Therapy

[mujun]

Title: Therapy
!Verse: Shrink!Tegoshi
Characters: Tegoshi and lots of others.
Rating: G
Premise/Setting: Tegoshi is a psychologist
Disclaimer: It's called fanFICTION for a reason.
Author's Note: Written for
silver_rose88 's prompt on the JE AU COMMENT FICATHON OF DOOM


9:00 Anxiety

Tegoshi fluffs the pillows on the chairs and leather couch and tosses the tea bag from his mug into the trash. He lines up his pens and legal pad on the small table next to his chair and takes a deep breath. Time to begin another day of work. His first patient is a new one - a referral from a gastroenterologist. He slides open the door to the waiting room where a tall, red-haired man is sitting, flipping rapidly through a magazine. He lifts his head when he hears the door open and stands, follows Tegoshi into the office where he lies down on the couch.

"You don't have to lie down," Tegoshi says gently, indicating a chair across from his own as he sits.

"This is good. My stomach feels better when I lie down."

"You're still having stomach issues?" Tegoshi writes as he asks.

"Yes. For years. They say I don't have an ulcer, but it really hurts when I worry a lot."

"How often is that?"

"Every day."

"I see. What do you worry about?"

"Everything."

"Like ... what?"

"Other people."

"What about them?"

"That they have enough to eat, that they aren't thirsty. That they find what they lose. That they aren't working too hard and are getting enough rest."

"Are these people you take care of children?"

"No."

"Tell me why you feel the need to take care of them."

"I just do."

"Do you find yourself giving money to strangers or being put in uncomfortable positions?"

"No, I don't take it that far. I just try to be helpful when I can."

Tegoshi looks at him for a few silent moments, tilts his head and blinks.

"What?" the patient asks.

"You're not sick. You're nice."

10:00 Body Image Issues

"Are you weighing yourself every day?" Tegoshi asks the patient sitting across from him. He's about the same age, of a muscular build. He'd begun seeing Tegoshi for treatment when he was unable to strip at the bath house.

"No," the patient answers, his toes bouncing slightly, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"That's good," Tegoshi says as he writes. "Have you been doing the mirror exercises that we discussed?"

The patient nods. "Uh huh. I've been telling myself that I'm not fat and that I'm strong, like you told me to."

"You're doing this every day?"

"Yes, three times a day."

Tegoshi looks up. "Three times? When?"

"Once in the morning in the bathroom and twice when I'm at the gym."

"You're going to the gym twice a day?"

The patient nods. Tegoshi writes. His eyes on his notepad, Tegoshi says, "Take your shirt off for me, please." He looks up to see the patients eyes wide and rounded. He smiles reassuringly, says softly, "Maybe next week, ne?"

11:00 Superiority Complex

"So, I mean, these customers are so stupid! They get these computers that are all set up and all they have to do is turn them on, and somehow they end up wiping everything out! Or they spill something on them. How idiotic do you have to be to spill something on a computer? It's an electronic device. Beverages do not belong near electronic devices! And the crumbs! And then they call and say, 'Oh, I was trying to clean it and I broke the space bar. Could you fix it for me?' and I say, 'Why didn't you bring it in to be cleaned?' and they say 'Because you said it would take a week.' and I say 'Well, to fix it now will take two weeks.' and they get so mad. But I get more mad because they are so stupid!"

"I see," Tegoshi says. "Do you feel that all of your customers are stupid?"

"It's not that I feel that way," the patient replies, leaning to peer behind Tegoshi's chair. "It's that they really are. I don't know how they get through life. Some of them have even been to college! Good universities! How in the hell did they get through college when they're calling our hotline to ask where the refresh key is?"

"Refresh key?"

"Precisely!" The patient sits back with a satisfied smug, his eyes following the bottom edge of Tegoshi's book shelves.

Tegoshi checks the inside of the patient's file. "Your employer, Elite IT Services, has only prepaid for three sessions with me. I think you should continue to come, though."

The patient's face falls. "You think there is something wrong with me." Suddenly the bravado is gone and he looks very self-conscious and awkward.

