[ficlet]
Last night ...
John rages.
And trashes his apartment.
Not that it takes a lot, just throwing around the few things he has, knocking over a table, and then kicking the back of the couch so hard his boot rips through the material and he has to tug on his leg to get out and that makes him even more furious. And maybe he sends a fireball or two in the direction of the curtains. He's aware enough that he doesn't let it get out of control, it doesn't smoke or burn bright enough to startle anyone else.
He lets one little flame catch on to it. And he controls it, eating up the cheap material slowly. He makes stupid designs as he sinks to his knees and watches, breathing heavily.
Finally, a piece of the cloth drops to the ground.
He extinguishes the flame and it makes him feel empty. But at least he isn't angry anymore.
**
("Is he ready?" the man in the long black cloak asks.
The doctor shakes his head. "Almost. It's been hard for him, coming from the facility."
"We let him out of there so he could be recruited," the man says. He sounds annoyed. "And we're no closer now then we were a month ago. My bosses will not wait much longer."
The doctor is calm, not at all intimidated. "It would do you well to know that you can't push John Allerdyce into this. He's got to think it's what he wants."
"Make it what he wants."
"He already does," the doctor says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He just has to admit it to himself.")
**
This morning...
John sits straight on the uncomfortable couch. No matter how many times Dr. Smith tells him to get comfortable, lay out, relax, John refuses to. It's not a guard he'll let drop, the one he let's himself hang on to since he has so few left in this stupid office.
The doctor looks at him over the rim of his glasses. "And then what happened?"
John shrugs. "Nothing. I cleaned everything up and went to bed."
"Why were you angry?"
"No reason."
"John."
John sighs. "I don't know. JP keeps asking me to come home. I want to, you know. You keep telling me I can't." He spits out the accusation but he knows it's not the doctor's fault.
So does Dr. Smith. "Now, John, it's not me telling you this. It's you telling me."
"I want to go home," John says flatly.
"Then you should tell me about your progress," the doctor suggests. "In controlling your anger. In finding a job. In deciding what you want to do with your life. In dealing with your jealousy over certain things in your life."
John remains silent.
"Ah, see," Dr. Smith says. "It's not me, but you in your own indecision."
John sighs. "I know. But -- there are no jobs for people like me." He'll start there. That one is easy.
"Of course there are," Dr. Smith says. "I daresay, someone with your special -- skill set, shall we? Is highly sought after."
John snorts. "Ex-terrorist? Oh, yeah. I'm at the top of everyone's list."
"If that's all you see yourself as," Dr. Smith says, "then, you're right, perhaps you won't find a new position somewhere."
John can feel himself start to get angry. "Don't start your psycho-babble with me. This reverse shit isn't going to work."
Dr. Smith looks at him calmly. "I'm not trying to reverse anything. But you need to see all sides of things so you can find your true answer. Find out who you really think, who you really are."
John doesn't say anything. He just looks out the window. "Are we done now?" he asks flatly.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'll see you Friday?"
John stands up. "Yeah," he says, brushing the other man off. "See you then."
John leaves, but keeps his anger in check, and at least manages a civil goodbye.
**
("And how was he today?" the man in the coat asks.
Dr. Smith smiles. "Much closer. He's nearly yours."
The other man smiles, finally.)
**
John walks and walks and walks all morning.
He finds himself ending up at his old training facility. He hasn't been there since being back in the city. His code still works, and it's clean and feels like it's still being used. No one's there right then, but it makes him pleased to think that maybe the kids at the shelter are still using it. Maybe he's still helping some way.
He goes to the room he customized especially for him and his fire. He takes out his lighter, finds that little spark of ignition, and fills it to the brim with licking flames.
He sits in the middle of it, thinking.
John rages.
And trashes his apartment.
Not that it takes a lot, just throwing around the few things he has, knocking over a table, and then kicking the back of the couch so hard his boot rips through the material and he has to tug on his leg to get out and that makes him even more furious. And maybe he sends a fireball or two in the direction of the curtains. He's aware enough that he doesn't let it get out of control, it doesn't smoke or burn bright enough to startle anyone else.
He lets one little flame catch on to it. And he controls it, eating up the cheap material slowly. He makes stupid designs as he sinks to his knees and watches, breathing heavily.
Finally, a piece of the cloth drops to the ground.
He extinguishes the flame and it makes him feel empty. But at least he isn't angry anymore.
**
("Is he ready?" the man in the long black cloak asks.
The doctor shakes his head. "Almost. It's been hard for him, coming from the facility."
"We let him out of there so he could be recruited," the man says. He sounds annoyed. "And we're no closer now then we were a month ago. My bosses will not wait much longer."
The doctor is calm, not at all intimidated. "It would do you well to know that you can't push John Allerdyce into this. He's got to think it's what he wants."
"Make it what he wants."
"He already does," the doctor says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He just has to admit it to himself.")
**
This morning...
John sits straight on the uncomfortable couch. No matter how many times Dr. Smith tells him to get comfortable, lay out, relax, John refuses to. It's not a guard he'll let drop, the one he let's himself hang on to since he has so few left in this stupid office.
The doctor looks at him over the rim of his glasses. "And then what happened?"
John shrugs. "Nothing. I cleaned everything up and went to bed."
"Why were you angry?"
"No reason."
"John."
John sighs. "I don't know. JP keeps asking me to come home. I want to, you know. You keep telling me I can't." He spits out the accusation but he knows it's not the doctor's fault.
So does Dr. Smith. "Now, John, it's not me telling you this. It's you telling me."
"I want to go home," John says flatly.
"Then you should tell me about your progress," the doctor suggests. "In controlling your anger. In finding a job. In deciding what you want to do with your life. In dealing with your jealousy over certain things in your life."
John remains silent.
"Ah, see," Dr. Smith says. "It's not me, but you in your own indecision."
John sighs. "I know. But -- there are no jobs for people like me." He'll start there. That one is easy.
"Of course there are," Dr. Smith says. "I daresay, someone with your special -- skill set, shall we? Is highly sought after."
John snorts. "Ex-terrorist? Oh, yeah. I'm at the top of everyone's list."
"If that's all you see yourself as," Dr. Smith says, "then, you're right, perhaps you won't find a new position somewhere."
John can feel himself start to get angry. "Don't start your psycho-babble with me. This reverse shit isn't going to work."
Dr. Smith looks at him calmly. "I'm not trying to reverse anything. But you need to see all sides of things so you can find your true answer. Find out who you really think, who you really are."
John doesn't say anything. He just looks out the window. "Are we done now?" he asks flatly.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'll see you Friday?"
John stands up. "Yeah," he says, brushing the other man off. "See you then."
John leaves, but keeps his anger in check, and at least manages a civil goodbye.
**
("And how was he today?" the man in the coat asks.
Dr. Smith smiles. "Much closer. He's nearly yours."
The other man smiles, finally.)
**
John walks and walks and walks all morning.
He finds himself ending up at his old training facility. He hasn't been there since being back in the city. His code still works, and it's clean and feels like it's still being used. No one's there right then, but it makes him pleased to think that maybe the kids at the shelter are still using it. Maybe he's still helping some way.
He goes to the room he customized especially for him and his fire. He takes out his lighter, finds that little spark of ignition, and fills it to the brim with licking flames.
He sits in the middle of it, thinking.