Felicity Jones (hopentrust) wrote in supernextdoor, @ 2012-06-08 19:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | 10.10.11, felicity, felicity and jd, jd |
People Will Always Need Someone to Talk to
Who: JD and Felicity
What: First session
Where: Walter Reed Medical Center
When: 10.10 - Late Monday Morning
Warnings: Language, most likely.
Two days. Two more days. He just had to keep telling himself that. Of course, his getting released in two days was dependant on him passing a mandatory psych test. Just in case he’d bitched and moaned and pushed himself too hard to get to this point, just so he could go home and give his handgun a blowjob. Because that made sense. Apparently he was getting a new therapist today, one who wasn’t directly involved with the military. His ‘problems with authority’ were getting in the way of his recovery, seemingly. Like he cared.
Shifting irritably on his bed, he flicked through the tv channels, each one more boring than the last. Vince had been by, dropped off a couple of magazines, but they weren’t holding his attention for long, either. Too many reminders of how much fun people with legs were having. Riding motorbikes, driving fast cars, fucking beautiful women. All things he wouldn’t be doing for a long time, if ever. Hard not to feel a little resentful.
Felicity scanned the charts as she walked towards the hospital room of Daniel Pierson. Who preferred to be called JD. He was a double above the knee amputee who'd basically displayed absolutely no unusual mental issues to that kind of loss. While the veterans administration had always been good to Dave medically, their mental healthcare program left much to be desired. They had a tendency just to dope up the vet and pay them to sit around and do nothing. Which was the wrong way to treat a man (or woman) who'd been in active duty.
Stepping into the room, she gave the nurse a smile. "I already signed Mr. Pierson off the ward for the afternoon," she told the woman, who looked surprised. "Would you be a doll and get him some clothes? Thanks." Turning her attention to JD himself, she smiled brightly. "Well, hello there," she greeted. "I'm Felicity Jones, your new psychologist. So how's about you and me blow this place and go grab some food that wasn't flash frozen and steamed to boiling hot?"
JD blinked at the woman who’d just walked in. She wasn’t wearing a white coat or a holier-than-thou attitude, so that ruled out doctor...and then she was speaking, and it all fell into place. Great. His new shrink. “Um...” he looked down at the tshirt and sweatpants he was wearing, both emblazoned with the Walter Reed logo. “What’s wrong with the clothes I’m wearing, Doc?” He drawled, eyeing her curiously, clearly sizing her up. “Not that I’m complaining if you wanna buy me food, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going anywhere that this isn’t acceptable.”
Felicity laughed. "Actually, the veteran's administration is picking up the tab," she explained. "So you might want to go for something better than McDonald's. But if that's what you want, I don't mind. Mind if I have a seat?"
“God, don’t tease me,” JD groaned, unable to help himself. The woman was offering him fast food - how was he supposed to resist? McDonalds sounded pretty much like heaven right now. He waved a hand at the chair. “Pretty sure you’re not gonna leave if I say no, so go ahead,” he murmured, picking at the blanket covering his legs, avoiding looking at the empty space below his stumps.
Felicity settled down in the chair. "Well, then, McDonald's it is," she declared. "But last chance on the change of clothes. I'm sure your nurse has other things to be doing right now." The woman had come back with a bag and offered it to JD. "Then we'll get out of here."
The nurse didn't look happy about this, but she couldn't exactly argue. "Do you need any help changing?" the disgruntled medical worker asked, hoping the man would say no. The nurses drew lots to deal with JD. Unfortunately for this one, she'd lost two days in a row and was just about ready to push the man out the window in frustration.
JD took the bag from the nurse, giving her the stinkeye. “No,” he insisted stubbornly, leaning forward enough to tug his tshirt over his head, switching it for the plain red one in the bag. He pulled out the jeans, looking dubiously at them - they were some sort of dark gray color, rather than...jean-colored. Fuck it. He’d take what he could get. “Uh...are you just gonna sit there and watch me?” He arched an eyebrow at Felicity, coolly. Because yeah, this wasn’t a strip show. He rolled onto his side, trying to tug down one side of his sweatpants, cursing quietly in frustration when his boxers rolled down with them. Great. He couldn’t even dress himself easily. They were really gonna let him leave now.
The woman happily fled. Felicity chuckled, shaking her head. "That explain the condolences they gave me when I signed in," she teased. "Keeping them on their toes huh?" She was about to leave when he started struggling with his sweats. "Would you like some help?" she offered. "I don't mind waiting if you want to do it yourself. But I promise not to put my hands anywhere inappropriate if I do help,"
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, tugging at his boxers, rolling onto his other hip to ease the sweatpants down. He shoved his bed covers off, stripping the pants off completely, leaving him in his boxers and the compression bandages he’d been wearing on his stumps to keep the swelling down. Looking down at his stumps, he realised that she’d said McDonald’s. Which meant leaving the hospital. Which meant being seen in public. Shit. “Can you call the nurse back?” He asked, through gritted teeth. “I need help getting the...prostheses on.”
