Just a bit Early (Tag: Sean)

[Michael Jones]

His trainer thought that it would be best for him. He’d gone to another counselor last time, but this one was a very official meeting. He was fairly sure it was because the trainer just couldn’t deal with him anymore. Wasn’t that always how it was? His father passed him off to nanny after nanny, each one refusing to raise him pretty much every other day after they got their salary. He wasn’t that bad of a kid…he just wanted to play, and he never caused any trouble. They just didn’t want to deal with kids. Frankly, most of the nannies were in it for the money, and were hired only because they looked professional when they showed up to a job, and outer appearances were a big part of his father’s grading requirements. Michael knew that this trainer probably didn’t know how to deal with all the issues Michael was having in forcing anger into the right places, so sent him off once again to someone else. And someone he didn’t know! He had no idea if he’d walk in there and suddenly be in all kinds of trouble, or he’d be treated like some kind of insane mental case.

Checking the note in his hand, the twelve year old scratched his brown hair. He hadn’t been here that long, and it was still shorter than he’d like from the haircut he’d been forced into getting before he came. He wasn’t in any kind of uniform today, frankly he just wore a pair of jeans and a white sleeveless shirt. Though it was rather cold out so he had a sweatshirt slung over the top of his messenger bag that was hanging loosely by his side. The boy shifted a little bit, and then he adjusted his shirt. He looked around at the waiting area for the office and decided that perhaps he should sit. But what if he was judged even on which chair he sat in? If he sat close, he’d be too eager…but far away and he’d be one of the lonely kids in the back. It was a school, so there weren’t that many seats in this waiting area, and there were only really like three chairs. He sat in the middle one, feeling a bit more relaxed now that he had made a decision. That was good enough for him at least. He took out the note to read once again.

“Dear Dr. Neville, I’ve had Michael as my student really only for a few weeks now, and he doesn’t seem to be showing any signs o f improvement. I have sent the file over to your office, and he’s been told to come here at 4:00 pm. Thank you for understanding, and I do hope that you are able to get through to him. Thank you, Mr. Andrews.” He’d nearly memorized by now, looking to see some kind of hint as to what was going on in the letter. It mentioned something about a breakthrough, and he had no idea what that meant, but he definitely wished he could find out about it really soon, before he had to go into that Doctors office. He had forgotten that some therapists were doctors, and when they became doctors, they became really into scooping out all the secrets kids kept. That was what Jimmy, in the dorm room next door had told him anyways. Although, he hadn’t had any feelings on Dr. Neville. Not many kids his age really met with him apparently. Michael was a special case, supposedly. The boy shifted a bit in his seat, nibbling on his lower lip. It was nearly four now. Just another couple seconds and it would be exactly 3:45…nearly…nearly there. Alright…he was a bit more nervous than he was letting on.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Michael wasn’t the first student to be sent to Sean’s office because of difficulty with his trainer; he also would hardly be the last. While the psychiatrist believed in the inherent necessity and value of training, he also realized that not everyone would have the same amount of success or close relationship with their trainers as he’d had. He wished that they could, since his relationship with Robert had been so beneficial to him, even four decades later as a middle-aged man. But he knew that not everyone could have that.

The psychiatrist also wasn’t a trainer. He had immense respect for trainers at Hammel, and while he might disagree with certain policies, he tended to defer to their professional opinions unless those opinions contradicted with his knowledge base or personal experience.

Sean certainly had respect for Vincent Meian. Although he had only been at Hammel for a few months, the trainer had proven to be quite skilled at his job, albeit sometimes unorthodox. He was also willing to work with students who might be classified as in greater need than others. Thus, if the other man stated that he had concerns about a particular student, Sean paid close attention.

Vincent did not have a hair trigger. His opinion was to be trusted.

So when the psychiatrist received a memo from Vincent, directing him to Michael’s file, as well as scheduling an appointment on the boy’s behalf, Sean had cleared that portion of his schedule to accommodate the situation. He had then taken the time to study Michael’s file, starting in the present with his training notes and the event that had caused Vincent to arrange the meeting in the first place. He then worked backward, reading about his time at Hammel, although it had been only a few weeks and was relatively brief. He ended with studying Michael’s powers and what information was contained in his related notes about his past schooling, and the brief information about his family.

It wasn’t easy to be a twelve-year-old, in the middle of puberty and at a new school. It wasn’t easy to be a newly-manifested meta-human child. It certainly wasn’t easy when one’s power was so potentially destructive.

Sean understood perfectly. He had been in that position once, although his powers had never been physical.

Explosions could be nerve-wracking, surely.

