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So....suck it up and stop whining?

[Okay, that wasn't precisely what he thought Crane meant but, trust Chris to break it down to it's lowest possible denominators. And honestly, that's kind of what his family had been telling him for most of his life. Stop whining and get on with it. Crane just made it sound cool and honorable. Like the struggle against ones self was worth as much as a physical battle.

And then Crane used his own words against him. Chris scowled at him, annoyed (of course he was), that Crane got the upper hand.]

[Crane turns his gaze upon his client. Cold and observant, patient and calculating.]

Mr. Halliwell. I think you react like a man who has heard that nonsense from family since you were a boy.

[A boy. A child. And an intelligent man will understand he means in the sense of time.]

Now, you can suck it up and stop whining as they suggest. Or you can swallow your frustration and achieve something in spite of them.

[Well fuck. Chris honestly didn't expect to be called out like that. He probably should have, Crane seems to be good enough at what he does. He felt the fight just kind of deflate out of him, and his legs yet again stopped working as he sank down on the nearby couch. He sighed audibly, muscles which had been tense relaxing a bit.]

Alright, you win. What do you want me to do?

[Because Crane was right. He was a hurt child acting out even as a twenty-three year old. He was still angry at his father for playing favorites, he was angry at his brother for the abuse, and he was angry at his entire family for abandoning him and telling him to just suck it up. ]

[Progress. The joy of discovery and the thrill of control. Crane redirects his attention to the painting and ignores the pricking of his thumbs.]

Well, you can help yourself to a drink and stop taking yourself so seriously.

[Is there something unethical in how the only drinks available are whiskey and bourbon? He hardly cares. The man is an adult and makes his choices. Not that choices are ever your own.]

You know, I'm not sure when the last time I had a drink was.

[Reaching over, he grabbed the bottle of bourbon at random and poured himself a glass. He knocked it back neatly and then poured another. In all honesty, it had probably been over a year. So Chris' tolerance was low.]

I take it back, I do remember. I thought I won. I thought I'd gotten the last demon to get to my brother. I was wrong.

[He paused frowning, looking up at Crane.]

Does it still count if it's sparkling cider because your aunt has a problem with certain liquids? If not it's been a while.

[since he relaxed or since he had a drink?]

[Down in one. Down in two.

Crane examines the painting and explores his thoughts; imagining himself as the terrified figure. Eight months ago he felt connected with him. Now he can only imagine himself examining him.]

Well, I would hardly offer you a choice otherwise, would I? Carry on professing your aunt's choices matter if that matters to you.

[He shrugs. He could say he hardly believes they do; but they do, don't they?]

[This time Chris sips on the liquid, letting it ease his muscles and relax his brain enough so things just poured out. It totally didn't occur to him that was precisely what Crane wanted. He didn't even think about the fact that there wasn't a nonalcoholic choice, despite previously processing Paige's issues. Then again, drinking was against the Whitelighter rules.

What he fuck did he care. Chris actually smiled at Crane.]

That you're way of saying relax, or I'll get you drunk and make you relax?

So, you like the creepy painting because it's a reminder of perseverance or something? Of facing what scares us? And in a weird ass way it helps people?

[Chris repeated, actually using his words to try and summarize what Crane had told him before. Had he been paying attention?]

Of course it does.

[His words are spoken once his patient has finished. He waits, not out of courtesy nor civility, but the convenience. He can dismantle another dissension but has a schedule. Chris is not the only patient he is seeing today. Chris is not the only person he wants to control.

He takes his usual seat; the green armchair by the window. Notably, his reflection is only margically similar.]

I think you should notice how capable of critical thought you are once you stop pretending you are someone else except yourself.

[Chris, despite being told he was not the center of attention and agreeing he wasn't, still hasn't gotten it through his skull that Crane might have other patients today, before or after him. The thought going through his rather tipsy head of his was that Crane was kind of hot. It had been a while since he had any of that either.]

I'm not pretending!

[Chris' first thought was to defend himself, argue. And then he frowned, sighing and relaxed again. Recovering from his kneejerk reaction.]

Or I'm just good at repeating what you said back to you

Edited (html fail) 2024-10-05 23:52 (UTC)

[Crane remains upright in his chair. Hands folded in his lap, knees and ankles pressed together. His body is closed and guarded but his voice is placid. Too calm. Too controlled. And too wet and slippery to sound comfortable. To make someone feel comfortable.

He inhales and closes his eyes for a second.]

So what? Any client can repeat what I say. What I require them to do is absorb the information.

[And just like that Chris is reminded of Gideon again. Luckily for him, he's still tipsy, and takes another sip so he remains so.]

And you think I'm absorbing it? Like the bourbon?

[That was Chris' queue to take another sip. Look at him. Actually relaxing. Okay, he was relaxing by way of hard liquor but it was still working. His eye caught Crane's reflecting, and he kept going back and forth trying to figure out why it was weirding him out, itching at his brain.

The whitelighter re-arranged himself, turning to lounge on the couch. ]

All I need to do is let go?

[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.

[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.]

[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.

[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.]

Edited 2024-10-06 01:28 (UTC)

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?]

[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.]

Edited 2024-10-06 01:44 (UTC)

[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.]

[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.]

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.

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?

[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?!]

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