Aurora sat alone, tending to her glass of wine, the cacophony of conversations behind her whispers in the back of her mind. The stem spun between her fingertips and she watched the liquid inside spin around in a jostled pirouette. A hair was out of place on her neck and she wanted to tuck it back into the neat bun she'd made, but couldn't find the energy. The whole week had felt as if it had crawled by, her stomach slucked into deep mud, head barely above it all to breath. Three days of their sessions had yielded little to nothing - not that it would from the first get go. That hardly did anything with her own human patients.
A drop of wine sloshed over the edge, sliding down the glass to her fingers. This was going to be her life for the next unsurmountable weeks or months or however long it took her to walk away from a seemingly hopeless situation. Sure they spaced it well, Tuesdays and Thursdays her time to breath between the sessions, assess her notes, and return with a clear head. But she wondered if it would be enough the deeper in she got.
This wasn't someone who had one horrible trauma to reflect on over and over and over again. This was a tyrant who had been the formation of trauma for his kind. He had stories she probably would have nightmares about.
A sigh velcroed from her chest and she stopped the spin with a tight pinch of her fingers. The wine waved at her, settling into its calm state of rest.
"Wow," a voice shocked Aurora from her sulking state. "You look all kinds of drug through hell."
She turned to face a woman with eyes that pierced her soul. Her raven hair draped like a curtain over her shoulders. She raised her own empty wine glass toward the lonely seat next to where Aurora sat. "This spot taken?"
"Ah, no." Aurora nodded toward it.
The woman sat down, her movements fluid and graceful. "You look lonely, I thought I'd join you." she raised her wine glass toward the bartender when he glanced over and shook it. He smiled and finished his work before heading their way. "This bar is not quite the liveliest with approaching suitors."
"I'm not here for a date," Aurora spun the stem again. "Just sifting through some work stuff in my head."
"Ah," the woman raised her glass as the bartender approached with a bottle of wine. He poured quietly and she waited until he was finished to speak. "Heavy work instills quite the heavy heart." she sipped at her wine. "Mind if I ask what you do?"
"Not at all," Aurora turned so she was facing the woman. "I'm a psychologist. I specialize in war trauma veterans."
"Ah," the woman took another sip, her eyes narrowed in on her. "So you're a shrink."
Aurora bit back her eye roll. She'd heard that phrase enough this week. "In a sorts, yes."
"You must hear some terrifying stories." The woman settled her wine glass onto the counter. "I assume you are not so easily as taken aback as you seem tonight."
Aurora's brows knitted close together. "Well, no," she sipped at her wine, trying to find an answer. "This one specifically is a little different than what I'm used to."
"How? I would assume if you've worked with one war veteran you've worked with them all."
Aurora felt a piece of her heart snap off at that statement. "Well, uh, that in itself is not true. Each veteran is their own person with their own experiences. Even veterans who come from the same unit and experienced the same things will have different ways they saw and process their trauma. No one is the same."
"What makes this one so different?"
"Oh, well. . ." her chest tightened. She hated being questioned on her clients. "I can't really speak on it. Client confidentiality is extremely important to all those that I work with."
"It's not like you're revealing a name," hair slid off the woman's right shoulder, a black waterfall gliding to her waist.
"No, no I'm not. But it's not right to share information that is not mine to share." She went back to spinning her glass, realizing now how satisfying it was to watch the liquid swirl like a miniature whirlpool in its prison. She sighed. "It's just a stressful one for me this go around - some are and some aren't - it's a part of the job."
"What are you going to do about it?"
Aurora shrugged. "Keep plugging along like I always do." The swirl suddenly became the most interesting thing in the room to her. "I've had some hard patients over the years but even they opened up in time. It's about giving the right amount of push and patience that someone needs to realize that they are in a safe space to be open about their trauma. I know that he-this client will come around." Another sigh escaped her.
"Do you like this client you have?"
"I can't like or dislike someone I just met." she sighed. "But this client is stretching me. I cannot say I will dislike this client, I haven't disliked any. Sure, maybe some were rougher around the edges, but that comes with the territory of broken people. When I get used to the clients' mannerisms, reactions, expectations of me, it'll become easier. Though it may take more time than I'm hoping. But I can't hold any client to a patterned expectation, that would be like expecting a tulip to bud in the middle of winter because it was planted next to a primrose."
"How will you treat this client?"