"It's not about ... well, how you think of other people," Tegoshi says. "It's that your eyes have been following something around the room and I'm not sure what it is."

"Oh, I was just looking at your cat."

"My cat." Tegoshi flips the pad to a clean page.

12:00 Peter Pan Complex

"So, do I still have the Wendy thing?"

"The Wendy thing?" Tegoshi asks.

"What you said I had."

"Oh. A Peter Pan complex."

"Yeah, that. Do I still have it?"

"Do you?"

The patient creases his brow with frustration. "Why do you keep asking me these questions? You never tell me anything! You just make me come here week after week and you sit there and you never say anything! You just ask questions and want me to talk about myself and I don't want to! I don't want to do what you say and I don't want to keep coming here. I want to do what I want to do and I'm tired of it. I don't want to come anymore."

Tegoshi looks at the patient who is now lying and writhing on the floor, a distinct pout marring his features. Tegoshi looks at him, tilts his head and blinks. "How old are you?"

The patient huffs, gets up from the floor, sits down in the chair. "Fine. Peter Pan. Got it."

13:00 Group Therapy

Tegoshi gobbles his bento in the fifteen minutes he has between sessions. He'll need the sustenance for this one. He opens the door and six people file in for their weekly group therapy session. Each grabs a folding chair from against the wall and they sit in a wide circle - as far apart from each other as they can.

"Your employer tells me that you guys haven't had any fistfights this week. That's progress, ne?" Tegoshi asks.

No one replies. One looks at the floor, one looks at the ceiling, one out the window. The other three stare at him with cool contempt. Those are the three vying for leadership of the group and Tegoshi knows that they're really staring each other down, not him.

He turns to the first on his left, one of those staring at him. He's a smallish man with a turned up nose. From what the others say he comes from a wealthy family and doesn't need the job. He has an air of detached amusement. "How has your week been, as the team leader?" Tegoshi asks.

"He quit," replies the patient across from him, one with lanky arms and legs and a posture of frustration. "He couldn't take it."

"That's not true," replies the first with a refined tone. "It just wasn't worth the stress."

"So let me do it," replies the third of the aggressive patients. It was this one's swing at the first that brought the group to mandated sessions with Tegoshi in the first place.

"You can't. You're the youngest," interjects the patient on Tegoshi's right. He's shaved his head and wears more jewelry than the others. "Babies can't be leaders."

"Oh, and I guess you can? What, you gonna punch us out with all of those rings and fight your way to the top?"

"It was your punching that ended us up here, asshole," the bald one retorts, clenching his fists.

Tegoshi stands up, drops his legal pad to the floor. It doesn't make the satisfying bang that a large book would have, but the effect is the same. They all turn to look at him. "Move your chairs in closer. I want a circle not a perimeter," he says calmly though he feels his face flushing.

They grumble as they stand and push their chairs closer together. Sitting down they slump and cross their arms over their chests.

"Now, I'd like for you to all hold hands."

Six pair of eyes glare at him. Tegoshi can almost feel icy daggers pierce his chest.

"There's no difference between touching your hands to someone's hands or someone's face. It's all skin, ne?"

Twelve eyes blink but nothing else moves.

Tegoshi sighs. "OK, I have an idea. I think you need some real team-building experience. I'm going to clear it with your employer for you to go to a special camp for company employees to learn to trust each other and become more productive."

The tallest one raises his chin. "Will there be games and contests and stuff?" he asks. The rest roll their eyes.

Tegoshi nods his head, tries to ignite some enthusiasm. This one isn't the brightest of the bunch but he smiles the most easily and sometimes those smiles are contagious to the rest of the group. "Yes, there are games and trust exercises. You can even bunjee jump!"

The last one, second on Tegoshi's left, the most quiet and conservative of the group, begins to cry.

14:00 Anger Management

"So, how are the anger management classes going?" Tegoshi asks, writing the patient's name at the top of a fresh page.

"They're stupid."

"Oh? How so?"

"They're idiots."

"What makes you say that?"

