4 Jan 2001
Dr. Dermail's address and a pleasant surprise for Treize.
DISCLAIMER: All Gundam Wing characters are property of Sunrise, Bandai Visuals, Sotsu Agency, and Asahi TV. This work is not written for profit, but for entertainment purposes only.
PAIRINGS: 6x5/5x6, 13x6/6x13, some very mild 4x9
WARNING: AU/modern day San Francisco; implied yaoi will turn to yaoi and eventual lemon in later chapters
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: To Alfred Hitchock who directed the incredible film, "Vertigo."
"Dreams are the Royal Road to the unconscious."- Sigmund Freud
At 4:30 that afternoon, Treize found "Dermail, D., Ph.D." in the phone book. Under his name was a small box that read, "Licensed Private Psychologist, Patients by Referral Only." There was no address given but the telephone prefix identified it as a Nob Hill number.
He dialed it and a smooth, female voice answered the phone. "Dr. Dermail's office."
"Hello," he said, "my name is Dr. Treize Khushrenada. I work at the Midtown Clinic and am seeing a former patient of Dr. Dermail's. I was wondering if I could get hold of a copy of his treatment notes."
The voice became just a tiny bit more aloof. "Dr. Dermail is not in the habit of sharing his case records. I'm sorry but I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Wait!" Treize said, fearing the receptionist might hang up, "May I please speak to Dr. Dermail? I'll only take a minute of his time and it *is* very important. Please?"
There was a moment of silence when Treize was certain he was going to hear a 'click' at the other end of the line, but then the woman spoke again.
"I'll see if he has time to speak with you. Hold please."
Treize let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and sat back in his chair. /Not in the habit of sharing his notes... I don't like the sound of that. Hopefully he hasn't destroyed his older ones./
Another click and the woman was back. "Doctor is busy at the moment, but he said he could meet with you in an hour if you can come by the office."
"Yes - yes that would be fine," Treize answered. "Can you give me the address?"
She gave him the information and then paused for a moment before asking, "May I have the name of the patient about whom you're inquiring?"
"Yes, his name is Marquise - Zechs Marquise. The doctor saw him about 13 years ago. I hope that won't be a problem - that it was so long ago, I mean."
"The doctor keeps excellent records," the woman replied, sounding rather insulted. "He will see you at 5:30, then. Goodbye."
As he put down the receiver, Treize felt a strange thrill of anticipation. /I'm getting closer, Zechs... maybe all of this will begin to make some sort of sense.../
The office turned out to be an old Victorian house, restored to it's original splendor, and situated on a surprisingly quiet residential block off of Sacramento Street. The only sign that it was a psychologist's office was a discrete brass plaque above the doorbell reading, "Dr. D. Dermail, Ph.D., Clinical Services."
"No walk-ins are going to bother you, eh Doctor?" Treize muttered to himself and then rang the doorbell.
There was a faint clicking sound and an intercom he hadn't noticed before crackled to life. "Who is calling, please?" It was the same woman he had spoken with on the phone.
"It's Dr. Khushrenada. I have a 5:30 appointment with Dr. Dermail."
Another small click and the woman said, "Come in please."
Treize opened the heavy, elaborately carved wooden door and stepped into a small reception area that had obviously been the front hall of the house. He had to stand for a moment, awed by the glowing woodwork, all gingerbread trim and fanciful carvings, the rich draperies and rugs, and the ornate furniture, all perfectly in keeping with the time period of the house.
The voice of the receptionist jolted him out of his reverie. "Dr. Khushrenada?"
"What? Oh, hello," he said, stepping forward to where she sat behind a perfectly organized desk. "I was just admiring the house - the restoration is beautiful."
"Thank you," she said simply, seeming to take no pleasure in the compliment. "Dr. Dermail in on the telephone. Please have a seat and he'll be with you shortly."
She was an older woman, probably in her early 60s, with silvery hair put up in a severe chignon, and an almost antique looking calf-length dress of dark purple linen. She went back to her paperwork and Treize took the opportunity to glance around the waiting room. The small sofa on which he sat was covered in a plum-colored velvet, while the two chairs opposite him had seats made of a busy fabric covered with pansies. To his left was the woman's desk, behind which a carved wooden bannister curled upwards along a staircase. Across the entryway from him were three wooden doors, all closed and along the wall behind him were two others.
