20 Nov 2000
I know I should be finishing Der Rosenkavalier, and i *will* I promise, but the muse was waiting impatiently and wouldn't let me have more coffee until this was written. Sorry! *^_^*
Once again, it will eventually be 6x5/5x6 and 13x6/6x13 with little bits of 4x9 here and there.
Enough babbling - hope you like it.
kumi ^_^
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
Clinic referral case no. 72256
Client name: Z. Marquise
Referring clinician: S. Po
Presenting symptoms: sleeplessness, anxiety, decreased appetite, depression
Treize Khushrenada looked through the scant information on his new client and sighed. Another therapy patient with identical symptoms to thousands of other therapy patients the clinic saw every day. They came in saying they were worried or maybe just a little troubled, that they couldn't eat, or ate too much, that sleep was eluding their weary nights or that sleep was the only thing they were doing lately - a veritable potpourri of common problems that nearly *anyone* living in a civilized country at the turn of the millennium could boast.
Mostly they were young women, drifting in boring jobs and looking for Mr. Right. They had a vague sense that their lives weren't turning out the way they wanted them to, and that they weren't as happy as any bright, middle-class American *should* be. So they ended up here, in places like the Sacramento Street Clinic to worship at the altar of that exalted cure-all, psychological therapy. And for some reason, they were all dumped into Treize's lap by Anne, the director of the Clinic.
Well, he'd had enough. He picked up the almost empty file folder for "Z. Marquise" and headed out of his office to dump it right back into her lap. He was crossing the waiting room when the receptionist, Hilde called his name. Crossing to her counter, he murmured something about being busy but she wouldn't be deterred. "Your client is here, but he's looking awfully nervous. I'm afraid he might bolt, so I wondered whether you were free to start your session a little early."
/Great,/ he thought to himself. Now there's no hope of refusing the case./ "Of course," he said, putting on an aura of calm authority. /Well at least it's a *male* - that's different.../
Hilde called out, "Zechs Marquise?" and Treize waited.
Out of the mass of clients waiting to be seen, a tall, slim man stood. Treize watched him as he walked towards the counter, long blond hair shading his face, a worn backpack slung over one shoulder. The young man stopped and looked at Hilde, then Treize, As the hair fell away from his face, Treize was struck by two things: how exquisitely beautiful he was and how utterly haunted his eyes looked.
It took effort to look away from those eyes. They were blue, the color the sky would be on an early winter morning, and framed by lashes like long, golden pen strokes. Holding out his hand, he said, a little too heartily, "Nice to meet you. 'Zechs' is it? I'm Dr. Khushrenada."
"Hi," the blond said quietly and then, "Thank you for seeing me - I know your schedules are full."
Hilde had propped her arm on the counter, chin in her hand, and was staring at the young blond man with the same expression she wore when she perused the menu of the deli around the corner. In an attempt to save his new client from any sudden pounces on her part, he led the way to his office at the back of the clinic.
"Come on in," he murmured, heading for the coffee pot. "Can I get you some coffee? Pot's fresh."
"Thank you, yes. Black, please."
"So, I suppose this would be the appropriate time to ask what brings you here. Your intake form is very vague." Treize handed Zechs a cup of coffee and then walked over to his desk and picked up the form, sipping the hot liquid as best he could while trying to sit down. "You say you're primary symptom is not being able to sleep. How long has that been going on?"
Zechs remained standing and wandered over to the window as he spoke. "It began about two months ago. I had trouble falling asleep and then I'd wake up and not be able to go *back* to sleep."
"And are you still having those problems?" Treize asked, reaching for his notepad and beginning to write things down.
"No - not any more. Now I just don't sleep at all." He looked up at Treize from the window, the light from the city outside gilding his hair. "I haven't slept in a week. It just doesn't happen."
"What's preventing you? Can you identify it?"
"I thought that was your job," Zechs said quietly, still not facing the therapist.
"My job," Treize repeated. "My job," he said more decisively, "is to help you help yourself and that means you have to work with me, Zechs. What do you say?" He gave the blond the most trustworthy smile he could.
Zechs said nothing for a long moment and then leaned against the frame of the bookshelf that stood near the window.
