Psychobabble

Dr. Hanson's Office - Washington, DC

Appointment #1 -January 10th, 2004



He had wanted Shane to walk him in, but had to accept the arm of the man he had put in the hospital a week prior, a man who still seemed pliable to be his 'friend', if Sands would so let him. Which he never would consent, he wasn't a fan of doctors, especially ones he couldn't see to trust. He was led up the front steps of the a building, the air ice cold against his cheeks, but his jacket keeping his bones warm enough at least. Inside it was warmer, hot breath resounding through the space between him and a young child's voice, an older woman's voice, and his own escort's. Everything was sound, taste, and smell to him, touch even was a stretch at times.

"Right this way Agent Sands," the man insisted, handing his off into the gentle hands of what felt like a girl, a young girl, and he grinned heartily back in the general direction of Dr. Jake while following the woman through double doors. "Good luck!" He heard the doctor call, before chuckling to himself and using his disability to his advantage very quickly, pushing himself through the door with a jagged step, a faux trip, and a falling hand to a pair of breasts. "Oof, excuse me miss." The girl laughed, and at that he made the assumption based on the firmness of her chest, the slight of her hand in his, the aromatic perfume of a French import and the carefree giggle in her voice, that she was twenty three. Twenty four tops…he smiled as she led him through to a second waiting room, smaller and private, though it didn't make a single difference to him.

"Agent Sands, we'll just have you wait our here for Dr. Hanson. It should only take a couple of minutes." Leading him to a close chair, he stumbled a little but held firm to her arm for support, in all seriousness this time. His glasses were knocked off center from his nose slightly and she helped him adjust them, rather motherly, but in a way he actually didn't mind, especially from a girl with breasts like hers. Before she left the room again to return to her secretarial post he caught her at the whim of the doorway being opened, "Miss?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a name? I seem to have…misplaced my eyes…so I won't have a face to recognize you by." Laughing at him she grinned and tucked her head back inside for a moment, "It's Allie, Mr. Sands."

"Allie, lovely. Thank you." With a wink and nod he rested his head back against the wall at her exit, shuffling his boots against the carpet restlessly, patting the thighs of his jeans, and kicking himself for not having grabbed an extra stick of gum from Shane. No smoking…no gum…damn. He gnawed at his lips, the insides of his mouth, searching out an avenue to distract the addiction, the stinging pull in his gut. He wasn't sure how the long the waiting part of this adventure would take, the waiting for a doctor who he knew couldn't help him anyway, forced to come by a boss who was reclining in the building next door, fanning himself with that fucking manila folder, that death sentence. To keep me or not to keep me. What an honest question that would be if I wasn't who I am. Under a microscope for all to see…he pondered casually while trying to sleep or re-process the events of the last three months. He'd been given treatment for his eyes, surgery of some kind to "pack" the holes, dress the "wounds" and in retrospect give him normally functioning eyelids that would decrease the risk of frightening young children, or hot, doctor's office receptionists. Fidgeting with his glasses a second time he felt the soft skin, still healing into place, still covered in a gluey mold, whatever it was. But before he could carry on his examination of what he couldn't see, let alone begin to imagine, he was interrupted by the sound of another door opening, this one thicker, more professional, although he hoped it was Allie again, another whiff of that French perfume would do him good now.

"Agent Sands?" Not Allie…but another woman. Jesus, are they trying to kill me with treatment? He perked up slowly in the chair, pushing himself out and inching towards her voice with haste. "Agent Sands, hi. I'm Dr. Hanson, here let me help you…" her arm came to rest inside of his, warmly, although he left it alone for later observation in his mind. Her voice was honeyed, sweet but almost forced, as if she was trying to hide another side to herself, one only a blind man would be able to discern properly. "I'm glad you made it today."

"Well," He gruffed as they came into the room, brighter against his shades where light must have been pouring in, "The driving was a little difficult, a few crushed old ladies, mailbox or two, but I couldn't let you down." After she got him settled into a comfortable seat she took her place opposite him behind a desk, smiling.

"I heard you were a dark comedian."

"That's only a taste. My full act is on Wednesday's in the board room. Ladies' drink free." Again she couldn't help but laugh widely, "I might just have to remember that."