The walls, he noted were covered with old photographs in gleaming wooden frames, and all seemed to be formal photographs of groups of men. The one constant in all of them was a tall man with a somewhat bushy beard and piercing eyes. /Dr. Dermail, I presume? You're enough to scare a 10-year-old boy... I wonder how your rapport with clients is?/
"You can go in now," the woman said to him and he looked over to see her putting down the receiver on her phone. There was another click and she said, "The left-hand door, straight ahead of you."
He nodded and opened the door, stepping into an imposing office, the focus of which was a large mahogany desk. The bearded man from the photographs sat behind it, standing when Treize entered and extending his hand. His hair was completely white but his body was vigorous, with no signs of age except for the somewhat weathered skin of his face. "I'm Dr. Dermail," he said simply.
"Good to meet you," Treize replied, shaking the large hand offered and feeling an almost painful squeeze. "Treize Khushrenada. I work over at the Midtown Clinic. Thank you for seeing me."
Dermail gestured to the chair that stood opposite his desk and sat down again. "You wanted to see me about a former patient, I understand," he said, voice deep and rumbling.
"Yes - a young man you treated about 13 years ago, when he was a boy. His name is Zechs Marquise."
"Zechs..." Dermail said in contemplative tone. "Yes, I remember Zechs very well. A very troublesome boy to his parents. They were at their wit's end when they consulted me."
"Yes," Treize murmured, taking an instant dislike to the man, "that's what I understand. I was hoping to get a copy of your case notes regarding him. I thought it might be good to get a feeling for the kind of therapy he had before. It might shed some insight on his current condition."
"'Feeling'? 'Insight'?" The older man practically snorted. "Let me guess - you're one of these 'eclectic*' types of therapists that likes to muck about in a person's past looking for 'clues' about why he's troubled. Am I right?"
/I may have to hit you./ "I *do* consider myself eclectic," Treize answered, his guard going up, "and while I don't believe the past is the entire answer to anyone's problems, I do find that knowing about a client's past can often help a therapist understand more about his present condition." He regarded the white-haired man for a moment and then added, "But I take it you don't count yourself among that number."
"I should hope not," Dermail replied smoothly. "*I* am first and foremost a scientist, Dr. Khushrenada. I am in the science of behavior. It's not my belief that the past has much to do with overcoming problems with the present. The important thing about current troubles is to train clients to give up the behaviors that are making them unhappy." He brought a hand up to stroke his beard as he regarded Treize with penetrating blue eyes. "If the behavior changes, everything else will fall into place. Simplicity itself, really."
"Dr. Dermail," Treize said, trying to keep his temper under control, "I appreciate that we have differences of opinion in how to treat clients, but I really didn't come here to argue clinical theory with you. I came to find out about Zechs Marquise and the time you spent with him."
Dermail smiled slowly. "Well, Doctor, Zechs is a perfect example of what I was talking about." He opened a folder on his desk and looked down at the top paper on the stack inside. "He'd been having trouble with his behavior since he was... four years old. His parents had made an admirable effort at disciplining him, but unfortunately only found out years later than the fundamental cause of his misbehavior was neurological. That being the case, they made the common mistake of thinking that anything that is physical in origin has to be cured with drugs. I understand that Zechs had been on..." He turned a few pages in the file before speaking again. "it looks like seven different drugs before his physician declared him on of those who can't benefit from them."
Letting the papers drop again, Dermail looked up at Treize. "That's when a caring friend - who happened to be a mutual acquaintance - suggested the come to me."
"And you were able to help them when no one else could?" Treize asked cooly. /Help the parents, that is... but did you really help Zechs?/
"Of course," Dermail said, smiling. "The number of psychological problems that cannot be fully addressed by behavior modification are few indeed. It took me about two months of work with the boy before I had his seizures under control. His parents were very satisfied and I believe he was allowed to return to school. A very successful case."
"I see," Treize murmured. "So, will you tell me how you did it?"
"Of course not," Dermail said pleasantly. "At least, not in any detail. That would be compromising my unique methods of therapy, which took years to perfect."
Treize couldn't believe what he was hearing. /As if I'd steal a page from *this* pompous ass's notebook!/ He gritted his teeth and said, "Well how about a summary then?"
Another calm smile from Dermail, who put a hand down on Zechs's file and slowly drummed his fingers. "I attacked the problem on two fronts," he began, "with a reward system, to encourage him to become more aware of when the seizures were happening and to prevent them if possible, and a conditioning system that would allow a form of control over the seizures."
"How can you possibly condition someone into controlling a seizure?" Treize asked.
