Kevin & Leo - Backdated, Sunday around noon

[x-leosamson.livejournal.com]

A casual encounter in the kitchen proves useful, as Kevin and Leo agree to try some new ways to address Kevin's issues.



Air conditioning was quite possibly one of the most amazing inventions humans had currently created. Leo stood relishing the slight breeze from both the central air and the fridge before finally pulling out sandwich makings and placing them on the counter. He had to finish contact notes for three clients, write one discharge summary, and review five applications from Master's level students who wanted a fall internship at the Clinic. Food was definitely needed before tackling any of that though.

Kevin was more or less immune to the heat currently. As long as he could acclimate he was generally okay and he was used to the heat through all his layers. He'd taken to wearing fewer layers lately because he could and it was an experiment for him, mostly to see if he could handle it mentally. He knew, technically, he was as safe as a normal human, but he was too used to being dangerous to train himself out of it so when he brushed bare skin against something or thought about getting too close to anyone he still got twitchy. People were outside because of the combination of heat and the end of the term but Kevin couldn't take the people anymore so he headed inside figuring he'd grab food before choosing his artistic endeavor of the day. Or continuing to organize his new room maybe. Most of his stuff was still in trash bags thanks to Jennie's brilliant method of moving.

When he entered the kitchen he saw one of the people he generally dreaded seeing, though Kevin wasn't sure if he'd ever managed to see the man when he wasn't required to drudge into his office and sit down and talk about his feelings and the like. "Afternoon, Doctor Sampson," he greeted in his usual hodge podge Southern accent that didn't really belong to any one place. Just because he wasn't fond of being forced to have sessions with Leo Sampson didn't mean he'd stop being polite.

Looking up at a soft Southern voice, Leo smiled at Kevin, and then immediately looked down as he nearly sliced the edge of his finger rather than the tomato on the cutting board. "Kevin, hello." He gestured to the bread, cheese, vegetables and lunchmeat on the counter. "Hungry? I'm making a super turkey sandwich--there's plenty for another."

Kevin cringed a little when he saw the knife nearly slice into flesh. That would be uncomfortable and unsanitary, to say the least. "Ah was gonna make somethin' , but alright. Ah mean, thanks. Ya want help? Maybe with cuttin' so ya don't, y'know, lose an appendage er somethin'?"

"Thanks," Leo replied wryly. He pushed over the lettuce, tomato and onion towards Kevin, and began peeling an avocado. "So how's your Sunday going?"

Food was always an interesting dilemma for Kevin. He wore gloves all the time and you couldn't just wash your hands before handling food. Normally there were gloves for food prep he used but he could just go the easy route now. He hesitated for a moment and glanced around. No one was within sight but Doctor Sampson who already knew. With a great deal of trepidation he pulled his gloves off and shoved them into a pocket. "It's, uh, goin'," he said as he started to cut the onion slowly, adjusting to the feel of both the onion and the handle of the knife in his hands. "S'nice out. Was plannin' to go...Ah dunno, make somethin' er draw somethin' er paint somethin' after findin' food. Can't really improve on the day considerin' that. How come you're 'round? Not usually here on the weekends, are ya?"

Avocado peeled, Leo grabbed another small knife and quickly sliced it into layers. "Any idea what you intend to make today? And I am here today seeking shelter from the heat--the air conditioner in our office broke, and I have paperwork to catch up on."

"S'not that bad out there," but his view of heat was likely very different from most people. He still remembered summers in Georgia. It wasn't that long ago, not really, but it felt like it was. If he concentrated hard enough he could feel the heat from memory. Now that heat in layers might make him hide in the air conditioning as well. "Not sure what Ah'll do. Ah've got some metal stuff's unfinished. Couple sketches are, too. Kinda dark though. Thinkin' somethin' lighter, brighter. Play with light probably. Hmm, that'll likely mean paintin' Ah reckon." Kevin stopped, eying how much onion he'd cut. He did one more slice before pushing the cut bits to the side and setting the rest off the cutting board before taking the tomato.

