Merton Swann (headdoctor) wrote in genomeproject, @ 2008-03-24 14:25:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | log, merton swann, peter petrelli |
How Exactly Does One Deal With This? [Log: Peter]
Merton only occasionally received case information on trauma victims. Usually, they were recommended to sources outside of the hospital, people with far more experience in dealing with these types of situations. But there was a notation of resistance to the idea in the file along with a few other worrying statements. It didn't help, either, that the name on the file was achingly familiar. Sighing softly to himself, Merton carefully crossed out the areas that noted 'paranoia' and 'delusions of grandeur' before closing the file, tucking it under his arm and his pen behind his ear as he gathered up the books that he'd been reading (a couple language texts and a book on slight of hand) to take with him just in case Peter was still about as open to the idea of talking to him as he had been before.
Pausing at the door to his office, Merton turned back inside, moving over to the closet, sorting through the junk that had been stored in there before tugging out his spare winter coat and draping it over his arm. Better safe than sorry.
Peter was in the living room when the doorbell rang. He stood, and put a force field around himself before going to open the door. Maybe he was a little paranoid, but was it really considered paranoia when there really were people after you?
He was a bit tense as the door opened, but his expression turned flat and lightly suspicious when he opened the door to see the psychiatrist. "Doctor Swann," he said with a nod of greeting. "Who are you here for today?"
"You, oddly enough," Merton said, offering Peter a slight smile. "Don't worry. I came quite prepared," He said, holding up the coat before taking a swift step inside before the door could be slammed in his face. "And before you ask, no, your mother didn't send me this time."
Peter let out a sigh. "Fantastic. I know it wasn't the hospital. So, what? NYPD? Psych referral and follow up?"
He shut the door after Merton had stepped inside. "I suppose you heard the latest news, then." It didn't really surprise him. Just annoyed him. He was insistent that he didn't need help, didn't need therapy, but all the world seemed eager to force the idea on him.
"Quite," Merton said, nodding as he looked over at Peter. "Not exactly the most pleasant news, but I'm guessing you're still just as resistant to the idea of talking to someone as ever?" Merton was being excessively flippant. He knew that. But the direct approach certainly didn't work. And while he could try to be subtle, he almost always ended up slipping somewhere. Perhaps acting like it was no big deal would make it easier.
"I don't see the point," Peter admitted. "It's not like a miracle cure just to talk about something that happened. You weren't there, no one was but me and Alexej, and his opinions are nothing like mine. There are things that can't really be communicated. Other things that I know to be true, that no one else would agree on."
He shrugged. "And you're not completely convinced that you believe in what we can do. You believe you believe, but you wonder. You don't even know that you're like us."
"It's not a cure. There are very few things that can cure anything, physical and even less for the mental and emotional," Merton said, shifting what he was carrying to one arm, looking up at Peter. "And as it is, I doesn't matter whether I agree or disagree with you. That isn't my job. And as far as what I believe," Merton said before pausing at Peter's last statement, that bringing his whole train of thought to a crashing halt.
"Excuse me? What?"
Perhaps that had been a bit mean, to bring up Merton's status as an Evo, but it certainly changed the topic and shifted focus from Peter to Swann. Peter lunged at the shift, and ran with it.
"I've told you before that I can pick up abilities from others. I can also sense what abilities others have. You have one. Nothing major. It's possible you never noticed. But it's an intuitive understanding of anything you read about. You read about something, you understand the concepts perfectly. How To books must be pretty useful things for you."
Merton stared at Peter for a long moment before a frown spread across his face, "You know, it's not productive to make up things in order to divert my attention."
Peter smiled then, a real smile, hiding a snicker. "Doctor Swann, why would I make up something like that? Innate understanding of reading material? Do you realize how lame that sounds in comparison to some of the other things I could think up? The other things I have?"
He shrugged. "It's pretty interesting, though. I've been reading some books on kendo and samurai fighting styles. It's been helping a lot."
