Therapeutic S&S fan fiction

5

%this chapter corresponds to ch.12 of Silence is Golden%

I took a deep breath and worked on settling my heartbeat back to its rightful pace-a steady, monotone beat. This morning I had the lovely opportunity to rid my secretary of a suitor, although it was quite a mission to make it back to the office before he-him. And now my heart was pounding even harder, as if it wanted to jump out of my chest with every loud step she took closer to me. Need to settle these nerves quickly...

I checked off a box and slammed the classic black folder shut just as his door banged open. My finger twitched in anticipation of hearing that loud voice, one that was so full with emotion. It always made things interesting.

But the day dragged on just like it's precursor. There was no jumping for joy, no exclamation at the situation I had rid for her. Did I make a mistake? She couldn't have been happy with that fool!

As her mood refused to change, mine became colder and colder. At one point I had to leave the room and get some fresh air just to keep from breaking my mint-condition pen. By the evening I was furious at her, at myself, at anything that could take blame.

Could she?!

The time came so she left me with a frown on her delicate brow and an ache in my chest. I usually cursed Friday's because they meant the next two days were increasingly inefficient on everyone else's part. But this time I knew the curse was because I would not see her for two more days. Instead my fate lay trapped in my own worrying head until her expression reached me on Monday.

And it gave me no great happiness to say I was right. Again.

Usually being able to predict my emotions surrounding a certain employee was difficult at best. It was usually less predicting and more setting goals around events, goals which usually included staying indifferent, impassive.

This weekend had similar outcomes as those goals: I could not stay rigidly silent for long.

Long nights tossing and turning until I realized sleep would not come easily, hesitation around turning to an old doctor to the point of visiting the neighborhood but not knocking, as well as the occasional longing look I gave the window before snapping out of it. Ten minutes of Sunday morning had even been spent pacing back and forth until finally I decided to do something, anything.

So this is why you knocked on my door on a Sunday? Arnold asked gently, as if to himself. You're lucky I'm not a religious man, he mumbled.

I gave a silent nod, feeling myself return to the usual cold after spilling my recent issues. My eyes watched his slow, calculated movements. He may be older but it was clear the professional acted in a certain way to calm him, get him to open up about whatever plagued the soul. Arnold scribbled something else down while my finger twitched.

Writing and without looking at him Arnold asked, Does your finger always move at moments of emotional stature?

Another nearly imprecisely nod left him.

What are you writing?

The doctor looked up and smiled the first time this morning. I always like to see how long it takes for people to ask. I usually write about my subject, in this case you.

Ambrose felt his patience lift. He waited, letting the silence do its thing until the man continued.

Today I've written down how your care for this lady has led to an increase in anxiety and jealousy over her suitor. Even though you were able to diffuse the circumstances, your expectations of gratitude-even if not directed specifically at you-were not met and as such you feel...

He made a motion with his hand, as if that solved everything.

You feel inadequate. Like your actions might not have been enough.