Callum Wesley M.D.

[Wes’ reaction was the kind Mink had been hoping for, because honestly: he had been wondering the same thing. It was definitely that they hadn’t been thinking about it for one bit when they made the decision. Just figured it would be easier this way. Put him with one of the people that was supposed to hate him. Sounded like a sound plan. Nope, just them putting him somewhere where there was place, considering his house, and all. Gender neutral dorm room with the crazy kickers of the Torren crew.]

Fuck if I know. [Mink said, not certain whether using curse words with your friend who happened to be a psychiatrist was a good idea. But fuck, he didn’t know.] But yes, I was being intentionally vague, but that’s exactly what I am saying. I don’t think they really thought about it, or like… maybe they did it on purpose? Maybe they like a little drama.

[Despite being a psychiatrist, there are areas in which a lot of what other people do eludes Wes completely, because a lot of people are fucking idiots, and there’s no logic to the moronic. 

And this is... one of those moments where he has a feeling he could wrack his brain about this for weeks and get nowhere because there was nowhere to go.... because what sensible reason could a sane person have to do something like that on purpose? Was it... vindictive? Manipulative, somehow—but poorly so, considering Wes is 110% sure that whatever they were trying to accomplish with this wouldn’t fucking work—or was it, as Mink suggests, simply an accident? In which case... Wes isn’t sure which of these possible responses is the most ludicrous.] 

That’s... [He’s at a loss of words (rare, for Callum Wesley) and he shakes his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose.] Wow, just the level of uselessness that requires is fucking baffling. Jesus. [He sighs again.] Okay, so... have you asked about getting that changed? I imagine you have but it didn’t go very well, or?

call-me-wes‌:

[It sounds a little sarcastic, the comment, but he’d be the last to judge her for it. He chuckles briefly.] Don’t worry—there isn’t going to be an exam. [A pause, a smirk] Though there may be a pop quiz, [he adds, flashing her a teasing grin.] 

It’s not weird at all—though it is a thing I like to hear. People who are resistant to talk about things… it’s not because it won’t work—actually, in my experience, it’s not even because they think it won’t work. It’s usually because they know that it will, and because they’re afraid. Working on yourself is a lot harder, and takes a lot more bravery, than shoving your head in the sand. And more often than not, people are more afraid of themselves, and their own baggage, than they are of anything else. 

[He shrugs.] Yes and no. As a doctor, I sort of have to remove myself from the emotional side of things, in order to maintain a clear-headed perspective. But what it presents in terms of… weight, I guess, it makes up for in reward. It feels good to help people. Makes me feel like I’m doing something valuable with my time here. Other than looking pretty, of course, [he adds with a sly grin.] Which is definitely quite the contribution, I’ll admit, but it doesn’t exactly take up too much of my time. May as well make use of the leftovers, right? 

[He pats her leg under the blanket very briefly, before standing.] Alright, I should be off, but let one of the nurses know if anything changes. And if you need anything, and it makes you more comfortable, feel free to get them to call me in. If I don’t hear form you, I’ll be back in to do another round tomorrow morning—and in the meantime, I’ll take a look at my schedule and work you in for once all this passes, sound good? 

[Annie wonders if that’s true. If she’s more afraid of herself and her own baggage than anything else. She’s afraid a lot, and she always thinks it’s other people. She’s afraid they’ll laugh at her, or be cruel to her, or judge her, but… she’s also afraid of what it means that she’s so scared all the time. She’s always so focused on dealing with the consequences after shit hits the fan - how to calm down when she thinks someone looks at her funny, for example. But she’s always struggled to dig into why she responds like that, beyond the obvious being bullied leaving her a little fragile.

Obviously it goes deeper than that, but in all her years of therapy in and out of the nightmare, the focus has been on coping mechanisms. Because she’s never really coped well, with anything. But she’s getting a bit better now, little by little. Maybe it is time to dig a little deeper.

Wes is somehow a more trustworthy presence than she’d expected from first sight; she can certainly work with him on that. She’s a little intimidated by his cocky comments, talking about being pretty and all that, but it does sound as if he really enjoys his work. Which is definitely important, because Annie’s seen doctors before that are constantly sighing and shifting and checking the clock and it’s hard to open up when you feel like you’re a burden on their time.