Although there remained a few minutes before the session, the psychiatrist sensed a presence outside of his doorway. He took one last moment to study the file, before shutting it and then calling out, “Michael, if you’re here, you’re welcome to come in now to make yourself comfortable."

[Michael Jones]

He about jumped a foot when he heard the male call out to him. His heart thunked a bit at the thought that this psychiatrist had already known that he was out in the waiting area, and that made Michael feel really confused. How could he even know? This was a meta school, but it couldn’t be that there was a meta psychiatrist. That would be a bit cool, yes, because the psychiatrist would probably understand things, but it all depended on what it was that the psychiatrist was able to do. Michael took a bit of a breath, and then stood, grabbing his bag and shouldering it. One of his binders fell on the floor, papers scattering everywhere. He bit his lip slightly. Oh that was so not good.

Michael knelt down and quickly gathered up the fallen paper. He’d been called in, and he hadn’t even gotten in the door before he started falling apart. As he gathered the papers, he thought about the couple of things he shouldn’t go near. He didn’t know if he’d be asked, but he probably shouldn’t talk about his parents…or really about his power. Perhaps he should just avoid talking. Yeah. Like that would work well. Michael shook his head slightly, and then shoved the papers in his bag, opening the door to the office like area. He shifted his foot in first, and then let himself sidle in, hopefully less stared at, and sat down.

A quick glance upwards told Michael a bit more than he needed to know. He looked like one of those guys that always frequented his parents little cocktail parties. He had the suit, and he looked just as professional. His father looked young enough, so this man was at least older than him, but he just looked like one of the snotty white rich men. Hopefully his initial look was not a proper assessment, but it was all a bit of an issue if he was right. Michael didn’t like them, and he often had to storm out of the room, especially before they got angry. He sat on the couch in there right by the door, and was sitting up very formally.

His eyes didn’t meet the good doctor’s eyes. He was actually very purposefully avoiding looking at him. Michael wasn’t really sure what emotion he should be feeling, but it felt as though he’d get some kind of punishment here, and that he’d done something really wrong. He wasn’t a kid who normally tried to get in trouble or anything, and he hadn’t really gotten in much trouble until he came to Hammel, and he actually started to show a rather big aptitude for blowing things up. Now, here he was, sitting in the office of a psychiatrist because he blew up a bit of the training room. It wasn’t even that major…there was just a little bit of an issue. Very small. Then there was also that small part of him…that little part that enjoyed having a power that made him noticeable. It was small…but it was something that anyone with rather bad intent would probably be able to take advantage of. He certainly wasn’t a perfect child.

Michael took the bag off of him and set it on the ground next to him, glancing down at it’s contents. The bag was extremely messy, and he reached down and shoved his papers in farther, then zipped it up. He didn’t want them to be seen at all or anything. Michael, finished with this, was displaying a lot of a need to fidget or move around. He just needed to do something…he didn’t want to be talked at about how awful he’d been, and he most certainly did not want to display the amount of guilt he was displaying right now.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The hesitation and pause were to be expected. Sean knew that Michael had not arranged this meeting himself, which meant that the boy had little motivation to enter. Moreover, meeting someone new could be nerve-wracking; meeting a psychiatrist even more so, and the boy was still new to Hammel as a whole. This was why, after granting permission to enter, Sean did nothing more to prompt the boy. He could come in when he felt comfortable; they could work at his pace.

When Michael finally entered, Sean offered him a gentle smile, intended to put him at ease. As he had told other students before, he didn’t bite. As more than one adult had told him over the years, his spirit animal was most likely a teddy bear. Powers and position aside, there was no reason to be afraid of him.

From personal experience, he was quite familiar with the set to which Michael’s parents belonged, because his own parents had traveled in similar circles. Well-off white, New York suburbia in the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s had been a bubble. Hammel had pierced that bubble, as had college, his powers, and the rest of his life; Sean remained personally grateful for that.

The psychiatrist waited for Michael to make himself comfortable; even though the boy hadn’t arranged this meeting of his own volition, he was still entitled to comfort. The psychiatrist wished to avoid setting him on edge unless absolutely necessary; more for Michael’s own sense of comfort than for any concern about his powers.

More than one student had lost control in this office in the past. Sean was sure it would happen again. And that was why he kept copies of everything and kept no valuable personal items at Hammel. Explosions, fires, gusts of wind...all were assumed risks.

When it became plain that the boy wouldn’t take the initiative to speak, the psychiatrist broke the ice. “How are you today?”

