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[restingstitchface]

Who: Crane + Various
When: October
Where: Horizon
What: Meetings and Therapy
Warnings: None







Hello! Plot with me on safekeeping

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[restingstitchface]

[No matter how much he drinks, Chris will always find the bottle has refilled. Crane observes every sip and taste. Alcohol is a tool to get the information he wants. There are some who care for ethics; those he would offer juice and water. Criminals like Falcone? He allows them to provide and feel in control. Maladaptive subjects like Chris? Their lines are already blurred.

He leans back and maintains eye contact.]

Well, first I think you need to sit straight. Then perhaps I can see about teaching you to relax.

[inferiority_complex]

[Despite outright grumbling, Chris does what Crane has asked, and swings his body back so his feet are once again on the floor and his back is straight. Just like Crane asked. Like something in his brain just switched on. He finds himself eyeing Crane just as he eyed him, reflecting what the older man was giving? Or just doing what he was told and awaiting further instructions?]

Alright. Sorry.

[Crane was right. Chris' line was completely and utterly blurred. What a good therapist for noticing, thanks Crane.]

[restingstitchface]

[Compliance. The patient seems susceptible to social influence. His eyes inspect his neck, descending to observe his chest.]

Now, this probably sounds ridiculous to you, but place one hand on your chest. Rest the other upon your stomach. Following this, inhale through your nose.

[He denies himself water and remains observant of a process he is in the middle of advising.]

Hold your breath for four seconds. Then exhale through your mouth, expelling all the air you can while contracting your abdominal muscles. The hand on your stomach should rise and fall as you exhale, but your other hand should hardly move at all.

[inferiority_complex]

[Susceptible to social influence. That pretty much described a lot of the Halliwells actually. Chris arched an eyebrow, kind of doubting what Crane was suggesting but did it anyway. It seemed similar enough to meditation and what he did to sense his charges, that he was in a way used to it. But it still didn't come easily to him. He pauses for a moment to eye Crane and voice his own opinions before continuing,.]

Yeah, I do, I feel ridiculous.

[But not as ridiculous as he felt when he couldn't use his own abilities because his emotions were in the way. Or how he couldn't heal or trigger any of his other abilities. Not necessarily because he was inferior, but because he was stuck.

And inferior.

It takes Chris a while. His own pulse increasing as he gets frustrated with his inability to complete such a simple task. When he stops thinking about it, stops thinking about how it's similar to the techniques whitelighters used, he does finally get it. All he had to to was stop comparing himself to everyone else. And just.

Breathe.

This wasn't so bad actually. There wasn't anything else he had to focus on.]

[restingstitchface]

Ridiculous.

[Word repetition. His reinforcement of negative thinking. He observes his subject and deliberately provokes further distress by mirroring his actions.

Inhale. Hold for four seconds. Exhale.]

The only way you could be more inferior at breathing is to be dead.

[Because dead men don't breathe, right?]

[inferiority_complex]

[The first thing Chris wanted to do was hit something. Finally succeeding at something, relaxing, and then having it ripped away from him. The bottle of bourbon flew across the room, landing somewhere near the opposite wall with a clunk. And then, Chris feels mildly better, but still angry. Irritated. Upset. And embarrassed.]

Actually, I am dead. So. Thanks for that reminder.

[Got you there Crane.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane raises an eyebrow and glances towards the bottle. The physical outburst is a curious reaction, an expected result that confirms his thoughts, something that prompts him to consider finding his notebook. But he leaves it sitting on his desk and remains the perfect example of calm.]

Are you going to clean your mess?

[The outburst was directed at his family. But this young man can hardly punish his family, can he? He isn't powerful enough.]

[inferiority_complex]

[Chris is so irritated the bottle moves again. Almost growling, he reaches out his hand, and the bottle flies back to the table. He eyes Crane stoically, still annoyed, and more annoyed at being treated like a child who needed to clean up their mess.]

Happy?

[Chris couldn't punish Wyatt, he couldn't scream and punch Leo, and assaulting your therapist was really bad form, so, he took it out on the bottle.

He felt like he'd been through an emotional roller coaster in the last few minutes. Up and down and sideways, like Crane was puppeting him effortlessly. Therapy was kind of intense.]

[restingstitchface]

Not at all. Your behavior is most immature.

[But it is forgiven if not forgotten. Crane also fails to flinch. He has worked with patients where revealing tells would have been exploited. Plus he was raised within an environment where his weaknesses were exorcised. Be it with heat and cold or salt and soap.]

But such outbursts are simply a behavioral problem caused by negative reinforcement. They can be cured quite readily by behavioral modification.

