Departures and Returns
The following is dedicated to alouette_sparra. Semper Fidelis. End of story. You know what I mean.
Title: It Isn’t That I’m Crazy, I’m Just Having a Bad Day - Session Nine
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: eventual Sobel/Evans, implied unrequited past Sobel/Winters, mentions of Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 1,176 for Part Nine
Rating: PG-13
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This is takes place in the Big Damn AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. Written for and with the help of alouette_sparra. Thanks also go to melliyna for being such a cheerful enabler to this madness and foofighter0234 for contributing to this mad little foray.
~x~x~
Session #9
Herbert Sobel hadn’t meant for the words to come out the way they did but somehow when he entered Dr. Sink’s office and commented, “you’ve been away for the past three weeks,” he still managed to sound like a petulant and sulking child.
Dr. Robert Sink paused as he walked over to his Montana hunter’s lodge rocking chair from behind his classic oak desk and raised an eyebrow, smirking just barely. “That I was, Mr. Sobel,” he replied. “How did your sessions with Dr. Matheson go?”
Sobel slowly moved towards the inviting soft cushions of the oversized tan leather couch that he customarily spilled his proverbial guts all over but on this day he couldn’t quite seem to make it all the way there, opting instead to pace around his therapist’s smallish office. He shook his head, arms folded against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going on vacation for three weeks?”
Sink sighed almost inaudibly, settling himself in the rocking chair with notebook in hand. “There are a couple of things you ought to keep in mind, Mr. Sobel,” he remarked. “The first is that it’s generally considered impolite to answer a question with another question. The second is that I am under no obligation to keep you abreast of my travel arrangements. And the third is that the only person in this room who gets to ask the questions is me. Are we clear on those points?”
Sobel may or may not have huffed. He opened his mouth to say something but the pointed look that Sink gave him effectively ended that particular line of discussion and Sobel snapped his jaw shut like a very large goldfish, mumbling something under his breath.
“What’s that, son?” Sink said. “I don’t think I heard you.”
“Yes sir,” Sobel repeated only fractionally louder than the first time.
“Uh-huh. Now quit hovering like a fly over a cowpie and sit your ass down on the Goddamn couch already, will you?”
The leather voiced a weak protest against Sobel’s weight as he gave another mumble.
“Speak up there, boy, I still can’t hear you. I ain’t made of ears.”
“Yes sir.”
Dr. Sink nodded then, satisfied with their proceedings, and inquired, “Now then, how were your sessions with Dr. Matheson?”
“I hated them,” Sobel grumbled.
“Why?”
“It’s not that I think Dr. Matheson is a bad therapist,” Sobel explained, “because one could probably argue that he’s better than you are.”
Sink smirked again, chuckled lightly at that.
“But he didn’t understand me,” Sobel went on to say. “He thought he did and he said all the things that I’m sure he assumed that someone in my position would want or need to hear, but none of it was genuine. None of it felt honest. And none of it actually meant anything to me. So really, I kind of feel like it was all pointless.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” Sink commented.
“Why’d you have to send me to Dr. Matheson in the first place? It was a waste of three sessions.”
“In the mandatory therapy program set up with this office by your superiors at Strayer & Horton, LLP it’s stipulated that you attend one session per week. The psychologist present is less important than the session taking place as far as they’re concerned,” Dr. Sink explained. “And besides, Sal usually handles my patients when I need to take time off.”
Herbert Sobel was quiet for a long time before daring to ask again, “Dr. Sink, why were you gone for three weeks?”
“Things happen, Mr. Sobel,” Dr. Robert Sink responded with the barest hint of a sigh. “I had other matters to tend to.”
“But…why didn’t you say something before you left?” Sobel insisted to himself that there was no sign of moping in his tone.
Sink shook his head. “It wasn’t what you would call a planned vacation by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Oh.”
For a while the only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the wall clock and the scratching of Sink’s pen against the notebook page.
“You know, in retrospect, I should have seen it coming.”
There was a bitter tang to Herbert Sobel’s voice that not only cracked the relative silence but made Campari and collard greens sweet as honey in comparison. His scowl looked like it had been carved into his face since the dawn of time. Sobel’s hands formed fists that opened and closed at his sides in a gesture of aggravation and helplessness. He sneered in derision yet whether his disdain was aimed outward or inward remained unclear.
