Ande's so good to me.

[x-shinobi.livejournal.com]

Set on Saturday, February 7th. Immediately following this, Shinobi catches Doctor Samson at the end of his day.


Somehow, Shinobi had managed not to trip over himself in his rush to try and find the visiting head-shrinker, though his grip on the railing may have been to thank for that. Cigarettes and lighter safely stowed in his pocket, he skids to a halt outside room 121, firmly shoving any second thoughts out of his mind as he lifts a hand to knock.

"Come on in." The voice that answers his knock is deep and rather mellow. Dr. Samson is in the process of sorting file folders and notes, and he looks up from them as Shinobi opens the door. "Dear me," he says, looking puzzled and fumbling for a marked-up printout in the pile in front of him. "Did I miss someone?" He looks from Shinobi to the list and back again.

Nudging the door open, Shinobi leaves his hand on the doorknob as he pokes his head inside, blinking in confusion before quickly shaking his head. "Uh, no, no, I don't have an appointment," he offers, hesitating for a moment. How to say this..? Well, honesty works. "I need to talk to someone. But if you're busy, you can.. put me down for tomorrow or something."

"I'm here for the weekend, and I can review my notes later. Besides, I'd be negligent if I were to ignore what seems to be a matter of some urgency for you. Please do come on inside all the way and we can talk." Samson rises, looming large in the small, bare office, and comes around to the front of his desk. "I'm Doctor Leonard Samson," he says, extending his hand to Shinobi.

"Thank you." With a grateful - if nervous - bow of his head, Shinobi takes the invitation and steps inside, closing the door behind himself before looking up again. And up a little more, with a small blink of surprise. Tall.. "..oh. Er, Shinobi Shaw." He manages not to grimace too much as he introduces himself, reaching out to give the offered hand a shake. "Nice to meet you."

"It's good to meet you too, Shinobi." Samson's grip is firm and solid, a single shake and he releases Shinobi's hand. He then gestures to a grey leather swivelling chair, the kind that allows one to lean back if one pleases. "Would you like a seat? The chair is there but feel free to make yourself comfortable anywhere you like." A sweep of his hand encompasses the windowsill, a sling chair from the library by the door, and even the floor. "You can call me Doctor Samson, by the way." Samson slides behind his desk and seats himself in the comfortably large desk chair there.

"Yes, thanks." Shinobi manages a grin before he looks towards the indicated chair, making his way towards it. He stops before he can sit, though, rummaging in one of his pockets. "I, uh.. can I smoke in here? It helps me keep track of myself." He gestures at his forehead, shrugging helplessly.

"Crack the window first if you would," Samson directs. He leans over to rummage around in his briefcase and comes up with an shatter-proof plastic ashtray which he pushes across the desk. "I generally prefer that my guests refrain from smoking, and I suspect that Professor Xavier frowns on it, but I also understand that this sort of new experience is stressful for anyone. We'll make an exception for the present time and work toward you being comfortable enough to go without a cigarette while you're here, if you choose to visit me again." He folds his hands on the desk in front of him and gives Shinobi a pleasant smile, waiting for him to make himself comfortable.

There's no mistaking the gratitude in the "Thank you," Shinobi offers in response to that, all too willing to crack the window open before even pulling the cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. A moment's thought, and he drags the chair over so that he can sit near the window, so the smoke doesn't get much chance to wander before going outside. "I'm.. actually not here about the attack. It didn't bother me much, really, which is.. kind of worrisome, I guess."

"Fair enough." Samson reaches for a pad of paper. "Shinobi, it's my habit to take notes in session. I assure you that they're quite cryptic and merely for my own reference so I can check on the course of our conversation while we talk and refer to them later if I need. Are you going to be comfortable with that?"

"Yeah, no problem at all," Shinobi nods, scooping up the ashtray before he settles into the chair, balancing the tray carefully on one of his knees and lighting up with a faint, apologetic smile. "I'd lose track of myself if I didn't take notes sometimes, I think."

Samson smiles at him and starts to scribble on the page, hardly looking as he writes. "I understand completely. Now. You mentioned that you aren't here about the attack and you definitely came down here like a man on a mission. Why don't you tell me what's going on with you and we'll go from there?"

Shinobi nods once, eyeing the notepad a moment before glancing around the room as he tries to order his thoughts. Little late to be regretting coming in. "My mind.. wanders," he says after a moment, largely failing at keeping a guilty expression off his face. "I mean, I know that's normal, but.. it wanders to place I know I should be uncomfortable with, and I'm fine with them, 'til I realize I'm thinking them." He pauses. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"Everything makes sense on some level, Shinobi." Samson's tone is neutral and uninvasive. "If I'm understanding here, your thoughts are returning to some pattern that you would prefer to feel uncomfortable about but yet you continue to slide into that pattern inspite of yourself. Am I reading you correctly?"

Again, Shinobi nods, catching himself just short of nervously bouncing his knee. Don't want to drop the ashtray. At least he recognizes his own fidgets. "Yeah, exactly."

"You seem to analyze yourself a great deal, Shinobi. If you keep it up, Charles won't pay me. Promise not to tell him you're doing most of my work for me?" Samson's tone is dry, his expression purely humorous. "But, since you're already on the job, tell me about this pattern of thoughts and why it should be inappropriate for you to think in that manner."

"My lips are sealed," Shinobi promises, though his lopsided grin fades at the request, eyes flicking nervously towards the door. "...it doesn't leave this room, right?" he asks, almost timid. "I mean, I've told someone so that she can keep an eye on me, but the others.."

