Driven to It
Jan. 2nd, 2013 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinkhcTitle: Driven to It
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Prompt: Hurt Comfort Parallel Fills: Job related Trauma & Suicide Attempt
Medium: FIC
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 588
Summary: There were so many reasons why he was where he was. And not too many he could explain
Content Notes: references to suicide attempts. No other standard notes apply
“If you don’t talk to me, Peter, I can’t help you,” the black haired shrink said. This one wasn’t as bad as the others. The blonde wasn’t too bad, the one with the purple streak in her hair was an airhead, the bald guy should have retired back when Nixon was president, and he had a special hatred for the red head.
“I don’t need help. I just need to be left alone.”
She shook her head and tried to look sympathetic. “Now you know that isn’t going to happen, not with your history, Peter. Why don’t you tell me something about your work?”
He snorted. He couldn’t talk about that. There were reams of non-disclosure agreements with his signature scrawled cross them. He must have been a special kind of crazy the day he agreed to all of it. Going to another galaxy had seemed like the perfect escape when the opportunity came up. But what had he expected? They said it was likely one way. That should have been the big, blinking red light of warning that it was all a Very Bad Idea. Things happened that he would never be able to forget. All he had wanted to do was be left alone to do some unique research. And then there were things that wanted to eat him.
And that woman. The doctor was looking at him and he knew if he didn’t offer up something, there would just be more questions, more doctors, more attempts to make him talk today. He could talk about her in generalities, he supposed.
“I had a problem with the director of the program I was working at.” You would have thought he had just successfully performed a rare trick for his trainer; she was so pleased by the admission.
“What sort of problem?”
Peter shrugged. “She failed to recognize my contributions and criticized me frequently.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Angry.”
She checked her notes on the clipboard. “You were released from your previous employment.”
“It was a mutual agreement, I hated them, they hated me, we parted ways.”
She looked at her notes again. “I see that your first admission to the wing was a week after your dismissal.”
He shrugged and looked away out the window. There was nothing to see there, but he didn’t have to look at her. “It hurt, being let go?”
“It hurt more staying,” he had not meant to say anything, it just slipped out.
“I see notations here by the night staff that you have dreams, violent ones. Would you tell me about them?”
He shrugged. Non disclosure. He couldn’t tell her that monsters were real, that out there in space were space vampires and demi-gods and snakes that burrowed into your brain.
“Did you always have bad dreams?”
“No. Only since I came back.”
“Back?”
Another slip. “From the base where I was working.”
“Did something traumatic happen to you there, Peter?”
He shrugged. “I can’t talk about it. That woman nearly got me killed, nearly got us all killed.”
There was a commotion by the door and a nurse came over to them. “I’m sorry, Doctor Phillips, but there are people here with a court order to take Mister Kavanaugh with them.”
She looked to the men in black at the door and then at Peter. He was already standing up and smoothing out the front of his robe. “It was only a matter of time. Goodbye, Doctor Phillips. Thank you for trying to help.”
The End
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Prompt: Hurt Comfort Parallel Fills: Job related Trauma & Suicide Attempt
Medium: FIC
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 588
Summary: There were so many reasons why he was where he was. And not too many he could explain
Content Notes: references to suicide attempts. No other standard notes apply
“If you don’t talk to me, Peter, I can’t help you,” the black haired shrink said. This one wasn’t as bad as the others. The blonde wasn’t too bad, the one with the purple streak in her hair was an airhead, the bald guy should have retired back when Nixon was president, and he had a special hatred for the red head.
“I don’t need help. I just need to be left alone.”
She shook her head and tried to look sympathetic. “Now you know that isn’t going to happen, not with your history, Peter. Why don’t you tell me something about your work?”
He snorted. He couldn’t talk about that. There were reams of non-disclosure agreements with his signature scrawled cross them. He must have been a special kind of crazy the day he agreed to all of it. Going to another galaxy had seemed like the perfect escape when the opportunity came up. But what had he expected? They said it was likely one way. That should have been the big, blinking red light of warning that it was all a Very Bad Idea. Things happened that he would never be able to forget. All he had wanted to do was be left alone to do some unique research. And then there were things that wanted to eat him.
And that woman. The doctor was looking at him and he knew if he didn’t offer up something, there would just be more questions, more doctors, more attempts to make him talk today. He could talk about her in generalities, he supposed.
“I had a problem with the director of the program I was working at.” You would have thought he had just successfully performed a rare trick for his trainer; she was so pleased by the admission.
“What sort of problem?”
Peter shrugged. “She failed to recognize my contributions and criticized me frequently.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Angry.”
She checked her notes on the clipboard. “You were released from your previous employment.”
“It was a mutual agreement, I hated them, they hated me, we parted ways.”
She looked at her notes again. “I see that your first admission to the wing was a week after your dismissal.”
He shrugged and looked away out the window. There was nothing to see there, but he didn’t have to look at her. “It hurt, being let go?”
“It hurt more staying,” he had not meant to say anything, it just slipped out.
“I see notations here by the night staff that you have dreams, violent ones. Would you tell me about them?”
He shrugged. Non disclosure. He couldn’t tell her that monsters were real, that out there in space were space vampires and demi-gods and snakes that burrowed into your brain.
“Did you always have bad dreams?”
“No. Only since I came back.”
“Back?”
Another slip. “From the base where I was working.”
“Did something traumatic happen to you there, Peter?”
He shrugged. “I can’t talk about it. That woman nearly got me killed, nearly got us all killed.”
There was a commotion by the door and a nurse came over to them. “I’m sorry, Doctor Phillips, but there are people here with a court order to take Mister Kavanaugh with them.”
She looked to the men in black at the door and then at Peter. He was already standing up and smoothing out the front of his robe. “It was only a matter of time. Goodbye, Doctor Phillips. Thank you for trying to help.”
The End