Sink tilted his head and leaned back in his chair, rocking with a steady squeak. “Have you recently become gifted with telepathy, clairvoyance, or precognition?”
“No.”
“Then how could you have possibly known that something would’ve come up to pull me away from the office?”
“Everyone ends up leaving at some point.”
“You mean like Dick Winters?”
At which point Herbert Sobel clammed up and shut down.
Sink wrote a full page and a half of notes, many of which were underlined.
The session was almost over when Robert Sink closed his notebook and set it aside, folding his hands in his lap.
“An old friend of mine was diagnosed with throat cancer,” he stated with a calm matter-of-fact-ness. “I cancelled all my appointments the day he told me and booked a flight out to California because I know he’s a tough bastard and for him to actually admit to something being wrong with him meant things were pretty damn bad.” Sink got up then and returned to his desk where folders and stacks of paperwork awaited him. “So while I understand how your fear of abandonment might color your view of things I hope you can appreciate the fact that not everything is connected to people walking out on you.”
Sobel pursed his lips, humbled and inarticulate.
“But I am glad to hear that you haven’t had any knock-down drag-out confrontations with Christenson in Accounts Payable while I was gone,” Sink added.
Sobel gaped a little while Sink winked and chuckled under his breath.
“Take care of yourself, Mr. Sobel. We’ll pick up as usual next week.”
Effectively dismissed, Sobel rose from the couch and took a few steps towards the door before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Dr. Sink?”
“Yes, Mr. Sobel?”
“How…um…how’s your friend?”
One corner of Sink’s mouth twitched with a smirk. “Steve’s a tough son of a bitch. He’s responding well to treatment and his cancer’s going into remission. His voice is going to be raspy for the rest of his life because of the damage but that’s a small sacrifice to make in the grand scheme of things. Thank you for asking, Mr. Sobel.”
Sobel nodded, grinning back awkwardly. “Okay.” He was almost at the door when he turned around again. “I…uh…I’m glad you’re back, Dr. Sink.”
Sink smiled openly this time, open and avuncular and comforting. “Glad to be back, Mr. Sobel. I’ll see you next week.”
Cookies and gold stars to the folks who can spot the fandom crossover reference contained in this piece.
Title: It Isn’t That I’m Crazy, I’m Just Having a Bad Day - Session Nine
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: eventual Sobel/Evans, implied unrequited past Sobel/Winters, mentions of Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 1,176 for Part Nine
Rating: PG-13
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This is takes place in the Big Damn AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. Written for and with the help of alouette_sparra. Thanks also go to melliyna for being such a cheerful enabler to this madness and foofighter0234 for contributing to this mad little foray.
~x~x~
Session #9
Herbert Sobel hadn’t meant for the words to come out the way they did but somehow when he entered Dr. Sink’s office and commented, “you’ve been away for the past three weeks,” he still managed to sound like a petulant and sulking child.
Dr. Robert Sink paused as he walked over to his Montana hunter’s lodge rocking chair from behind his classic oak desk and raised an eyebrow, smirking just barely. “That I was, Mr. Sobel,” he replied. “How did your sessions with Dr. Matheson go?”
Sobel slowly moved towards the inviting soft cushions of the oversized tan leather couch that he customarily spilled his proverbial guts all over but on this day he couldn’t quite seem to make it all the way there, opting instead to pace around his therapist’s smallish office. He shook his head, arms folded against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going on vacation for three weeks?”
Sink sighed almost inaudibly, settling himself in the rocking chair with notebook in hand. “There are a couple of things you ought to keep in mind, Mr. Sobel,” he remarked. “The first is that it’s generally considered impolite to answer a question with another question. The second is that I am under no obligation to keep you abreast of my travel arrangements. And the third is that the only person in this room who gets to ask the questions is me. Are we clear on those points?”
Sobel may or may not have huffed. He opened his mouth to say something but the pointed look that Sink gave him effectively ended that particular line of discussion and Sobel snapped his jaw shut like a very large goldfish, mumbling something under his breath.
“What’s that, son?” Sink said. “I don’t think I heard you.”
“Yes sir,” Sobel repeated only fractionally louder than the first time.
“Uh-huh. Now quit hovering like a fly over a cowpie and sit your ass down on the Goddamn couch already, will you?”
