All things considered, his discussion with Harvey Dent could have gone worse. Even though neither of them had been given much choice in whether to spend the shift together, they'd been able to make the best out of a bad situation by remaining civil to one another. He'd also given Barnaby a better idea of what to expect when he inevitably talked to more patients here.

There were still too many unanswered questions, though, not to mention too many things that set him on edge. Unfortunately, he already realized his nurse wasn't going to be of much assistance. In fact, she seemed more preoccupied with getting him to go to the greenhouse for this shift.

"That's where most of the male patients will be," she explained. "Wouldn't you like to plant some flowers with them?"

And possibly get soil under his nails? Please. Not that he was afraid to get his hands dirty when the situation called for it, but Barnaby had no intention of doing so just to amuse his captors. "No, thank you," he answered with a polite smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "If it's all right, I'd rather stay in here."

The nurse didn't look too pleased. "But you spent second shift here..."

Barnaby's gaze didn't waver. "Is that not allowed, then?"

"Well, yes, it's allowed, but..." The nurse sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't be a problem if you stayed. Go have a seat. I have to help pass out some letters, but I'll check on you later."

"Thank you." He could only hope that, by "checking on him", she didn't mean bringing someone to sit next to him.

With that, Barnaby settled down on one of the couches, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned back against the cushions. According to the schedule posted to the bulletin board, there were only four activity shifts in a day, followed by dinner, and then presumably lights out. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could be left alone for the rest of the day. After two shifts in a row of talking to perfect strangers, Barnaby was starting to grow tired. With his powers gone, his memories unreliable, and apparently not a single soul who knew him, he felt vulnerable, fragile, and small.

Barnaby hated it.

All he could do now was soak in these few precious moments of quiet so he could better brace himself for whatever happened next. Hands resting at his sides, Barnaby closed his eyes and tried to look like he was napping.

[For Ramona]

While Vincent hadn't been the chattiest patient, he also hadn't been completely impossible to deal with, and so Wilson counted his morning session as a decent return to this whole pretending-to-be-a-psychologist thing. Granted, what he really needed was a session that lasted a few hours so that he could start to really get a feel for the people who was supposed to be helping, but that was clearly too much to ask for.

He was going to have a return visit this afternoon, though, so Wilson decided he'd just have to try and make some sort of progress there. Florian Rousseau -- or Brook, as he seemed to prefer -- was one of the more upbeat, excitable patients that Wilson had dealt with here. He didn't know if that was a sign of him being manic or if Brook was just closer to recovery than a lot of the others, but he could get a better idea of that this afternoon.

The one thing that still stuck with Wilson after their first session was that Brook had been put in here because he believed himself to be a skeleton (or rather, that he was only made up of bones), and yet now that delusion seemed to be gone. What was it that was keeping him here? That was what Wilson was hoping to understand.

Either way, he had to admit it would be nice to deal with someone who wasn't going to glare at him sullenly from across the desk like most of his patients did. Hopefully Brook would be in as good of a mood today as he had been the first time they'd talked.

While Harvey never really enjoyed having to babysit one of the newer patients, he had to admit that Barnaby had been pretty easy to deal with. He'd been composed, quiet, and focused, which was a lot better than some of the other patients who only gave confused looks or had over-the-top reactions to everything they heard.

The point was, that conversation had almost been enjoyable, which was strange for Harvey to admit. He didn't know how Barnaby was going to manage in this place in the long run, but he wouldn't be surprised if he found his feet eventually and then did decently well for himself. It wasn't Harvey's job to care either way, but the close quarters they were kept in meant he'd probably end up finding out anyway.

Unfortunately, a positive note could only last for so long. As usual, it was a nurse who ruined it by insisting that he should go to the greenhouse for the last shift of the day. "Mr. Eckhart, it's not cold in there, so it shouldn't be any strain on you. It might be nice to help something grow, don't you think?"

