Jet Lag (Sean)

[Erika Young]

The following takes place on Wednesday April 25th


Erika stopped for a moment, pulling over to the side of the road to check the printed out directions again. Her rental car didn't have a GPS, not that she really wanted one, and she hadn't visited her father's hometown since she she was 10 and they came home for her Grandfather's 60th birthday. Not that she was going to the home that she had inherited just yet, she had another stop to make. An appointment with a psychiatrist that worked at a local school to get a referral for a local therapist. She'd gotten his name from doctor Campbell when she'd given her a call for any suggestions.

After finding the right directions, and popping a caffeine pill to keep herself awake for a bit longer. Her baby was being delivered the following day, and the rest of her stuff would get through once they cleared customs. Until her precious motorcycle arrived she would be stuck with the Rental, and supposedly they would send someone out to pick it up if she called them. Although it was all the way back at JFK that she'd gotten it from so she wondered what kind of charges applied with that. She sighed, mildly exhausted from her trip across the Atlantic. Yesterday she'd been in London.

She started driving again, pulling into a parking lot for the school about half an hour later. She checked a couple of times that she was allowed to park where she was, not particularly in the mood to deal with a ticket or something when she came back, before turning off the convertible and locking it. She climbed out of the car, wearing a black sleeveless tee and a pair of jeans with some sneakers. She wasn't one to dress up if the only occasion was being uncomfortable and having insomnia on a trans-Atlantic flight followed by a long drive to Vermont where she'd pulled over into a truck stop and slept in her car.

She stretched out as she walked up to the building, scanning the surrounding area out of habit. A few students hanging out inbetween classes, someone looking like they were in a rush to get somewhere off campus as they were sprinting in the direction she'd just come from. She rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment, feeling somewhat stiff and in need of a good night's sleep. She blinked a couple of times, wiping the tiredness out of her eyes and steeling herself. She still looked a bit haggard, but she didn't look like she was that tired. She walked through the doors of the school, looking around for a moment as her mind twirled through all the different things she had to do.

Find a therapist. Find an architect/contractor. Get estimate to update house. Making sure that my gun permits made it to the police department. Check on the status of my things in customs. Make sure my baby's going to be delivered tomorrow, she thought, rattling off the things she planned on taking care of over the next couple of weeks. After this little meeting she was going to go to her new home, secure it, and get some sleep. Then she'd go about doing all that other stuff. She stopped at the front desk, crossing her arms as she waited for the person behind it to look up to her.

When they finally did, Erika cracked her arm before saying, "I've got an appointment with a Dr. Sean Neville. My name is Erika Young," she said. She was directed over to a chair, which she looked at for a moment before she opted to stand in front of it instead. She let out a yawn, covering it with her mouth as her eyes continued to scan around out of habit. Seven people had passed in front of the door in the time she had come in, six of them heading outside and one of them heading back in. Even if she didn't have any work to do, her mind didn't stop working. The back of her mind drifted back to her luggage. She'd had to get to the airport nice and early so that she could fill out the paperwork for her guns, which she didn't trust with customs like her antique weapons. Would've been nice if her old employers had given her a hand with transporting some of the stuff or something, but nope.

She took out her phone, glancing at it. It was now seven o'clock back in London, so she hadn't gotten more than a couple of hours worth of sleep in the last 48 hours. Not entirely unusual for her, and one of many reasons she was in therapy to begin with, but at least these days it was of her own doing, or as much as anything was her own doing.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

As part of his duties as the Hammel psychiatrist, Sean was used to having appointments with strangers. A fair number of new people flitted in and out of Hammel, and most of those people had support networks of family or other legal guardians and other interested parties who warranted meetings. Those appointments could go in any number of different directions, which was why he tried to prepare himself for anything and everything.

That could only go so far.

This morning was book solid, so many of his appointments falling on a day when there was also a Student Activity Council meeting that he had to attend as advisor. It would be a busy day.

When he finished his telephone conference, the psychiatrist checked his appointment book and saw that it was time for the appointment with Erika Bishop, a woman he had never met before. She was being sent to him as the result of a referral and recommendation network, and he was prepared for their appointment.