"Well, true, I suppose you're a bit more used to heat," Leo responded, grabbing beginning to pile cheese onto the turkey. "I've gotten spoiled by New York's lower humidity--DC is a swamp," Leo continued grinning. "I don't think I've seen you painting recently--or have I just been unobservant?"

Kevin shrugged a little, eyes tracking where Doctor Sampson was and where his hands were. He visibly pulled back if he thought the doctor's hands were going to get close to his own, an automatic reaction. "How long ya been up here then? Wonder how long it takes to acclimate." Kevin decided he liked the doctor a lot more like this. It was hard to imagine him as a normal person when he was prying into your head and into your life but on normal person status he wasn't quite as objectionable. Odd. "Don't paint often, really. Didn't draw a lot the past couple o' months. 'Sides, the canvas an' easel stay up in my room. No one really sees it much."

"Oh, my," Leo said, thinking, and then shook his head. "Almost 22 years. I moved up here for my residency and never left." Reaching for his water glass and finding it empty, he turned around and rummaged about in the freezer for the can of Guaraná Antarctica he'd put in there to chill. He paused to open it and take a sip before continuing. "Well, I'd love to see your paintings if you'd ever like to show them to me. So why haven't you been drawing as much?"

Twenty-two years was hard to imagine given that Kevin was turning nineteen next month. It was like an entire other life. "They're all upstairs in a pile right now. Just moved 'em, haven't found a place where Ah wanna keep 'em yet." He didn't think he'd told Doctor Sampson he was finally moving out of the guest room. Probably not, it was sort of sudden on his part. "Ah disintegrated a sketch pad when Ah was at Muir. Ended up doin' it to a paintin' in progress, too. Had a tiny hole in my glove Ah didn't know 'bout. Sort of put me off it for a while."

Leo nodded calmly. "I can understand that." Now that everything had been cut, he began assembling his sandwich--turkey, provolone and cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, sprouts, avocado, onion, red pepper and zucchini slices with an herb spread on the bread. Placing the top piece of bread on the huge sandwich, Leo gave Kevin a slightly inquisitive look. "You haven't found a place for your paintings? Are you planning a move?"

"No," but he had. Doctor Sampson didn't need to know that or why so far as Kevin was concerned. "Ah just switched suites. Well, moved into a new one from the guest room Ah was takin' up space in. Jennie helped me Friday night. Mostly got everythin' in its place. Just not quite everythin' yet." He distracted himself from all this talking he was doing to a man he never gave an inch to willingly by making his own sandwich. It was strange to have skin-on-anything contact and because of it he moved very, very slowly as he layered turkey, cheddar, tomato, onion, pepper and lettuce on top of one another.

Leo picked up the smaller knife he'd used to slice the avocado and cut his sandwich into half, and then took another sip of soda before responding. "I'm glad Jennie was able to help you. Moving is hard, sometimes, even if it's just moving to another room. Do you feel settled in yet?"

"She subscribes to the 'shove stuff in trashbags' technique. More efficient than Ah'd thought it'd be." He shrugged a little. Did he feel settled in? Everything in the past few weeks was upheaval, how was Kevin supposed to feel settled about anything? He chose a half-truth. "There's metal all over the place. Sorta screams 'home' when Ah've got that goin' on."

Nodding in response to Kevin's comment, Leo took a bit of his sandwich while he thought over his response. "Always good to have things that scream home. When I first came up here, I moved in with my sister. I had all my clothes and furniture from home, pictures and things. But that first week was crazy--I was going through residency orientation, Sam was busy putting together a performance, her partner Nina was in medical school and I never really saw either of them. It wasn't until the end of the week when we finally managed to have dinner together that I started feeling settled."

Leo glanced away from Kevin, seemingly watching some birds out the window, and continued in a purposefully casual tone. "People make a place home."

"Ah guess." He wasn't really sure what to say to that. Nowhere was really home to him anymore. Nowhere had been home since his dad had...ceased to exist. It wasn't even death exactly, was it? It was erasing his existence. He chose to focus on his sandwich instead and took a bite.

Leo smiled calmly, "Well, for me, at least." He cocked his head slightly to study Kevin. "What's home for you?"