The leather voiced a weak protest against Sobel’s weight as he gave another mumble.
“Speak up there, boy, I still can’t hear you. I ain’t made of ears.”
“Yes sir.”
Dr. Sink nodded then, satisfied with their proceedings, and inquired, “Now then, how were your sessions with Dr. Matheson?”
“I hated them,” Sobel grumbled.
“Why?”
“It’s not that I think Dr. Matheson is a bad therapist,” Sobel explained, “because one could probably argue that he’s better than you are.”
Sink smirked again, chuckled lightly at that.
“But he didn’t understand me,” Sobel went on to say. “He thought he did and he said all the things that I’m sure he assumed that someone in my position would want or need to hear, but none of it was genuine. None of it felt honest. And none of it actually meant anything to me. So really, I kind of feel like it was all pointless.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” Sink commented.
“Why’d you have to send me to Dr. Matheson in the first place? It was a waste of three sessions.”
“In the mandatory therapy program set up with this office by your superiors at Strayer & Horton, LLP it’s stipulated that you attend one session per week. The psychologist present is less important than the session taking place as far as they’re concerned,” Dr. Sink explained. “And besides, Sal usually handles my patients when I need to take time off.”
Herbert Sobel was quiet for a long time before daring to ask again, “Dr. Sink, why were you gone for three weeks?”
“Things happen, Mr. Sobel,” Dr. Robert Sink responded with the barest hint of a sigh. “I had other matters to tend to.”
“But…why didn’t you say something before you left?” Sobel insisted to himself that there was no sign of moping in his tone.
Sink shook his head. “It wasn’t what you would call a planned vacation by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Oh.”
For a while the only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the wall clock and the scratching of Sink’s pen against the notebook page.
“You know, in retrospect, I should have seen it coming.”
There was a bitter tang to Herbert Sobel’s voice that not only cracked the relative silence but made Campari and collard greens sweet as honey in comparison. His scowl looked like it had been carved into his face since the dawn of time. Sobel’s hands formed fists that opened and closed at his sides in a gesture of aggravation and helplessness. He sneered in derision yet whether his disdain was aimed outward or inward remained unclear.
Sink tilted his head and leaned back in his chair, rocking with a steady squeak. “Have you recently become gifted with telepathy, clairvoyance, or precognition?”
“No.”
“Then how could you have possibly known that something would’ve come up to pull me away from the office?”
“Everyone ends up leaving at some point.”
“You mean like Dick Winters?”
At which point Herbert Sobel clammed up and shut down.
Sink wrote a full page and a half of notes, many of which were underlined.
The session was almost over when Robert Sink closed his notebook and set it aside, folding his hands in his lap.
“An old friend of mine was diagnosed with throat cancer,” he stated with a calm matter-of-fact-ness. “I cancelled all my appointments the day he told me and booked a flight out to California because I know he’s a tough bastard and for him to actually admit to something being wrong with him meant things were pretty damn bad.” Sink got up then and returned to his desk where folders and stacks of paperwork awaited him. “So while I understand how your fear of abandonment might color your view of things I hope you can appreciate the fact that not everything is connected to people walking out on you.”
Sobel pursed his lips, humbled and inarticulate.
“But I am glad to hear that you haven’t had any knock-down drag-out confrontations with Christenson in Accounts Payable while I was gone,” Sink added.
Sobel gaped a little while Sink winked and chuckled under his breath.
“Take care of yourself, Mr. Sobel. We’ll pick up as usual next week.”
Effectively dismissed, Sobel rose from the couch and took a few steps towards the door before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Dr. Sink?”
“Yes, Mr. Sobel?”
“How…um…how’s your friend?”
One corner of Sink’s mouth twitched with a smirk. “Steve’s a tough son of a bitch. He’s responding well to treatment and his cancer’s going into remission. His voice is going to be raspy for the rest of his life because of the damage but that’s a small sacrifice to make in the grand scheme of things. Thank you for asking, Mr. Sobel.”
Sobel nodded, grinning back awkwardly. “Okay.” He was almost at the door when he turned around again. “I…uh…I’m glad you’re back, Dr. Sink.”
Sink smiled openly this time, open and avuncular and comforting. “Glad to be back, Mr. Sobel. I’ll see you next week.”
Cookies and gold stars to the folks who can spot the fandom crossover reference contained in this piece.