The patient, a small dark-haired man who seems even smaller in the large leather chair, snarls, "How do you expect someone who tsukkomis everyone who talks to run an effective anger management class?"

"Oh," Tegoshi smiles. "Does he?"

"Yes! Anytime anyone says anything he just laughs and smacks them in the head. What is that supposed to teach us?"

"Well," Tegoshi says softly, making notes, "I put you in that class because it's a Kansai group and I thought you'd be more comfortable. I'll make arrangements for you to be switched to another group next week."

"No, don't do that," the patient mutters ruefully.

"No? Why not?"

"They make me laugh."

15:00 Multiple Phobias

The small man seems swallowed by the chair, even more so than the last patient. He sits straight, his hands together in his lap, one hand fingering the bracelet on his other wrist.

"What would you like to talk about first?" Tegoshi asks.

The patient bites his lips together and shrugs.

"Last week," Tegoshi says, glancing at the file, "You were going to try to go shopping by yourself. How did that go?"

The patient murmurs, "Fine."

"Did you buy anything?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't know if they'd have my size."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"My friend wasn't with me."

"You couldn't ask yourself?"

The patient shakes his head.

"Why not?"

The patient looks away, across the room.

Tegoshi scribbles notes as he says softly, "And what about the compulsive organization? Still putting everything into separate bags?" He glances at the small duffel on the floor next to the patient's chair.

"Yes."

"And do you know why you're compelled to do this?"

"No. I just like things organized."

"Did you talk with your doctor about all of the supplements you're taking?"

The patient nods. "He said it's fine. Nothing that would hurt me."

Tegoshi sits back in his chair and gazes at the patient. "Do you feel ... other than the fear of strangers ... that you're doing OK?"

The patient looks at the floor. "I go home and I play the guitar and sing. I'm happy then."

Tegoshi makes a note. "Bring your guitar next week, OK?"

16:00 No Diagnosis

Tegoshi sits at his desk, finishing his notes and filing for various appointments from the morning and the previous day. A patient lies on the couch, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, sound asleep. Tegoshi glances at the clock to check the time and resumes his filing.

The patient isn't really a patient - there's nothing wrong with him. Their first appointment had been one of Tegoshi's first, and though the patient doesn't claim to be unhappy and Tegoshi can't find a clinical reason to keep him on his roster, every Tuesday at 4pm the patient shows up, exchanges greetings, lies down and takes a 45 minute nap.

Tegoshi opens the file drawer and pulls his file. He opens it to the first page and reads:

Patient wants to make other people happy. He wants to bring happiness and energy and hope to their lives. Has a degree in business but feels that he's chosen the wrong career. He thinks he should be on television, acting in dramas and movies. He's frustrated that he tries every day to brighten other people's lives, but feels he could be doing more. Patient has no phobias, no defense mechanisms, no dependencies or addictions. Aside from some absentmindedness, the patient is completely normal.

Tegoshi had tried to explain to the patient that he didn't need to come, didn't need to seek help, but then the man had curled on his side on the couch and looked so tired. He looked exhausted for just a second, in his eyes and in his face. Tegoshi told him it was OK to rest, to take a break if he'd like. The patient has been showing up ever since for exactly that - to take a break. He pays the same hourly fee as the other patients and asks for nothing more than to lie down on the couch and sleep.

At 5:00 Tegoshi gently nudges the patient awake and walks him out, turning out the lights and locking the doors as they leave.

Evening

Sho pulls the file for his last patient of the evening. He opens the door to the waiting room and says, "Tegoshi-san?" to the man waiting. As always he's greeted with a polite good-evening and a warm smile. Tegoshi lies down on the couch and interlaces his fingers over his stomach.

"So," Sho says, reviewing his notes from their last session. "We've been discussing how your mother dressed you in dresses and kept your hair long when you were a child. Are you still having the urges to wear women's clothing?"

Tegoshi smiles, his eyes bright as he turns to Sho. "High school uniforms are really sexy, ne?"

Edit:  Patients: Koyama, Massu, Shige, Yoko, KAT-TUN, Ryo, Subaru, Yamapi