Annie starts when he pats her leg; it’s such a casual gesture, as most touches she gets tend to be, but it makes her seize up briefly. She’s just never known how to deal with being touched. It gives her the same feeling you get when you’re in a restaurant and the staff sing Happy Birthday and bring you a cake, and you don’t know where to look or what to do.] 

Sounds g-good. [Annie smiles, trying to pretend she didn’t jump at a simple pat on the leg. She’s already nauseous, and it sent another wave of uncomfortable, feverish heat down her body.] I’ll look forward to it. Thank you. And um, good luck. On your rounds. 

[He’ll need it. The Colony is a mess.]

[Oh, shit - a psychiatrist, not a therapist. Annie gets the impression that she’s committed a terrible faux pas, akin to referring to England as Britain - also a mistake she’d made, years ago when her and her mom first flew over. The tour guide had quite tartly corrected them, not as tactfully as Wes does.

It’s interesting to hear the difference, actually. Annie knows that there is a difference, but she’s never been really sure wherein those differences lie, so she listens earnestly as Wes explains. It all sounds very sensible, very intellectual, in a way that makes Annie think she’s either smarter than she gives herself credit for, or she’s going to wake up and realise it’s all gibberish. Even if that is the case, she’s come to enjoy most of her sessions with therapists and psychiatrists over the years at the Colony - it reminds her of her old life, her real life. Maybe that’s why they’ve been woven into her dream narrative: they allow her a brief reprieve from the horror.] 

That was… very educational, thank you. [She tries for another smile, sickly as it is.] I’m really sorry if I forget the difference and you have to explain it to me again. I don’t know how well my brain’s working right now. I mean… obviously it’s never working very well. But because of the bug, I’m… yeah. Hazy. But that sounds good. I can do that. I, um… I kind of like talking about stuff? Maybe that’s weird. But it’s nice t-to… get it off my chest. Makes me feel less alone. I’m a bit of an over-sharer sometimes. [Her laugh is a nervous little sound. It’s probably a good thing to a psychiatrist, if their patient is keen to share, but sometimes Annie ends up feeling self conscious, like she’s gone on too much.] I don’t know how you do it. Here I am still c-carrying all my high school baggage and struggling, but you help so many people carry their baggage. It must get… heavy.

[It sounds a little sarcastic, the comment, but he’d be the last to judge her for it. He chuckles briefly.] Don’t worry—there isn’t going to be an exam. [A pause, a smirk] Though there may be a pop quiz, [he adds, flashing her a teasing grin.] 

It’s not weird at all—though it is a thing I like to hear. People who are resistant to talk about things... it’s not because it won’t work—actually, in my experience, it’s not even because they think it won’t work. It’s usually because they know that it will, and because they’re afraid. Working on yourself is a lot harder, and takes a lot more bravery, than shoving your head in the sand. And more often than not, people are more afraid of themselves, and their own baggage, than they are of anything else. 

[He shrugs.] Yes and no. As a doctor, I sort of have to remove myself from the emotional side of things, in order to maintain a clear-headed perspective. But what it presents in terms of... weight, I guess, it makes up for in reward. It feels good to help people. Makes me feel like I’m doing something valuable with my time here. Other than looking pretty, of course, [he adds with a sly grin.] Which is definitely quite the contribution, I’ll admit, but it doesn’t exactly take up too much of my time. May as well make use of the leftovers, right? 

[Mink grinned at the response, of course it wasn’t an attack, he seriously couldn’t care less who did and who didn’t read their file - though technically that was a lie, because he did care. Not everyone should be reading it, but if someone should, then he was okay with that person being Wes. Most of that file was lies anyway, probably painting him off as some kind of hobo monster that would steal away their children at night.] Even if you did, I would be fine with it, really. Rather it be you than someone I don’t like, right? I mean, so far, I feel like I’ve shown a very good version of myself, and I don’t think that image can easily be changed by whatever is in my file. 