"Please do. And you can wear those red lace unmentionables your hiding under that professional skirt." With a dropped jaw she coughed back the shock of his sly attitude, but couldn't help herself from still laughing, and enjoying the handsome smirk he had. Corner of his mouth, a wrinkle halfway on his nose, a tobacco glinted gleam that assured her of the reputation. "I'm sorry Agent, but I only wear black lace to work."

"Touché', Doc."

"Thank you, and I am glad you decided to show today I was a little worried. Dr. Murphy had mentioned your concern over my treatment."

"If you call a lack of necessity, concern, then yeah. I had lots of it."

"You don't think you need to be here?"

"No."

"And why's that?"

"I'll tell you if you put that pen down." He had caught her with or without sight, jotting her random notes across a pad of paper, so cliché. Dropping the pen to the desk she leaned in with her fingers curled beneath her chin, more than curious now. "Pen's down."

"Good. Now look…I know Dane and Grisham and all the guys over in Headquarters' decided that I needed to spend a little 'psycho time' on your couch…" He stood up at his own accord, not knowing where he was walking or if he would be bound to trip on anything, but he followed the heat of the sunlight on his skin, making his way to the large window of the office. "…You know, they think I need to "discuss" my dilemma, and all the shit that went on down there."

"Yeah, discussion is part of the healing process."

"But that's just it Doc, there's nothing to heal. You must have gone to school for a long time to be able to sit here and talk to me about my issues…"

"A few years, yes."

"Well guess what…this is me. Sorry about your luck on this one, sweets." Ignoring the crude complement she continued listening with a keen ear. "I was just as fucked up before Mexico as I am now. Having my eyes taken…has only made me want to tear the skin off of these screw heads even more. I'm a generally fucked up person, your psychobabble and pills…it's a waste of the agency's funds. Trust me on this."

"So you're saying you're beyond my help?"

"You get it, good. So look, don't let me waste any more of your time…" He turned heading off in the direction he assumed the door to be in based on the minor floor plan he had gained walking in, "I'll just be going and –" As his hand reached down for a knob he was proud to find, Doctor Hanson caught up with him and held the door under his pull. Fuck. She's strong. He tugged once more before standing tall before her, the sweet musk of her perfume more tantalizing than that of the receptionist's, more matured, fine, sexy. "I've still got forty eight more minutes with you Agent Sands. Whether you like it or not…this session's already been paid for."

"Then keep the money and take a long lunch." Again he tried for the knob, which she warned tightly against with her grip at the wood of the door. "I already had lunch."

"So find a willing participant and christen this joint. Unless…you already have?" Shocked again by him she breathed heavily into his direction, taking his hand in hers and dragging him back to the chair he had gotten up from. He allowed it to happen, mostly because he was being entertained for the afternoon, and partly because he'd found himself in pleasant company despite the odds. "Just sit for a while. Talk. Listen. Whatever you want, humor me."

He sat for a long pause debating her request, knowing he had a million opportunities at his fingertips, but unsure of which one to put to use. Until it came to him…"What's your favorite sound?"

"My favorite sound?"

"Yeah. Is it something all nerdy and medical related, like the sound of a patient's heart…or maybe a little kinkier. The sound of sheets being rubbed together during a good fuck."

"You're really sick, do you know that?"

"I warned you."

"Yeah, you did."

"So, answer my question….favorite sound?" Licking her lips with an interest in his means she wove her arms together and relaxed into the leather of her chair, watching his melting grin. What the hell does he want me to say? Sound…favorite sound…shit. Think, think, think. "I don't know…the sound of the ocean, maybe?"

"Huh, typical." He huffed with pleasure, slanting down into his own chair with a wild mind, still raking for a cigarette. "What's that supposed to mean? I love the ocean."

"Which ocean?"

"Pacific."

"California?"

"Maybe, why?"

"Just curious. You don't sound like a California girl though."

"What do I sound like?"

"Hmm…" Letting his mind and ears wander in mid air he drowned himself in her voice thus far, knowing full well where she was probably from, "Quincy. The Cape. You sound like a girl from the Cape." Ignoring that he was spot on in his analysis she just laughed it off annoyingly. "Was I right?"

"No."

"Yeah, right."

"Why don't you let me ask you a few questions…?"

"Because I'll end up with a prescription."

"Is that what you really think?" Her heart went out to him, his condition, his lack of trust in her and what she knew she could help him through. "I don't need pills. I need a drink if anything."