"Nope, gonna have to take the chair," she said. "Sorry, doctor's orders. Seems somebody isn't good with those. I can only bend the rules for you so much. So hurry up, because I'm starving. I'll be in the hall."
JD just gaped at her. “I’m not going out like this,” he said, gesturing to his stumps. “No way.” Yeah, he’d been pushing himself. Maybe too hard. But it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it? He wasn’t staying in the hospital a moment longer than he had to - and if he had to walk a certain distance unaided in order to persuade the doctors that he could...well.
Felicity shook her head. "I'm sorry," she told him. "But overdoing it has caused damage to your skin. Even wearing the prosthetics the way they are now will just rub them more and make it worse. We can go through the drive thru if you want and then to my office if that would be better. No one will see you there. Except my secretary and she's probably at lunch anyway." It was a compromise.
JD gritted his teeth. And folded his arms. And Looked at her. “And what if I say no?” He asked her, quietly. “What are you gonna do then, Doc?” His stomach growled loudly, protesting the thought of no junk food. But just about the only damn thing JD had left was his pride. He wasn’t giving it up that easy.
"Then we don't go," she said, shrugging. "I am trying to cheer you up, not give you more stress. You don't need more stress. You are not a child, Mr. Pierson. You're an adult who can make his own decisions. If no prosthetics is a deal breaker for you, we'll scrap the idea entirely. The choice is yours."
JD thought about it for a moment. Food that didn’t taste like wallpaper paste, and the risk of being seen in public, stared at, pitied. Or staying in this room, and keep a poor excuse for dignity. “Fuck it,” he muttered, tugging the jeans on, wriggling awkwardly into them. He managed to get them fastened, looking expectantly at her as he pulled on a zip-up sweatshirt over top of everything. “Fine, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Felicity smiled and grabbed his wheelchair and moved it over next to the bed. "This good?" she asked, well aware he was capable of getting into it on his own. He had more dignity left than he thought. "Let's blow this place. It's depressing." Hospitals usually were. They were all sterile white walls and sickness and it wasn't conductive to healing at all. Research proved it. Nobody listened though.
“Yeah,” JD muttered, levering himself into the chair, tucking the ends of his jeans underneath his thighs. He snorted at her statement about the hospital, shaking his head as he looked up at her. “Gee, Doc, you think? It’s a hospital. Of course it’s fucking depressing.” He wheeled himself towards the door, glad once again that they’d issued him with one of the chairs with handrails on the wheels. It saved him the slight indignity of being pushed around by people.
She shook her head and smiled. JD was trying to be offensive. And not succeeding very well. He didn't really know who he was dealing with. She wasn't about to clue him in either. He was very good at getting himself around in the wheelchair already, so she made no move to push the chair or anything else. "So you're about ready for release, I hear," she said as they waited for the elevator.
“Just about,” JD nodded, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. He shifted back and forth idly, bumping the foot pedals of his wheelchair against the elevator doors, leaving black rubber scuffmarks against the brushed steel finish. Petty, childish, but it wasn’t like he cared. “End of this week, I get my marching orders.” Not literally - he’d never get orders again, not from the Army.
Felicity didn't say anything about the marks he was leaving. He wasn't hurting anything and he clearly needed to vent. "You're obviously ready to get out of here," she agreed. "Not that I blame you. The VA really needs to consider modernizing. There's nothing like blinding white walls and olive drab blankets to make a person wants to scream in boredom."
Snorting, JD stopped, looking up at her. “Yeah, because the US Government is known for throwing money at things like hospitals, healthcare, veterans....” he pointed out, voice a relaxed, casual drawl. Totally at odds with the tightness around his eyes, the snarky words. The elevator pinged, doors opening before he could go back to leaving black marks all over them, and he wheeled himself inside, spinning around smoothly to face the doors. He’d gotten the hang of his chair pretty quickly - sometimes, he didn’t even mind using it.
She scoffed at that, following him into the elevator and hitting the level for the lobby. From what she could see, JD was more than capable of functioning outside the hospital environment. At least physically. The fact he was agreeing to go out to eat even though he didn't have his legs and in a wheelchair spoke volumes about how much more mentally stable he was than his assessment said. He wasn't suicidal, he was angry and depressed though. Which was understandable, considering what the man had been through. "Touche," she teased. "Sorry, I know what you mean. It doesn't mean I approve anymore than you do."
