Chapter Text
I thought the Train would never come —
How slow the whistle sang —
I don't believe a peevish Bird
So whimpered for the Spring —
I taught my Heart a hundred times
Precisely what to say —
Provoking Lover, when you came
Its Treatise flew away
To hide my strategy too late
To wiser be too soon —
For miseries so halcyon
The happiness atone —
Emily Dickinson, 1449
Sounds of a furiously fast scribbling pen reverberate through a small medical office set into the end of a long corridor on the Psychology and Neurology Department Floor of a somewhat aged and dingy Scottish hospital. A strong hand adorned with thick, winding veins, earned through years of concentrated study and work, guides the writing implement along as it peeks out from the white cotton of a doctor's lab coat sleeve. The pauses between written sentences are punctuated by an occasional dry cough, itself earned through years of frequent and heavy smoking.
The writing continues on and on in an almost unintelligible handwritten cursive, distinctive of doctors used to writing very quickly. Its scratching din is minute yet determined, like the movements of centipede legs up a papered wall...
Grigg H., 34 year old male. Admitted September 13th 18:15.
PTA pt. suffered sec DB to the L hand from handling a plugged-in laptop computer while in the bathtub, and fell as a result. Approx. 2 minutes after the incident, the patient's great aunt discovered him in the bathtub, unconscious, but not completely submerged, and holding the appliance, wherein she dialed emergency services. The pt. was brought to the hospital to be treated for the burns to his hand and to examine if there was any further trauma incurred in the incident. The pt. was found upon admission to have suffered a minor concussion, appearing to have been caused by blunt force trauma to the back of the head from the edge of the tub. After treatment, at the request of the patient's relative, he was referred to P&N to r/o possible attempted suicide. The pt. was secluded for 3 days observation. After he was determined to not be a threat to himself, he joined daily group therapy sessions with similarly afflicted patients. In every session, the patient consistently denied deliberately attempting to take his life, calling the incident an 'accident'. The patient did not demonstrate any abnormal affect, and was observed smiling and joking appropriately with other patients and therapists.
The hand and pen stop moving. Dr. Horst closes his saturnine eyes crowned with strong brows, and his usually sullen, though, undoubtedly beautiful, mouth curves into something pleased as he recalls the patient in question, Grigg, smiling and laughing in group for the past four days. His positivity had been infectious. A cynosure at every meeting, due not only to his flowing, happy energy but also to his smoldering good looks.
Dr. Horst thinks then of Grigg's tanned skin. His lovely mouth shaped like that of a mischievous cat. Brown curls enclosing an as yet youthful face. Aquamarine eyes that shone with honesty and optimism.
Everyone had taken an immediate liking to him, and listened rapturously as he often went off topic to ramble on about science fiction novels and working in the tech industry. It had been a long time since observing these sessions had caused the psychologist anything but gloom, so it pained him slightly to have to always interrupt Grigg and steer him back to the main issues at hand.
And now, he is finally getting around to properly charting for him in preparation for their one-on-one appointment scheduled in just an hour. Grigg had had time with some of the other therapists during his initial admission and subsequent assessments, but now it was Horst's turn, and he was set on getting to a real diagnosis and treatment plan for this patient…especially, this one. He gets back to writing.
After some persuasion, though, the pt. admitted to several recent events in his life which could be considered contributing factors to a possible diagnosis for depression: he was very recently fired from a lucrative position at his place of employ, his live-in partner then broke up with him and moved out of his house, which he, in turn, sold. Afterwards, he made a stressful trip from America to Scotland at the invitation of his great aunt to come and rest at her home for a while. The pt. insisted that the events were completely unrelated to his 'accident'. In an interview with the patient's relative, she stated that in the two weeks since he had come to stay with her, he ate less than two meals a day and slept in excess of fourteen hours every day. Pt. also refused to leave the house despite her encouragement.
Previous assessments done by other members of the psychiatric team have yielded very little in the way of definitive diagnoses and interpretations of the pt. presenting symptoms.
The client appears to be emotionally stable, but how much of this is a cover for his true emotional state remains to be seen. Until his true emotional condition can be properly assessed, attempted suicide cannot be completely ruled out. It is to be said that he is functioning well considering the recent hardships he has suffered.
