It Isn’t That I’m Crazy, I’m Just Having a Bad Day
Well, might as well kick off the posting with something new...
Title: It Isn’t That I’m Crazy, I’m Just Having a Bad Day - Session One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: hints of Sobel/Evans, implied unrequited Sobel/Winters, mentions of Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 628 for Session One
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 an off-shoot of the Modern Day AU of Doom, otherwise known as “Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway.” Written with alouette_sparra in mind.
~x~x~
Session #1
Herbert Sobel shifted uncomfortably with a muffled squeak on the leather monstrosity in Dr. Robert Sink’s office. A cheap imitation of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” hung on the wall across from him and several potted plants sat along the windowsills.
“I just want to make one thing clear,” Sobel declared, refusing to lie down and instead sitting bolt upright on the couch. “I don’t need therapy.”
Sink said nothing. He was seated parallel to Sobel in an old wooden rocking chair that looked like it belonged in a hunter’s lodge in Montana rather than a psychologist’s office in New York City. Sink, himself, looked like something out of a Hemingway novel and the chair only reinforced the imagery.
The chair also creaked with every rocking motion. The sound annoyed Sobel immensely. He continued talking to cover up the horrid little noise.
“I’m perfectly well-adjusted and happen to be quite content with my life,” he said. “I don’t have any issues with either of my parents, no one ever touched me in an inappropriate manner when I was growing up, and I do not have a problem with alcohol and/or drugs. I do not need therapy.”
“Uh-huh,” Sink replied.
“In fact, I apologize for this situation and for having to take up an hour of your day. I’m sure your time in valuable and this slot could’ve been used for someone who actually needed it.”
“Unlike yourself.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Mr. Sobel?”
“Yes, Dr. Sink?”
“Why are you here today?”
Sobel frowned and took a deep breath. He tried not to let his posture stoop at the older man’s words. The subject was a touchy one, to say the least.
“Surely you already know that,” Sobel commented. “I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t already told you.”
“That’s not the point,” Sink responded. “I want to hear it out of your mouth.”
Sobel’s frown deepened. “Well, if you insist…”
“And I do.”
“It was strongly suggested to me by my immediate supervisor that regularly scheduled sessions with a councilor of some sort would be beneficial to the continuation of my employment with Strayer & Horton.”
Sink nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Sobel stared at the knock-off of Monet’s “Water Lilies” over Sink’s left shoulder. Sobel detested Monet.
“So what you’re saying is that you are here as part of a mandatory therapy program handed down to you from your boss?” Sink remarked.
Sobel blinked and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t call it ‘mandatory.’”
Sink began writing in the notebook balanced on one knee. “Uh-huh.”
“And as I said, I don’t need therapy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Also, I don’t think ‘program’ is the correct term.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you writing?”
“Nothing you have to concern yourself with, Mr. Sobel. After all, you’re not in therapy right now, are you?”
“Right, of course.”
Five minutes ticked by as Sobel said nothing and the only noise coming from Sink was the scratching of his pen on paper.
“So why are you here today?” Sink asked.
“I got into a fight with Christenson from Accounts Payable and Mr. Strayer told me that if I didn’t get some psychological help then he would can me.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sobel’s frown returned.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly, no.”
Sink shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Ten more minutes passed before the silence broke again.
“That’s it?” Sobel inquired. “You’re not going to ask me any questions?”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk then I’m not going to force you.” Sink grinned. “Besides, I get paid whether you say anything or not so it’s no skin off my back.”
Sobel folded his arms, the frown in danger of becoming a permanent expression on his face. “You don’t seem like a very good therapist.”
Sink just smirked and kept writing.
Title: It Isn’t That I’m Crazy, I’m Just Having a Bad Day - Session One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: hints of Sobel/Evans, implied unrequited Sobel/Winters, mentions of Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 628 for Session One
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 an off-shoot of the Modern Day AU of Doom, otherwise known as “Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway.” Written with alouette_sparra in mind.
~x~x~
Session #1
Herbert Sobel shifted uncomfortably with a muffled squeak on the leather monstrosity in Dr. Robert Sink’s office. A cheap imitation of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” hung on the wall across from him and several potted plants sat along the windowsills.
“I just want to make one thing clear,” Sobel declared, refusing to lie down and instead sitting bolt upright on the couch. “I don’t need therapy.”
Sink said nothing. He was seated parallel to Sobel in an old wooden rocking chair that looked like it belonged in a hunter’s lodge in Montana rather than a psychologist’s office in New York City. Sink, himself, looked like something out of a Hemingway novel and the chair only reinforced the imagery.
The chair also creaked with every rocking motion. The sound annoyed Sobel immensely. He continued talking to cover up the horrid little noise.
“I’m perfectly well-adjusted and happen to be quite content with my life,” he said. “I don’t have any issues with either of my parents, no one ever touched me in an inappropriate manner when I was growing up, and I do not have a problem with alcohol and/or drugs. I do not need therapy.”
“Uh-huh,” Sink replied.
“In fact, I apologize for this situation and for having to take up an hour of your day. I’m sure your time in valuable and this slot could’ve been used for someone who actually needed it.”
“Unlike yourself.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Mr. Sobel?”
“Yes, Dr. Sink?”
“Why are you here today?”
Sobel frowned and took a deep breath. He tried not to let his posture stoop at the older man’s words. The subject was a touchy one, to say the least.
“Surely you already know that,” Sobel commented. “I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t already told you.”
“That’s not the point,” Sink responded. “I want to hear it out of your mouth.”
Sobel’s frown deepened. “Well, if you insist…”
“And I do.”
“It was strongly suggested to me by my immediate supervisor that regularly scheduled sessions with a councilor of some sort would be beneficial to the continuation of my employment with Strayer & Horton.”
Sink nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Sobel stared at the knock-off of Monet’s “Water Lilies” over Sink’s left shoulder. Sobel detested Monet.
“So what you’re saying is that you are here as part of a mandatory therapy program handed down to you from your boss?” Sink remarked.
Sobel blinked and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t call it ‘mandatory.’”
Sink began writing in the notebook balanced on one knee. “Uh-huh.”
“And as I said, I don’t need therapy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Also, I don’t think ‘program’ is the correct term.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you writing?”
“Nothing you have to concern yourself with, Mr. Sobel. After all, you’re not in therapy right now, are you?”
“Right, of course.”
Five minutes ticked by as Sobel said nothing and the only noise coming from Sink was the scratching of his pen on paper.
“So why are you here today?” Sink asked.
“I got into a fight with Christenson from Accounts Payable and Mr. Strayer told me that if I didn’t get some psychological help then he would can me.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sobel’s frown returned.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly, no.”
Sink shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Ten more minutes passed before the silence broke again.
“That’s it?” Sobel inquired. “You’re not going to ask me any questions?”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk then I’m not going to force you.” Sink grinned. “Besides, I get paid whether you say anything or not so it’s no skin off my back.”
Sobel folded his arms, the frown in danger of becoming a permanent expression on his face. “You don’t seem like a very good therapist.”
Sink just smirked and kept writing.