[Or so Mink liked to believe, because harsh as the world had been, he was still a little naive when it came to people. Or a little judgmental perhaps, some people he instantly liked, others he instantly hated.] No, they haven’t. And I don’t think they will, which of course doesn’t make it much better, because I wouldn’t represent myself as the sanest and strongest person that words don’t hurt me. Well, there is a certain individual in Torren who may or may not have been kidnapped at the time, and an other who may or may not have been part of the rescue opp, and both of those have a very loyal friend who is also in Torren, and two of those might or might not be in the same dorm room as me. And at first I was like: well, sucks for them that they have to see my pretty face every day. But now I’m pretty sure I should’ve thought: well, sucks for me then. [Mink wasn’t about to sprout names, because honestly it probably wouldn’t be so hard to figure out who the three individuals were.] So, if you’re looking for a roommate? 

[Wait... what? 

With some effort, Wes unpacked that particular rambling—it was... unhelpfully vague, but he’s had years of experience working with a lot less. He’d actually categorize Mink under a column of relatively ideal patients, whether they were one officially or not—maybe a bit evasive, a fan of tangents—but they talked openly, otherwise, and it’s easier to find creative ways to get a talkative individual to say something with meaning, than it is to get a brick wall to say, well, anything. ]

Okay, hold up. You’re telling me they put you in the same dorm room as one of the kidnap kids? [’Kidnap Kids’—used not like an adjective, but like a nickname, a corny tagline.] Who’s genius idea was that? 

[She shakes her head, at a loss for words. That eye thing he does, it shouldn’t be allowed, it’s almost… indecent. Mei Zhu isn’t a prude by any definition, but she does have the good sense not to flaunt her sexuality like he does. But compartmentalizing the different facets of your life is something else that was easier in the old days, an unexpected difficulty that arose once she had settled into the Colony.

Back in London her professional life, her home life, and her personal life had all been thoroughly insulated from each other; at work she rarely spoke to her colleagues unless it was professionally necessary, while at home her husband was usually away, which allowed her to have as many affairs as she liked on the other side of the city where no one knew who she was. Here in the Colony they have the one seedy little bar that she wouldn’t be caught dead in, before or after D-Day.

What she wouldn’t give to be sitting at an expensive hotel bar, drinking a scotch and soda, talking to a handsome stranger. Mei Zhu throws Wes another glance, trying to be surreptitious but failing dismally. She’s not used to hiding her feelings, never having had to hide them before. Sure, she’s not a champion of the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but that’s because it is a waste of her time to explain things to people who don’t need to know. The doctor sighs, feigning disinterest.]

Well… Thank you, I suppose. [It is nice to be acknowledged for her work, even if he is just being polite.]

[Wes has been doing this... a long time. And by ‘this’ he means being a suave charming piece of shit, naturally. 

Whisking women off their feet, seducing them into his bedsheets (or a stall in a pub bathroom, if that was what they were into—which he wouldn’t say no to, obviously, but it also wasn’t his personal style), being generally irresistible, yadda, yadda, yadda.

The point is, he has enough experience to be able to read women relatively well—at least, in his not-so-humble opinion—and he knows that glance. Recognizes it for what it is—and doesn’t believe her feigned tone of disinterest for a second: 

Married or not, she’s just as susceptible to Wes’ charms as anyone else. 

Interesting.

He smirks, tilting his head. 

Huh. Who knows—the apocalypse changed a lot. Maybe the love between her and her husband was gone. Maybe she’s bored. 

Maybe he’s impotent. 

He bites at the corner of his smirk to keep it from getting too smug. 

Besides, who is he kidding? It doesn’t have to be any of those things—all she needs to be to be tempted by Wes’ textbook appeal is human. ] 

You’re quite welcome, Dr. Fitrei [he says calmly, his gaze lingering, and not at all subtle. With a smug raise of his brow, and a brief wink, he lets his patient files down and steps back.] Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more suffering people to bless with my presence—perhaps next time we run into each other it’ll be under more pleasant circumstances? Over a drink, maybe.  [A shrug, and a nonchalant pout of his lower lip, as if in casual thought.] Anyhoodle—ta for now—Doctor. 

[He talks with the smooth, practised confidence of a man that knows who he is and what he’s doing. Annie can’t shake the thought that she’s looking at one of her high school bullies, all grown up - only he’s not laughing at her, even though she’s stuttering on about the issues that plague her. In fact, he’s listening patiently, taking her seriously.] 

