I Can't Hold On To Me(Sean)

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Take's place immediately after Over The Borderline

Brooke hadn't moved an inch from her position of sitting against the side of her bed on the cold carpet. The window had never been closed, letting the cool fall air of Vermont circulate throughout the room. It was cold.

Not cold enough.

The girl had kept her gaze on the white wall for the hours until the sun started to creep over the hills and trees, lightening the sky in a blue as deep as the ocean. The wind blew again and rustled the sheared hair that had been left in piles on the carpet surrounding her.

Brooke closed her eyes and opened them in a long slow blink.

Her lips were dry.

She blinked again.

The sky was brighter.

The girl shifted her eyes to the floor and then up at the mirror above her vanity. How much time had passed, she wondered? And how much longer would it be before Sean found her?

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Once upon a time, there might have been rumors that Sean slept at Hammel, given the amount of overtime he worked. After all, he had lived alone, and at least by keeping longer hours at Hammel, he was making himself productive. However, now that he and Josh lived together, and that they had taken in Bailey as a foster child, he had limited his overtime so that his hours were more typical of a professional work week.

However, since Hammel had an early first bell, the psychiatrist began his day early, after bringing Bailey to her first class. This gave him time to do paperwork and to tend to others matters before his first session of the day. That also gave him the ability to check in with various people, particularly since he was privy to their relative statuses by virtue of being in his range. Some, more than others, warranted his check-ins.

This was what made him particularly sensitive to Brooke.

He had been working with the girl for years, and he was attuned to her. He knew of her cycles, and this was, in part, why they had their weekly sessions, and why he kept her to that schedule.

This was also why he was concerned for her with what he sensed. As such, once first bell had rung and the other students were in class, he went up to the girl’s dormitory. He checked in with the housing staff to let them know that he was there, for the sake of propriety. Then, with a quick stride, he approached Brooke’s bedroom, and he knocked to announce himself. “Brooke?” He called, not entering until she gave him permission to do so. “It’s Doctor Neville. May I come in?”

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Brooke didn't want to move. She didn't want to stay there. She didn't want to do anything.

But she did want someone to find her, to hear her silent pleas. Even if she never said anything, she hoped that someone would notice. And that someone thus far, had always been Dr. Neville. Even though she knew it was just because of his telepathy, she was thankful that there was at least someone in her life who could tell these things without her having to do much.

Which was why she was waiting for him to save her. To come get her.

He always came.

Though, despite everything she wanted, Brooke still didn't want to move to open the door, nor did she want to speak to grant him entry. No…she was also afraid to have him come in and see her like this. But she would feel even worse if he left without her.

Brooke pulled her knees up and buried her head within them. After a long silence, she finally mumbled, "Yes…."

Dr. Neville was going to be so disappointed in her, she just knew it.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean remained outside of the door, waiting patiently for her to react to his announced presence. If Brooke was suffering from a severe depressed episode (which was what he sensed from her and was certainly within the realm of possibilities), then he understood that there could be a delayed response. He was prepared to stand outside of her door for as long as necessary, since he wouldn’t enter her dormitory room unbidden, and he considered this an emergency situation that superseded any other obligations that might occur in the intervening time.

Her reply was barely audible, just barely, but it came, and the psychiatrist strained to hear it. With that, he opened the door to the room and went immediately to her individual bedroom.

Peering inside, he saw her curled up on her bed, which was, unfortunately, what he had expected. At least she was physically safe at the moment, which was his primary concern.

He then crossed the threshold and found the desk chair, pulling it out so that he could sit down.

“Hello, Brooke,” he greeted, as he sat and folded his hands in his lap. He didn’t request that she turn around to look at him, and he didn’t admonish her for her current state.

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Brooke hadn't lifted her head when the doctor opened the door, nor when he entered her room, nor when he spoke out the soft greeting she expected. It was both comforting and terrifying.

She knew Sean. Dr. Neville. She knew him. She knew that he was one of the only people she knew for certain did judge and never would. But Brooke couldn't help the fears spinning and ruminating about in her mind that he might suddenly change or maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought she did, and that he would find her the most pathetic person in the world. That she had brought this upon herself by not taking her medication. By allowing those demons to overtake her again. By not being able to logic her way out of this endless merry-go-round of despair and self-hate.

She felt her eyelashes flutter against her knees with each blink where she did not speak. Then finally, after what must have seemed like ages to the psychiatrist(how could he stand it?) even though Brooke honestly had no idea how long it had been, she finally spoke. "You're late…" she accused. Her voice was quiet and husky, and scraped her dry throat until it hurt.

He should have come earlier. Faster.

Brooke didn't lift her head to address him even though she knew it was rude to him. If she kept herself from looking at the mess of hair on the floor, and from looking in the mirror at her ugly self, then maybe she would wake up and realize it had all just been a bad dream.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Brooke didn’t have to look at him. Sean had no particular expectations for her in terms of social decorum. He understood what she felt at the moment, and he had no ego to bruise from the lack of social conventions. What mattered was that he was there, and that he had found her, and they could continue from that point forward. He had gleaned a bit since entering the room, and he would continue to observe while attempting to talk her through this episode.