Merton furrowed his brow, half confused and half insulted even if he wasn't really sure whether he should be insulted or not. "Innate understanding of reading material is usually referred to as intelligence. Which is why I believe that you're just feeding me a load of BS."
Peter raised an eyebrow. His eyes fell on the baby grand piano in the next room, and he nodded towards it. "Ever read a book on how to play the piano, Dr. Swann?" he asked, moving into the next room and waving for Merton to join him.
"A few," Merton said, looking over at Peter. "Why?"
"How long ago? And how much have you played?"
Peter stood beside the piano, and flipped through the book of sheet music resting atop of it.
"Couple years ago," Merton said, frowning at he looked down at the piano. "And whenever I got the chance. I've got a keyboard, but I don't use it much since... Well, I work quite a bit."
"Have you ever tried to play Bach? The Goldberg Variations, specifically?"
He was deliberately picking an extremely difficult piece of music. Just to prove a point.
"Can't say I've even heard of it," Merton said, looking over at Peter before leaning forward to look at the sheet music that was on the piano.
Peter nodded, and opened up the book to Variatio 15, Canone alla Quinta, a 1 Clav. "Variation 15, in G Minor. It's a beautiful piece to hear. I just want to see if you can manage it."
Merton shrugged slightly, "I'll give it a try," He said, slipping down on the bench and scanning the notes for a moment before raising his hands to the keyboard and starting to play...in a ridiculously flawless manner. The way that he would going through the notes in such a fluid way, moving from one measure to the next with absolute ease and no sign of faltering whatsoever. He hadn't looked from the notes, his fingers moving almost of their own accord as his eyes stayed glued on the pages, pausing only to turn them.
When he reached the end of the piece, Merton shifted back from the piano, resting his hands in his lap.
Peter was expecting a solid performance, but this level of expertise still surprised him. The music sounded beautifully melancholic, and the fading notes of the open fifth at the end left him awed, but craving more. The exact effect the music was meant to elicit.
After a moment, he looked at Merton. "How many lessons did you say you've had?"
"None, actually," Merton said, raising a hand to adjust his glasses. "Why?"
"Because you just played a piece normally reserved for senior pianists, in a manner that a graduate level piano scholar at Juliard would be proud of. And you've never seen it before."
"Is that unusual, then?" Merton asked with a sheepish smile, raising a hand to run through his hair. He'd always just figured this was how most people learned. It was how he learned most things, after all. Just a couple months of study, and he had them down perfectly. His teachers had always called it genius.
"Incredibly. It takes years of training to reach that level of skill. You read a few books. If it was that easy, the entertainment industry would be swamped with people wanting to play music."
Peter shrugged. "It's not a bad thing. It's just how you are."
"Seems like cheating to me..." Merton said softly, idly tapping on a few of the keys on the piano. "I always figured that was how everyone learned."
Peter frowned. "It's not cheating. You're using your mind, using your brain. Was Mozart cheating when he wrote all of his compositions? No. Albert Einstein? No. They used what they had. So are you. Though it's still a note to your intelligence how well you're able to grasp those skills. That... you didn't just play the notes, there was beauty in that piece you just played. Books can't teach you that."
Merton bit his tongue. He wanted to argue. He wanted to growl at Peter that Mozart and Einstein didn't have some thing in the back of their head making everything easier for them, didn't have something giving them manufactured shortcuts. All of the work that he'd thought he'd put in now was in vain. He'd never actually done any of it himself. He'd not been brilliant. He'd not been quick and skilled. He'd just been... been... Whatever this was.
Raising a hand, Merton pressed it against his temple as he closed his eyes, "Why did you have to tell me this?"
Merton's thoughts were an open book to Peter. As he reviewed the last page of information, Peter rolled his eyes. "For such an incredibly intelligent person, you're remarkably stupid, you know that?"
