Day 40: Doctor's Office 3 (Dr. Kisugi) [Fourth Shift]

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

This morning's session with Miss Waterhouse had been a risky one, but Makiko still felt what she'd gained had outweighed the risks. It did mean, however, that she'd need to be even more cautious for a time, no matter how tempting today's patients might end up being (if they were, which she currently doubted - they were both men, after all). It wouldn't do to bring suspicion on herself when she'd only just started here, and hadn't had the time yet to establish herself.

She retrieved this afternoon's patient files from the drawer where she'd put them earlier and frowned slightly. Two of them. In one session. Most irritating, that she'd have to rush them, but at the same time it would hopefully prevent her from getting bored with one before the other arrived.

The first one should be arriving soon, though. She arranged the pair of files in the center of her desk, almost unconsciously aligning them parallel with the edge, and reached over to turn on the CD player. Whichever one was first, she was ready for him. Soon enough today's sessions would be over, and she could begin to prepare for next week.

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[wild-right-hand.livejournal.com]

Tokito stood up, the chair falling over behind him, and clenched his hands into fists. He didn't move any closer to the doctor, though, keeping his sudden anger under control. "I wasn't afraid! I was with Kubo-chan and I was--" Well, what was he, exactly? Happy? Most of the time, yes. Despite everything, despite the difficult search for his past and the pain and the uncertainty and everything that was wrong with his life, Tokito had been happy with Kubo-chan. "I wasn't miserable until you people took me away from him."

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

Outwardly, Makiko barely reacted to his outburst; she only gave a slight sigh as she flicked a glance down toward the fallen chair. At least he wasn't making a mess, and a chair was easily righted again. "Mr. Maeda, please sit down," she ordered, returning her attention to the file once more and adding another note.

"As for your assertion that your life was somehow better with "Kubo-chan," which by the way isn't his name, I would have to disagree." She frowned slightly at the page before her and tapped the pen a couple of times before continuing to write. "Just look at the way you're acting. You've obviously never allowed yourself to recover from what happened in the past."

[wild-right-hand.livejournal.com]

Tokito had been planning on sitting back down, but now that the doctor had ordered him to do so he found he didn't want to anymore. Stubbornly, and a little defensively, he crossed his arms over his chest and stayed standing where he was.

Of course they'd give Kubo-chan a fake name, too. Figured. It also helped Tokito decide for sure that 'Maeda Nao' had anything to do with his real life or name; Kubota Makoto was Kubo-chan's real name, there was no mystery there, no hidden past or amnesia to deal with, so if they said his name wasn't his name, they were probably just making shit up about Tokito, too. "What do you even care, we were fine and it's not like I'm a kid."

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

If he wanted to stand, he wanted to stand, and it wasn't as though Makiko cared all that much about his comfort. So long as he wasn't making a larger mess of her office, she was completely fine with it. She merely continued to write, as though he had actually obeyed and sat down.

"Clearly you weren't fine, if you ended up here," she observed, pausing long enough to point downward to indicate the hospital before she returned pen to paper again. "When you're a danger to yourself - and others - there comes a point when intervention is required." Still in the same tone of voice, even and calm as though they were merely discussing the weather, she added, "How has the pain in your hand been, these last few days?"

[wild-right-hand.livejournal.com]

Tokito tucked his right hand under his other arm, not exactly hiding it but certainly protecting it from further scrutiny. Too late, obviously, but it was instinctive more than conscious. "Fine."

That the doctor knew his hand hurt sometimes didn't mean anything. He'd had an attack a little while back, the staff had seen that. He hadn't taken his glove off, though, or let anyone see his hand. Maybe they had another "real" explanation for his hand, to go along with the "real" life they claimed he had.