Upon hearing her accusation, the psychiatrist replied, “I know.” He spread his hands in front of him. “I don’t have the ability to spend all hours at Hammel the way I used to.” He had family obligations now, not just to his partner but to Bailey as well, and he couldn’t leave her to adult expectations. However, Sean still spent more than a forty-hour work week at Hammel, except during school breaks; and, even when not at Hammel proper, he remained on-call.

Still, that was certainly not enough when one was in the throes of a depressive state.

“But I’m here now,” the psychiatrist continued, his voice remaining gentle, “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Sean paused a moment and then asked, “Do you want to talk about last night?”

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"I know…." She mumbled her words into the little cave she had made for herself, smothering them even more. But she still said them. Brooke knew very well that it wasn't Dr. Neville's fault, she knew he had other students to attend to, that his life didn't revolve completely around Hammel, much less around her….but she needed someone to blame. Someone other than herself. Someone she knew would forgive her for it later.

Brooke fell silent again as she listened to his soothing voice. She always enjoyed listening to him, he had one of those voices that kinda gave her the strange tingles of comfort prickling up and down her neck. Like he was speaking some sort of magic….like a wizard.

Heh….wizard.

At his question, Brooke finally lifted her head and turned it to the side to face him, resting it on her knees. She smiled. Her eyes weren't even red. Though her face may have fooled most, that heavy cloud was still very much hanging over her, as black and ominous as the darkest, starless night. "I had a dream," she said with a short clip in her tongue. Not a nightmare, but just a dream. Brooke puckered her lips lightly as thought over how to describe the images that would not fade. "I was a nun…" was all she said.

Brooke flitted her eyes down to the floor where shearings of red hair still lay scattered. She blinked again. "Did you know, some nuns shave their heads completely?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean received her acknowledgment of his statement with a slight nod. He knew that she wasn’t looking at him, and he had no expectations that she would in the near future; still, he behaved as though she was, both from habit and because she could potentially turn and lift her head at any moment.

He heard her thought, which was flattering in its own right. Sean had been compared to a wizard before, although not always in a positive light. He wouldn’t remark on her thought, since she hadn’t verbalized it, and now, more than usual, he believed that she required the feeling of sanctity within her own mind.

Instead, he waited for her to articulate anything aloud, so that they could have a jumping off point to discuss what she was feeling. Apparently, that conversation would take the form (for now) of dreams and dream interpretation, with religious overtones. That was fine; the psychiatrist could work with that.

“I did know that,” the psychiatrist said with another nod. “And some take vows of silence, many take vows of poverty. Did you have a shaved head in your dream?”

There was symbolism there that they could discuss. Or, they could discuss when she had the dream and what she did upon waking. The psychiatrist was prepared to take this slowly.

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There was a strange balance between how comfortable Brooke was in sharing her inner feelings and thoughts, and how much she wished to keep them private. On the one hand, she liked that she didn't always have to use words for Dr. Neville to know how she was feeling and what her current state of mind was. Sometimes there just weren't any words for it. On the other hand, she was terrified of people knowing just how dark those thoughts were, especially when she tried so hard to put on a cordial appearance, to hide just how chaotic her mind ran all the time.

Sean was able to juggle both so skillfully, she wished that it could be so easy for everyone else she met.

Brooke shook her head. "I's just somethin' I read about once." Another one of the random things that Brooke looked up when on one of her reading sprees. "Like, nobody seems t' know anymore what i's for. Like, 'pparently it started jus' 'cause i'got all hot under the habit. So they shave or make i'all short 'cause i'was easier t' manage." She tilted her head, looking up out of the corner of her eye at the ceiling. "Somewhere 'long the line, i'got in people's heads that i'was s'posed t' be all symbolic o' their vows t' God." Brooke huffed out a small chuckle, light-hearted, but also less than half-hearted. "I's pretty interestin'."

She was obviously avoiding the point of the topic. Or she was getting there in a very roundabout way. Brooke knew she'd get there eventually, it was just going to take a bit of time to get her racing thought together. They were….exhausting. "You ever have dreams like that? Where you're somethin' else? Like maybe you're not….what you are?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean didn’t pry, even if he did guide and refocus when necessary. That allowed him to help others maintain the illusion of privacy, even if he was privy to more than the average person, or even the average telepath. In some ways, it could spoil those who relied upon it the same way he did; after all, that had been a common enough theme in his personal life. However, he used it to the best of his advantage, as a means of aiding others who needed his help.

Sean had worked through these bouts with Brooke several times over the past few years, and he had confidence that she would discuss the topic at hand eventually. She was sharing in her own way now, and that which she shared willingly was just as valuable, if not more so, than anything through which he guided her with pointed questions.

He nodded his acknowledgment as she described the origin of the practice. That was consistent with his knowledge of the subject. “Isn’t that true of so many rituals?” He asked, willing to pursue this topic of conversation, until she changed to another.

When that change occurred, the psychiatrist spread his hands in front of him at the question. He didn’t share too much about his personal life, because it would be inappropriate. However, this was an area where he felt comfortable sharing with her. “I’m a telepath,” he reminded her gently. “That comes with the territory, dreaming for other people.”

He was quite careful to specify dreaming for other people, because he was not sharing his dreams with others. Instead, his mind would try to sort through other people’s thoughts the same way it did with his own at night, which led to all manner of interesting dreams.