"Oh, I don't really mean I conditioned *Zechs* to control them," the older man replied. "But it *is* possible, with the correct equipment, to know with a fair amount of certainty just *when* a seizure will occur. What I do next is to present something neutral - not associated in anyway with the seizures - to the patient *just before* the seizure happens. I pair this stimulus with the onset of the seizure again and again and again, and after several weeks, I actually *retrain* the brain to experience a seizure *only* when that stimulus is present."
A feeling of numbness spread through Treize. "Let me get this straight, Doctor. You're telling me that you conditioned Zechs to have seizures only when a certain thing happened? That sounds impossible! The brain doesn't work that way!"
"On the contrary, Doctor," Dermail said calmly, "it *does* and it *did.* The brain responds, like every other human sensory system, to the power of conditioning. If the conditioning is strong enough and the patient truly conditioned, some brain activity can be controlled. It's somewhat akin to this biofeedback nonsense, except it's a lot more precise." He rose from his desk, looking down at Treize. "Is there anything more? I have a dinner engagement across town."
/Of course there's more! How did you do it? What did you put him through so it would 'take.' How is it possible he could still be conditioned after all these years??/
Treize stood, realizing that he wouldn't get any more out of Dermail, at least not that day. He reluctantly shook hands with the man and headed for the door of his office. "Well... thank you Doctor. I appreciate the time you took to see me. I may call with one or two other questions."
"Which I will be happy to answer, as long as none of my techniques are compromised. Thank you for stopping by Dr. Khushrenada."
The receptionist was writing in a patient's file when Treize emerged from the office. "Thank you for letting me see the Doctor," he said, trying to be polite so as not to burn bridges.
"Thank you for coming by, Doctor," she said, barely glancing up at him before returning to her work. There was yet another click and Treize knew the front door was ready to usher him out.
The talk with Dermail had unsettled him, and so Treize decided to drive down to the Embarcadero and watch the ships. There was a traffic snarl on Lombard Street, just as he was approaching Coit Tower, and as he sat, waiting for some around him to move, he noticed a familiar figure pass by on the sidewalk to the right. Long legs, long strides, and long, pale gold hair down the figure's back, like a cloak.
"Zechs?" he muttered to himself, rolling the passenger side window down. He leaned over the seat beside him. "Zechs?" he called to the figure, now standing at the traffic light.
The person turned. It was Zechs, looking puzzled for a moment until he saw Treize. Then he smiled, a bit shyly, and Treize nearly melted into a puddle beneath the steering wheel /You shouldn't do this/ murmured the sensible voice in his head, which was beginning to sound a lot like Anne. /Remember - no making arrangements to meet outside the office./
Another voice, sounding much more like his own, had a quick reply. /I didn't arrange anything. We just happened to be going down the same street and the same time of day. Purely accidental, nothing planned at all. Where's the harm in saying hello?/
"You're far too good at doing that," he muttered to himself as he managed to pull over to the curb where Zechs was standing.
"Hello," he said, hiding enormous pleasure, the odd feeling he's had after meeting Dermail gone. "Where are you off to?"
Zechs indicated the thin portfolio case slung over his shoulder. "Going up to the tower to sketch a bit. How about you?"
"I was..." /Don't do it, Treize. Remember Anne.../ "I was going up there too - do some decompressing after a long day." /You did it. I can't believe you lied... It wasn't a lie, not *really*, just a sudden change in destination.../
The blond man nodded. "It's great for that," he agreed.
/Zechs... I know of something even better... Listen to you! Get a grip on yourself, Khushrenada! And don't you dare.../
"Care to join me? Even though you could probably get their faster by walking?"
/You're bad, Treize... you're a bad, bad psychologist.../
"Oh," Zechs said, hesitantly. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind the company?"
"Not at all," Treize replied, deciding to ignore the war of words going on in his head and just seize the moment. "Hop in."
Zechs climbed in the car and they inched away from the curb, slowly merging with the traffic that was moving at snail's pace, but at least moving.
"So, you like Coit Tower?" Treize said, kicking himself immediately for the rather lame and obvious comment.
"Yeah, I really do. I don't usually like the more modern stuff, but it's old enough to have a unique look to it and the neighborhood is great - so many trees..."
"Mmm... I have to agree," Treize said. "Are you drawing it for your own enjoyment, or it this work?"