Exiting his office, he passed by the reception disk and smiled at Artemis, before approaching the unfamiliar woman sitting in the waiting area. He offered her his hand for a handshake. “Are you Erika Young? I’m Doctor Sean Neville; would you like to come with me to my office?”

[Erika Young]

Erika stood there for a few minutes, her mind scanning through what she wanted to do repetitively. It was something she did to keep her mind from wandering, and she found it kept the work part of her brain from kicking into overdrive. She found that when that happened, her mind started twisting things like she was in some C rated action movie with the "plot" being, 'Things go boom, running, shooting, bad guy dies.' Maybe she could get Jason Stathum to star in her life story since some of the parts read like one of his movies already. She wondered how comfortable he'd be in one of her shirts.

Her eyes focused up when someone walked into the room, an older man. Brown hair, blue eyes, between 6'2 and 6'6, probably right in the middle of that. A suit and a tie, no apparent signs of a weapon but plenty of places where one could be hidden. This was the doctor she'd been sent to see, or she would assume. He had a certain combination of authority and exhaustion surrounding him, which seemed to fit what she thought a psychiatrist in a private school for people who could set each other on fire would look like. That, and he'd just walked out of a door with a name plaque of the man she'd been sent to see, but that didn't really mean much in her line of work.

She'd never seen her school's psychiatrist. No, her appointments had started after that. She took his hand when it was offered and nodded her head. "I am. Nice to meet you doctor," she responded. She cracked her neck, which was still more than a little stiff from the night before. "Yes, I'm sure this won't take too long." She walked into the office, looking around for a moment. There was a familiar feel to it. Still, didn't stop her eyes from scanning around the room in her usual analysis of her surroundings. When your job was protecting people you quickly learned what to look for.

Not quite seeing anything out of order, she turned around to look at the man again. Her face still had the same stoic indifference that she kept on for work, and rarely left except for when she was alone or in a therapy session. It was one of the things that irritated Izumi, or so she claimed. She had once told her that she needed to either smile more or she'd find some combination of toxins that would freeze the muscles in her face into a smile. "Thank you for the appointment Doctor, I'll try not to take up too much of your time."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist shook her hand, his handshake firm but not too tight, certainly never enough to bruise; he was always polite and professional in his mannerisms. “Please come this way,” he said, gesturing towards his office door. When she rose and began to walk, he followed behind her. Stepping over the threshold into his office, he shut the door to afford them privacy.

The office was comfortable to him, because he had decorated the space and worked there every school day for the past two decades. He was satisfied with it, and he tried to make it comfortable for those who visited. In addition to the chairs by his desk, there were also the cushioned chairs at the other end of his office. As well as the sofa, which was by and large his favorite piece of furniture in the office. “Sit anywhere you like,” he said, once they were inside. “I can move around, so there is no need to worry about being too far from my desk.”

He waited for her to find a seat that appealed to her, and while she did so, he took the platter of brownies that Josh had baked last night and brought them over to where she had settled. Settling nearby, he set the platter down, offering them to her. “Would you care for one? They’re plain chocolate with nothing mixed in.” Neither nuts nor raisins.

“You’re welcome.” That was for the sake of politeness, although he didn’t think he had to be thanked for scheduling a single appointment. Once they were settled, he asked, “Now, what can I do for you?”

[Erika Young]

When he told her to sit anywhere, she looked longingly at the couch for a moment. She had a hard time getting comfortable while she was sitting down thanks to a combination between her imprisonment and something like a thousand stakeouts in the last twenty years. The other option, laying, would probably lead to passing out with how tired she was at the moment. Probably a good thing she didn't have her baby, she was far too comfortable riding her bike. The car wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but she wasn't too likely to fall asleep in the seat. Not until she pulled into her driveway anyway.

"I'll just stand if that's okay. It was a long flight and my legs haven't been this stiff since I spent twelve hours in a car trunk," she said, her voice as serious and nonchalant as if she'd just said... well, not something about being locked in a car trunk. How long ago had that been? Russia, perhaps? No, it was after Russia because it wasn't Dark that had let her out of the trunk... Sweden then. She snapped herself out of her thoughts, looking back over at the older gentleman. She stood next to one of the chairs in front of his desk, her posture straight and rigid.

