Sub Rosa
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Jane has been here before, so many times, rooms filled with the trappings of care. It never matters what is on the wall – doctorates or diplomas, commendations or crucifixes. Just someone trying to get inside his head, pry open the shell.
...Dr Aubyn, a bland expression on his thin, clever face, and startlingly dark eyes, makes the first personal notes on his jotting pad.
...No overt indication of physical distress, seems co-operative. In light of subject's background, 'seems' would be the operative word...
Intelligent, articulate and undoubtedly antagonistic. There's a wariness in that face, even as the charming grin flashes out. The quick gaze flicks around the room, acquiring detail, and he raises an eyebrow.
"Medical Service Corps."
...Every bit as observant as he's reputed to be...
"Which means that most of what comes across my desk here counts as light relief." Aubyn gives a small smile.
… Honestly surprised that he turned up, until I realized that TL must have applied pressure...
Aubyn knows more about him than Jane would like. More than Jane realizes – he's seen a weary woman, fingers stilled with effort, trying to articulate her professional worry, whilst her eyes betray her. It says an incredible amount about the strength of her will that Jane is even in this room.
(He hadn't believed she was serious about the psychiatric evaluation, outraged when she stands by his couch, simply tells him that he's due up in the office. He can resist everything but her tired, "please.")
"I know you don't want to be here, so we'll keep this brief. Like you, I'm on retainer to the CBI. You can sit here and not talk for, say, a quarter hour. I still get paid. I'm not sure my couch is as comfortable as yours, but you are welcome to try it."
Jane settles onto the proffered couch, crosses his legs. Waves a hand.
"Don't let me keep you from your paperwork."
Aubyn lets him sit. He doesn't fidget, but neither does he hold himself so tight that it screams panic. An absolutely neutral behaviour.
...Personal history surprisingly sparse – a lot of public information that doesn't convey anything. Huge traumatic event that overshadows everything else – But - no other family at all?...
"I notice that you don't have any Next of Kin listed in your file."
Pause. Not many people dare to be that blunt. Jane is intrigued. Wary.
"That will be because I don't have any. Slight problem for that happy chit-chat, those little questions designed to put the client at their ease."
...so he's familiar with the process..
"I'm not trying to pry on this one, Mr Jane. This is a purely administrative matter. I just need a contact name." Aubyn raises an eyebrow. "I'll put your supervising agent, if you like."
There is another pause.
"I'm not sure she'd like. But far be it from me to get in the way of the dreaded bureaucracy of this place."
All Jane's senses are prickling. His feelings for Lisbon are new and raw and complicated, and he cannot quite describe them to himself, does not find anything admirable in his motivations. Will certainly not expose them to the gaze of another.
...This personality would never fit into a hierarchy...
"You have very little time for rules and regulations."
"I'm a law-abiding citizen." Gestures. "I fight on the side of the angels, after all."
"Interesting choice of words. Would you ever consider firearms training?"
"No." Qualifies that curt response. "I'm not fond of guns."
"Yet - you shot a man."
"He pointed a gun at Agent Lisbon. So I stopped him..."
...The man had already killed another officer. Kidnapper, would-be rapist, and murderer. But the only thing that matters to my client is that threat. He calls her 'Agent Lisbon' in a neutral tone, but even the untrained eye can see that there is something between them...
"..And now you want to know how I 'feel' about that? How I'm 'handling' it?" Forefingers crook.
"Given your usual mental state, Mr Jane, I wouldn't like to say." Dr Aubyn says, dryly.
"Oh, is this where you tell me I'm the Poster Boy for PTSD?"
"I would have thought it to be more of an Acute Stress Disorder. Given that you do not seem to actively avoid certain things that might be reminiscent of the original trauma. In fact, you seem to seek them out."
Jane gives him a narrow look, reassesses. No false friendliness here, a straightforward and pragmatic approach. Rather more dangerous.
"I think of it as aversion therapy."
"I expect you probably do. Which leads me to suppose that you have some idea of how to handle other aspects of...stress."
"I find satisfaction in my work, I'm exercising regularly, I'm making an effort to eat better. I even socialize." A reminiscent grin. "I spent an interesting evening at the theatre not long ago..."
"Sleeping?" Aubyn fires out briskly.
Damn, this one is good. Most people don't spot the omissions.
"I've never been a heavy sleeper."
"Do you take medication to help?"
"I don't like to take anything that might impair my mental functions."
He had hated being dependent on a drug regime at the hospital, the feeling of being controlled. Hates the drained, heavy feeling from pills, though he has used both them and Scotch to take the world away before.
...resistance to the idea of any kind of therapy. However, obviously aware of procedures. Avoidance of outright response to questions about medical history interesting...
Jane's not sure what the man has in front of him, notes in a folder. He dislikes the fact that he has a file, even as he knows that behind his own desk, he has cartons of files, each box a little graveyard of pain and fear and faith. In another life, he could have had this profession, except that he lacks the capacity for true healing. He just likes to know how the pieces fit together, he's never been around to pick them up afterwards.
...he'd forgotten Carol Gentry, her pale plain face creased in angry bewilderment...
"You have friends you can talk to?"
"Well, talking about finding your loved ones butchered does tend to stop a conversation in its tracks."
"Except that you don't talk about it, do you? You deflect very well."
"What good does talking about it do?" For one instant, Aubyn gets a glimpse of his eyes. "It happened, and I have to live with it. Nobody else should have to."
Ah.
...Not comfortable with the idea of sharing anything. Sees it as weakness. Hostile to the idea of pity...
Jane swings his legs off the couch, stands up.
"I make that our allotted session time."
... To the minute, and he's had his back to the clock. Knew he would be difficult, but, my god, the man is an eel...
"And it would be no use my suggesting that you consider another session?"
"We both know that I can ace any tests you throw at me." He stands there, totally at ease. "The question is, are you going to allow me to continue doing what I do?"
A man may be prepared to kill, and then find the reality overwhelming. But Aubyn thinks that this is far from the case here. Already damaged before he ever picked up that gun.
"I have no desire to play mind games, or to provoke any of your other no doubt numerous issues. I just have to assure The Powers That Be, via Virgil Minelli, that you won't run amok in future."
"Oh, Agent Lisbon keeps me on a tight leash."
...And that is probably the most honest thing he's said to me...
All the right answers to the questions, a smooth and impervious shell. They could fence all day, and Aubyn would not get through those defences, even though he knows they are there. Too practised at this.
......Careless with his own life. Could be careless with the lives of others, in pursuit of a goal, if not restrained. Perfectly willing to mete out his own brand of justice. Takes no account of rules or procedure, but then - he's not an agent, not an officer of the law, and does not consider himself as such...A con-man with a vigilante streak. Charming and ruthless.....The only thing keeping him remotely centred is that fragile attachment...
"Then there's no point in prolonging this any further, Mr Jane. I have people who actually wish to be helped waiting to see me." Silent clash of wills in their gaze. "But...I have no reason to suppose that you will indiscriminately slaughter bystanders at a crime scene, or decide to go play in the traffic."
...or that she would let you...
"You're right." Flashes a smile. "Not as comfortable as my couch."
Aubyn frowns at the closing door. Nothing he can do, no reason to keep the man from doing what he does. To all outward appearances, a man who functions, who is working past some terrible problems, finding a fragile equilibrium. And yet...
...Personally, I'd keep him where I could see him...