Peter took a seat. "Mozart and Einstein had larger cranial cavities in their brains. They had something extra that made them who they were. We'll never get to know if they were evolved or not, but that much is true. Intelligence is a measure of what the brain can accomplish. You're genetically superior in that respect. Genetically. It's a part of you. Something innate, something you were born with. It's not as though there's a piece of alien technology in your head, storing up this information. You're the one who chose to utilize your intelligence and your gift to help others. Even the sorry saps like me who don't want to be bothered."
"And who are remarkably good at derailing the previous intention for me to be here," Merton said, rubbing his temple a bit more as he looked up at Peter over his glasses. "I do see what you're doing, you know."
Peter shrugged. "Doesn't make what I've said any less true. No matter what my intent was."
"I suppose..." Merton said, trailing off as he sighed, scratching his head before turning his gaze back up to Peter. "Still, we're supposed to be talking about you, not me."
Peter let out a sigh, running a hand across his face and hair. "I guess I don't have any choice this time, do I?"
"I'm not going to tie you down and force you, if that's what you mean," Merton said, frowning. "But no, I'm not supposed to leave until I have a report to send back to the department on your current mental stability."
And not answering any questions would certainly give a less than favorable report. Peter sighed again, and nodded back towards the living room, where he nestled into his favorite armchair and waited for Swann to take a seat as well.
"So," he said. "Where do you want to start?"
Merton followed Peter, taking a seat across from him, setting his books down on the couch next to him and keeping the coat close as he looked over at Peter, "Normally, I would say the beginning, but for our purposes, why don't we skip all the other potential problems and just focus on the ones that the department wants an answer to," He said. "How have you been coping since the abduction, Peter?"
Peter turned his head, looking at the wall. "Fine, I would say. I'm home, with my family. I'm working, since I'm a stay-at-home nurse right now. Eating, sleeping, all that good stuff I'm supposed to be doing."
"Hm," Merton said softly, frowning over at Peter. "How often do you eat? And how many hours a day do you sleep? Have you discussed what happened with any of your family members? Or have you been acting like it never happened in the first place?"
"I eat three meals a day, and get six to seven hours of sleep each night," Peter recited. "My brother and Adam know what happened."
He was keeping his answers as brief and concise as possible.
"Peter..." Merton said, frowning softly over at him. "If you lie to me, I can't help you," He said. "And them knowing and you telling them are two very different things."
"There's nothing to tell," he said. Peter hadn't moved his eyes from the wall, now propping his chin up on his hand to hide the way it trembled. "I was asleep the whole time. I don't remember most of it."
"Which means you still remember part of it," Merton pointed out as he peered over at Peter. "And you know, it's not going to kill you to look at me. I think I'm much more interesting than the wall. That is...unless you're scared of what I might see if I get a clear look at your face."
Peter shut his eyes, his hand curlling into a fist that was pressed over his lips for a moment. "What good does it do?" he said, his voice soft. "Huh? What good does it do to say I was scared? I don't know what I was afraid of... I didn't think he would hurt me. But I was powerless. Completely powerless, in a way that I haven't been in... months. It was bad enough when I thought it was voluntary, but this guy? He was trying to take everything I had. Abilities I don't even trust myself with. And he was insane. There would be no restrictions. No one could stop him. And there wasn't anything I could do about it."
"It does more good than you'd think, Peter," Merton said, his voice equally as soft, a gentle imploring edge to it. "You were scared for the potential danger."
"It was so easy for him, too. Just a stab with a syringe full of barbiturates, and I was his. Who else could find me like that? Anyone. Absolutely anyone. And God knows there's plenty of people who'd want to."
He moved his hand to his forehead, keeping him upright. "I didn't want this. any of this. But it's what I am, who I am, and I can't change it. But sometimes, it's just... so hard."
Merton nodded slowly, a soft frown crossing his face. He couldn't even imagine what it was like, and frankly, he didn't even want to. "Hard how?"