She looked over to the brownies tossing it around for a moment. "Sorry, I'm going to have to pass." She didn't particularly handle sweets well on an empty stomach, and she didn't want getting sick to be her first memory of her new home. Then again, as it was it was probably going to be carrying a gun case into the house followed by passing out on a couch. Still, better than getting sick and then passing out somewhere, she supposed. So much to do... so much to do....

"Yes, I got your name from Dr. Janice Campbell," she said, a flash of the younger woman, now in her 50s, flashing through her mind. Well, that helped her feel old now. "She said you were the only person she knew of in the area, but that you might be able to help me find a therapist in the area." She had wondered why he wouldn't be able to be it, but when she found out his job she imagined he was attached to the school. Probably difficult to have a private practice when attached to a place like this. While some metas came into their powers easily and with glee, some needed a little more psychological preparation and help with the transition.

"I'm sorry for taking time out of your busy schedule for something so... trivial, but it was something I wanted to get done on my way in so I could get it out of the way." She'd had a therapy appointment roughly once a week for 15 years now. Sometimes there were weeks, or months, where she couldn't come in due to her work, but she never just stopped going. Therapy was a nice release for her seeing as most of her job involved meeting people for brief periods and not having much time for friends.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Since she wasn’t one of the students, Sean had no reason to insist that she sit down; social convention wasn’t enough of a reason to insist with an adult. Her reasons were her own, and he had offered her a choice, after all. Since she didn’t sit, he chose to sit behind his desk, as that was comfortable enough for him. However, his typical acknowledgment of her decision was interrupted by her anecdote.

Twelve hours in a car trunk.

His expression didn’t change, as he was quite skilled at schooling his reactions, but that was still a distressing thought. Doubly so when coupled with how calmly she relayed it. Evidently, this would not be a typical consultation.

“If you change your mind, they’ll still be there,” he remarked about the brownies. She could take a couple for the road, if she so desired when they finished their business.

With that, he settled in to listen to her explanation of what had inspired her to contact him to arrange this meeting, and then what she desired from him in the future. Admittedly, he didn’t often receive requests for referrals for adults, but with the information of how she had found his name and number, it made more sense. He was required as a link in a referral chain. As there weren’t that many mental health professionals in Pilot Ridge and the surrounding small towns, his contacts elsewhere would be necessary.

Unfortunately, as he wasn’t in private practice, he couldn’t take her on as a patient outside of Hammel. If this was the 1980s, he would have without hesitation. Also, unfortunately, Benjamin Rhodes was an adolescent psychologist; he didn’t have an adult practice.

“This isn’t trivial,” he assured her, as he reached for his rolodex of associates. “And I’m sorry to say that I might need to send you a couple of towns over to find someone to suit your needs; we don’t have a large community in Pilot Ridge, given the size of the town itself.”

Moving the rolodex closer, he began to thumb through the cards. “Even though this is only for a referral, doctor-patient confidentiality still attaches. With that in mind, is there a specific practice you require? I know a few people who have sub-specialties in particular diagnoses. And would you prefer a psychiatrist or a psychologist? Or do you have no preferences?”

He wanted to put her in contact with someone who would suit her needs; it wouldn’t do for her to be bounced around between three or four offices.

[Erika Young]

"Merci monsieur," she said again, in response to the brownies. Languages wasn't something that came as easy to her as some other things, but she had learned a few over the years. And she was familiar enough with them that different phrases slipped into her vocabulary from time to time. Her father was an American and her mother was French, and she'd spent most of her childhood in Switzerland, in an area that mainly spoke Swiss-Italian. In school, they taught her how to speak German without an accent to refine her abilities. She wondered if they still taught like that... probably not. Her normal class consisted of teaching her fencing.

She nodded and stretched out a little bit before returning to the same position. She needed to get some sleep, preferably sooner rather than later. "That's fine, I was expecting as much. So long as I don't have to quite drive all the way to the capitol." Although she only really had a problem with that because it meant that she was wasting both her and the doctor's time. If she ended up going to the capitol, Dr. Campbell probably could've put her in touch with someone there.