I was, um… seventeen? But I’d been struggling with anxiety for like, years before that. It was a p-problem for me for most of my life. If you think any of the Elites might be able to help me, that would be… I’d be fine with that. My parents took me to a hypnotherapist once, and after that I’m pretty much up for anything.

[She gives him a pale little smile, picking at her fingernails. It had been something of a running joke in the Perrault household, Annie and her appointments. They tried a lot of things to help her, from polished professionals in hospitals to kooky neighbours that swore applying lavender oil to Annie’s wrists and peppermint oil to her throat would cure her.

None of it had worked thus far, but it’s not like Annie enjoys living her life in a constant state of anxiety. If someone has a suggestion, she’ll go with it.

Annie looks up at his offer that she see him once a week - for some reason it surprises her. She hesitates, but only for a moment. Wes isn’t as intimidating at his piercing blue eyes and casual confidence had suggested to her, so maybe it would be okay.] Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll slot you in to my baseball card-esque collection of therapists. What sort of stuff do you do? Like CBT, Jungian, mindfulness…?

[Annie’s seen a lot of therapists in her life, but she’s never met one quite like Wes, so she’s finding it hard to imagine what sort of guidance he might offer. Not that she doesn’t have faith - if anything, nobody she’s met yet has managed to help her. If she’s never met a doctor like Wes before, maybe that means he’s going to be exactly what she needs.]

[One thing he can really appreciate about her—and is still kind of surprised about, actually—is her comfort with talking about her mental health. Not only is she aware of it, but she talks about it rather openly, is willing to discuss options, and doesn’t avoid admitting previous history with therapists or medication... Honestly, it’s fucking refreshing, especially for a young woman her age. Most of them are temperamental, over-proud and irritating teenagers. 

And don’t get him wrong—most of said teenagers he’s worked with he still likes—he always likes his patients in one way or another, and even if the ‘liking’ part is questionable, he always, always gives a shit. Quite a lot of shits, actually. Still, teenagers can be angsty and frustrating and so unbearably... stubborn. He knows, because he was all those things and worse as a teenager. To be honest, he’s still most of those things—except a teenager. And he’s not that angsty, really, but remind him of his lack of youth and he’ll get dramatic pretty fast, so... 

Point is, she’s a delight. Already on his good list. 

Despite the fact that she’s done what many do, and mistaken him for a therapist. He resists the urge to sigh, because she’s sweet and has earned the bit of effort it takes for him not to be sarcastic. 

Okay, a lot of effort. ]

I’m actually not a therapist. I’m a psychiatrist—common misconception that they’re the same thing. But basically that means I’m a medical doctor first, and I have the ability to prescribe medications—most therapists don’t. Psychologists tend to be the ones who train in CBT methods, and what have you. But the catch is Psychiatrists are technically qualified to practice therapy, should they wish to, so some do but it just... depends. Anyway, point is—I don’t practice behavioural therapy with my patients. Which is why I mentioned other Elites. I know we have psychologists on staff though, so I’m sure someone does, and I’m sure it would be a good idea for you to try. What I do do, however, is... counsel. Assess. Develop relationships with my patients, so I can better treat them. Act as a support for them, ensure they have someone to go to concerning medication, and mental health. 

And I think Jungian is probably the closest comparison to what my sessions are like, if you’re looking for an idea of what to expect. I believe very much in the power of conversation, and unearthing things that are often suppressed. Facing things we don’t like to, because avoiding that stuff is giving it the power to control us. 

[She clears her throat, perfectly disguising it as a symptom of this infernal bug and absolutely not caused by how her stomach tends to do a slight flip when he smiles at her.] Only you could take that as a compliment. In any case it isn’t anything to write home about; I have been known to give them, when they are deserved. 

[She doesn’t take her eyes off the chart in her hands, lest her stomach does that thing again. But then she catches him wink at her patient out of the corner of her eye and she almost wants the shield the teenager from him. She was too young to know better, to stay away from men who would never respect you but rather make a sport of breaking your heart instead. The doctor shakes her head, letting out a small sigh of disapproval. She doesn’t have the energy to point out his utter lack of professionalism, however, and moves on.] If anyone can keep from being sick through sheer force of will, I think it might be you. [She laughs at a ridiculous notion that suddenly pops up in her head.] If so you might just have to take care of the entire Colony yourself. [She laughs again. She must be delirious from the fever.]