"I keep having nightmares that I killed my lover."
Being the good clinician that he was, Treize took careful note of the young man's facial expression and stance. He appeared to be utterly sincere, grieving, but with a strange air of resignation over his nightly terrors.
Being the *gifted* clinician that Treize was, he also watched his *own* reaction to the other man's words and, frankly, it disturbed him. There was shock, that someone like this could even be associated with such a sordid idea, but that was quickly swept away by several years of training in which he'd learned that the loveliest faces could hide the most horrible of thoughts and deeds.
There was also a distinct feeling of uneasiness that he had thought the young man's face to be lovely. /I'll have to watch that.../
"And did you kill him?" he asked the blond man simply.
Zechs looked taken aback at the question. "N-no... no I didn't. He killed himself."
A soft, empathetic smile crossed Treize's face. /Not only a man, but a gay man - thank the scheduling gods for bringing me someone I was trained to work with. "Have to ask, you know," he said, somewhat sheepishly, to Zechs. "I'm truly sorry to hear that. It must be very difficult for you. Why don't you sit down and we can talk?" he waved a hand in the direction of the leather sofa, one of the few luxuries he'd allowed himself when he joined the clinic.
"Why don't you stop the 'therapist speak'," Zechs said quietly.
Treize arched an eyebrow. /I see young man. You are going to fight this every step of the way, are you? All right, I accept that, but I'm warning you that I'm a fighter as well and I don't back down easily./
The psychologist walked over the window where his new client stood, and followed the young man's gaze through the glass to the line of ethnic shops opposite the clinic. Most of them were Chinese, with a few southeast Asian tucked in here and there. Zechs seemed to be staring at one in particular, a small Chinese "apothecary" shop with a storefront of soft, glowing red and graceful Chinese characters in gold above the door.
"I apologize if I seemed insincere, Zechs," he began. "It's true, people in my business often adopt a certain tone with new clients. Most people actually expect it - seems comforting to them somehow. As a matter of fact, though, I'd much rather drop all that and just get to know you."
"There's not much to know," Zechs replied, turning tired eyes away from the shop front. "I'm really a very simple creature."
/Liar. But no matter - I won't rush you.../
"Whose idea was it that you come in to the clinic?" Treize had read the man's chart, but it was always good to hear the client's description of how things happened.
"My doctor made the referral," Zechs said, wandering over to book case and perusing the titles, "but it was my sister who insisted I get 'checked' as she called it. She said it was 'getting painful to look at' me. So I went to Dr. Po," he said, one hand on the books, eyes raised to meet Treize's "and here I am." His face softened somewhat as they stared at each other, the haunted look filling his eyes again. "Can you help me sleep?"
Treize said nothing for a moment, caught in the piercing light of that ice-blue gaze. It was only with great effort, and great reluctance, that he forced himself to speak. "I can give have our M.D. prescribe a fairly powerful medication that will make you sleep and also decrease the chance of having nightmares," Treize said softly, "but that won't take away what's really bothering you, will it? For that, we'd have to talk."
Zechs's gaze flickered downward for a moment, then back up to Treize. He nodded in understanding and glanced at the small clock Treize kept opposite the sofa, for clients to see.
"I guess I could talk for thirty minutes," he said, voice nearly a whisper.
"Fair enough," Treize countered and sat in the arm chair opposite the sofa.
Zechs settled himself somewhat tentatively on the leather cushions and, after a moment's silence, said, "What do you want to know?"
"Why don't you just tell me about about yourself," Treize answered, reaching for a note pad and pen.
"Myself," the blond man murmured and then sat back a little further. "My name is Zechs Marquise. I'm a freelance artist - architectural design. I specialize in drawings of historic buildings. I've been living on my own for the past five years, but my family lives here in the city, too."
"What family do you have?" Treize asked.
"My sister, Relena - she's an invalid. Never leaves the house. Our aunt cares for her."
"Parents?"
Zechs stared down at his hands lying in his lap. "They're dead - an accident when I was in high school."
"You mentioned that you're a freelance artist," Treize said, "did you go to college?"
"Yeah, I did..." There was a very slight hesitation in the blond's voice and then, "University of San Francisco."
