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[On the one hand, sure. That's a doctor-y sort of thing to believe in. On the other hand.

What is there to tell about a pen exploding in your mouth. It has nothing to do with oral fixation remnants from quitting smokes, nothing to do his relationship with his mother, and certainly nothing to do with being incredibly stressed out.]

So you don't have a napkin I can borrow.

[Nicholas gets up and grabs a box of tissues from the desk behind him. He offers the whole box to Cadogan.]

To be honest I was afraid that you'd run out of deflections if I gave you this.

Tell you.

[O completely, stunningly frabjous day. No one ever wants to be told anything.]

Tell you everything? Really? Genuinely? Properly? No taking it back once I've started?

[Deflections? Who's deflecting? What Welshman has ever not been overwhelmingly joyous to talk about the inner workings of his own mind?

Forgive the flicker of confusion as he takes the box, tugs a few off the top to start mopping at his mouth and the dark blue staining the corner of his lips and tongue.

Explain yourself, then, sir, while he deals with this mess.]

It was horrible. Just-- taffeta everywhere. Like walking into literally the tackiest wet dream the crushed mother of a pageant ballerina. [Just. Her hand to her heart, Doctor.] I genuinely thought I'd died and gone to Hell.

If you're comfortable with that. [He doesn't mind. There were worse things he could think of to spend his time on, like talking to someone who was actually sane.]

I can only imagine. [No, he can't. He has no idea what she's talking about because she's lost him half an hour ago. Yet she doesn't seem to have caught on to that and Nicholas isn't going to give the game away, so he continues to appear to be enraptured by her tale.]

What happened after that?

Oh, sir, nothing would make me more perfectly comfortable than to relax the burdens of my mind upon a suspecting soul.

[Which means that the nearest area Cynric can sprawl out on is going to be duly sprawled across. Are you sure your ears are ready, sir.]

[He picks up a pen that has yet to explode and a pad of paper and starts writing. This was one of Cadogan's means of communication, after all. Anyway, talking at him while he was distracted with cleaning off the ink would probably go right over his head.

They'll not discuss feelings today, then.]

Write about or draw me your dream.

[What's not to love about Diamonds and their masks? Just fantastic when you need to ramble.]

No idea. I got the hell out of dodge, tell you that. Ten seconds flat to get back home before anyone could actually try to make me wear any of that.

[...oh, that deflection. Well. It.

It's just going to take him so damn long to get this ink out of his mouth. So damn long. Probably forget the question by the time he's done.

Or just. Shake his head. That's surely a valid thing to do.]

[Cynric can have the whole couch. No one else is going to sit in it while he was here after all.]

That's what I'm here for. [Nicholas even has a pen and some paper at the ready.]

[Wear. Clothes. Thank heavens she gave him a hint.]

Is it important to you? Not clothes, I mean, but just. Stuff, in general. Having things. Owning things.

[Eeeeeexcellent. He loves couches.]

Once, sirrah, a long time ago, although not so terribly terribly terribly long ago, it was 1921. Quite a formidable year. Also quite a good one. Have you heard of it?

Edited 2013-01-18 10:43 (UTC)

Ah, not so much. Not having stuff. A few nice things--that's worlds nicer, don't you think?

That's okay. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. [The pen and paper go back onto the table. They'll save it for another time when Cadogan felt more at ease.]

There's a bathroom outside, down the hallway. You might need a mirror.

I'm not familiar with what happened in 1921. Do tell me more.

[That's just lovely, then, isn't it. Because really, this whole grand experiment of talking to a doctor about his inability to sleep this many years out of the service? Was simply never going to feel comfortable.

Which meant.]

I can go, then?

[And take the confirmation as allowance not to come back until next week?]

Well, you know. A man had no reason to be overoptimistic, but something in the smiles of the women that year really made a person feel willing to brave bad weather.

Now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, "But what about the boy?" It's just quite complicated to say.

[He just smiles and shrugs.] I think maybe anticipating owning nice things is a bigger thrill than actually acquiring them.

Oh, don't be coy. What's wrong at all with shopping?

If that's what you want. [People came at appointed times but they could always leave before their time was up if they didn't feel comfortable staying, as long as they weren't suicidal. That was the least Nicholas could offer.

He ripped out the sheet on which he had asked about the dream and offered it to Cadogan.]

At least give it some thought before I see you again next week. I know it's not easy, but I made a promise to you not to settle for the quick fix. And I need your help to keep that promise.

What's complicated about the boy?

Well, what is it about shopping that you enjoy?

[That's a piece of paper that's going to haunt him for the entire week if he doesn't deal with it.

His mouth is still working slightly, getting at the taste of ink still lingering in the side of his mouth. But it'll only take a second to pull out his own pen, scrawl a few absent lines across the page and shove it back.

There. Look. It's the desert. Happy?]