He shrugged. "Not sure." It wasn't a lie precisely. Kevin really wasn't sure what made a place home for him anymore. A month or more ago he'd have said Jay, honestly. Jay had made him feel like this was home. But with that gone he wasn't really certain what qualified.

There was silence for a moment, and Leo ate a bit of his sandwich and drank some soda before asking another question. Kevin was notoriously difficult to engage, but he been a bit more open in this informal setting. Leo didn't want to push the young man, but he didn't want to waste a possible opportunity to gain some insight. "Do you feel at home here?" he asked finally, in a quiet tone.

Kevin gave him a flat look and chose to take a bite of his own sandwich while he figured out which way to answer that. He wondered if prisons had counselors who would ask the inmates if they felt at home in their cells. Likely not. "Ah've got no choice 'bout bein' here. Might've been my idea to begin with but it stopped bein' just my idea when it turned into a sentencing. Don't reckon any place is home for a person when they're forced to be there."

Kevin's words touched a chord in Leo, and he suddenly remembered that first day he arrived at the Rosenberg home. He carried nothing but a trash bag of his belongings, a plastic bag donated from Child and Family Services containing toiletries, a 'foster care journal' (complete with stickers for happy and sad, and explanations about judges, police officers, lawyers and social workers), and one slightly used Superman plushie that the intake worker had given him.

He'd long since lost the journal, but the Superman plushie was still in his office at Salem Center.

"Perhaps not," Leo replied quietly. He focused his attention out the window again, carefully allowing Kevin as much space was possible in the room. "There are times when life puts us into situations we don't want to be in, and circumstances beyond our control. But no one can choose for us how we react, or what we feel. You may not have a choice about being here, Kevin, but you can choose how you live here."

"You sound like Mister Dayspring," Kevin muttered quietly. He doubted he could explain why he didn't have the choice they all seemed to think he did. Eloquence wasn't exactly Kevin's gift. The court chose where he lived and what he had to do for God know how long. His powers dictated how he could interact with other people. What was left over after that wasn't much of a choice on how to live so much as it was an adjustment so he could get by. "Hate to tell you this, Doctor Sampson, but when ya go an' dictate enough of a person's life the rest of the choice left don't really matter."

"There's truth to that, Kevin," Leo responded. "And your choices right now as far as leaving the school are limited. But you've also made choices--you've worked with Red X and Elpis. Do those choices not matter? Which choices do?"

"Ah chose to work with Red X 'cause it got me outta the mansion, outta New York an' put me to work actually doin' somethin'. Ah work for Elpis 'cause Ah'm limited in what Ah can do with my mutation, people who work at Elpis aren't stupid enough to try to hug me or pat me on the shoulder all the time er somethin', an' it's Mister Dayspring runnin' it. Can't just sit 'round all day workin' on art an' live here for free. Don't seem right." He didn't address the fact that his choices leaving the school were limited directly because Doctor Sampson got the say in whether or not he was well adjusted enough to function in society. It wasn't even about being well adjusted; it was about not killing people. You'd think he'd have proved himself capable of that already.

"That's still a choice, Kevin, and a commendable one. It doesn't seem right to you to do nothing—so you've chosen to do what you can." Leo paused for a moment, considering his words. Subtle, or direct? He considered the progress (or lack thereof) so far with Kevin, and shook his head slightly. Direct.

"And you are also the one who has a choice about whether you leave this school or not. I may make the decision and recommendation to the court--and may I please remind you that I had nothing to do with that ruling--but you are the one who must make the choices that will lead to that decision. If you can make the choice to talk with me, work with me, you may find you have more choices opening up."

The look Kevin gave the doctor now bordered on a glare. "They don't care about anything except for the one thing that can't ever happen. They want me to get control of my powers so they can be turned off, not used and not a danger but that's as impossible as tellin' Kurt to stop bein' blue. They don't want me to pose a threat to the public. Want me to not kill people. Well, Ah ain't 'bout to go killin' no one an' Ah'd think that was obvious by now."

"And I don't care what they want," Leo responded evenly, matching Kevin's glare with calm. "If I tell the court that I deem you safe to finish treatment, they will accept my recommendation. They have no authority to determine what criteria I use in that decision. I know full well that you do not wish to harm anyone, and will do everything you can to prevent it. I am not basing my decision on that."

