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[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.]

Edited 2024-10-06 15:37 (UTC)

[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.]

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.

[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?!]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.

[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.]

[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.]

Edited 2024-10-08 00:30 (UTC)

[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.]

[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.

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?

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.]

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.]

[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.]

Yeah, okay, you're right. You're a trained professional. But empaths and telepaths have merit too. Just different skills.

[And he'd die on that hill. Actually he quite thought the echoed and sustained eachother. Empathy had come in really handy in his aunt's work. But Crane? Crane was definitely not Phoebe. He lacked the emotion, the warmth and fire that were so Phoebe's trademark. Crane was the opposite. Methodical. Logical. Still, maybe he could help. Examine the situation without feelings that kept getting in the way. Crane brought his attention back to his breathing.]

Can I hyperventilate from doing this?

[One day he will teach this man the difference between skill and talent. Today he is instructing him how to breathe; the american education system teaches nothing these days.

He permits time to wander and answers after a moment.]

Well, you'll find out when you start breathing too quickly, won't you?

[In short, lose control of your breathing, then you'll see. But it likely won't happen if you listen and follow instructions.]

[Chris had no idea what the difference was between skill and talent. Because Wyatt? Had both, although it was more talent than skill. He had been surrounded by people with raw talent and had never quite distinguished what made skill different.

He shot Crane a dirty look, not quite sure if he was making fun of him or not. So he aired on the side of caution, and decided he was. Maybe he just wasn't asking the right questions and thus, wasn't getting the right answers. As usual. Still he took it out on Crane.]

What's the point of this?

[Crane ponders leaning forward but lets the idea die; his body remaining stiff and upright as he links his fingers together. He ignores the look levelled his way and keeps an emotionless facade. Perhaps now is the time to put the boy out of his misery.

Perhaps not.]

You'll find out in seven minutes.

[UGH, why was Crane such a pain in the ass sometimes? Chris rolls his eyes, continues with the look, and just, sighs.]

Fine. Seven minutes. I suppose I can just breathe for seven minutes.

[He didn't want to, but he could.]

[Some people cannot wait seven whole minutes. Others cannot keep quiet. More fidget and look away. Less rise and pace the room. Chris is filed under second and third; a tempestuous man burdened by the mind of a sulking teenager. He remembers holding his breath for more than seven minutes. He remembers the consequences of failing to keep silent and remain undetected.

One. Two. Four.

He observes his subject for the remaining three: assessing his performance, marking points of data, testing the data. Visible signs of relaxation. Visible signs of stress. Results to be tested later. He waits for Chris to talk.

Because while he could speak, he has chosen to offer the gift of his time and listen.]

Edited 2024-10-13 23:35 (UTC)

[Chris was annoyed. But, as he breathed, that annoyance seeped away, giving way to relaxation. It came back a couple of times, sneaking in when his mind wandered or he felt one of his charges emotions, trying to focus, and frustrated by just how hard it was. It was relaxing though, just taking a moment to breathe. Relax. He hadn't done so in far too long.

And now he kind of felt guilty about snapping at him.]

Sorry. I was frustrated and took it out on you. I--I think I get it now.

[Crane sits opposite. Looking from a distance, observing from a safe point. Everything would be nice and simple, were his patient to understand what this means. Everything about his future would be simple. But life is never simple and people will always hurt you.]

Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but no.

[He lifts a hand to quell an argument. His words are calm not curt; chosen to make an important point. On one hand, he loves pulling the rug out from beneath a person's feet. On the other, he does enjoy watching them learn. He enjoys it when patients make progress.]

You would be the first client to understand in a long time. Because were it so simple, I would be out of work. So. You will begin noticing your patterns but training your body and mind to act against instinct is hard work. You will fail. But it's a learning process.

[Now his smile brightens.]

I would hardly be a good doctor to cast you out without warning, would I?

[And just like that Chris was frustrated again, and he started to eye Crane almost suspiciously as he started wondering if he was yanking him around. And then, Crane continued talking, and Chris relaxed again. Okay, okay that made sense. It was super fucking obnoxious, but it made sense. Still, he frowned because he really, really had hoped it would be that easy. A session and bam! All done!]

I don't want to fail.

[Wow, perfectionist much? He realized what a nutjob he sounded like, and rolled his eyes at himself and stopped.]

Yeah, do you have any idea how hard this is when you have people literally in your mind and sometimes you cant figure out who is who? It's like an emotional migraine.... Not to mention sometimes a physical one...

Perhaps you should take some medicine.

[His gaze becomes cold as his thoughts turn towards the clinical. Or perhaps it hurts because it is the sort of pain one cannot medicate?]

I am more than aware this is difficult but try reframing your personal grievance towards your situation. What you struggle with is different to difficulty. It could be the fact you have opposition. Somebody else is challenging you. Be they your family. Be they your a friend. Or even your therapist.

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