"Work," Zechs replied. "I got a commission from the North Beach Neighborhood Association to draw the tower along with Sts. Peter and Paul Church and Washington Square. I have to admit, though, that it's also for me - it doesn't seem like work when I'm drawing a place I really like. "
"Now *that's* the kind of work to get," Treize smiled as they approached the drive to the Tower. "Work that doesn't *seem* like work."
Zechs looked over at him thoughtfully. "Your work isn't like that, I expect. But you still enjoy it, don't you?"
Treize made the turn and nodded. "Yes, I've always enjoyed helping people. There's a real sense of satisfaction to know that you've been able to help someone change his or her life for the better. I think most therapists get a bit addicted to that feeling. Have to, really, to prevent being burned out."
As soon as the words were out he wanted to take them back.
Zechs looked over at him, searching his face. "Burn out?" he said. "Are you beginning to feel burned out, Treize?"
"No - that's not what I meant," Treize said quickly. "I only meant that, like a lot of other jobs in the helping professions, being a therapist has ups and downs. You need one to offset the other." He looked over at Zechs, hoping the blond man would understand.
"Oh," came the soft reply and then a brief smile. "Okay - I just would hate to think that I'm doing that to you..."
Treize pulled into a parking space and looked over at his passenger. "I'll keep saying it until I'm blue in the face if I need to," he said firmly. "You are not a problem to me. Understood?"
"Understood," Zechs answered. "It it's all right I'd like to like to sketch some of the grounds around the tower first. If you wanted to go up to the top, I can meet you there."
Much as he wanted to stay with Zechs, Treize realized this was an opportunity to satisfy Anne's wishes - if only in a small way - so he nodded. "Right. I'll see you in a bit." /Only please don't be too long.../
Treize had been admiring the view of San Francisco Bay for about half an hour minutes when Zechs walked up and stood beside him at the railing on top of the tower. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I don't think I could ever live anyplace else. This city is too perfect to leave."
Treize smiled at him, then looked back to the western sky, turning warm colors of pink and gold and salmon as the sun went down. "I have to agree with you there," he said softly. "I wasn't born here, but I firmly believe it's destiny that I ended up here. Sometimes it seems as if I could explore it for the rest of my life and not see it all."
"Yeah," Zechs agreed, "I think a lot of people share that opinion. I know I do, but then I didn't get out much as a kid."
A shiver of that unpleasant feeling returned to Treize as Zechs spoke. "Your parents," he said, "I take it they weren't the family sightseeing type."
Zechs gave a short, almost bitter laugh. "No," he said, "no they were not. They liked to go out by themselves, or with friends. I think I might have been in junior high school before I actually got to see the golden gate bridge close up. And that was on a school field trip."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Zechs. I have to say I don't think I would have agreed with your parent's methods of child rearing."
Leaning an elbow on the rail and propping his head in his hand, Zechs looked over at him. "I have to say that I agree with you, but unfortunately when you're a child you don't have much say in matters of child rearing. They always think your suggestions are just tricks to get your own way."
Sighing, he kept his gaze on Treize for a moment. "I didn't realize that you had so much red in your hair," he said softly.
Treize, not quite believing what he'd just heard, could only say, "What?"
Zechs stood up and leaned backwards a bit, regarding the older man. "Your hair," he said smiling, "there's a lot of reddish lights in it. Must be the sunset..."
/Why is he looking at my hair? Why is he *smiling* at my hair?? I must remain calm. I must resist the urge I have to - oh God, he's looking at my hair!!/
"M-my mother was a redhead," Treize managed to stammer, wanting to tear his gaze from the blond man's smile but unable to do it.
"Well,"Zechs said, looking away at the sunset again, "I've lost my light. I'll have to come back tomorrow." He ducked his head in his familiar gesture and looked up at Treize through his lashes. "I'm making dinner for Noin and Quatre tonight. There's more than enough. Want to come over?"
/I'm dead. That must be it... I'm dead and this is paradise. I've reached Nirvana and it is a small apartment off of Fisherman's Wharf... No!! You can't!! *No* meetings outside the office! That's what Anne said! ... But Anne's not the one who has these feelings... besides, there are going to be other people there. I won't be alone with him... This was just an accident... I didn't plan it... *He* didn't really plan it... Going over would just be polite./
Down deep inside him, Treize could feel the presence that felt like Anne dropping down, down, down - so far down that he couldn't hear the voice anymore. "I'd love to," he told Zechs. "We can drive there."
End of Chapter 12
(:./kumiko/rr12)
