xp_logs | Clarice meets with Dr. Samson (Reply)

Clarice hesitantly knocked on the door of Dr. Sampson's office, not knowing what to expect. She had never been to see a psychologist before and was half expecting him to look at her, declare she had some weird disease and put her on happy pills. She was against happy pills.

The door opened and a giant blonde man loomed over her. "You must be Clarice." He held the door and gestured for her to enter. "I'm Dr. Samson, please come on in and take a seat anywhere you please. I would ask that you leave the big chair at the desk for me, though, as I fear the rest are not as suited to my frame."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. He wasn't as big as Mr. Marko, but he came pretty close. "Hi," she squeaked, sitting indian-style at one end on a sofa.

Dr. Samson looked Clarice over as he took his seat behind the desk. His smile was warm and his eyes were gentle. "It's nice to meet you, Clarice. I'm going to take some notes while we talk so I don't lose my train of thought. Is that okay with you?" He picked up his pen and waited for her response.

Clarice nodded, not entirely sure if she wanted notes taken or not. Either way, she remembered something about doctor-patient confidentiality and let it pass. She began braid part of her hair, a nervous habit she had picked up when she was younger.

"Everything you tell me is private," he assured her, as though he'd read her mind. He made a note at the top of his pad of paper. "What can I do for you, Clarice?"

"What? I thought you were supposed to tell me what's wrong with me?" she asked, not really certain.

Dr. Samson smiled at her. "I find that there's very little usually /wrong/ with people. Life is hard and most of us need help through the rough spots. That's not the same as something being wrong with any of us. Now, you made an appointment with me, and so you're probably having a hard time, or you're afraid something's wrong with you. I'd like to hear what you have to say about yourself and why you're here. Then I can start helping you." He put his chin in his hand and waited for her to speak, his expression attentive and patient.

"I'm here at Xavier's because my parents dropped me off. And I'm here to see you because...well, everyone signed up, I think. We were attacked two weeks ago." Clarice wasn't really sure why she had mentioned the attack, but it was still fairly prominent in her mind.

"I understand. That was a very difficult experience for everyone involved." The big psychiatrist made a note on his pad. "And your parents dropped you off..." He frowned and then looked up at her. "That doesn't sound like you had much say in the decision-making process."

Clarice laughed mirthlessly, "Choice? What choice do I have? I could either run away or stay here. And people don't like mutants on the streets. Or anywhere else for that matter. Especially not obvious ones."

"Acceptance is a difficult thing to negotiate in many places, yes," Dr. Samson agreed, looking very serious. "It sounds like home might be one of those places for you."

"Home is...I don't know what it is anymore. My dad is ashamed of me, but he's influenced by Lois the step-monster and my mom is so busy, all she wanted was one less thing to worry about. I guess 'out of sight, out of mind' was good enough."

"And what about you? How do you feel?" Dr. Samson put his pen down to give Clarice his complete attention.

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. No one had ever asked her this, usually she was told how to feel and then yelled at for disagreeing. "Dumped," she pronounced, "None of the perks of being a girlfriend and all of the baggage."

"Good," Dr. Samson said firmly. "That's a good, healthy response to the situation. Are you angry?"

Clarice was taken aback. She hadn't expected him to agree with her. "You serious? Of course I'm angry. I didn't ask to be a mutant or anything!"

"I'm very serious." Dr. Samson leaned forward. "I'd be very worried about a young woman in your shoes who didn't have some feelings of frustration and anger at things. It's completely natural and healthy that you feel this way, Clarice. It's not /comfortable/ but it makes perfect sense. My job is to help you find what can be changed and change it so you can be comfortable and confident and even happy. But the first thing we have to clear up, young lady, is that you have every right to be angry right now and you're welcome to be as angry as you like when you're here with me. Understand?"

"Yeah," Clarice replied slowly, "I guess so. Everyone here either thinks I'm flighty or that I haven't had it nearly as bad as they have so I shouldn't complain."

"I don't compare things, all I look at is the impact on the person." Dr. Samson made a few notes on his pad. "Everyone's different. I don't judge." He looked up at her and gave her a smile. "So, you've told me what other people think of you. What do you think of you?"

Again, Clarice shrugged. "I'm me. I don't like fitting into labels. They're too restricting."

"Most things don't fit me either." Dr. Samson chuckled a little. "I can understand entirely. Avoiding labels is a wise choice, it's hard to change when you've got a name for what you are. Are you happy with yourself?"

This caused Clarice to pause. She had never really thought about it much in those terms. "I don't want to be purple," she said honestly, "I could deal with the whole teleporting mutant thing if I wasn't purple. Almost everyone here looks normal, and they make plans for college or take dance classes in the city, whatever. And I don't, y'know? I don't know if I will ever be able to leave for more than a few hours. And I'm jealous."

"I can understand that you'd be afraid of ending up stuck in here indefinitely." Dr. Samson frowned at that and took some notes. "We can definitely work toward investigating a number of options for you that might help alleviate that concern. Since this is a private school, I do understand that it's normal for students your age not to leave the grounds for extended periods of time but I think your concern may be that this is some kind of precedent for the future. Is that at all correct?"

Clarice nodded. He had managed to sum up basically everything she was thinking and feeling. She was impressed. "So what do I do then?"

"I think," Dr. Samson spoke slowly, looking over what he'd written, "that you can probably benefit from keeping a journal, but that's a given." He looked up at her with a slight smile. "We can discuss further the logistics of you gaining as much freedom and confidence as possible over the next little while. Do you know how to drive, Clarice?"

"No...why would I? I'm 15," true, she could have a learners permit, but with everything else in her life it really hadn't seemed to matter.

"Well, I think it's a necessity for you to learn as soon as you're old enough," Dr. Samson said thoughtfully. "I find it's an encouraging way to get a sense of control. You can also go places in a car without being seen easily, especially with tinted windows. If a learner's permit is a possibility, I suggest that you get one. Are you working with the teleportation aspects of your mutation?"

"A little bit," Clarice replied, "I have to see where I'm going before they let me try. And Mr. Wagner said he can only teleport 3 miles, but I once teleported from my mom's house to my dad's and that is way more than 3 miles."

That /is/ impressive." Dr. Samson's eyes widened. "You'd have a great deal of control over your comings and goings if you got that polished up, wouldn't you?"

"I never thought of that..." she mused, realizing what she could do. "Wow! This is awesome!"

"Carefully, mind," Dr. Samson warned her, but he was smiling. "What you can do is keep on being you, Clarice -- /all/ of you -- and come and see me again to talk if you need it."

She stood up, beaming, "You're going to be staying?"

"I'll be around. My hours will be made public once the Professor and I have had a chance to discuss it." Dr. Samson stood up and came around to the front of his desk where he looked down at Clarice with a blend of amusement and affection. "If you want to see me again, you can leave me a message on my private service," he handed her a business card, "or tell one of your counsellors you'd like an appointment."

"Hey, Dr. Samson..." Clarice tucked the card in a pocket, "Thanks."

"My pleasure, Clarice." He held the door for her. "I'll be happy to see you again any time."