“So why work for the system?” He asked, looking at her reflection in the elevator doors, finding that easier than craning his neck to look up at her face. “If it sucks that bad.” Not that JD was any better - he was in the goddamn Army. Technically. For two more days. He hadn’t been issued his discharge yet.
Felicity shook her head. "I consult for the system," she explained. "See, you gave the hospital therapist fits, because he has too many patients and not enough time for them. Because of the aforementioned lack of proper funding. So they brought in me. I volunteered for this, by the way. My brother is an honorably discharged vet. Call it my way of saying thank you for everything you guys do." The elevator dinged and she stepped out and out of his way.
JD was about to ask why, why she bothered. But she explained it before he had a chance to. He fell silent, following her out of the elevator, towards the main doors. Walter Reed was set on expanses of private grounds, so there was no sudden bustle, but still. Still. Going out to the parking lot, getting into her car, was the closest thing to freedom that JD had had in months. He took a deep breath, slowly edging his way through the door, down the ramp. “Your brother injured?” He asked at last, looking up at her. “Or did he do his twenty and quit?”
Felicity kept her pace with him, although it wasn't that hard considering how good he was with his wheelchair. It was a good sign. "He was injured while deployed," she said. "It was about eleven years ago. But much to my chagrin, their mental healthcare hasn't improved much in that time." She opened the passenger side door and held it for JD, so he could lever himself into the car easier.
“Like I said,” JD muttered, wheeling himself up as close as he could get to the car, making use of the handle at the inner edge of the doorframe to lever himself inside. He’d already been in pretty good shape - his arms had only gotten stronger since he’d been Stateside, and cleared to do any sort of working out. “Army doesn’t like spending money it doesn’t need to.” He tucked the legs of his jeans up again, only now realising that he hadn’t once had to tell her to get out the way, decline an offer of help. She’d trusted him to tell her if he needed it. That meant a lot, considering that JD had spent the past few months as nothing more than a patient, another body to be healed and tossed out the door.
"I know," Felicity admitted. "That's why I volunteer. Especially in this economy. The only people who are doing well is the mental healthcare business and the sex industry." She waited until he was settled and if he needed help closing door to go around to the driver's side and get in. "So what are you ordering anyway?" she asked. "I'm trying to decide if this is 'kill my arteries' day or if I should try to eat healthy."
JD let out a shocked bark of laughter, grinning as she got into the car. “I like you, Doc,” he said. “You’re...not really what I expected.” She was miles away from the other shrinks he’d had to deal with. “And please, like you can go to McDonald’s and be healthy.” He scoffed at the thought. His mouth was already watering at the thought of all that wonderful, greasy, deep-fried food.
Felicity grinned. "Thanks," she said. "You're not too bad yourself." She was a different kind of therapist, taking a more unorthodox view on her work. It was more effective than people expected, even if the most basic tenet was 'Treat people like people.' It was amazing how other therapists forgot that rule. Especially considering how good the results were when you did. "I suppose that's a point. I'll just have to behave myself next week. I am not cooking this week much, because of the full moon. Too busy."
He frowned, confused. “Why busy?” He eyed her thoughtfully. “Are you a were?” He’d known a couple in his time - Vince, for example. He could see how it would be problematic, workwise. Thankfully it wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with, beyond working around Vince.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "But a lot of my regular clients are. So the day of they're panicking and understandably upset. The day after, they're tired and upset. The full moon is really rough for cursed weres. They lose control of themselves completely. There's nothing to be done for it. Even with sedation and confinement, it's still very traumatizing. So the full moon is always busy for me."
JD nodded, distracted by looking out the window, seeing the outside world for the first time in what felt like years. He hadn’t really thought about what it would be like for cursed weres - he could see them needing a therapist, far more than he thought he needed one.
She just let him look. It'd probably been awhile since he'd been out. There was no reason to say anything about it. He needed a therapist as badly as the rest of her clients, even if it was just to have someone to vent at who wouldn't take it personally. "Okay, almost there," she declared as she pulled into the lot. "What's your poison today?"
“Uh...double Quarter Pounder, fries, iced tea, Spicy Chicken McBites, aaaand,” he peered at the sign. “A hot fudge sundae.” Hell, if he wasn’t paying, he was getting as much out of this as he could. Also, he was fucking starving. He’d been living off hospital food for way too long. “I hope you’re not gonna behave,” he murmured, hint of a teasing smile on his face as they joined the queue for the Drive-thru.
"Yeah, I'm gonna be bad," she said. She ordered a Spicy Chicken Club sandwich, fries, and a Rolo McFlurry. "So my place or yours? We can take this back to the hospital or we can go to my office and play hooky a little longer. They said you're done with PT for the day."
