A New Story-Chapter 6
Nov. 8th, 2014 06:57 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuWith heartfelt thanks to mrua7 for praise, encouragement and beta skills.
Friendly Fire is always a possibility in the career of a Section 2 field agent, when it happens; how they deal with it can either make or break them.
Link to Chapter 1-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5701682
Link to Chapter 2-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5717075
Link to Chapter 3-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5726660
Link to Chapter 4-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5726660
Link to Chapter 5-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5749601
Chapter 6
Dr. Robert Marsh was U.N.C.L.E.’s newest addition to the psychiatry department. The fresh faced twenty eight year old doctor was six months out of his psychiatric residency and eager to serve the Command. He’d been assigned potential employee interviews, depression counseling and mental hygiene lectures.
This was his first Section 2 agent assessment and right now he was a bundle of nerves.
“That man chewed me up and spit me out!” Marsh said.
“Come, come, now doctor,” Dr. Bates started. The tall slender senior ‘Chief of Psychiatry’ sat at an oblong table in what was called the “Shrink Tank,” a meeting room in a secluded section of U.N.C.L.E. medical.
This was the Friday ‘Patient Review Conference’ where the week’s assessments and treatment plans were discussed.
A half dozen empty and almost empty coffee cups were scattered about the table and the offensive odor of stale smoke hung in the air.
“He is certainly difficult, I agree. Just think of him as a challenge. Sit down Bob. You look tired.”
Dr.Marsh puffed away on an unfiltered cigarette. “I could write a book about that challenge.”
“Tell me how your Tuesday session went.”
The younger doctor walked to the table and slapped down his notes atop an eight inch stack of yellow folders stuffed with his patient’s past psych charts. He lit up another cigarette from the stub of his last one and tossed the old butt into one of many ashtrays that littered the table. He started to pace.
“He avoided direct questions. He was aloof, guarded, distant, and evasive. And those deep blue penetrating eyes! They should be registered as lethal weapons. I actually shuddered from his icy glare. It was quite unnerving.”
Dr.Marsh continued talking and puffing and pacing. He added hand gestures to punctuate his dialogue.
“So he came in and just stood there kind of staring at me. I think he was irritated to be in a psychiatrist’s office at first. You know; checked his watch a couple of times as if he had somewhere else he needed to be and kept looking around to see if we were alone but he did it quite subtly. I asked him to sit and he just ignored me. He strolled around the office reading the diplomas on the walls, checked out the library and pointed to one particular book on a high shelf. He asked about the author so when I got up to see which volume he was talking about he casually settled into my chair. MY CHAIR! That left me to sit on the couch! Then he started asking ME questions.”
“Such as …” Dr. Bates was now chuckling softly to himself.
“Where did I get my Psychiatry degree? How long had I been practicing? How long had I been with U.N.C.L.E.? Why did I join U.N.C.L.E.? Did I have any children? What are their names and ages? He complimented me on my suit. Asked where I purchased it. Would I recommend my tailor? Did I have my tailor’s phone number?”
“Take a breath Bob. He’s very talented in the art of misdirection. You do understand he’s a master spy? And highly intelligent? His I.Q. score is almost the sum total of your’s and mine combined.”
Dr. Marsh finally stopped pacing and sat at the table across from Dr. Bates flicking ashes into an overfull ashtray. The chief of psychiatry tried to wave the blue haze of smoke away from his face.
“I asked how he’d been sleeping,” Marsh continued, “and did he have any nightmares? He ignored the question and asked for my views on dream interpretation and the importance of the R.E.M. cycle.”
“I asked him some questions from our standardized form. His answers came so easily it was as if he knew what I would ask before I even finished the question.”
He swallowed the last of his cold and bitter vending machine coffee with one big gulp and made a face.
“Never engage him in a battle of wits. You will lose.” Dr. Bates countered. “Did you get a chance to go through his records?”
Dr. Marsh’s mood changed suddenly from annoyed to concerned as he rested a hand on the eight inch stack of his patient’s charts. His voice softened and as he continued to puff away; the exhaled smoke formed a hazy cloud around him.
“I scanned them briefly. He’s suffered some pretty severe trauma from interrogations and torture courtesy of T.H.R.U.S.H. He’s developed a high tolerance to truth serums, theirs and ours. Oh yeah, he was hypnotised by our department after several particularly bad incidents. The results were questionable.” He paused to light another cigarette and snuffed out his old one.
“When I asked how he felt about using the same gun he dropped his defenses I think.”
“What was his reply?”
“Something about... where’s my notes?” Marsh reached for them with yellowed fingers. “And I quote, the gun didn’t kill the girl, my stray bullet did.”
“I reviewed his firing range report. There was no significant difference from his ‘pre-incident’ scores.”
“Did he seem remorseful?”
“He was serious about that I think. His demeanor changed and I can’t be sure but I may have seen a brief frown on his forehead and I noticed his dilated pupils. He said he wanted to apologize to the family but was told it’s against U.N.C.L.E. policy. He said he would give anything to do over that day again. I believe he was sincere.”
The two psychiatrists studied each other for a moment before the older one wrapped up the discussion.
“Section 1 dropped his suspension and exonerated him of any wrong doing. I think we can go ahead and let Waverly know we’ve cleared him for active duty. He’s not going to give us any more insight than he already has. Type up your report and get it up to the old man ASAP.”
Dr. Marsh spoke again; his cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth, “You know, it was kinda strange. As he left my office he paused at the door, turned around and told me I should look at an article in the latest issue of JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association) about end stage pulmonary disease. Why would he tell me to do that?”
“I have no idea,” Dr. Bates said as he stood and emptied the ashtrays into the trash. “But I would follow his advice if I were you.”