Treize raised an eyebrow and smiled softly. "Very nice - did you get a scholarship?" It was always hard to assess a client's financial standing, and Treize took any opportunity to do so obliquely.
"My parents were wealthy, and extremely generous to Relena and me after their deaths. My tuition was paid in full."
"Did you like it there?" Treize continued.
Shifting on the sofa cushions, Zechs gave a tiny sigh. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but what do all these questions have to do with me getting some sleep?"
"I'm just trying to get a sense of who you are," Treize responded smoothly, giving the young man a smile, "but if you think we're not getting to the point, I'll forego them." He sat back in the chair, an image of calm, and asked, "Did you meet your lover at school?"
Zechs looked up sharply, eyes suddenly full of pain. His entire body seemed to tighten, making him tremble slightly as his hand strayed to a lock of hair that had fallen over his shoulder, fingers twisting it in a graceful but habitual motion.
"Yes... yes, we met at school..." He looked up at Treize, who smiled encouragingly, and then went on in a low voice. "He was getting his degree in philosophy and I was in the architecture program in the School of Art. We... saw each other in the bookstore one day... couldn't stop staring at each other through the stacks. Then a friend of mine came in and I had to leave without talking to him."
Long and graceful fingers continued to twist at the pale gold strands of hair as Zechs continued, staring with an unfocused gaze at the low table between him and Treize.
A couple of days later, there was a Chinese street festival near the school. I went with a friend of mine - really stuck out, too, like a sore thumb.
Treize eyed the tall, lean body, the pale but golden skin and platinum hair. /Yes, you *would* stick out at an occasion like that. Or anywhere, really.../
"Anyway," Zechs went on, "I'd been there for an hour or so when I saw him. That is, we saw each other. He was dressed in the most amazing outfit - silky white pants with a long, scarlet robe over them. It had a dragon embroidered on the back and over one shoulder... and I had to stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk and just *look* at him. He was beautiful... the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen..."
Zechs's gaze turned more inward, his voice growing almost dreamy as he spoke. Treize simply listened and took pages of notes.
"I went over to where he was standing and we both kind of looked at each other in this idiotic way... it was all I could do not to wrap my arms around him... He told me later that he wanted to drag me down to the ground and do it right there." A soft, sad smile flashed briefly over the blond's face, and then disappeared.
"We spent the afternoon together, flirting like mad, hot as hell for each other and when it got dark he invited me back to his place. It was a loft, overlooking the street where the festival was still going on. We made love to the sounds of drums and fireworks... ahh, *God*..."
The reminiscing had taken it's toll and Zechs buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I thought I was past all this."
"You don't have to apologize," Treize said softly, discreetly putting a box of tissue beside his new client. "How long has it been since his death?"
"Five months," Zechs murmured, looking up at Treize for the first time since he started talking. "Do you think I have a guilty conscience?" he whispered. "Is that why I can't sleep?"
"Well," Treize replied, "I'm here to help you find that out. Will you make another appointment to see me? I can fit you in late tomorrow afternoon."
Scrubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve, Zechs stood up. "Maybe," he said, voice sounding lost. "Maybe I will..."
Treize rose and put out a hand. "I hope you do," he said. "I would really like to help you with this."
Zechs took the older man's hand tentatively and they shook. it startled Treize to realize that he didn't want to let go. /Don't want to send you out into that harsh world by yourself.../ Mentally he shook himself. /That will be quite enough of that, Treize. He's a client. Enough said./
"Stop by the receptionist on the way out and tell them you'll be here tomorrow at 5, all right?"
"Yeah," Zechs said in a quiet voice. "Thank you."
From the cover of his office doorway, Treize watched as the young blond walked slowly to the waiting area. As he passed Hilde's desk he paused and looked over at her, opening his mouth as if to say something, and then shook his head slightly and walked out of the clinic.
"Damn," Treize muttered under his breath, then approached Hilde himself.
"Put Mr. Marquise down for an appointment every day this week at 5pm."
Hilde eyed him curiously. "But that's your dinner hour, Dr. K."
"I know," Treize said, eyes on the door that Zechs had gone through. "It's all right. I'm willing to make the sacrifice..."
End of Chapter 1
(:./kumiko/rr1)