[He licks and purses his lips, thinking of an explanation.]

Think about teachers who reward students who earn an outstanding grade. Now think about your family who never reinforced or praised much of anything. If you change the input feeding your thoughts, you change the output. I think you are intelligent enough to realise the implications.

[inferiority_complex]

Immature!

[Chris was going to lose his mind. Of course he also grew up around a household where things regularly exploded when mom got mad and sometimes it was just easier to buy a new fire alarm and blow it up than to change the batteries. And a family where their powers were inextricably tied into their emotions. It became obvious when someone got upset.]

I am not immature.

[Okay, was that a bit more than defensive? Still, Chris sighed and did as he was told. He thought about doing well on a test or a potion, and a father who was never there to witness it. Who played favorites with everyone but him. Who had literally time with everyone but him.

Chris was currently caught in between two different emotions. 1. He was upset that Crane thought he was immature. He was defensive because it was probably true. 2. He was thrilled at that Crane thought he was intelligent. That small amount of praise just positively perked him up. and 3. Angry at the remembrance of a father who didn't care and a family who abandoned him and died.]

My father never even cared enough to check in on anything I did. Positive or negative. He had time for everyone else in the world, but me. And I don't think anything Wyatt reinforced could ever be considered good.

[Chris swallowed, deliberately not mentioning the rest of his family because. What did it matter. They were dead.]

So. I do good things and. What, you give me a gold star?

[restingstitchface]

[Crane refuses to smile or frown. One reason his peers had singled him out was to punish his failure to mirror their emotions; his aloof and dispassionate manner was troubling. It made them question his motivations. Made them beat him inside school and chase him across streets and alleyways.

Classroom Pariah. Source of Nightmare Fuel. Best Target Practice. People had created yearbook categories for him come the final year. But he had left his yearbook inside his desk and never looked back.]

Not at all. I prefer to offer rewards of subtance. There is nothing more meaningful and important than my advice or my time.

[Both of which are on offer for good behaviour. But his definition of good behaviour? That is definitely unique compared to his colleagues.]

[inferiority_complex]

[That piece of Crane's personality was actually probably one of the reasons Chris was opening up. He couldn't mirror Crane's behavior, there were no signals for him to reflect or bounce off of. It was all him. He didn't have a choice other than to look into himself. It was really kind of frustrating actually.

But then, Crane let that little thing dangle like the piece of bait it was. And Chris leapt for it. Time. Attention. His breath caught in his throat, as he was offered everything he ever wanted.]

What do you want me to do?

[There's almost nothing more dangerous than someone willing to do almost anything for attention.]

[restingstitchface]

Continue with your exercises. I never waste time explaining useless information. And in your case, I think they will prove beneficial.

[Timewasting is disrespectful to others and downright insulting to his intelligence. He reclines into his armchair, pressing against its back, hands clasped in his lap as ankles uncross and cross together. His face is the perfect picture of calm.]

I am more than aware you are struggling, Mr. Halliwell. But I have nothing further to say until you resume what you were doing.

[inferiority_complex]

[Dammit, he didn't want to sit here and breathe, but he couldn't argue with the fact that it was helping. He's also really not used to anyone being that formal, it's weird and puts him off kilter. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes him unable to know how to deal. How to react. ]

You calling me a neurotic little freak too?

[He gives Crane a small, disparaging smile, and puts his hand on his chest and his stomach, sits up straight, and breathes as instructed. It was kind of utterly baffling how Crane could just. Sit there, and not react. How the hell was he doing that?!]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane knows what he could say: one freak knows another. Should he react and offer a fleeting glimpse of understanding? Not at all. He can be attentive to his environment and societal patterns but cannot force himself to care. He cannot alter his brain chemistry and resonate with empathy. Could he change himself, he would refuse out of spite.

He was called a freak enough to be numb to the term: a freak and far worse. His calm and cold voice cuts through air, while an equally aloof manner offers attention but not approval.]

Concentrate.

[This is hardly the first time he has steered a patient away from distraction and set them back to work.]

[inferiority_complex]

[Chris rolled his eyes and made a grunt of exasperation, but did as he was told. He concentrated on his breathing, letting his body relax. Or trying to let it relax, unwinding was hard, especially when you had other peoples chatter and emotions in your head. And as much as he had heard time and time again it was part of who he was? Well he didn't really like that side of him that much. He had started to get used to it. To be okay with it, forge a relationship with his father Leo.

And then? He fucking died.

His breathing hitched, and Chris brought it back, going back to his task. Hopefully Crane would at least be pleased with him.]