To Be Continued.
Friendly Fire is always a possibility in the career of a Section 2 field agent, when it happens; how they deal with it can either make or break them.
Link to Chapter 1-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5701682
Link to Chapter 2-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5717075
Link to Chapter 3-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5726660
Link to Chapter 4-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5726660
Link to Chapter 5-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5749601
Chapter 6
Dr. Robert Marsh was U.N.C.L.E.’s newest addition to the psychiatry department. The fresh faced twenty eight year old doctor was six months out of his psychiatric residency and eager to serve the Command. He’d been assigned potential employee interviews, depression counseling and mental hygiene lectures.
This was his first Section 2 agent assessment and right now he was a bundle of nerves.
“That man chewed me up and spit me out!” Marsh said.
“Come, come, now doctor,” Dr. Bates started. The tall slender senior ‘Chief of Psychiatry’ sat at an oblong table in what was called the “Shrink Tank,” a meeting room in a secluded section of U.N.C.L.E. medical.
This was the Friday ‘Patient Review Conference’ where the week’s assessments and treatment plans were discussed.
A half dozen empty and almost empty coffee cups were scattered about the table and the offensive odor of stale smoke hung in the air.
“He is certainly difficult, I agree. Just think of him as a challenge. Sit down Bob. You look tired.”
Dr.Marsh puffed away on an unfiltered cigarette. “I could write a book about that challenge.”
“Tell me how your Tuesday session went.”
The younger doctor walked to the table and slapped down his notes atop an eight inch stack of yellow folders stuffed with his patient’s past psych charts. He lit up another cigarette from the stub of his last one and tossed the old butt into one of many ashtrays that littered the table. He started to pace.
“He avoided direct questions. He was aloof, guarded, distant, and evasive. And those deep blue penetrating eyes! They should be registered as lethal weapons. I actually shuddered from his icy glare. It was quite unnerving.”
Dr.Marsh continued talking and puffing and pacing. He added hand gestures to punctuate his dialogue.
“So he came in and just stood there kind of staring at me. I think he was irritated to be in a psychiatrist’s office at first. You know; checked his watch a couple of times as if he had somewhere else he needed to be and kept looking around to see if we were alone but he did it quite subtly. I asked him to sit and he just ignored me. He strolled around the office reading the diplomas on the walls, checked out the library and pointed to one particular book on a high shelf. He asked about the author so when I got up to see which volume he was talking about he casually settled into my chair. MY CHAIR! That left me to sit on the couch! Then he started asking ME questions.”
“Such as …” Dr. Bates was now chuckling softly to himself.
“Where did I get my Psychiatry degree? How long had I been practicing? How long had I been with U.N.C.L.E.? Why did I join U.N.C.L.E.? Did I have any children? What are their names and ages? He complimented me on my suit. Asked where I purchased it. Would I recommend my tailor? Did I have my tailor’s phone number?”
“Take a breath Bob. He’s very talented in the art of misdirection. You do understand he’s a master spy? And highly intelligent? His I.Q. score is almost the sum total of your’s and mine combined.”
Dr. Marsh finally stopped pacing and sat at the table across from Dr. Bates flicking ashes into an overfull ashtray. The chief of psychiatry tried to wave the blue haze of smoke away from his face.
“I asked how he’d been sleeping,” Marsh continued, “and did he have any nightmares? He ignored the question and asked for my views on dream interpretation and the importance of the R.E.M. cycle.”
“I asked him some questions from our standardized form. His answers came so easily it was as if he knew what I would ask before I even finished the question.”
He swallowed the last of his cold and bitter vending machine coffee with one big gulp and made a face.
“Never engage him in a battle of wits. You will lose.” Dr. Bates countered. “Did you get a chance to go through his records?”
Dr. Marsh’s mood changed suddenly from annoyed to concerned as he rested a hand on the eight inch stack of his patient’s charts. His voice softened and as he continued to puff away; the exhaled smoke formed a hazy cloud around him.
“I scanned them briefly. He’s suffered some pretty severe trauma from interrogations and torture courtesy of T.H.R.U.S.H. He’s developed a high tolerance to truth serums, theirs and ours. Oh yeah, he was hypnotised by our department after several particularly bad incidents. The results were questionable.” He paused to light another cigarette and snuffed out his old one.
“When I asked how he felt about using the same gun he dropped his defenses I think.”
“What was his reply?”
“Something about... where’s my notes?” Marsh reached for them with yellowed fingers. “And I quote, the gun didn’t kill the girl, my stray bullet did.”
“I reviewed his firing range report. There was no significant difference from his ‘pre-incident’ scores.”
“Did he seem remorseful?”
“He was serious about that I think. His demeanor changed and I can’t be sure but I may have seen a brief frown on his forehead and I noticed his dilated pupils. He said he wanted to apologize to the family but was told it’s against U.N.C.L.E. policy. He said he would give anything to do over that day again. I believe he was sincere.”
The two psychiatrists studied each other for a moment before the older one wrapped up the discussion.
“Section 1 dropped his suspension and exonerated him of any wrong doing. I think we can go ahead and let Waverly know we’ve cleared him for active duty. He’s not going to give us any more insight than he already has. Type up your report and get it up to the old man ASAP.”
Dr. Marsh spoke again; his cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth, “You know, it was kinda strange. As he left my office he paused at the door, turned around and told me I should look at an article in the latest issue of JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association) about end stage pulmonary disease. Why would he tell me to do that?”
“I have no idea,” Dr. Bates said as he stood and emptied the ashtrays into the trash. “But I would follow his advice if I were you.”
To Be Continued.
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