Now This Makes Me Nervous (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on 17 May 2012 @ 1:45am by Ensign Rhett Brubwick & Lieutenant JG Brayden White Ph.D.

2,269 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Episode 01 - Project Sienna
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 3, Counselor's Office
Timeline: MD07 - 1800 hrs

[ON]

Medical exams were easy to get through, at least when compared to psych evaluations. That was where they really dug in and messed with you. Add to that the fact that every single shrink Rhett had ever encountered was different, so he had no idea what to expect. Some were gruff old men who gave you the silent treatment until you spilled every secret you ever had. Others were flirtatious young women who got you talking and manipulated you into giving away your deepest insecurities and never realizing it until you left their office. Most were somewhere in-between.

Rhett had secrets. Granted, none of them were really serious ones. Mostly they were things like, "I stole a caramel from the grocery store when I was seven" or "I killed a lizard with my blow-gun when I was fourteen, and I've been so ashamed ever since I won't even look at a lizard at a zoo." It was nothing that would keep him out of the fleet, but he still didn't like sharing. It was personal.

As a result, when Rhett walked up to the counselor's office, he had to wipe the sweat from his palms before pushing the chime.

"In every other way, she appears to be perfectly well, and I'm confident that that particular issue with her brother is one that will work itself out without psychological support. Nevertheless, she has been invited to return or schedule another appointment at any ti-" Brayden looked up from recording his notes at the sound of the chime. "At any time. End session notes T'Paaru, Session 1." He tapped his PADD and pushed the button on his desk to open the door. As it opened, he stood up and crossed around the desk. "Good morning," he greeted the ensign.

The diplomatic officer smiled and extended a slightly clammy hand. "How are you doing doctor? I hope I'm not interrupting anything important." The last part was a complete lie. He wanted to be interrupting the counselor. He wanted to be told that he would have to come back at some undefined time that would never actually arrive. Usually, he didn't have that kind of luck.

Brayden shook his head, agreeably. "I'm well, and you're not interrupting anything; I was just finishing up some notes." He took the man's offered hand and shook. "I'm Brayden. And you are?"

"Rhett Brubwick." The answer was short, but his discomfort compelled him to continue, "Apparently I need to have a psych evaluation before my transfer to the Galileo is complete." Even a blind, deaf, and comatose person could hear the reluctance in his voice.

Brayden inclined his head, feeling the clamminess of the other man's hand. "Nice to meet you, Rhett," he spoke casually, keeping his shoulders dropped and his face relaxed. "Yes, the dreaded evaluation; it's protocol. You didn't need any mandatory check-ups to work on one-five-two?"

Rhett shook his head. "Only the medical one. Apparently since I was only supposed to be there for a week or two they didn't think a psych work-up was necessary." He left out the Thank goodness. He stuck his hands in his pockets and fidgeted nervously. "So, how do you want to handle this?"

The Australian fought a grin. "Why don't you take a seat," he gestured around the room. "Wherever you're comfortable. Would you like anything? Coffee? Water?" He lifted a little bowl of sliced fruit, "Mango?"

The diplomat snatched a couple of pieces of the fruit, and sat on the couch near the windows. "I'll be fine with the fruit. Thanks." He tried to look relaxed, but it was a poor ruse, even for him. He finished the slices of mango, sucked on his fingers to rid them of the sticky juice and simply sat there. He wasn't going to give this head-shrink any ammunition.

Brayden poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the desk and moved the bowl of mangoes to the coffee table in front of the couch. The only reason the silence wasn't deafening was the white noise generator that ran in the office. He wondered if Starfleet actually understood how much more difficult they made this job for the counselors by forcing the officers to show up for 'evaluations'. How could they not feel ill at ease? Therapy, in his opinion, shouldn't be administered like a criteria - a test that was pass/fail. It wasn't that he didn't understand why they felt it was necessary; there just had to be a better way to go about it, didn't there? Regardless, now wasn't the time for philosophy. He took a seat in the big comfy chair across from Rhett and offered a smile. "The nice thing about replicator generated fruit - the mangoes are always ripe. The pears are a bit hard, but..." he plucked a slice of mango from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. "Mm. Makes you wonder how the machine knows what 'ripe' is, doesn't it? I guess it's programmed that way." He chatted easily, hoping to ease in to a conversation. There were different tactics for different people. Some, he found, seemed to need the structure of a formal evaluation. Others had issues very present in their minds that they either needed to discuss or heartily wanted to avoid. Rhett seemed nervous and withdrawn, rather the opposite of what Brayden would have expected from a diplomacy officer, but it could easily have been the nerves of the situation. "Odd, that they'd program the mangoes just right and the pears like apples. Or jicama. Have you had jicama?"

Rhett shook his head. "Not in a long time." The man tried to leave it there, but couldn't. "Look, doc, it's not that I have a problem with you. I just don't like shrinks." He grimaced, "Sorry again." He sighed deeply, "It's just that most of the time psychologists seem like they're just trying to find your deepest darkest secrets and then interpret them in some strange way that can then somehow disqualify you for this or that." He groaned, "Not that you're necessarily like that, but, you know?"