“Your office,” JD answered immediately, holding the bag of food on his lap. “I’m not going back there any earlier than I need to.” Because yeah, he’d spent way too much time staring at the same four walls. He desperately needed a break. Even if that meant spending time at his therapist’s office. It couldn’t be any worse than some of the sessions he’d been subjected to at the hospital.
Felicity nodded. "Works for me," she agreed. "Relax, I'm not going to psychoanalyze you today. You've had enough of that. From what I can see, you're fine for release. You still need therapy, but you're not so depressed you don't want to get out of bed. You want out of that hospital bed enough to push yourself too hard. That's a good sign. And perfectly understandable. I want to talk to you next week, when you've had a chance to settle into your place. Then we can talk about how you're handling the transition. So for now, just relax and enjoy not being cooped up and having real food."
JD rolled his shoulders, making a visible effort at relaxing. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmured. He liked that she wasn’t pressuring him to talk about things, that she hadn’t even asked how he was feeling. He always felt under pressure from the other therapists, like they were judging every damn thing he did. “So you’re not gonna run away and turn me over to the next doctor?” He asked, his tone lighter than the words perhaps suggested. He’d gotten used to being the ‘troubled’ patient, even if he didn’t think there was anything for them to be concerned about.
Pressuring people to talk never worked. When JD was ready to talk, he would. Until then, the best thing she could do was re-humanize him. Because he'd been a patient and soldier so long, that was the piece he was really missing. "Nope," she said. "You're not as scary as you think you are. I'll stop by next week after you're settled in. You can show me your new place." There was no reason to push him hard. JD was already doing that too much himself.
JD snorted. “You haven’t seen me on a bad day, yet.” The other doctors had had shitty timing; they always seemed to want to talk to him when he’d just finished PT, when he was aching and shaking and had just spent a couple of hours being reminded how weak he was. Felicity had much better luck; today was a good day, even if he was still a little pissed that she hadn’t let him wear his legs.
Felicity chuckled. "Bring it on," she told him. "Besides, I'm tougher than I look." She reached over and stole one of his fries. Really, JD wasn't as bad as he wanted to be.
Narrowing his eyes at her, JD shifted the bag out of her reach. “Hey, you should be driving,” he pointed out. “Not stealing my lunch.” Because seriously? She could have fries anytime. He hadn’t had any in months. Grabbing a couple of fries out of the bag, he munched on them, groaning softly. “Oh my God, I forgot how fucking good fast food was...” He took a gulp of his iced tea, letting out a quiet ‘ahhhh’ of satisfaction.
She smiled and finished the fry. Yes, they were already making progress, because he was relating to her as a person and not a doctor to enduring their prodding him. "It really is," she agreed. "There's just something about it. It takes you a nice, comforting place where all the crap disappears for a minute." She dug into her own bag and grabbed some of her own fries. "Of course, that's how comfort food is supposed to work. Take you back to a simpler time when everything wasn't so complicated. It's ridiculously effective too."
“Does that mean I can order takeout with the excuse that it’s medicinal?” He pointed out, stuffing another handful of fries into his mouth. JD’s manners were...coarse, to say the least. He wasn’t used to polite company. And he didn’t really care what other people thought of him, any more. He had bigger things to worry about.
Felicity laughed. "Sure," she said. "If it makes you feel that much better. Definitely." She wasn't conventional, that's for sure. And it was working, to. JD was already relaxing, joking around and talking openly with her. It just had taken treating him like a human being. "Now, getting the state to pay for it along with your medications might take some doing." She chuckled.
The difference that being treated normally had made to JD just showed how long it had been since he’d been treated as anything but a burden, a difficult patient. He wasn’t worried about impressing her, about how he came across - she was his shrink, he was pretty sure being himself around her was kind of the idea. “Hey, it’s cheaper than therapy,” he pointed out.
Exactly the idea. He was supposed to be himself. Felicity laughed again. "I don't know," she said. "Fast food is getting pretty expensive."
JD just arched an eyebrow at her. “And therapy isn’t? DC’s almost as bad as New York, everyone has a therapist.” Not that it was something that had ever concerned him - he didn’t need a shrink, after all. Or hadn’t, until the explosion.
She chuckled again. "Probably is," she agreed. "I can't really complain though. It is how I make my living. Of course, if I had my way, I'd need a new career. But people will always need someone to talk to they can trust. So maybe I wouldn't decide I want to be out of a job."
JD shrugged. “Everyone needs someone to talk to, Doc. Even me. Even if it’s not as a therapist...” he shrugged. “You could still make a living.”
Felicity smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That's really all a therapist is. Someone to talk to, talk at, bounce ideas off of; while you work things out for yourself. Or how it should be. People, especially psychologists, forget that."