"Nothing but you, I, and the cigarette smoke are getting out of here," Samson assures him. "It's between you and me and I take my oath very seriously. I couldn't do my job if I didn't. If you can't trust me, then I seriously advise you not to speak to me, and I don't mean that flippantly." His large, well-groomed hands are folded on the paper in front of him, the pen lying at rest to the side. He focuses on Shinobi's eyes with a clear, serious gaze.

Any other time, he might find the focus unnerving, but for some reason, Shinobi finds it oddly calming. "If the Professor trusts you, so can I," he decides, drawing in a deep breath. Well. Here we go. "I've.. I have this tendency to catch myself thinking of people in terms of their usefulness. Like.. chess pieces." He allows himself a brief, quiet laugh at that, the irony not lost on him in the slightest. "I think too much like my father does. I hate it."

"We often reflect our parents like that," Samson says calmly, picking up his pen again. "So your learned tendancy to dehumanize people and reduce them to their tasks and values is disturbing to you then?"

"Very." He nods emphatically, glancing to his cigarette for a moment before putting it out in the tray. "My father is the *last* person in the world I want to emulate, and I.. can't *stop* doing it."

"Do you think that your father is disturbed by his behaviour and attitude?"

"No." There's no hesitation at all in Shinobi's response, his eyes widening at the notion. "Oh, God, no. He thinks he's justified in every way possible."

"I think, Shinobi," Samson pauses in his writing, "that you are an impressive young man. Don't mistake me." He holds up his hand. "I'm aware of your family, and I am without doubt that you have issues that are in dire need of addressing. And yet you have, in spite of your environment and any invitation or coersion to the contrary, managed to maintain a sense of perspective and justice that causes your inherited thought patterns to be disturbing to you. I don't believe that you realize what an extraordinary thing that is in and of itself."

Shinobi blinks a few times as he listens attentively, his head very slowly tilting to one side as he absorbs the doctor's words. "I don't think I do realize it, no," he admits, giving himself a mental shake. "Not yet. Thank you."

"You're very concerned about your state of mind, and I believe that you are correct in your concern and yet, I am deeply encouraged by the fact that you seem to question yourself so intensely and desire to change so much that you would come running down to my office to try and do so the moment that that it occurred to you. One of the keys to changing any thought pattern or behaviour is to seek out new, preferable thoughts and behaviours to replace what one wishes to eliminate. It seems to me that you may be at the point that you are ready to change, you are simply unable to articulate the kinds of thoughts and behaviours that will supercede the ones that you've inherited from your father. What would you say to that assessment?"

Very slowly, Shinobi nods his head, his need to fidget melting away in the face of something to actually roll around in his head. "I say it sounds accurate," he finally replies, leaning back in his chair with a slightly bewildered expression. "I'm not nuts, then?"

"I think I can make an educated guess that you were raised in a less than desirable emotional, ethical, and social environment," Samson says slowly. "And I am sure that you have behaviours and habits that may mirror a mild sociopathy. I do not believe from speaking with you at the moment that those behaviours and thoughts reflect who you are but more the lack of any alternative model available to you at crucial stages in your personal development. I am also certain that some of those behaviours or thoughts are adaptive strategies that were and may still be necessary for your survival in your father's world. To answer your question." Samson puts his pen down. "I do not believe that you are crazy. You seem to be aware of the social norm and your deviance from it and that is a very good place to start. I think, Shinobi," Samson gives him a reassuring smile at this point, "that you are precisely where you need to be right now to become a fine, healthy young man. And I'd be happy to assist you to that end in any way I can."

Funny how reassuring it is to have a trained professional tell you you aren't crazy. "I'd be happy for the help. I really have no idea at all how to handle it alone." Shinobi develops a relieved smile, raking his fingers back through his hair. "I, ah.. guess you have a new regular patient, doc. Er.. Doctor Samson."

"Excellent." Samson makes a note on the printout to which he'd refered at the beginning of the session. "When Professor Xavier and I negotiate my hours at the school, I'll make sure to book you in for another session and we'll go from there." He stands and comes around to the front of the desk again, offering Shinobi a business card. "My office number is there and if you need to speak to me before our next appointment, you can leave me a message. I'm the only one with the password to the service, so no fears about being specific."

Shifting the ashtray back over to the desk, Shinobi rises to his feet, reaching out to accept the business card and give it a quick glancing over. "Anything I should be doing in the meantime?" he asks curiously, tucking the card into his pocket as he looks back up. And up a little more. "Or just keep doing what I've been doing?"

"Well, some people find keeping a journal to be helpful," Samson says thoughtfully. He leans on the desk and crosses his arms over his chest. "If you'd be comfortable keeping a paper journal, do proceed with that. It may be of assistance in identifying the full range of your thoughts and value judgements and in pinpointing when you're most likely to revert to those that make you uncomfortable."

"I can do that," Shinobi nods, already assigning the task to one of the spiral-bound notebooks in his desk. "I'll jot down what I know calms my head down, and if I have any more epiphanies, add them to the list."

"If you find you don't, no worries." Samson holds his hand out to Shinobi. "I'll be able to read into that as well." His grin is crooked, a little self-mocking, but genuine.

Chuckling, Shinobi reaches out to once again shake the offered hand, his grip much more confident now than it had been when he arrived. "That's why they pay you the big bucks, right?"

"Indubitably." Samson shakes Shinobi's hand and then steps over to open the door for him. "I look forward to seeing you again, Shinobi. You bring the brilliant introspection, I'll bring the ashtray, and we'll sort this out together in no time."

"People keep calling me brilliant and I might let it go to my head," Shinobi muses, wiggling his eyebrows before moving towards the opened door, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Thank you, Doctor Samson. This really has helped a lot."

"Just doing my job, Shinobi, and better yet, I'm genuinely happy to do it. I'll email you with your next appointment time."