[He chuckles.] Ah, well. I do pride myself in my ability to take almost anything as a compliment. All about the frame of mind, Fitrei, [he says cheekily, tapping the side of his head with a smirk.] In any case—noted. I’ll be sure to try to earn more of those from you in the future then. Apparently I need to up my game. 

[She avoids looking at him a fair amount—which, coming from her, suggests that that his ‘game’ has more effect on her than she’d care to admit. A confident woman like herself, he can hardly imagine that the inconsistency of her gaze has anything to do with being shy, or uncertain. He’s fairly certain she is a woman who knows her beauty, and her remarkable intelligence, and the power that has over people in her company. So her lack of eye contact instead has to come from a place of either disinterest—or attempted disinterest. A determination to remain in control where looking him in the eye would threaten that control. Which... he also very much takes as a compliment. Because in scholastic terms—he makes her nervous.

But her laugh is a pleasant sound and a pleasant surprise, and he echoes it—after all, the comment is not at all untrue.] I whole heartedly agree, Doctor. And for the record, I’ll take that you think so as a compliment as well. [Another grin, and he’s tempted to throw her another wink, but instead he lingers holding her gaze a moment, before turning his attention to one of the other patient charts.] Anyway, I’d say the Colony would be better off with just my care—but even I’m not cruel enough to wish your absence on anybody. I haven’t been around all that long, but it’s clear you do strong work here. Much as it needles my own fragile ego, this place needs you as much as it needs me, apparently. 

[Again Mink had to laugh, Wes embodied and said all the things people Mink usually looked up to said. There was a natural sense of charisma and confidence about him, and while he liked to think he had some of that as well, he knew those who emitted it like crazy were usually the ones he felt like he needed to follow. Wes was also funny, and Mink finally decided that he reminded him of Tony Stark. Who, aside from Spiderman, was one of his favorite characters.] Oh no, I can imagine. This place would fall apart without you.

[And he figured that no matter what Wes might ask, he was going to answer merely because he liked him. He smirked again when Wes said - in different words - that he liked talking about himself as well. Go figure. Of course.] Oh no sure, that seems like a legitimate reason to go sniffing around in my file. You recognized me, didn’t you? [He couldn’t help but poke fun at that. Mink figured a lot of people would want to know about him. And if they had the same access to files like Wes… well, that would be easy. He had met enough annoying individuals since they had let him out.] Oh, definitely. Half of the people looking at me are sort of hostile, but that was to be expected, not fun, but expected. Torren is terrible, and I miss my friends, so yeah, as good as could be.

[He chuckles, shaking his head, hands raising in a gesture of being ‘unarmed’.] No, genuinely, I didn’t. It’s my job to know the Infected citizens here, but I don’t necessarily poor over every single person’s file in detail until I’ve met them. I have to start somewhere, after all, so I tend to wait until we meet organically. On occasion I don’t but... anyway. [He shrugs.

He takes in Mink’s answer, nodding, before his eyes narrow a moment.] I see—no one’s actually been violent with you, have they? I hope you’d let someone know if they had. You’re as much of a citizen here as anyone, at this point, so your protection is just as important. 

N-no, it’s only been, um… a few days. Definitely less than a week. [She says this, because she’ll never lie to doctors, but bites down on her lip as she realises that if he checks, her caffeine ban was supposed to have been enacted a few weeks ago. She’s going to have to bank on the hope that with all the chaos going on, Wes isn’t going to have the time or the inclination to follow up on that. Why would he think she was lying? Annie is so nervous and wide eyed that she’s pretty sure nobody would ever believe she was a rule breaker.

She can feel his gaze on her, bright and sharp as shards of glass, and she glances up for a moment. It doesn’t look as though he’s searching for lies, but she still finds it intimidating. Eye contact has always been a nerve wracking hurdle over which Annie can rarely clamber.] 