[Michael Jones]

He was so definitely the first student to come to the guidance counselors office on a scheduled meeting. After all, the kids here were all super at using their talents, and they hadn’t been yet sent to his office. Besides, who else could really get into trouble at this school? Most of the teachers had powers too, so they could probably stop the students. After a moment of thought, he realized how ridiculous his thoughts sounded. He still thought he was the first student to be sent here without really having an option to even wriggle around the time. He didn’t really like the mandatory necessity of the meeting, but he would definitely accept that he had to go. It was like a party thrown by his parent’s friends. He didn’t like to go to them, but he had to go for the good of everyone around him.

He saw the gentle smile that was given to Michael. It wasn’t so much flashed at him as it was handed to him as a small offering. Something that he could accept if he wanted to. At the moment, he didn’t really accept it. Considering the outer appearance of most of the high society people around him, Michael was definitely not as easily trusting of someone with such an easy smile. This one…this one he almost accepted. He still technically didn’t return the smile, but he felt like there was more there than just a quick smile to break the ice and get it over with . So, he still hadn’t really developed an idea of how he felt about this Doctor.

Michael didn’t really have access to any kind of case file on the Doctor, so he couldn’t really make much of a judgement call on what he was about either. His only knowledge of how the man was came from his surroundings. There were lots of different options to sit in in the room. He mostly went for the couch because it was pretty close to the door, and he may never say it outloud, but he preferred to be close so that he could bolt if necessary. You never know when bolting from somewhere will be necessary.

There was an awkward moment where what could be heard was Michael, reaching down to his bag once again because a few bits of paper were sticking out. He pushed them back in nervously, then kind of looked around the room again. He had no idea how this thing kind of worked, and he didn’t really technically want to find out, but he knew he’d have to. Was he supposed to start some kind of conversation, or was the Doctor? He wouldn’t know what the first thing to say was.

When he finally asked Michael a question, he responded very quickly, and a bit to forcefully. “G-Good!” His cheeks reddened a bit and he looked down at his knees. “I’m doing well today, sir.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Michael most certainly appeared nervous, though Sean would do everything in his power to set him at ease. That involved demonstrating openness and gentleness through his mannerisms and body language. That included wearing a gentle smile on his lips, leaning back slightly in his chair (instead of leaning forward and seeming judgmental or predatory), and resting his hands on the arms.

“You don’t need to call me ‘Sir’,” the psychiatrist told him. As he had mentioned multiple times to different students over the years, he was not in the military, he had never been in the military, and thus there was no reason to call him “Sir.” It was out of his comfort level. “If you want to be formal, call me ‘Doctor Neville,’ or you can call me ‘Doc’, if you’d like.” That had a degree of familiarity without breaking decorum; perhaps that would help to set the boy at ease.

“And I’m glad to hear that.” That, too, was said with a gentle smile. “Did you do anything exciting?”

That would provide Michael with the opportunity to talk about himself and his day to the extent that he wished. And, if he didn’t enjoy that topic, he also had the opportunity to choose a new direction for the conversation. Sean was willing to listen, and this was an inevitable aspect of feeling out a new person.

[Michael Jones]

Michael was, once again, a person who relied heavily on what a person looked like to pass judgement. Half of the battle towards becoming Michael’s pal was just to accept that you had to look like you would be a good friend. When the male leaned back slightly in his chair and just seemed relaxed, Michael visibly relaxed as well. It was a much better feeling when he wasn’t put under a microscope, and he felt as though he could just be a bit more like Michael, and a bit less like how Michael was supposed to be when he got his picture taken. He was supposed to be that normal boy, who belonged in a nice family, as his parents wanted him to be. This was better. It was a lot better. None of these thoughts really went through Michael’s head, they were just natural things that his body was accepting. He was more calm because his body was telling him that it was okay. Kind of a sense he got.

He felt just a little bad for being told he wasn’t supposed to call the doctor sir, but that was mostly what he knew to call a person if he was addressing them. However, he did almost light up a bit when he found that the psychiatrist let people call him doctor. For him, it was a lot better when he could be formal, and here, he could be at least a little bit formal. He nodded a bit, thinking of which one he’d choose. Probably Doctor Neville was his primary idea for what to call the man, and with that on the way he was pretty much well on his way to doing okay in this meeting, and hopefully he’d been making a good enough impression not to get in trouble or anything.

Did he do anything exciting? Hm. There wasn’t really much that he generally did in a day that was all to exciting. Maybe he should talk about playing the piano? It was a really fun thing for him to play the piano, but that wasn’t so much exciting as it was a hobby. Hobbies didn’t really technically count, because you did them every day.

