Madison opened her eyes and gradually let her senses become reacquainted with the physical world. At first she dreaded the idea of getting up and facing the day, until something her senses detected evoked a warmth deep inside her heart. It was the scent of syrup and sunshine; joy and divine sugary sweetness. It stirred up every fond memory she had from her childhood, before her mother died and Madison was forced to be an adult at the age of fifteen.
The clock read: 7:03a.m.
It seemed Jayden was making waffles. That's odd; I don't even remember owning a waffle iron. Madison found it interesting to watch him when he thought no one was looking. He was relaxed, totally unguarded...
Gathering her energy, she managed to sit up at last. Though her back ached slightly from being pressed into the couch all night, which despite its deceivingly comfortable appearance, actually contained a network of metal bars and other devices meant to torture the human spine.
"Good morning," Jayden said upon seeing her. He knew better than to ask if she'd slept well. That always seemed like a strange thing to say: 'Good morning.' was more of a wish than a greeting. But in the end, Madison agreed with the observation, and then she made one of her own.
"You cooked breakfast." she stated, equal parts incredulous and amused. "I didn't know you could cook."
"Don't get used to it." he smirked. "This is about the extent of my cooking skills."
"You are full of surprises, Mr. Profiler."
Maybe he felt like he owed her, or maybe he was just a nice guy. It was much more likely that his motivation was a little of both. Shouldn't she be cooking for him to make amends for almost breaking his nose last night? Were they friends now? Was he still living here simply because he had nowhere else to go?
"I could make some coffee." Madison offered. She hated sitting around while he did all the work and she contributed nothing useful. But Jayden simply grinned and held up a cup of the blackest coffee she'd ever seen.
"There's no need." he said. "Do you think I could've woken up at 6:30 this morning and made waffles without at least having a little java first?"
Madison blinked. "Wait a second...6:30 this morning? You have been up for half an hour just making waffles and coffee? Does it even take that long?"
"It does to make good waffles." he said. Still full of surprises, I see.
It turned out that he was right. As far as waffles go, they were pretty fantastic. He must have had time to perfect his singular skill in the field of cooking while he wasn't running around on super secret FBI business. Yes, she could get used to this quite easily.
Jayden asked if she had to go work today, obviously unaware that today was Saturday. She did not have to work, but she did have somewhere she to be. He wanted to know where that was, and she decided to tell him the truth.
"I have a, uh, appointment with my therapist." she admitted, eyes downcast. There is nothing to be ashamed of, girl.
"Wow. So, Madison Paige - the epitome of stability - sees a shrink?" Like many things about Norman Jayden, his reaction surprised her. "You actually fall for that bullshit?"
"A lot of people have therapists." Madison pointed out, defensive now. "Don't you have a fucking degree in psychiatry?"
"Psychology," Jayden corrected. "Criminal psychology, specifically."
"And the difference is...?"
He sighed, drinking his coffee. "Psychiatrists prescribe drugs you probably don't need but will eventually come to appreciate. Psychologists request an amount of money you'd seriously have to be crazy to even consider paying in exchange for advice that supposedly helps you to become less crazy. If that doesn't work, and that person ends up killing someone, criminal psychologists figure out why they would do such a thing. Usually the reason is a bad therapist."
Madison was speechless. She took a moment to absorb his words and then said, "I think you're the one who could benefit from a little therapy."
But he just smirked. "You are not the first to tell me that, you know."
At least that wasn't so surprising.
)O(
Her therapist's office was located in the heart of Downtown Philly. It was just one of many offices crammed into this impossibly tall building, and there were many more buildings of its kind. The skyscraper in question was a rather dull shade of gray; the interior wasn't much better. Whitewashed walls greeted her. Madison took the elevator to the sixth floor, thankfully alone, as there were only a few things she loathed more than forced elevator conversation. Not that she was unfriendly or anything. Madison just preferred to avoid pointless social obligation.
"Ah. Hello, Ms. Paige, we've been expecting you." the secretary said from her place behind the desk, smiling brightly. "Please take a seat over there. Dr. Eberson should be with you in a moment."
Oh yes, the Waiting Game. That was always fun. At first, when she was still new to all this, Madison would pretend to read the magazines while trying to come to terms with the fact that she was really about to pay someone money to listen to her problems. Then she actually did read the magazines, which hadn't been replaced for years. Now, with nothing else to do, Madison would sit and try to imagine what sort of mental distress might have brought the other people together in this room to do the same.
Soon enough, the doctor was ready to see her.
Dorothy Eberson was a short Jewish woman, middle-aged and somewhat overweight in that way that you honestly can't imagine how ever being thinner would work out proportionately. There was nothing really remarkable about the woman. And though it's probably superficial, that was part of the reason Madison liked her. She simply didn't want to have someone prettier than herself expose all of her faults and shortcomings and dark secrets. That would be too much.
Other than that, the doctor was a kind and patient soul; you had to be with a profession like hers. In fact, the only thing even remotely remarkable about Dr. Eberson was that she had been doing this for over thirty years.
The walls were painted a faded lavender color. Abstract paintings 'decorated' those walls. And harsh florescent lights cast an insistent glow on everything in sight. Madison was made to sit on the sofa across from Dr. Eberson, who had taken her usual chair. A louder-than-average clock dominated the silence, eagerly ticking away.
"How are you?" the doctor asked casually enough, wasting no time in probing her with for personal information. "Are you taking the pills? Have you been sleeping any better?"
"No," she said by way of answering both questions. "I'm...I'm still having the Dream. I thought I'd be used to it by now but...I think I'm okay." she realized. "I met someone recently. He makes delicious waffles and he doesn't believe in therapy, though he probably needs it." Madison stopped talking, under the impression that Dr. Eberson would say something to that, but she didn't. "...I've also been thinking a lot about my mother."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I woke up thinking about her, in fact." Then she looked down, gaze fixed on the depressingly gray carpet, and fell silent.
"Tell me about her, Madison." the therapist urged. "We need to discuss this eventually. It will never go away unless you confront it directly." And she was right. Of course she was right.
"I-I don't really know where to start." she admitted.
Dr. Eberson smiled. "Just start talking and don't stop."
"Well...all right. It was maybe a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday . . ."
)O(
A/N: Oooh! Do I feel another flashback coming on? I think I do...
Review please!