Aurora's chest tightened again. What did this woman want with information? "Look, you are very kind to sit with me in my loneliness, but I'm not comfortable talking about my client with a stranger. Please stop asking me about them." She faced away for a moment, taking a deep breath. Finally, she turned back to face the woman. "Tell me, what do you do for work?"
"I'm a security assessor." The woman's face was calm and flat, unlike most who showed offense to her asking them to stop asking about her work.
"A what?" Aurora glanced at her, confusion swimming in her brain.
"I come in where I'm asked and assess the current security measures, make sure they are staying up to par. My favorites are when I'm called in to check on security risks." a smile slipped across her dark red lips. "I will say I'm quite impressed." She took a larger drink of her wine.
"I'm. . . Sorry?"
"Impressed," the woman slapped out the word. "It means that I am happy with what I am seeing." she set down her glass and turned to face Aurora. "I have been called in for each psychologist that is working with your client. I am here to assess whether you will be a security risk or not by sharing information with others. Clearly, you value your clients security, as well as your governments."
"Was this some kind of test?"
The woman brushed hair from her left shoulder. "Yes. You should be proud, you passed. And if I can add a little piece of advice from previous failures. Don't start by trying to get into his mind. Instead allow him to get into yours." Her fingers caressed folded bills as she laid them on the counter. "For your troubles." she walked away, her heels lightly clicking against the wooden floor.
Aurora turned and watched the woman walk away, silken hair swaying across her back. Blinking, she sipped at her wine. The woman's words infiltrated her thoughts. Her goal always was to understand her clients. To delve into the recesses of their minds and meet them where they found themselves, curled in fetal positions, crying for peace. It was in those places she could grab their hands and guide them back to peace and a more stable reality that their memories, their failures, their once was, was not where they were to be forever.
But Megatron had proved to be different. He did not live in regret of his actions - not yet at least. Or that she could tell. She had to get him there in order to walk him into wanting to live a peaceful existence. The woman's words held stance, and maybe because previous psychologists who didn't pass didn't withhold information they should have. Information that she would need to mull over.
The question was, how would she do it? How would she let him into her mind? How would she allow herself to become vulnerable without giving up who she was to the warlord? Without breaking herself to his will? Without breaching some sort of psychological code of conduct?
She set her now empty glass down and reached into her purse for money. Glancing at the woman's bills, she noticed it was well over enough for both their drinks. Pulling her hand out, she felt her lungs express a sense of relief at the kindness. She reached back in and placed a meager two dollars atop the folded bills, a tip was the least she could do.
Her own heels clicked atop of the floor, echoing under the sounds of laughter, conversations, and the live jazz band. Outside was warm, the air barely beginning its descent into a crisp breeze of autumn. She would relish in it until winter came and she found herself bundled in massive layers, trying to fend off the chill that always tried to reach into her bones.
In her car, her case sat idle in the other seat staring at her with anticipation for her to open it and study her notes. One week certainly wasn't enough to divulge all information about the towering mech, but she had to have something on him. A small way she could open the door to reach him. She'd already shown a way she could be trusted, by breaking the one thing that continued the narrative of humanities hate toward him. She'd shown herself to be at least one human who showed care toward him. An act that did not receive the reaction she was hoping for. Then again, she had known it was only a start and he wouldn't trust her from one action.
Her car parked in her driveway and only then did she notice that her mind had gone into a dangerous level of autopilot, being that she barely knew the city well enough to drive subconsciously.
Sitting back in her seat she stared up at the ceiling. Her fingers reached for the sunroof cover and slid it back. Stars peaked through billowy gray clouds, then disappeared as the gray froth moved over them. She had two days this weekend to think it all over. To reminisce about the three days she'd had with him, find a new strategy, and try it this week.
And she surmised this would be how every week would be. To try something new, fail, reassess, and try again. It only made sense in a way. Megatron had eons of war under him, eons of anger, malice, brokenness. She'd only had her one life and ten years of being a trauma therapist under her own belt. It was nothing compared to him. The government thinking someone coming in to fix all that was almost laughable and she was only one part of the joke.
Her eyes drooped and she pulled herself from the car, not wanting the aches that would come from sleeping there. Dragging herself to her home, she allowed her thoughts to drain from her mind and become distant memories. Her body sunk into her bed as it reached it and she wanted to dream of ways to work, but black took over before she could even dive into her first one.