"It's hard..." Peter let out a breath. "It's hard trying to play normal. I'm not normal. I'm not close to normal. The only limits I have are the ones I put on myself. I don't need to eat as often. I don't need to sleep much. I won't get sick. I don't feel cold. I can see the color of emotions. I can hear stormclouds forty miles away. I can see the future, I can travel to the past. I've died more times than I really want to remember. But I can't forget anything. Ever."
Merton frowned over at Peter, his worry growing with each new statement that was added to the lot of them. It was next to impossible for Merton to think about functioning normally with all of that going on, especially in the ways that families tend to fret over. Not needing to eat or sleep was libel to make a mother fuss quite a bit.
"Dealing by not dealing isn't good for you. Especially with everything that you're trying to cope with at the same time."
"And how exactly does one deal with this, Doctor?" Peter snapped, glaring lightly at Swann. "Go through the motions, try to retain normalcy. But people worry, so you try to hide the fact that you only slept two hours yesterday, or how you've put nothing but coffee in your stomach for the last day and a half. And it's not coffee keeping me awake. It's coffee that's keeping me sane, slowing down my head enough so I can focus my thoughts."
"I can't pretend to have any idea what you're going through right now, but pretending to keep other people from worrying is not healthy for you or for them," Merton said, frowning heavily at him. "It puts added pressure upon you when you clearly don't need anymore, and it prevents them from being in a position to truly understand your needs."
"I've tried telling them that I don't need to eat, I don't need to sleep. They tell me I'm pushing myself too hard. I need to slow down, take it easy. Relax." Peter shook his head. "They don't understand."
"You can't relax, can you?" Merton asked gently, peering over at Peter. "It's physically impossible?"
"It's... hard. Not impossible. But it's different. I relax by... juggling things. Flying. I need to do something. I can't just sit down and not do anything, not even to watch TV or a movie. I can't. I need to move. Be active."
"Have you explained that to them?"
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You have met my family, haven't you?" he asked. "I think they all have a bit too much on their plates to start worrying about what's going on with Peter this time."
Merton looked over at Peter with a soft frown, "You do realize that most people are more than willing to put things on hold in order to help someone that they care about, yes? Everyone has a lot of things to deal with, Peter. That doesn't mean that you have to sacrifice your own well being because of that."
"Some things can't be put on hold," Peter said. "Nathan's health. Adam's health, both physical and mental. He's still having nightmares. Heidi just found out a lot of things about the rest of us, I can't drop too much on her. Monty and Simon? They're too young to understand or do anything about it, even if they would believe that Uncle Pete is different now. And Mom..." Peter sighed and shook his head. I don't even know what to do with her."
He rested the side of his head against his hand, looking back at Swann. "Losing a little sleep, missing a few meals... my body doesn't need them, or I wouldn't be going without. So I go through the motions, and everyone seems better off. Once I know - once I'm familiar with how I need to live again, I'll tell them about all the changes, so we can adjust. It's just not time right now."
"Everyone but you."
"Everyone," Peter repeated. "I'm glad that they're okay. I'm helping them. That's what I do; I help. That's all I've ever wanted to do. That's why I became a nurse. And now... I'm still helping. I'm still doing what I think is right."
"By sacrificing your own well being?" Merton asked, frowning softly at Peter. "There's got to be a better way."
Peter chuckled lightly. "Six months ago, I met this guy named Isaac. He was an artist, a painter. He could paint the future. We were trying to figure out how to stop the bomb - he'd painted a huge mural of the explosion on the floor of his studio - and a set of paintings turned up. A cheerleader. Someone... a man from the future, had told me that in order to stop it all from happening, I had to save the cheerleader. 'Save the cheerleader, save the world.' When I got the last painting we needed, it showed a banner. Union Wells High School Homecoming. That's where she was going to be attacked. Sylar was going to try to kill her. But the painting showed me, too. Dead, soaked in blood, twisted up like... something horrible." He shut his eyes at the memory. "Everyone tried to stop me. If I went there, I'd die. Isaac's paintings hadn't been wrong before. But there was no one else. Save the cheerleader, save the world. So I went. And I saved her. And I died."