"Sure," Brayden nodded, unoffended. "There's certainly a stigma that goes with the job title. Let me assure you that my aim in having these one on ones with the crew is not a nefarious plot to disqualify all the personnel and take over the ship with a lot of maniacal laughter and evil hand rubbing. We don't even have padded rooms on the ship. At least, not that I'm aware of. I suppose you could work up something on the holodeck if you really wanted to." He grinned, shaking his head, "Poor joke. Okay. Truth. People do sometimes tell me deep dark secrets, though usually not in the first session and never under duress. The whole point of my being here at all is to make sure that you are well. Not to undermine you or your position or your work. Just to listen." He opened his hands in a 'I come in peace' gesture. "Some people find that talking about things helps them to get perspective and deal with them better. Some people just like to talk, period. Some don't. I'm here regardless, eating my mangoes. So," he lifted his brows, "we'll forgo the Rorschach tests and get straight to the good stuff." He paused dramatically, "When was the last time you had jicama?"

"Jicama," the man had visibly relaxed, though a trained eye could still see that he was going to be on guard. "Well, it would have to have been four, maybe five years ago. I know I was at college. A girl in one of my classes invited me to picnic with her. All I remember about it is that it was almost flavorless. The jicama, that is." He shrugged and let loose a crooked smile, "As long as we stick to fruit, I think I can handle this."

"I think you can handle more than fruit," Brayden told him honestly. "And I think you think you can, too. You're a Starfleet officer. Am I really that threatening?"

Rhett shook his head. "No. You aren't. What one word in your reports could do to me really is." It was blunt, and exactly what he thought. "Even if you think I'm the best officer in the galaxy, if you say something that makes someone in Starfleet Command twitch the wrong way, I've spent the last year and a half for nothing. That's intimidating."

"Fair enough," the Australian sat back with a half-smile. "Although I think you might be putting too much pressure on yourself. And giving them too much credit; imagine how many personnel reports they have to sort through every year. Every time someone's reassigned to a new vessel or initially deployed or takes an assignment on a station, plus the annual reviews?"

The diplomat laughed. "I guess you're right. I can't really say that I'd go to all the trouble of reading those reports." The adopted Australian accent began to emerge. "So unless I'm really unlucky, I guess I don't need to worry so much." He leaned back on the couch after reaching over to grab another couple mango slices. "So what now? I'm still comfortable with the topic of fruits, but I get the feeling that that is now water under the bridge."

"It may be, it may be," Brayden agreed, rather curious to hear the sounds of home coming at him from Rhett's mouth. "Spent some time in Oz, did you?"

"Nope, I'm afraid not." The second time already in one day. Rhett looked embarrassed. "I tend to pick up accents when I'm talking with someone. I don't know why, and I can't really do anything about it."

There was something he'd never heard. Absorbing accents. What a fascinating skill. "Does it ever come in handy?"

Rhett shrugged, "Sometimes. When a Klingon thinks you're mocking him, it can get pretty hairy, but usually, it's just something of an oddity." He paused, then added quickly, "The worst part is that I can't keep the accent. For example, two minutes after I leave this room, I'll be back to my normal boring accent without any hope of imitating it again."

"I can see how that would be frustrating," Brayden agreed, then shook his head with a laugh. "You sound just like my brother Nathan, hand to God. Wild. When did you first start being able to do that?"

The diplomat thought for a few moments. The introspective look completely replaced his previously hostile stance. "I honestly don't know. The first time I noticed it was during an off semester at college. I was working in a restaurant and talking to a Saudi Arabian woman, who was shocked that a pasty white guy like me had such a strong accent that, surprise, surprise, sounded just like hers." Rhett thought some more and shrugged, "Yeah. I have no idea."

"What were you talking about, do you remember?" Brayden asked, curiously.

Rhett shook his head helplessly, "I don't know. Maybe it was why she was visiting the middle of North America? Or maybe it was simply whether or not she liked her food. I'm really not sure." He frowned, "The thing is, I'm sure it happened before that, but I don't think anyone ever really thought to say anything."

"Is this something that happens with everyone you meet? What if, say, you were talking to me and the Saudi Arabian woman at the same time - would you gravitate towards one or the other, or fluctuate between both?"

The ensign looked shocked. "I actually have no idea. I don't think I've ever noticed that happening. I would assume whichever was strongest." Maybe you, I and the doc ought to get together sometime and find out." It was an interesting idea. A fun experiment, if nothing else. Besides, it gave him a chance to talk with the doctor again.

"If you're interested, I'm curious," Brayden told him. "Which 'doc' are we talking about now?"

Rhett chuckled, "Dr. Ni Dhuinn. I met her earlier today when I went in for my checkup. She's got a gorgeous Irish accent. Not to mention, well, anyway." He smiled and shrugged.

Brayden lifted his brows slightly, indicating he was happy to listen to whatever Rhett had to say.

"Not right now, doc." Rhett said as he pointed his finger at the man, in mock reprimand. He had become thoroughly comfortable, and it was apparent. "We can compare notes after our little experiment if you'd like."

The Australian smiled slightly and sat back in his chair. Pola was an attractive woman and smart; he was glad to see her taking charge of the department. "I'll look forward to it. How are you adjusting to ship-life? It was a little jarring for me, the first time."

Rhett shook his head. "I grew up on and off ships. Mostly, it's okay. I haven't had time to do more than glance at my quarters and get hopelessly lost in the corridors. So I guess it's going okay."

"You made it here all right. That's a good sign."

"I did need help." Rhett held up the PaDD with the schematics on it. "I don't know why, but the new corridor designs just throw me off."

"There's no shame in using a map," Brayden assured him. "Meet anyone interesting so far? Besides Pola," he added with a slight grin.

[END PART 1]
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LTJG Brayden White Ph.D. (pNPC Kestra Orexil)
Counselor
USS Galileo

Ensign Rhett Brubwick
Chief Diplomatic Officer
USS Galileo

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