2007-09-25: Twenty Questions And Nineteen Answers




Dr. Eames


As suggested by Mohinder, Megan visits Dr. Eames. She doesn't much like psychology.

September 25th, 2007:

Twenty Questions and Nineteen Answers

Dr. Eames' Temporary Office - Primatech

This office, tucked away in a corner at the end of a hall, is not as lovely as the one Dr. Eames prefers. While it's not the Greenwich Village's brownstone he prefers to see his patients in, it still has the atmosphere of a therapist's office. One room leads into the other, an initial, bland office with a desk into the main room, where dark wood is predominant, though off-set against the white walls which seem to be of a newer design. There's a small writing desk against one wall, but it's the only desk here; the other furniture consists of comfortable chairs, and a small coffee table, which currently has a teapot, cups, and saucers on it. Dr. Eames finishes arranging the tea and then opens the door himself to glance into the first room — there's no receptionist, here — to check for his next appointment.

After cautiously opening the door, Megan finds the room completely empty. No receptionist, no other patients. Just a room with comfortable chairs. She's not even sure there are magazines available for reading. Picking a seat near the outside door, she slowly lowers herself into it and looks about the room much like a bird would, quick movements of the head, nervous. Hands folded on each other, she doesn't relax into the chair so much as perch upon it. It's probably good that she has a very short time to wait before Dr. Eames opens the door himself and the Scotswoman quickly looks over at him, expectant and hesitant. "Hello?" she greets quietly, her accent immediately making itself known.

"Miss Deatley," Dr. Eames greets right away in his deep voice. "You're on time. Well," He nods, polite but to-the-point. "Come in." A mild smile warms his authoritative demeanour slightly as he holds the door open for Megan. "I must admit, I was wondering when an appointment would finally be arranged. Please, have a seat. Do you like tea?"

You say, "Dr. Eames, I presume?" Megan rises and glances over her shoulder at the exit before following his directions and stepping into his office. "To be honest, I dinna know ye even were here till Mohinder told me the other day." Who knew kidnapping Companies had Psychiatrists on retainer? "Did they tell ye I was in need of some head shrinkin'?" She's a little nervous as to this whole thing, but she tries to keep herself as toned down as possible. "Is that s'posed to tell ye something about me? What kind of tea I like?""

"Yes, I am Dr. Eames. Pleased to meet you, and no, they did not tell me you needed some 'head shrinking' as you say," the man says with gentle correction as he takes a seat in a comfortable chair, which sits across from another comfortable chair. "Ah, no, no," he adds, smiling in amusement as he lifts the small, silver teapot and pours steaming liquid into a cup. The tea set looks miniature in his hands. "I suppose it could lend some insight, but as it turns out, I only have one variety at this office. I hope you like orange pekoe." He lifts his brows up at Megan in question, letting the spout hover over the empty cup. "The truth is, Miss Deatley, I have read your file. I thought it was only natural you'd come to see me; I would have insisted on it. Don't worry, I don't believe you're in any danger of going crazy or any such thing."

While Megan is normally more tactful than Lachlan, once in awhile it shows that they're related. Since there's no need to introduce herself - he already said he'd read her whole file - she just takes a seat and watches him pour tea for them both. "Oh," she replies, chastised and corrected. "Sure. That sounds fine." Why not? In comparison, her own tea cup looks much bigger. They're like a study in the Alice in Wonderland bigger and smaller section. "I dinna realize that was a concern for anyone," she replies, though that's sort of a lie, since she herself has thought herself a more than a little crazy. "If ye dinna think'm crazy, why'd ye think I needed to come here?"

"Because you are in a unique situation, Megan," Dr. Eames says evenly. Sugar, honey, and milk are laid out on the small table with spoons, but he touches none of them, simply sitting back with his tea. The chair gives a faint crackle of leather. "Each of you with these powers, unique. And each of you, individually special. You've had quite a journey these pasts months, haven't you? You undoubtedly must have a lot on your mind. You can speak freely here."

Stirring in sugar and milk into her tea, Megan frowns and just keeps stirring. The man seems nice enough, but she doesn't know him. And talking to strangers of any kind is a little harrowing for the Scot. "So, what about ye? Are ye able to do anything?" For now she'll just ask a few questions and maybe speak later. "So far ye all talk about like there're a bunch of us. But so far've only met one or two who're able to use 'powers' or somethin'."

"Ah, we're not here to talk about me." Dr. Eames smiles briefly before a more neutral countenance settles in. "There are others," he confirms. "In this facility alone, there are many. Know that you're a part of something larger. Have you felt alone, before?"

Finally, Megan stops stirring her tea and puts the spoon down on the saucer. "Yeah, but if ye already know all this stuff about me, why'm I no' allowed to know anything about ye? Other than yer a doctor." This whole touchy-feely talking about her problems thing makes her a little nervous. "Yeah, well, who hasna? Everyone's alone sometimes."