[restingstitchface]

[Cold, hawkish eyes centre on a glitch; a diversion of thoughts and feelings from the present to the past. He offers neither praise nor admonishment but does afford his time and attention. To be sitting here, offering knowledge and expertise, without leaving his patient alone, all signs of satisfaction.]

Focus on your breathing.

[Were he home, there were drugs he could prescribe, not to mention the necessary equipment to run blood tests and interpret them properly. Inside the Horizon he has access to everything his mind desires. But it is too early in their relationship to suggest alternative treatment.]

Nine more minutes.

[inferiority_complex]

[Chris' eyes flew open at that.]

Excuse me? Did you say nine? Nine more minutes?

[He had to have heard him wrong. That was insane. That was. That was fucking meditating. Or the start of it. He wanted to kick something because taking care of his mental health was starting to look a lot like taking care of his whitelighter side and it just kind of pissed him off. Sighing, he groaned and closed his eyes again, focusing on his stupid breathing.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane remains impassive. No expression colours his face, no emotion shifts his voice. He only sits there, watching and thinking in silence.]

Nine more minutes. Excluding all conversation.

[What could be worse than that? Engaging in conversation and making nine minutes seem like ten. Perhaps even fifteen if he could bother himself to speak.]

Do you know what most neglect about their mental health? That it goes hand in hand with physical fitness. Can you feel your heart thumping? Your stomach churning?

[One can dominate the body to dominate the mind. Or one can decimate the mind to dominate the body.]

[inferiority_complex]

[If he answered that question was Crane going to add minutes to this as punishment? Chris scowled, trying to remember that he was doing this to himself, like actually on purpose. For a reason. So he tried to stop boring his eyes into Crane's skull like they might come out the other end.]

What does one have to do with the other?

[Was it a problem that he basically orbed everywhere then? Physical fitness was running from demons.]

Is that your way of telling me to go exercise?

[He was beginning to realize why Phoebe always had better mental health than the rest of them. Or at least was more aware of it. She kickboxed. She worked out. Chris gave an annoyed sigh, continuing to work on his breathing. Scowling through the entire thing.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane notices a speck on the floor. But his gaze remains on his subject and figuratively pins him against his chair; clinical in his application of mental discomfort and pressure.]

Not at all. Few appreciate how encompassing mental illness can become. It is not the clean image of meeting a therapist to talk and be written a handful of pills.

[There are plenty of addictive substances he can inject into this young man's veins if necessary.]

Telling you to pull your socks up would be a fallacy.

[inferiority_complex]

I suppose it's obvious I've never been to one.

[Honestly he probably hasn't even been a regular doctor in years. When your psychotic big brother can heal almost ailment and keeps an eye on you, well, some things become unnecessary. And the rest you just hope don't fall too badly in-between the cracks. Like Chris' mental health issues.]

So you're having me work on my breathing because....

[Chris is like the least self aware individual on the planet. This is a man who orchestrated his parents divorce and then realized he forgot to get conceived. He is single minded, neurotic, anxious, depressed. The list could keep on going. Still, he has only a limited idea of why he's here]

I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you think of my mental health? Or just write me a script so I don't have to put the hard work in?

[restingstitchface]

Do you want my opinion? Or do you only want me to medicate away your problems? I have interviewed you for the grand total of forty minutes. What kind of doctor do you take me for?

[Crane is calm and placid; more capable of stitching himself in at the seams. He is focused on their situation and unwilling to have it turned against himself. Somebody who peddles medicine and prescribes it after one appointment? This is no secure hospital; there is no need for instant modification of violent malingering.]

Breathing better is a tool; not a panacea.

[Meaning: utelising it effectively is entirely on you.]

[inferiority_complex]

I dunno actually. I've never really done this before. I'm assuming you're not really a telepath or empath though so.....it's probably going to take you longer than 40 minutes?

[Chris was totally guessing. But Chris also had an empath for an aunt, and an entire family that never really got the mental help they needed or deserved. He arched an eyebrow at him and then settled, making sure one hand was on his stomach and one hand was on his chest to work on his breathing. As instructed.

But it was pissing him off that the tools were basically making him accept, or at least involve, his whitelighter half.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane barely moves while tilting his head. His expression remains neutral and calm. Cold eyes continue pinning his subject to his chair. Empaths and telepaths alike lack the training and insight into diagnosing mental illness. No skill. No work. Only talent they never had to earn.]

Well, like I said, what kind of doctor do you take me for?

[His voice is drip, drip, dripping wet and cool. Too robotic as his mentor had shouted in one of their last arguments. He might pride himself on doing a through job, but he also prides himself on his efficency.]

Seven minutes by the way.

[Seven minutes left.]