I’m not on anything, no. Th-the doctor wants to let my body try and adjust to being without caffeine, and hopefully it can sort itself out. He said we c-could think about it if I’ve not, um… stabilised in a month or so. I’ve not taken anything for anxiety since I was seventeen. I th-thought… because we don’t have a stable supply it might be bad, because starting and stopping with pills can make things worse? I d-didn’t like being on pills before. I was on Buspirone before D-Day but it made my insomnia worse, so…

[Annie chuckles, a frayed, fraught little noise. She knows that she sounds how she feels: a wreck. Plagued by a maelstrom of issues that all seemed to rebound off one another in a steady upward spiral.]

[He hums noncommittally. It’s not a bad idea, to be waiting it out in the hopes that the decreased amount of caffeine in her system would help. But he's skeptical—in part because he’s skeptical about literally every doctor’s choices, unless they’re his own. He’s never claimed much modesty—if he wants something done right, he often has to do it himself. He’s used to that by now. And so in cases like this, he’s always skeptical.

Still, it’s not like it’s out of his jurisdiction to ask her questions, especially considering he’s tending to her care for the moment. He’s being thorough, responsible. Anyone who thinks otherwise can go fuck themselves.] 

Well, you’re not wrong—the inconsistency can be difficult, certainly. If you ever did go on anything, it’d be best if we could guarantee a stable supply for at least a few months...  So how old were you when D-Day hit? I ask because, though waiting out the caffeine thing is a fair approach, if you were experiencing symptoms of anxiety bad enough to be put on medication for it before D-Day, then I can pretty much promise you it’s not going to just ‘sort itself out’, as lovely as that would be. Unfortunately, that’s not how the neuroscience works. Certainly there are other approaches to dealing with anxiety which are more of a... psychologist’s expertise, not my own. But if ever you were interested I could look into that for you—see if we have any Elite here who specializes in that sort of behavioural approach... [In truth, he hasn’t written her off as a good candidate for medication, but no sense pushing the issue preemptively.] 

So, insomnia, too, hey? [Not surprising, considering the circumstances. Half his patients since D-Day report having issues sleeping. Still—who the fuck is treating this girl and are they sleeping while doing it? Sighhhh.

He sets down the clipboard, taking a seat on the edge of her bed calmly.] Okay. So you seem to be doing as good as you could be, at the moment, considering the circumstances, but I’ll keep a close eye on your temperature over the next few hours, and we’ll see if we can’t keep you hydrated. As for the rest... I wonder how you would feel about coming to see me once a week? I’m supposed to be working with the Infected, anyway, and if you wouldn’t be opposed to spending half an hour or so in my company on a semi-regular basis, I might be able to help you with your insomnia, and what have you. Casual, I promise, no pressure. Just think of it as a chance to... check in with someone. I know you probably already have your fair share of appointments, but none of them with me, which inherently means you could do better, [he says, and the teasing is implied with the crookedness of his smirk—of course, he believes that to be true, but she doesn’t necessarily know that.] What do you say? 

It’s ‘Doctor.’ [She corrects through ever-so-slightly gritted teeth, although her smile is still etched on her lips. The sudden coldness in the usually charming woman’s voice is enough to startle even her barely conscious patient, and they give her a questioning look. She gives them a silent smile of reassurance; if she didn’t have Wes’s amiability, she would make up for it in grace and professionalism. She knows he’s doing it on purpose, trying to break through her unyielding surface. But she’s been confused for a nurse too many times to let it slide, even if he didn’t mean it as a slight against her.] 

Oh, I don’t know. [‘You’d still have your pretty face,’ she thinks.] You’d still have your fair share of admirers. [Which is true, she notes, as she catches her young patient giving him heart eyes. Unbelievable. Running a fever that would fell an Olympic athlete, and still having the energy for… that. He is a bit much, even on her best day. And today is not one of those days. Her demeanor does soften as he asks how she is, however.] I believe I’ll live through it. And you?

[He has to bite back his smirk, for the sake of not looking like too much of an ass. Because of course, he means no disrespect. A doctor she is and as such she wants to be addressed—he can’t say he blames her. If he were in her shoes, no doubt constantly being mistaken for a nurse, he’d be pretty tetchy about it too. 

His brows lift at the comment, his hook of a smirk softening into an amused smile.] Wow—Is it just me or is that dangerously close to a compliment, Doctor Fitrei? Stand by while I catch my breath, [he teases, chuckling.]