"I'm just a psychologist, Megan. It's not that you aren't allowed. It's just that I'm not particularly interesting, I'm afraid — but I assure you, you're in good hands, and safe ears." Dr. Eames sips his tea, dark eyes regarding Megan evenly over the small cup, and continuing to do so once it's lowered. "Your ability is an interesting one… to stop feeling alone, all you have to do is reach out and touch someone else, and for you, you become literally connected to that other person. A part of them. How are you coming to terms with your power? I see you've had some practice as of late."

"Yer a psychologist to a bunch of people who can do weird things," Megan replies curiously. "How's that boring?" It seems more like a cover up than anything else. There's little that she trusts here. "S'no' the same as no' being alone. S'just taking over someone else." There's a difference. And then she shrugs. Talking about what she does is a little strange. "Dunno. No' exactly like've got much of a choice to come to terms with it or no'."

"It's true that you'll … likely have this power for the rest of your life — but some take to it better than others; they adjust, where others lose control, or … more rarely, because it is a difficult thing indeed… deny them altogether," Dr. Eames points out. "Or… others…" He shakes his head slowly, dismissive. "My point is, Megan— you can talk to me through your journey. It's one of discovery, and it is not always easy. It rarely is. It helps to talk about it. Not only your power, but your life; given the circumstances surrounding how you found us— " Interesting wording there, Dr. Eames. " —I'm sure you have an opinionated viewpoint of your current situation."

Very interesting phrasing, there. "Found ye? I dinna find ye. I was kidnapped and accosted." Megan's first outburst and real show of emotion here, but then she doesn't exactly want to let that phrasing stand by. "And how canna talk to you when ye work for them? Sure, if this were a court of law, ye could give me doctor patient privilege, but they made it quite clear rules donna apply here. In fact, they can just make me start to work for them for some plan've got no idea about without even talking to me and've got no real say in the matter! I dunna even know where to start with it! I dunna even know why I agreed to come here!"

Dr. Eames is calm throughout Megan's outburst, interested in it, in fact; his expression gives away hardly anything at all about what he's thinking, however… simply that he is thinking. At long last, he gives a small nod that seems to say: as I suspected. "I take doctor-patient privileges very seriously." Maybe there are degrees of confidentiality… "And you've a say in your future, everyone does. I know you've heard it all before, Megan — how this company works to keep others safe — the world safe. You agreed to come here because you have questions, Megan. Because you want to understand yourself. Don't you?"

That nod just serves to pull Megan's outburst inward. The tea mug is all but forgotten, though still in her hands. Instead of continuing with her tirade of the whole injustice, she slumps back in her chair. It feels a little like judgement and a little like someone observing her as an animal in a cage. "And ye think ye can tell me how to understand myself. When I dunna even know you?" she replies, a touch sulkily. "Ye dunna know me. Ye've read some file on me." Which is certainly not the same thing. She's ready more than a couple of case files.

Dr. Eames doesn't reply right away; instead, his dark eyes settle on her for a moment, as f waiting to make sure she won't have another outburst. Without looking away, he then leans forward and places his teacup down with a tiny clink of porcelain. "I'd like to know you, Megan."

Frowning down at the mug in her hands, Megan doesn't look up at Dr. Eames when he replies. Everything that has happened to her in the past few months has been confusing and slightly terrifying. Learning about this place, what she can do, what others can do. "So ye can help me." She's not quite sure if she thinks he can help. And her voice betrays that.

"Yes," Dr. Eames answers. After a moment, he adds: "If you let me." Sitting up, he folds his hands on his lap. "It wouldn't be wise to let your feelings about your circumstances build up; explore them early … make your peace. Would you like to make peace with this place?" There's nothing judgmental about his tone. "Some day?"

"Doesna seem like this place deals with peace much." Megan doesn't answer Dr. Eames' question about letting him help her. It's a bit too Jerry Maguire. 'Help me to help you'. "Before or now." They seem more interested in action than talking. Which is why it's strange to see Dr. Eames here. "Why d'they care about me at all? They let the other guy who's here go already."

"That I can't say, but perhaps it's because they see something in you that you, yourself, don't yet see." Dr. Eames, seeming to realize this manner of speech may not be the best route to take with Megan, smiles very briefly and says, "Megan, my job here isn't to sway you one way or the other; it is not to paint a pretty picture. I want you to know that, before I have any hope of you telling me your most recent feelings, your thoughts, your dreams."

Frowning, Megan looks deep into her tea some more. Still having not taken a drink, she's not sure how to answer this all. "Then what is yer job here? Getting me to talk?" Unfortunately for Eames, she's not about to take the normal manner. She can be stubborn and hard to move when she doesn't want to go one way or another. "'M'no' even sure what'd talk about if I did."

"In a manner of speaking." There's a glint in the man's eye. "But not for any underhanded purpose. Surely, you must have thoughts— struggles? If you're not ready to talk here, I… do have a suggestion," Dr. Eames reaches over the arm of his chair to a small table beside it, retrieving a slender book - a journal, its cover made of pressed, pale green leaves. He lays it on the coffee table and gently pushes it toward Megan. "Take it with you, when you leave," he says, making it sound more like an offer than an order. "Pen and paper tends to make the words flow more freely."