“Well…I got a free period instead of training today.” That seemed to be a pretty good thing for him, and even in his thoughts it appeared as though that was a relatively positive thing for him. It wasn’t as though he disliked the teacher. Mr…Meian? He just didn’t like how he had to actually use his power to train it. But it was still pretty exciting for him. “And I read a comic book too.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean understood that some people thrived on formality and didn’t think that informality was appropriate in any situation that involved a power dynamic. In some ways, the psychiatrist agreed with that; unlike his trainer, he never offered to the students that they call him by his first name. He wasn’t telepathically bonding with them, and there were too many layers of authority to allow for that: doctor/patient, faculty member/student, adult/child, not to mention that he also functioned as the disciplinarian unless Yvette had a vested interest on behalf of Hammel to handle a matter. But there were compromises to be made, and once students graduated, he insisted they call him “Sean.” As he did with faculty members.

As a result, it was fine that Michael chose the more formal title of address. If he ever eased into calling him “Doc” that was fine too.

“Did you?” The psychiatrist asked. That wasn’t too surprising, given that Vincent had arranged this meeting on Michael’s behalf, and that the underlying concern involved the nature of his powers and his performance during training. At the same time, Sean wanted to know what Michael’s thoughts were on the subject: how he felt about it, and they could segue into his feelings about training from there.

The psychiatrist’s lips then lit into a smile at the mention of comic books. He had little personal interest in the subject; he’d read only a few as a boy, before his powers had manifested, but his parents hadn’t been keen on them. Then, as a Hammel student, one too many jokes about Professor X had made him lose any lingering interest in reading them; those jokes had continued through his life, well into adulthood, but he no longer minded them.

However, his nephew adored nearly everything related to comic books: their history, their stories and character concepts, the movies and television shows that resulted from them, their socio-political messages, their diversity (or sometimes lack thereof). Ryan also liked to talk about his interests, and as a result, Sean knew far more about the subject than anyone would expect of him at first glance.

Which comic did you read?” He asked. Perhaps it was one that Ryan read, and then they would be able to have a conversation about that as well. It was a good form of building trust.

[Michael Jones]

This idea that he was to be called a doctor was starting to sit a little bit better in his stomach. It was a title, like sir, and it was a rather respectful one as well, right? It would be much better if he was even more respectful. He knew a lot about the idea of a power dynamic. The male was in charge in the family, around his house anyways, and you treated him as such. In fact, he didn't really even think if his father as his dad sometimes. He would call him father, or even sir. When he eventually was punished for what he assumed would be treated as attacking a teacher, it would be a lot more helpful if he could understand that the doctor was a teacher, and even a doctor, so he was definitely not close to Michael. Their relationships were just too far apart.

"Yes, I got a free period because...Eric. Well you probably know anyways." He would definitely know that answer, because that was the entire reason that they were meeting anyways. He would be a bit disappointed if Doctor Neville didn't remember what happened. He didn't want to explain himself. "The free period was good though. I liked it better than training." The second sentence was definitely muttered, and not intended for the doctors ears.

He stared at the Doctor for a brief moment after he mentioned the comic books. He nibbled his lip nervously and then looked down at his feet. He saw a small smile on the doctors face. What did that mean? Was he really happy that Michael was branching out and reading things other than his textbooks, or was he laughing internally about how childish he was? It was all just way too confusing. He shifted slightly and tugged the hem of his shirt down a little bit, mostly as an excuse to be looking down. He had a habit of trying to figure out what people were thinking about, and when he didn't know, he would probably over analyze the face that they were making. This was probably one of those times.

The comic that he read? He thought about it for a moment, and then considered what the title of the thing might have been. Oh yeah. "It was...it was like X-men. There was a guy in a wheelchair, and there was also one guy with claws in his hands" meaning, of course, that the story included Xavier and wolverine.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean did know, but that didn’t mean that Michael should avoid explaining the situation to him. A great amount of being a telepath was listening to explanations of situations that he already knew. As a psychiatrist, he knew that there was inherent value in expressing one’s thoughts, feelings, and experiences aloud to another person. As such, his knowledge wasn’t the underlying goal of every question that he asked. Some, but not all. “Tell me about it,” the psychiatrist prompted gently.

Sean didn’t pass judgment on what people read for their leisure, particularly when students needed the respite, unless the content was harmful. However, graphic novels were no more inherently harmful than any other style of story.

The psychiatrist nodded his comprehension. “I know a bit about the X-Men,” he remarked. He had read a handful of comics as a child, before his powers had developed. Then, after his telepathy had manifested, there had been so many comparisons between himself and Professor Xaver. Emma Cousins had called him Charles, after all. He had seen the first two movies with Ryan, and he had listened to endless hours of his nephew’s opinions. “Although comic books have changed a great deal since I was a child. What happened in the one you read?”