'What kind?" By this he was immediately intrigued, swiping his falling hair back from his face, not realizing that her stare was fixed intently upon him, the charm, the roughish exterior, all of the things she couldn't help but drop inside of. She wants to know what kind of drink, I like? Interesting…Doctor Hanson huh? "Depends on where I'm at and who I'm with."

"How about right now, here with me?" Again suspense and utter stimulation boiled over in him with the sound of her voice, the curiosity behind it, and her breath stinging the distance between them.

"That's easy, Doc. Gin and tonic." She smiled at this, impressed herself at the answer.

"Not a bad choice."

"Not a bad question." Another smile, another laugh. "But I've got one for you now."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. I've been sitting here now for another ten minutes and I'm wondering to myself, if Doctor Hanson has a first name?" He waited patiently across from her, his boots tapping against the shallow side of her desk, fingers scratching at his lower stomach in a sense of withdrawal now from lack of tobacco. Something about her lack of immediate response, as well as her silenced breathing, told him she was timid about the question, perhaps not willing to participate that far. Although she knew everything about him, it only seemed fair. She contemplated answering him, wanted to in fact, but gave it a light air to the production of a response, wanting to hold him for the need to know. Yet, just as she was about to lay it on him, he stopped her from thinking, "Never mind. I tell you what, if I decide to come back next time, you can tell me then."

"But—" She tried to call him back to his seat once he was up -- "Sands!" -- tried to follow him to the door, but he wouldn't have it this time, he was gone. Through the waiting room, through the receptionist's area with a wicked smirk plastered in the direction he felt Allie in, insisting he would see her again soon, and then he was gone through the front door of the building. Outside into the cold he flew to meet Shane, cigarette pack thrust into his palm while her own dragged between her lips.

"Have fun?"

"A blast. Got a light?"

"For you, always." She smiled while opening the car door for him and running around to her side, curious to death about what he had thought of the doctor, if only because she held knowledge over him. When she was settled behind the wheel of the black SUV, she turned on the radio, the heat, and took off with a laugh. "So…how is she?"

"Who? Dr. Hanson?"

"Yeah…although if I recall there was a time when you would have called her other things." A drag and a laugh as he scrunched his nose with a puff, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your doctor…Lily?"

"Lily?" He thought about it for a second, the voice, the scent, the touch of her hand, and the name….Lily Hanson. Oh Christ, no way…he couldn't think straight all of a sudden, a dozen images, a million sounds and scents, a feeling he couldn't express properly waved over him. He tried to smoke, but it did nothing. He tried to focus on the music, but this was worse. Janie watched him as his head lolled, glasses tipping down from his nose, almost tiredly, "Jeff, you didn't know?"

"Hey Shane…if I pass out….don't let this smoke burn a hole in my ass…." And at that, smugly, drowsily his head fell against the window of the car door, as she caught the cigarette from between his fingers with a laugh. "That's more like it," she thought, trying to remember back to a time when she had last seen Sands and Lily together, a time she felt he finally needed back.


Chatham, Massachusetts

December 16th, 1993

In his shock induced nightmares he found her coming back to him quickly, every last moment he'd ever spent beneath her glow, the things he could recall about her beauty, her wit, her humor he so had tried to match. It was mid December of 92', Christmas break, snow piles scattered across the front drive where he had parked his Trans Am, and she had come running out after almost three months of waiting. "Jeff!" She yelled with a wide grin, leaping into his arms and pulling him into the wet lawn, careless. Her lips were a memory nearly forgotten when he touched them that day, something he needed more than life itself, the heat of her mouth saving him from the raw Cape breezes.

"God I missed you…" Sheldon spoke heartily with kisses along her neck and throat, his hands stretching down her thighs. "Careful buddy, my mom's watching from the kitchen." Looking up from her mouth he peered into the sunlight and waved to where he could see the shadow of a women in the window, a gleaming smile spread across her face. He'd had his approval from Mrs. Hanson long ago, and there was no need to worry, so he returned to her lips, gladly, excitedly. Lily felt her mind wander over his every move, the way his hand lingered at the center of her jeans, the pressure of his own against her leg, and his soft hair falling against her forehead where her snow cap wove together. She never wanted to get up, she never wanted him to leave again.

"Stay forever this time…please…"