Putting down the teacup filled with tea back onto the table, Megan eyes that journal. She's not sure what to do with it. She's never actually kept a journal for very long before. It's pretty, though. And even if she's trapped here, she appreciates that. Frowning, she picks it up - as if it may burn her - and then flips through it, slowly. A slight frown covers her face. "Ye know. Ye say yer no' here to change my mind or to sway me. But someone already said'm s'posed to do some sor' of mission or something. M'no' even sure what everyone does here. Other than take people off the streets and say they're helpin' them. Why d'ye care about how I feel about it now?"

"You're human. A special human, granted, but everybody deserves guidance and an ear to hear them." Dr. Eames pauses, considering, before tapping his chin lightly with one finger. "It doesn't sound to me like you're ready to take on a mission just yet. You have too many unanswered questions; you're still trying to find where you stand."

"Well, arena ye s'posed to answer my questions?" Megan looks up from the journal and just sets it gently in her lap. That's something she'll keep. "Help me to figure this all out?" She finally levels Eames with a look and it's one that's a bit confused and shy, not the glare of a seasoned Company woman. "I stand onna my feet. And've been asking questions, but no one will ever answer me."

"That is a good place to stand," Dr. Eames answers, first of all, with a hint of admiration. He lifts his dark eyebrows ever-so-slightly. "I will do what I can to give you your answers. Let's begin one by one."

"Well." There's a bit of a blush and Megan's eyes trail downwards to not have direct eye contact again. She's not quite sure how to take that hint of admiration from Eames. "Okay. One by one. I know ye wanna keep people safe. But, why d'ye attack people to do it? Why'm I suddenly important to ye? M'31. Why now?"

"That's three," Dr. Eames points out mildly, but it doesn't stop him from continuing. "Some people with special abilities are dangerous; uncontrolled… violent… we're not speaking of you here, of course. However, if someone were to approach you, before all of this, asking you to come to a special, secured facility for people with unusual powers… chances are… you would have ran in the other direction. The Company is forced to act quickly. I wish there was an easier way," he says evenly, sounding sincere enough. "You're important to them because you're coming into your power, and that, ah— " He lifts a finger. "That becomes their business."

"Sorry." Duly noted. Three questions. Whups. It's just that she has a lot! "It sounds more like it's /my/ business," she frowns. Especially since she certainly knows her rights. "'M s'posed to be innocent till proven guilty ye know." In the real world. The world that operates within rules. "What would I do if I agreed to work with ye? I dunna ever wanna have to do to people what they did to me."

"You're not guilty of anything. You're not being punished. I do apologize if it feels that way to you." Dr. Eames slowly lets out a long breath. "That's a question that is out of my … jurisdiction, as it were."

"Right." He's just the doctor. Megan frowns and her hands go to that journal and she starts to fiddle with the corners. "I see." There's a bit of silence from her. "What I do. S'no' dangerous, is it?" To others, to herself, in general. They don't see her as such, so she couldn't consider herself so, right?

"You'd be surprised, what can become dangerous under certain circumstances. The most benign abilities can take a turn. Have you ever given thought to the limits of your ability? The information you could be privy to… the control of another being…" Dr. Eames shakes his head ever-so-slightly.

"What d'ye mean?" It was only recently that Megan found out just how much control she could have over someone else. She hasn't quite thought through the repercussions that could have for both her and what she could do with it. "Dr. Suresh said twas like a puppet or somethin'. But I dinna like that idea."

"Mm, yes. I don't blame you, Megan. It is not to be taken lightly." Dr. Eames surreptitiously glances at the simple wristwatch he wears just past the cuff of his neat shirtsleeve. "After each session with Dr. Suresh, perhaps you could write in your journal."

Obviously not. "I dinna think it would be." Seeing Dr. Eames look at his watch, Megan sits up a little straighter. "'S'it time or somethin'?" She'll try to play it cool for now. "Guess I could." Whether she will or not is a different subject. She most likely will, though how much she'll actually use for Eames to read later is up for debate. "If I write in here, what'd ye read of it?"

"I would read what you offer to me. The very process of journal-writing can be therapeutic," Dr. Eames says. "I do ask that you don't censor yourself too greatly on my accord, of course."

"I see." Well, if he's not going to read it all, maybe Megan can attempt to write it in with some sort of freedom. There'll definitely still be things she'll leave out of it just in case. But, the idea is not wholly one that she dislikes. "Mebbe I can do that," she repeats.

"I believe you'll find it helpful. I'd like to have another appointment in the coming weeks. You can tell me how you like your journal," Dr. Eames says, almost casually, although his motives in doing so are likely anything but. He's watched Megan very closely all this time, after all. "For now… we're done for today."

Taking a hold of the journal and leaving her totally untouched cup of tea, Megan gathers herself and stands. "I guess so." Not like she'll really have much of a say in the whole thing. While she's given some more freedom, lately, that doesn't mean she's actually free to do everything she wants. "Guess'll talk to ye later." Not wasting much time, she moves for the door to get back to her room.

Dr. Eames makes his way out of his seat and toward the door as well — his broader strides give him an advantage, naturally, and he moves to open the door into the empty room for Megan. "Until then. Do … take care."

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