Sometimes Kevin was reminded quite acutely why he disliked people so much. This was becoming one of those times. "Funny thing is, Ah don't want yer help. Nothing personal, Doctor Sampson, but Ah don't. Ah read once therapy don't work unless a person's willing for it to. So whatever you're after? Ya ain't likely to get it from me. It's my life and Ah think Ah've earned the choice of whether or not Ah get 'help' an' who Ah get it from." He was closing down, just like he always did in the doctor's office.

"Nothing personal Kevin," Leo replied dryly, "but I didn't ask to be the given the authority the court imposed upon me. However, I was."

Leo shook his head. "Kevin, I am ready and willing to do what I can to--yes, help. I am willing to work with you to find whatever ways we can to address the issues that brought you here. I am fully aware that you neither like nor are willing to participate in therapy. I would be quite happy to explore other options with you--if you were also willing to communicate with me. But if you don't talk to me--I can't offer you any choices."

"The issues that brought me here," he pointed out, "are genetic. Not psychological. Has somethin' to do with my skin touchin' things." He wiggled his fingers to punctuate his point. "Ain't nothin' you can do to help with that." He had no idea what Doctor Sampson was talking about with other options. He was Kevin's genetic counselor, though that term was always suspiciously vague to Kevin. What were they going to do, commune with nature?

"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, Kevin," Leo said, with a small smile. "Your mutation is genetic. Its effects on you, and how you cope with it, are not. Your genetics are uncontrollable--" Leo paused for a moment, and then revised, "for the most part. Your actions and emotions are not. I cannot change your genes. But I can help you with how your genes have affected your life. And if you don't want to sit in my office every week and talk about it--" Leo raised an eyebrow at him, "or not talk about it, whatever the case may be--there are other choices. If you work with me, we might find some."

His eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in them this time. "Like what?" Talking, that's what therapy was, right? How were there other options? Kevin didn't even like talking to normal people who didn't have offices that were like plastic bags over his head, suffocating him.

"To start with, there's a guy at my clinic in Salem. Big guy, All-state Linebacker, former Marine. And he's an art therapist. Works with kids doing painting, sculpting, drawing--" and Leo grinned, "and occasionally paintball, rock-climbing, jumping from trees and all kinds of other things for 'therapy.'" Leo shrugged. "You make art, Kevin. Sculpture, wood, painting--those are all ways to talk about things, without actually talking about them. That's just one idea. You might have others. And I'd be happy to hear them. If we can work together, I think we can come up with some choices for you."

He thought about what was being said. Sadly, Kevin couldn't deny he had issues. He never really said he didn't need help, just that he didn't want it. But if he didn't have to talk, well, maybe it wouldn't suck so badly. "Okay." It was that simple. Just a single word, mind made up. Maybe if he could get a handle on things it would help when he was taken off the medication and his powers got flipped back to 'on.' If he wouldn't have to talk then he was willing to attempt it. After a moment of thought he cocked his head. "Why would you jump outta a tree?"

"Don't ask me, I'm quite happy on the ground," Leo replied, laughing. "But Dante loves it." He turned away for a moment to place the rest of his sandwich on a plate. "Why don't I put some ideas together, and you write some things down too. We'll meet next week at the usual time and decide what you'd like to work on." Leo drank the last of his soda and turned to the fridge to refill his water glass. "I have to finish my paperwork sometime today, so I'd better get started, but I brought in some Brazilian sodas and leftovers from our staff meeting at the clinic--cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. Help yourself." Turning back with his water, Leo picked up his plate. "And Kevin? Thank you."

He nodded along, not sure what brilliant ideas he might come up with. He'd try, which was more than Kevin had given Sampson in the seven months of going to see him. "Alright, Ah'll try thinkin' o' somethin'." When he was thanked, though, Kevin just gave an incredibly confused look. "Fer what? Ah mean, you're welcome. No, actually, Ah mean fer what?"

"For trying to make new choices," Leo responded simply. "Because it's not an easy thing to do."