Therapeutic S&S fan fiction

2

I felt the anticipation rise up in me and my hand hesitated for a split-millisecond. Even though this would cost me a dozen pounds, it was worth it to be productive again.

Arnold Smith, M. D. was the man who answered the door. I remember distinctly how we met: I was still a child, maybe twelve, all rags and bones, sitting on the side of the road feeling sorry for myself. He bent down to my height, introduced himself, gave me a shilling, and told me that if I don't start being productive now I never will.

He aged well. Over a decade later and he still looked exactly the same plus a few wrinkles. Wrinkles that creased at the sight of me.

Who the hell are you?

Rikkard Ambrose.

I spoke with a cold, stable voice, but inside I was a mess of turmoil. Would he remember me?

Figured you'd come in eventually. They always do.

He opened the door wider and walked through what looked like a scientific lab. Strange gas viles, miniature telescopes, and what looked like a sleeping cat in a cage. He sat on a comfy looking chair and looked at a second one. I sat down.

So, what appears to be the problem?

So he does not remember me...I guess we can make this work anyway.

I have lost a large portion of my productivity.

He nodded. I continued.

I will walk into the office, and instead of getting right to work I will daydream for whole minutes, one time half an hour, before even starting.

It felt good to say it out loud. Arnold nodded. I continued.

At the end of the day I feel useless, at only half-productivity, but then I get distracted once again and don't even make it home until late!

The neurologist in front of me nodded. He asked me if anything different has happened in my life since I had been highly productive.

Immediately the thought of her came to mind. That one moment of drunken impulse, those nights in Egypt, how she teases me with her wit and...

Yes, I said quietly, Something has.

We both looked at each other for a long time. A silent moment where he stopped writing and assessed my visual state as if I were another experiment.

Is this change a woman you've met?

I hesitated again. What a terrible first impression I'm making! But slowly I came to terms with the truth: I nodded almost imperceptibly. My mother would have been so proud.

I won't ask you what you think about her, but from what I can assess from your character you are probably at odds with yourself. She may entice you in a new way which obviously excites you but also frustrates you because she's a distraction.

He readjusted his glasses.

You seem like a naturally very productive man, I admire that. But we are mortal too and susceptible to all sorts of human emotions including love and lust.

He wrapped up his journal as if that answered all of life's most mysterious questions. Opening the door, he gave me a queer look and informed me that if I have any strange dreams to come see him. I stood up and thanked him, unsure if he expected any sort of payment. No one does this for free, right?

I turned my back and walked out of the building, but not before I heard him say:

You grew up well, come back whenever you want to. My wife makes great stew around Christmas!

I let myself have that smile.