Thou shall do thy paperwork, eventually (sean)

Whenever Sean described his job to other people, invariably he received a comment – similar in spirit if not precisely phrased – of “It must be great to just talk to people all day.” While he did enjoy direct person-to-person interaction, it was a gross misunderstanding of his profession to think that all he did was talk to people. As though patient records updated themselves through good feelings.

Without a doubt, the aspect of his job that he most enjoyed was talking to the students. Through talk therapy, or through other forms of therapy that he employed, they were able to make life improvements for their futures. The psychiatrist enjoyed imparting advice and helping others work through problems.

Yet, even with some of his less orthodox methods, there were records to maintain. Confidential records that would be shared with nobody else still had to be written down for the dual purposes of accountability and further progress. While Sean had a strong memory, it wasn’t infallible, and he kept detailed notes.

Making those notes was often difficult, if not impossible, to do during individual sessions, as he had to give the students his undivided attention.

As such, when he wasn’t engaged in a session, there was often paperwork to be done. Paperwork that he could set aside for visitors, but which occupied his time nonetheless. The stack of files on his desk was a testament to that.

Upon hearing the knock and the familiar voice, the telepath glanced down at Sam Rixon’s file, making a final note. “Come in, Yulia.”

Exciting wasn’t synonymous with pleasant. Spending half his life at Hammel made that abundantly obvious. He would prefer pleasant and low-key to exciting any day of the week.

Sean followed the motions of her hand, gaze falling on the folder she held. He then nodded a single time in acknowledgement; it was, apparently one of those days for filling out paperwork. It had to be done. “So it does.”

When she offered the folder to him, the telepath reached out with one large hand to grasp it. As she described its contents, he thumbed through the papers, confirming what they were – not because he didn’t trust her assessment, but because the visual confirmation would help him to sort through later.

“Nothing unusual is an accomplishment for the week,” Sean remarked, offering her a smile. This was Hammel, after all. Considering that they often had to cope with wayward powers, adolescent emotions and relationship drama, in addition to the typical stresses of operating a school, the lack of anything unusual was remarkable indeed. Or it simply spoke volumes about what the baseline at Hammel was, and so Yulia had been subject to antics on the scale of Vincent Verax.

“I’m fine,” he replied, as he finished his brief mental inventory of the papers. Setting the folder down in his “to do” pile, he then gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, indicating that she should sit if she had a minute or two to spare. “With the weather turning nicer, I hope to actually get out to the lake this weekend.” He and Josh would enjoy spending some time on the water.

“And how are you?”

Sean nodded his understanding. While he didn’t feel that way about all of the students, there were some who, when quiet, were only so because they were plotting something terrible. Vincent came immediately to mind, followed by Harmony, who had yet to fully come to terms with her status as a student. To think that there were at least another four or five years with her boded poorly, given her powers. “At least it’s only another month and a half until summer break. If everyone can focus on the end goal, we can plow through the last of the term without a major disaster.”

Then they would return for the new term, beginning with his sexual education lecture. He hadn’t begun to prepare for it yet.

He smiled at the thought of the lake. “I think so too.” That was his hope. He wanted to spend a few carefree hours there with his family, simply enjoying the act of sailing and the stillness of the water.

“Have you found an apartment?” The telepath asked, giving her his full attention. There was a fair amount of turnover with housing in Pilot Ridge, due to the transitory nature of some of the residents. He was sure that there were plenty of available apartments. “And when are you moving? I can try to lend a hand.” Granted, at his age, he wasn’t that useful for moving boxes, but he had been able to do have the job with Josh two years ago. He could move books and clothing if nothing else, should she want the help.

Sean spread his hands in front of him. “Honestly, I don’t know how you and the other trainers can do what you do.” He had never considered, even for a moment, becoming a trainer. Not merely because it had been expected that he would go to medical school, but because he couldn’t fathom, on a personal level, engaging in power training day in and day out. As much as he admired his mentor, the telepath could admit to himself that he wasn’t Robert Hopkins.

As for his work, Sean said, “Teenagers always feel everything so keenly; it’s the curse of adolescence. All we can do is try to give them a healthy, positive environment in which to grow.” After two decades at Hammel, the telepath was certain that, for the most part, they provided the students with that environment.