe light was quietly switched off, Wufei's dazed and limp body lying back against the cushions.

"Now tell me about that dream…"

It's out early, I know, but all the feedback on the other chapter really got me going! The next chapter is going to be the most fun for me, especially because, as I watching GW yesterday, there was a part where Trieze said something that really fit in with this story. It was where he was addressing the Romafellers for the first time, and he says "God gave man free will to act without rule, so we must create a system higher than God..." and later said "God is just a figment of the imagination to give people comfort." So yes...hehehehe, great fun, great fun!