"I'm not on any medication so a psychiatrist isn't necessary, but aside from that I don't have a preference," she replied to that question. For the rest of it she started checking the pockets of her pants for a moment, looking for the note she'd gotten for things like that. When she didn't find it, she figured she must've packed it. Not that it really mattered she knew what was on it.

"Someone who can deal with trauma, physical and emotional, from the past. I've mostly dealt with that, but Dr. Scriber said it would be better in the event of something 'popping up'. Aside from that, the day to day stresses of life, operating a security business, moving to a new place, and the stresses that come with working in protection, are mostly what I'd be talking about." There had also been something about an abnormal attachment to her motorcycle but if that wasn't a joke he could bite her.

"Aside from that I don't have a particular preference. As long as they're not a homophobic lunatic convinced that metas are a form of mass hysteria from a couple of coincidences," she said, with a roll of her eyes. That woman was completely bat**** crazy herself if she actually thought that. She had heard that she'd gone ahead and something to the tune of the above on a live interview on BBC news or something and she'd lost her license. Good.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath shook his head, his assurance that that was unnecessary. “I have a few names in Montpelier, but I wouldn’t send you out there unless you needed a particular specialist.” Vermont wasn’t that large a state, not compared with New York or California; as such, most drives weren’t onerous. Boston was less than four hours away, and the distance between Burlington and Montpelier was only about an hour. Still, an hour in one direction meant a two-hour roundtrip and that was to be avoided if at all possible.

Sean acknowledged the comment about medication with a nod. He didn’t point out that he was a psychiatrist and still engaged in talk therapy; he knew the modern trend. And if she didn’t require prescriptions, or the possibility of prescriptions, it allowed him to widen his referral search a bit.

The remarks about trauma made him focus in on a couple of names; he knew someone who worked primarily with military personnel and had a successful practice with a specialty in PTSD. Finding her card information, he began to copy it down onto a notepad page for her.

Her other remarks caused him to lift his head, his lip twitching slightly in a very small smile. “Considering the fact that I’m a meta-human man in a committed relationship with another man, I can assure you that nobody on my referrals list is either metaphobic or homophobic. I wouldn’t want to expose patients to that, and I wouldn’t want to give them the business.”

With that, he lowered his head to finish his transcriptions. Replacing the first contact card, he spun through the rolodex to find his other two recommendations, and he copied each of their contact information down as well. He drew boxes around all three names, separating the addresses and phone numbers from each other. Then, he reached across his desk, holding the paper, on his letterhead, out for her to take. “The first name is Pamela Holloway; she works primarily with soldiers and has trauma experience. She’s located in Burlington, which isn’t too far a drive from here, all things considered. She is a psychiatrist. The second name is Arthur Cohen, a psychologist. His practice is exclusively adults, but it’s a general practice without particular specialties. He’s located three towns over. The third is Lee Compton, also a psychologist, but in addition to general practice also has experience with abuse survivors. Lee’s practice is near Greenview Community College, which is about a twenty minute drive. Lastly, there's a psychiatric resident at Maddock, which is the hospital a couple of towns over; we're not a large enough town to rate our own hospital. Neela Black is her name; residents are supervised generally but their individual sessions aren't, and regardless, confidentiality attaches. I hope one of them will suit your needs. If not, I can do another referral.”

[Erika Young]

Erika nodded. She was used to long drives, having spent most of the last... number of years traveling around the world, usually on her baby. She'd seen her flat in London maybe 3 dozen times a year, and most of the things she owned, that she didn't keep with her, were in a storage unit. Still, it was preferable, at least for her, to have her therapist a little bit closer than the drive to the capitol or something along those lines. The point of her therapy was supposed to keep her sane, not making her go berserk in the middle of a traffic jam when someone scratches her baby.

"Well that's a relief. I don't need someone giving me fliers to their camp to fix my "problems" during my sessions anymore," she said with gritted teeth, thinking about the therapist. If she hadn't been in her late 60s she probably would've hit her. As hard as she could possibly manage, which was pretty damn hard. She cracked her shoulder while he was going through his Rolodex, resting her eyes for a moment before he started speaking again.