He looked up at Merton. "I didn't know she was a healer. I didn't know that she'd find me, and her ability would bring me back to life. Knowing that wouldn't have changed what I did. She had to be saved. There was no other way."
Merton stared at Peter for a long moment, not sure whether he believed what he was hearing. There was so much to that that was...quite frankly, hard to swallow. But the last part, the fact that he was willing to go to his death for someone that he didn't even know because of something that most people would have dismissed outright. It was nuts. It was absolutely insane.
But in a good way.
Raising a hand to rest against his forehead, Merton peered over at Peter with a soft sigh, "You're a big picture type, aren't you?"
Peter shrugged lightly. "I guess. Or destiny. I thought I was untouchable now. But a man with a syringe of barbs showed me differently. I guess if I'm going to die, I'd rather be doing something worthwhile."
A trace of a smile touched his lips. "But saving Claire did save the world. I found out weeks later that she was my neice. And it was her, and her words, that convinced Nathan to come and save me the night I exploded."
Merton smiled softly at Peter's expression, "Sometimes it is the smallest things that make the difference in the end," Merton said, shuffling his papers a bit as he looked down at his lap. Not that a life was a small thing at all. But a simple utterance of words was.
Peter nodded, slowly. He wasn't quite sure where to go from here. After a moment he looked at Merton. "Any other questions?"
"I think I have enough for a sufficient report," Merton said, glancing back up at Peter. "Anything else you want to talk about?"
"Just one question," he asked. He looked up at Merton, furrowing his brow slightly. "Insane... in a good way? Does that still count as insane?"
Merton peered at Peter, blushing a bit as he adjusted his glasses in embarrassment, "No, it doesn't. That wasn't a clinical opinion."
Peter lowered his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to... pick at your brain like that. Some people don't have much of a natural mental shield."
"It's all right," Merton said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm more embarrassed that I actually allowed that thought. It's just that what you did is not something that most people would even consider doing. I think most people would dub it suicidal."
"And yet, firemen aren't considered suicidal when they run into burning buildings to try and save the people inside." Peter shrugged. "I guess it just depends on your perception."
"Some people do consider that suicidal. I've read articles a few articles on individuals in high risk professions that make that argument," Merton said, glancing up at Peter and shrugging slightly. "I know I don't have any idea what you're going through, Peter. I don't have much of an idea what any of you are going to. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm willing to do what I can to help."
"I appreciate that," Peter said, with some honest feeling behind the words. "I'd appreciate it more to have some idea of how clean my bill of mental health is? Because if I'm unfit for work, I'd have to find a replacement for Adam and Nathan. Someone trustworthy."
As in, someone who wouldn't raise questions about healers, flight, telekinesis, or any of the other sorts of things that happened in this house.
"It's not spotless," Merton said, frowning softly. "But you're not quite at the point that you'd be considered unfit for work," He said, picking up the file and making a few notations. "Especially after negating all of the previous notations. I think this 'suicide attempt' with everything else jumbled on top of it was what made them push the file into the pile for immediate and urgent review."
"Suicide attempt?" Peter asked, puzzled. "Wait, from like, six months ago? Why would that push it into 'urgent review' now?"
"One suicide attempt on your record pretty much causes it to be tossed into the urgent attention pile whenever something even slightly nerve wrecking is added," Merton said, looking over at Peter. "Prolonged kidnapping is just slightly more than slightly."
Peter sighed. "It wasn't a suicide attempt. I was just trying to fly."
He quieted at the last statement. "I've been gone longer than three days before. I was locked up for four months. But I don't think anyone would call it 'kidnapping'. More like... 'contained'."
Merton nodded, "I'm going to work on getting the delusions and such expunged from both your and your brother's records."
Peter nodded. "Thank you. That would be appreciated." He got to his feet. "I'll see you out, then. Unless there's anything else?"
"No, nothing at all," Merton said, smiling at Peter as he stood. "And don't make a fuss. I'll show myself out."