Disclaimer: While nothing here really infringes on any copyrights, this story is set in the Marvel Universe which belongs to Marvel Comics.

Rating: PG

Genre: TCP - The Common People

Title: Professional Misconduct
by Muir

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Mrs. Anderson is talking about that summer in ’64 again. I don’t know why I let her today. I don’t usually. Why is today different? I uncross and cross my legs again, my expression neutral. Lean forwards a little, scratch the pen over the surface of my pad. The pretence of listening makes me feels guilty and I focus once more on the woman before me.

“…I was swimming in the lake, on my own. Such a beautiful day…and if I close my eyes, I can feel the sun on my skin and the…” she shakes her head, sighs, blinks her eyes rapidly in embarrassment and I feel perversely disappointed. I have heard this story a million times but never has she interrupted herself. Should I be pleased?

“Silly of me isn’t it? Fixating on that one summer…” she tuts at herself, but surreptitiously digs a handkerchief out from the depths of her large leather handbag and dabs at her eyes. A wave of affection for the middle-aged woman washes over me and I drop my gaze to the pad.

“Not at all. It was a time of great happiness in your life, it is not unnatural that you think over it from time to time.”

“From time to time,” she clasps her hands together in her lap, a cynical smile twisting her usually placid countenance. Alarmed I drop my head again, pretending to scribble some notes on my pad. Instead I close my eyes and extend my senses. Brush minds and suddenly images and emotions come flooding through the connection. A young girl, discovering her own sexuality. A connection formed with another…soul mates? Her parents find her with her lover. The shame of exposure, agreeing to marry the son of a business associate. A respectable young man, good and honest. Becoming friends with him, hoping to fall in love. Learning to love him, respect him, cherish him…but not the way she’d hoped. The emotions come now. Shyness, excitement, fear, love, lust, fear, shame, sadness, despair, hope, sadness… I open my eyes, barely a moment has passed. I decide to put aside my psychologist persona. Remove the glasses, fold them and place them neatly on the table next to me. I take in the round, lined face. The bobbed hair dyed a light brown. Her tired but kind eyes. Inwardly I rage against an unfair world that took away her first love.

“Mrs Anderson…” I pause, choosing my words carefully, “you should feel comfortable discussing anything here. If all you wish me to do is listen, then that is what I shall do. However,” I pause again, wondering whether I am behaving rationally, “I do think that perhaps you should discuss this particular topic with someone else. Your husband, or perhaps your children?”

She looks startled, frightened even, for a moment but then the placidity returns. She reaches across and pats my knee. Now I’m the startled one. The understanding, motherly expression on her face makes me feel half my age. That doesn’t happen too often nowadays.

“Doctor I know what’re you’re trying to do, and it’s very kind of you dear, but I don’t think my Robert would be comfortable talking about this. And my children…” she sighs, “well, I haven’t quite worked up the courage to tell them yet. But I will,” she hurries on, “I will soon. Just have to wait, for the right time. And until then I’d just like to keep coming to see you. You don’t mind, do you?”

Of course not, Mrs Anderson, I think to myself. Why would I say no to your $150 an hour? But, naturally I don’t voice the thought. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t keep coming to visit me, it makes her happy after all.

“How are your children?”

Her face lights up and soon she’s telling me all about James’ engagement to a lovely girl from upstate and how Emily, sweet girl that she is, has started working at an animal shelter in her free time. I let her animated chatter flow over my head as I widen my senses again. Nothing but contentment, love and pride now and I selfishly bask in the glow of her maternal love for a moment before closing the connection. I ask about her husband. Sensing no unhappiness anywhere in her psyche I begin to bring the session to a close. On an impulse, however, I ask one last question.

“Have you ever thought of contacting her?”

Her head shoots up and she stares at me, her face frozen. Eventually she responds, stumbling over the words, “I thought I was meant to put it all behind me. It was such a long time ago after all…”

I can hear the excitement in her voice, tinged with trepidation, but it propels me forward.

“You shared something very unique and wonderful with this woman…”

“Julia.”

She never told me the name before. I smile at her, “Julia. I don’t see any harm in contacting her, perhaps arranging a meeting.”

“What about Robert? I would never do anything to hurt him.”

She has misunderstood my intent, I nearly stammer trying to reassure her but try not to lose my air of professionalism, “I am not suggesting anything other than friendship to you Mrs Anderson. Do you not think you would enjoy her company again?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so happy. Why did I not suggest it before? She’s very nervous but I lessen it and she leaves me in a bustle of excitement. Full of plans to track down her lost love. I walk her to the door and wave briefly before closing it. Last patient of the day. Time for a gin and tonic.

Half an hour later I sit in front of the fire, cursing my decision to switch from coal to gas, a large glass in my hand and dressed in grey sweatpants and an oversized jumper. It’s been a long day.

So many little problems… so many big problems. Not sure if there’s a difference between them. I get every type.

I drain the glass and stand up, walk to a large mirror on the wall. Without my war paint I look much older. I self-consciously raise a hand to my face, trace the fine lines around my mouth, my eyes. Mrs Anderson is only six years my elder yet she treats me like a young woman. Strange how one’s perceptions can be skewed, altered.

I drag my gaze away from the weary woman in the mirror and head towards the filing cabinet. I glance through my appointment book and pull out the appropriate files for tomorrow. Files with little stars denote patients who need special treatment. I sit down and leaf through the files. Tomorrow will be busy. Two alcoholics, several people with anxiety and stress related disorders and one teenage girl suffering from anorexia.

I have argued about the ethics of what I do with myself many times. Just because I can go into a person’s mind and suppress the addiction to alcohol, does it mean I should? Yes they are happier because of it, but do I have the right to alter parts of their mind? I always try not to do more than I deem necessary, only fix the sections they come to me for help about. Fix? Heal. I am a healer, not of the body but of the mind. Often all I am needed for is the skills I was taught in college, to listen, to help people to help themselves. Those are the times I feel like a true psychologist. Am I abusing my powers? Abusing my position of power? I have gifts, I do not know what to call them. I do not know if it’s telepathy, I cannot control the thoughts of others. It may be what they call telempathy. I sense emotions. No, not sense more like experience. But they are separate from images I receive, information sent into my head.

I have saved lives. This I know to be true. Gone into the heads of others and given happiness where once was only a black hole of despair. Such negative emotions cannot always be merely obliterated in a moment and I sometimes transfer them to myself. It is worth it. I have helped abused children love themselves. That is the root of all unhappiness. You cannot be happy unless you love yourself. It is a realisation I have come to over the years. I have spoken with people who have believed that nothing good could come from their existence. I changed their minds. I work in youth drop-in centres for free. I spend six hours every week at rape crisis centres. They thank me for what I have done for them. Tell me I have changed their lives, brought them back from the brink, given them hope again. Would they look at me with such admiration if they knew what I did? What I am?

I am right. I know it. I can help people with these gifts more than I can as only their psychologist. They would still thank me, I’m sure, if they knew. People would understand. People are very tolerant. I should tell them the truth. No, I won’t. Nothing good would come of it. It does not matter. I am doing good work. Helping people like this is right. I am right.

Aren’t I?




(END)

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