To follow up with a more in depth interview. The goal is to establish rapport with the pt. and garner trust, so that the pt. will be as forthcoming as possible about the events of September 13th. Depending on what is revealed by the pt., there will be further plans made according to assessment and diagnosis.
Horst signs and dates the bottom of the page, then places it inside of a new file folder. He sets it neatly atop his desk. Reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, he looks out the window at the cloudy sky. Its grey dullness seeps into the room and colors everything with dolor. How many years has he gone on like this, here in this tiny office and down in the sad empty space of the group counseling room, treating people who can no longer take being in the world? Were things so grey, even before he had moved here from Denmark?
His professional focus in psychiatry had always been the same...ever since his father had taken his own life...and his dog's... But he used to feel different about suicide and depression. He felt ambitious and hopeful, then. He was motivated once to find out what had happened with his father, and to help the families of others going through what he had once felt – but now...He shakes the thought and proceeds to light his cigarette. After just one puff, there is a knock at the door.
He looks down at his wrist, pulling the sleeve up to properly view his brown leather wristwatch. Whoever it is, is unexpected, or very early. He crushes the stick of tobacco into an ashtray tucked into his drawer, gets up and cracks open the window, before going to the door to see who it is.
He turns the door handle and brings his eyes up to meet aquamarine sun and the pleasant arrangement of an ivory smile. "Hello, Dr. Horst. I'm early – sorry." Grigg reaches a hand in through the cracked door, enthusiastically, for a shake. Horst mirrors his smile and returns the greeting, relishing the skin to skin contact the gesture has provided. He maintains strong eye contact with Grigg, taking in his handsome features. He keeps shaking.... he's holding onto the hand shake a little bit too long... And then, Horst panics. He shoves Grigg's hand back through the small opening and shuts the door. He turns quickly, his back flush against the door, and breathes in and out quickly to steady himself.
Grigg faces the white wood of the office door, his eyebrows raised in perplexion. "Dr. Horst....?"
Horst shuts his eyes tight, embarrassed. "Mr. Harris...please come back at your appointed time. I'm sorry..." Shit. Why does he always do this?
Horst is very good at what he does. His professionalism has been seldom questioned. But things shift when it comes to interpersonal socializing, especially when he, or either, or both parties of the exchange are behaving in an overtly emotional way. He can be so painfully awkward at times, that he'd rather just avoid it completely. His previous relationship with Nurse Sophie had ended that way...she was always so upset after he'd been antisocial at dinners and her friends' parties... and she was always pressuring him to make grand romantic gestures and commitments. He didn't like being forced. Didn't feel like he could give her what she wanted. Like she would have the patience to let him come around to things... So things ended.
And now here he is absolutely smitten with a handsome American who had supposedly just tried to kill himself. He should not be feeling this way. Mr. Harris is a patient and nothing more. There should be no attraction or romance between them. It was unprofessional and most definitely not helpful for his patient, who was in a difficult position and needed help out of it. The psychologist swallows hard. He must distance himself psychologically, now, or there will be nothing productive to come of this. He has already set an unfortunate tone with his bungling, so how can he earn Grigg's trust now? He lets out a big sigh.
As per his usual manner, Grigg answers in an understanding and upbeat voice, "I knew I shouldn't have come so early! No problem, doctor, I'll be back at one o'clock, sharp...I just..." And then Horst can hear him placing something with weight against the door on the floor, "I just brought some sandwiches I thought you might want to share. My great aunt brought them. There are too many for me to finish alone. Please help yourself."
Horst can hear his footsteps move away from the door. Exclamation marks fill his mind. 'Catch him before it's too late,' his brain screams. And before he can give it a second thought, he rips open the door, picks up the basket of sandwiches at his feet, inspecting it for just a moment, and shouts after Grigg. "Mr. Harris!!!!!"
At that moment, as if by some miracle, the sky has apparently cleared, and the sun, which now fills the sky with warmth and life, shines strongly through an etched glass pane in the hallway window, right onto the section of space where Grigg has stopped, as he turns back to face Dr. Horst's voice. It is so bright that it is obscures half of his face in white, and illuminates his brunette crown of curls to shine golden. He is dressed in a patient's hospital garment, like pajama tops and bottoms, with his favorite brown corduroy blazer worn on top to keep out the autumn chill, and his hands are placed in the pockets. And then he smiles wide, and Horst is completely done for.
So much for psychological distancing.