2007-05-19: Not Quite Goren...



Guest Starring: Doctor Eames

Summary: Mara discovers the psychologist assigned to evaluate whether or not she is suitable to return to duty with the NYPD actually works for the Company.

Date It Happened: May 19, 2007

Not Quite Goren…

Kirby Plaza Building

One would think that wandering the halls of Kirby Plaza would be tedious, but for Mara Damaris, it's a necessary task. She's making her way around, trying to commit the layout to memory. And avoid the scrutiny of the agents about. She's got her cane with her today. Agent Granger was warned against mentioning her lack of apparent injury to anyone, and as far as anybody seems to know, Doctor Suresh is only keeping her here because she was in a bar fight and might have aggravated the injury to her knee. Which means he's been keeping her secrets well. Well, him and the security cameras.

Stepping out of one corridor into another - this one - up ahead is a stately-looking and, frankly, imposing gentleman of African American heritage. He's currently polishing a pair of small glasses, pinched delicately between the fingers of powerful-looking hands, with a satiny indigo cloth. It matches the jacket he wears, which is almost Mandarin in style with its clean lines and high, buttoned collar. He looks down the hall in Mara's direction, holds up his glasses to the light, slips them on, and looks more clearly at the woman. "Ah. Your hair." As if that explains something. "Are you finding your way around decently, Ms. Damaris?"

"As well as can be expected, considering how little time I spend here," Mara inclines her head to one side. "My hair? Then you were looking for me, I take it?" She absently runs her fingers through the blonde locks. "I'm afraid you have me at the disadvantage, sir. You know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Agent…?"

The man smiles thinly, not kind, but not unkind, either; it's funny how one can have a smile so neutral, of all things. "Oh, no," he corrects quietly, moving down the hall toward Mara to fall in step beside her, should she continue her trek through the Kirby building. "Doctor." Not agent. He tucks the handkerchief he had been polishing his glasses with into his breast pocket and extends his hand to Mara. "And you are my patient."

Mara's steps falter as she eyes the man's outstretched hand almost warily. Not agent. Doctor. "Doctor Who?" On her guard, her accent is quiet a bit thicker than usual. She takes his hand for a firm shake, though her eyes narrow in scrutiny. "What d'ya mean, your patient? I see Doctor Suresh." There's a note of uncertainty. Maybe some misgiving. What's going on here?

The man regards Mara with a blank expression. …Lack of expression, to be exact. "My name is Dr. Eames," he clarifies simply as his hand departs from Mara's; his grip was firm, encompassing. "I am not in Dr. Suresh's line of work. But, we do share the same base of patients," he explains, walking close to Mara without any actual contact. "I have your file in my possession, but I would like to get to know you better, Mara. I'm a psychologist."

Bloody hell. That figures. Mara forces a smile. "A pleasure, Doctor Eames. I don't need to see a shrink, tho'." Hazel eyes focus straight ahead as she walks. "I don't know what they've told you, but I really don't need to talk to any psychologist. No offense."

"No offense taken," Dr. Eames replies easily. "People are placed into such new frontiers these days; waking up one day and finding they can fly, or finding out one evening that they have the power to heal. Or to see the future, or the past. The human mind is still coping, still /working/ on how to adapt, because, we see, it outdoes it self from time to time." He strolls along slowly to account for Mara's 'limp'. "And what these people with extraordinary abilities witness because of their unique circumstances…" A pause in his words. "They all… could use a psychologist." Dr. Eames seems to be on the verge of cracking a smile. "No offense."

Psychometer watches Psychologist as she limps her way down the corridor, out of the corner of her eye. She cracks a grin as he rounds out his little speech by throwing her own words back at her. "All right, Doctor. I'll talk to you. You've got an office, then?"

Dr. Eames clasps his hands behind him as he strolls alongside Mara. The corridor is not never-ending; as the fork in the road presents itself, so to speak, his pace slows. "Good," he says with that verging smile, and then it's gone. "While I occasionally keep officespace here in the building…" he trails off, procuring a card from a pocket of his slacks. "My office in Greenwich Village is more… comfortable." Not to mention more inconspicuous. The card is handed to Mara. It's off-white with a simple name, address, and logo with a helix. "Call and schedule an appointment. I'd like to start at once a week."

Mara accepts the card, looking it over before slipping it into her back pocket. Her head snaps up when after the last word leaves his lips. "Once a week?! Are you jokin'?" She narrows her eyes, coming to a stop. "Is that /your/ assessment of how often you think I should be seeing you, or /their/ assessment?" They both know who 'they' are. She lets out a heavy sigh and purses her lips briefly. "If I see you once a week, are you gonna get me back on duty? Get me back into the department?"

"It is neither," Dr. Eames says rather gently, as if pointing out a simple fact that Mara overlooked. "You and I won't know how often we should have sessions until we get past the first stages. If all goes well… yes. That is the idea," he nods his heavy-looking head in confirmation. His dark eyes regard the woman with the intensity of someone who knows every subtle cue of her body language and automatically knows what every inflection of her voice means. "Don't worry. It is less painful than you might expect… given what pain you've been through so far."

Mara winces at that. "You don't know the first thing about me, Doctor Eames." I'm tougher than anybody thinks I am. And don't you try and talk about my pain. You don't know a /damn/ thing about my pain! There's so much anger in her eyes, but it's nothing compared to the fear that he might actually know what he's talking about. "All I care about is getting back to my job. I can't help anyone until I'm back in the department."

With that knowing look of his, Dr. Eames is patient as he hears out the detective. He does not flinch or, really, react at all to her anger. He only says, "I would like to help you get there, Mara." He reaches out to hold her shoulder for just a moment if he lets her, firm, and then turns to stride down the next hall to the right.

Did he just dismiss her? Mara stand stunned at the fork of the hallway. She presses her lips together, trying to formulate some sort of reply. Finally, she settles. "I'm calling first thing in the morning, Doctor. You'd better be ready!" she calls after him before turning on her heels and starting for the elevator that will take her back to her room. She has to pack. She has to get out.

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