Day 52: Doctor's Office 6 (Dr. Wilson) [Fourth Shift]

[oncological.livejournal.com]

While Mr. Rousseau (or Brook, as he liked to be called), had been a bit... eccentric ("kooky" was the more accurate, but less PC word), he had also been more or less harmless, and the session had gone as smoothly as could be expected. More than that, it had ended in a timely manner, giving Wilson the chance to have a leisurely lunch out on the patio. While he knew it might be better to befriend some of the other doctors (if he'd gotten to know Dr. Stein, maybe he could have figured out what Brook had been so spooked about), he ended up staying to himself.

Part of it was because he didn't want to get too attached to this place. He got fixated on people who needed to be fixed, and that was basically all of his patients here. While Wilson figured that his lack of experience and the terrible administration meant that he'd be jumping to return to Princeton-Plainsboro the second that Cuddy called him back, he did worry all the same. What if he couldn't disconnect?

So he tried to limit the people he met to his patients and he hoped for the best. Though for this afternoon, he was scheduled to meet two new people: one Oliver Queen and one Arthur Kirkland. Both of them appeared to have identity issues, judging from a quick glance over their files, but he was going to reserve his judgment until he met the two men for himself.

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[teabastard.livejournal.com]

Therapy. That's what the nurse had told him and England had been, well, displeased was a mild way of putting it. Two thousand years he'd lived, and he'd never once needed to see any kind of therapist. They were mostly charlatans in his mind, peddling snake oil to people who didn't know better. And really, who could possibly hope to give therapy to a Nation? With a few exceptions, humans had absolutely no ability to grasp exactly what that entailed.

The bloody woman didn't pay any attention to his rational and well thought out argument and just said that he needed to get better and this would help. Well, it certainly wasn't going to help his blood pressure was it? Heal the mind but give him a sodding heart attack in the process.

The area that the nurse brought him to wasn't familiar to him, so he memorised the route. Doctors might have more information about this place than the nurses. Perhaps getting back there at night would be of benefit. Or he could attempt to find out more from the doctor himself.

He entered the room, an impassive expression on his face, and scrutinised the doctor. He seemed young, not quite what he'd pictured of a psychiatrist. And the office was making an attempt to be homely. It wasn't convincing him though.

"Well, should we get on with it," he said sourly, "so we can sooner be done with this whole tedious charade?"