She started going through her pockets while she listened, sounded good to her. She'd give them a call when she woke up in a day or so. Or so she wished, she'd probably get about 6 hours of sleep and wake back up, but who knew? Maybe being in something that wasn't a cheap motel bed would let her get a nice long rest. Or maybe it'd kill her, who knew? At this point the floor was looking good and the only thing keeping her up were the caffeine pills.

"I'm sure one of them will work out fine, I'll get out of your hair now, unless you happen to have an architect on there too," she said, offering him her own card. It was the prototype she'd been given, but more were being made. It had her cell number with a black rose in the center, with the words 'Black Rose Security Company' on the top, with some things on the back about the type of things she'd look into. "In the event you're looking for a little extra security or need something looked into."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s expression was sympathetic as she described her past experience with a therapist who had been less accepting of inherent aspects of one’s identity. He understood from a professional standpoint, as many people he had encountered over the years had faced similar problems. He also understood from a personal standpoint, since his sister took issue with both his relationships with other men, as well as with his telepathy; neither of which he could change, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. “Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about that with any of those people. People tend to be more understanding about meta-humans around her, given the population.” It was difficult to maintain a staunchly meta-phobic stance when living in, or nearby, the meta-human capital of the United States. It was one of the perks of living in Pilot Ridge.

“Actually, I do know an architect, but I’d have to talk to him first to make sure he has the time and ability to take on a new project.” Sean’s thoughts immediately turned to Greg. He knew that his blond friend had been looking for work, and although the other man had mentioned not opening his practice up here, searching instead for an unskilled job, that may have changed since they’d last discussed the matter. At the very least, he could float the idea to his friend; at worst, Greg would refuse, and they would be no worse off than if he hadn’t asked in the first place.

The psychiatrist then took the business card that she offered, scanning the number and then flipping it over to the back to read the services she offered. He acknowledged it with a nod. “Thank you very much. If I ever do need something looked it, you’ll be the first one I call.”

If only she had been here a year and a half ago, perhaps some of the disaster could have been avoided. But that was in the past now.

“Is there anything else I can do before you go on your way?” Sean had no expectations, but he wanted to be thorough.

[Erika Young]

Erika nodded when she mentioned possibly being able to supply her with an architect. "Well have him give me a call or something if he can do it. That's my only number, for the moment, so it's the easiest way to get in touch with me." One of the things she was going to do was see if she could get the number on that particular cell phone turned into the phone number for the house, so it was more of an office number. Otherwise she'd just have to leave that particular phone in her office, or her eventual office.

Erika thought for a moment, thinking if there was anything else he could help her with. After a moment's thought, she shook her head. "No, thank you though." The only real things she'd need were the standards, location of the grocery store and things like that. But she could figure that out on her own. She used to plan security for one of the largest security companies in the world. If she could figure out the best angle for attack for some of the most secure places in Europe, she could figure out how to navigate a small town in Vermont. Besides, that's what GPS was for. "Thank you again for the recommendations."

She picked up the paper that he'd written the names and numbers down on off his desk, looking over it for a moment before putting it in her pocket with her other papers. She'd give the offices a call in the morning and then get to work on the other things. She offered him her hand one final time, he was sure he had more important things that he had to deal with. With this many teenagers in one building, she was surprised he didn't have white hair.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean nodded his comprehension of the request and his promise to comply with that. “I’ll do that. Expect to hear from him within a week or so, or at least to hear from me with another recommendation.” It was the telepath’s preference that Greg would agree to take this opportunity, and that she would hire him, but if his blond friend wasn’t interested, Sean did know a couple of other people in the area. Only peripherally, as they weren’t his friends, but it was impossible to live in this area and own a house for over two decades without making some contacts.

The psychiatrist waited for her to decide whether she needed anything else; he was prepared to offer any other referrals she wanted, but then she responded in the negative. “You’re welcome.” He was happy to have provided her with the information, but it was also his job, after all. Even if she didn’t qualify for her services, he would never turn away someone in need of mental health services without giving them options.

Mental health was far too important.

He took her offered hand for a parting handshake. “Should you need anything else, you know where to find me.” Not only did she have his name and contact information but she also now knew where his office was. “Have a good day, and I hope you get some sleep.”