He didn't dignify any of that with a response and instead resigned himself to his fate. He was one of the first people to make it into the muggy greenhouse, and he realized that he wasn't a fan of being cold or being hot. He fanned the air in front of his face for a few seconds and then went to find somewhere to sit down.

All the plants were lined up in pots; it almost felt like they were staring at him, waiting for him to do something about it. Well, that wasn't gonna happen.

[For Peter Parker.]

_{[free. :3]}

Tsubaki was on her way out to the recreational field when she was unexpectedly beckoned for mail call. Huh? Mail?

She hadn’t given much thought to letters since the last time they’d been passed out amongst the prisoners. Whether or not getting mail was going to be a regular thing had seem less important in the grand scheme of things, and she hadn’t needed to worry seeing as how she hadn’t received anything.

Today, though, a letter addressed to Watanabe Miyu was pushed into her hand before she was sent off the way she had come, left to stare at the slightly crinkled envelope.

A letter, not just for anybody, but for her.

Seeing that the name belonged to her parents, the surprise wasn’t so severe. She had grown accustomed to their visits. If they had been presented with the chance to write to her, too, she knew they would have taken it in a heartbeat; they were worried and wanted to reassure their daughter. Nonetheless, things from the outside world still raised a touch of uncertainty in her, and the letter sat heavy in her hand as she exited onto the recreational field.

Should she read it now? What if it… said something she couldn’t predict?

Having bundled up for the occasion, Tsubaki wasn’t that bothered by the cold when she moved to a secluded area and took a seat on the crisp grass. Just opening the letter was the obvious and most easy thing to do, but something held Tsubaki back. Nerves. Sadness. A small flicker of anticipation. Resolving her mixed feelings required a moment to think.

She drew her fingers along the envelope, turning it in her fingers.

Layton was feeling a little more confident now that he had gotten through an entire session on his own. He wasn't sure how he'd performed, but they had managed to stay on task the entire time, so that was a small victory. Improvement was gradual, and he needed to remind himself of that and take pride in the little things where he could.

He perused his next patient's file while he waited for him to show up, a Mr. Cody Wheeler, likewise suffering from a dissociative disorder. (This place seemed to be very specialized in the sorts of patients they accepted.) He had been here for a little longer than Mr. Sullivan, but not nearly long enough to have seen a therapist before, apparently. Goodness, this place was understaffed, enough so that they were willing to hire an archaeologist with nothing better to do in his spare time. The circumstances were still highly curious, since one would have thought that there would be plenty of potential therapists to hire; psychology always seemed to be a popular field of study back at the university.

Well, he'd never said that life couldn't be just as strange as fiction.

Having familiarized himself with a few relevant details regarding the man's background, Layton closed the file carefully and checked the time. He still had a few minutes. It really wouldn't hurt...with a guilty smile, he opened one of the bottom desk drawers and pulled out one of the many crossword puzzle books sitting in there, the kind that one might buy from a gas station convenience store. He had just started one the other night, and it was almost finished. Just a few more words to fill in--ah! There it was. 68 Across: Fix, in a way, as a lawn. 6 letters...

It was a funny thing, how familiar routines could be both a comfort and a hindrance. Although Daedalus was content to reengage with his assigned task here at the Institute, the fact that it was just another ordinary day grated on his nerves. For him, it was a feather’s touch on his mind that was easily dealt with, but for the average person it might have been more akin to a thorn in one’s foot. It was to Daedalus’ advantage that he wasn’t prone to losing himself in brooding moods like some acquaintances of his.

Even so, his curiosity wouldn’t let him drop the matter entirely. His last day of work before the impromptu vacation had seen the likes of an armed “inspection.” One would truly have to be dumb to fail to realize the implications of such a thing. But satiating his curiosity by querying the source wasn’t possible, just as it wasn’t back home. Backdoor routes and subtle tactics were ever the best option.

His next patient wasn’t unwelcome in that regard. The girl--Dolores Haze, Anise Tatlin--she had been on his schedule that day. At the very least, their time apart was a potential conversation topic, ensuring they would not run out of things to say.