#ingoldthewizard

That shocks you into silence, your scolding words sticking in your throat. What the hell is going on? Is he in some kind of trouble and faking an accent to alert you that he can't speak freely? You nod once. “I’m expecting someone any minute now.”

His face falls. (When did Marc get so expressive, anyway?) “Oh god, I'm sorry! You probably have other appointments. If I'm too late for my time, I can reschedule."

Your eyes open wide with surprise.  “Steven?” You ask hesitantly.

He adjusts the bag on his shoulder. “Sorry, yeah, I-I'm Steven,” he says, holding out his hand to you with a nervous smile. "Steven Grant."

You take his hand and shake it. “Steven. Right. You're not too late,” you say, forcing a small smile. “You…sounded different over the phone. Please, come in.”

You back up and wait for him to step inside before shutting the door behind him and locking it. Your palm rests on the door for a moment as you think. Why would Marc make a separate appointment with you under a different name and pretend not to know you? You take a deep breath to try to calm your racing heart before turning around and clasping your hands together. “Steven” stands awkwardly in your entryway, looking around curiously. One hand clutches the edge of a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. You've never seen Marc wear a patterned shirt or loafers.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you ask. “Tea, coffee, juice?”

He spins around to face you when you speak. “Tea would be lovely,” he says with a grin. His fingers fiddle with his sleeves as you lead him to the kitchen.

“You can sit at the bar for now,” you say, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard. 

“Thanks,” he says, sliding onto one of the barstools.

Not the same seat Marc always uses.

You set the tea options down in front of him.  “Pick whichever you like. I have honey, sugar, and pretty much anything else you might want to go in it.”

His eyes go wide at the choices. “You've got at least a dozen different teas here! Do you work in a shop or something?”

A small smile lights your face from his excited tone. “No, I just like to make sure that my clients feel at home when they are here.”

He flips through the choices. "Hibiscus. Did you know that the pharaohs drank hibiscus tea? They didn't call it that, of course…"

Maybe he really isn't Marc; you can't imagine Marc getting this excited about tea. They could be twins…but with different accents? Although some people do pick them up if they live in a different place for a long time…

Marc Steven hands you his tea selection, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Are you interested in ancient Egypt?" you ask.

Steven's eyes go wide with excitement. "Yeah, yeah! I actually work in a museum. Well, it's just the gift shop, you know, but I'd love to be a tour guide one day."

The kettle is still hot, so it doesn't take long to prepare two cups. "Sounds interesting. So it's day shift, then? Do you work any other jobs?" You set his cup down in front of him carefully, then pull out your collection of add-ins. 

"Oh, no, just the one. I don't know how I would get on with a second job. Honestly, I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep this one, what with the sleep problems and being late all the time. But my flat is my mum's, so I don't have to pay for it," he explains as he stirs his drink. He keeps shifting on the seat, hunching over then sitting up straighter when he catches you looking at him.

“Do you mind if we move to the next room? We might be talking for a while, and the seats in there are more comfortable,” you offer.

Steven nods, looking relieved. You lead the way to the sofa and sit in your favorite spot, while Steven settles in a plush chair across from you. His eyes track your hands when you pick up a notebook and pen.

“You told me some of your concerns when we spoke on the phone,” you begin. “I would like to ask you more questions and take notes, if that's alright with you.”

Steven nods rapidly, jostling a lock of hair into his face. “Of course, that's fine.”

“I don't keep electronic records, just one notebook, no name or other identifiable information about you. If you decide not to continue working with me, I'll send it home with you," you explain.

“You're quite organized,” he says brightly, sipping his tea.

“Thanks; I try to be." You shift in your seat, sitting up a little straighter for Question Time. “We got through most of the standard medical stuff over the phone. You said you live alone, right?"

"Yep, just me and my goldfish, Gus," he confirms.

"Have you been evaluated professionally for sleep disorders before?”

Steven sets his tea down and folds his hands together in his lap. “No, never; you're the first stop."

You pause and shift forward on the sofa. “How did you find me?” You ask curiously. “Who recommended me?”

“Uh, no one, actually. I…found your card in a book I bought last week. Not sure how it got there." Steven sounds almost apologetic.

You nod to show that you're listening, but you're completely perplexed by this whole situation. Most of your referrals come from local doctors or other clients, except for Marc (who never really explained how he found you). Did Marc somehow give him the card?

“Do you have a brother, Steven?” You blurt out. 

His brow furrows with confusion at the oddly-specific question.

“Sleep troubles can have genetic components,” you say quickly to cover it. “Does anyone in your immediate family have symptoms like yours?”

“Not that I know of. My parents don't, and I'm an only child.”

“What about cousins?”

Steven shakes his head slowly. “No, no cousins.”

You take a sip of your drink and collect your thoughts. Maybe Steven and Marc aren't related; maybe they're doppelgangers.  They do look a little different, especially with the hair; they have completely different mannerisms, too. Steven seems even more tired than Marc, if that's possible.

“Over the phone, you mentioned insomnia," you prompt.

Steven nods and begins to speak quickly, hands moving as fast as his thoughts. “When I read about it online, it seems to line up with some of what I'm experiencing, and there's also excessive daytime sleepiness, so I took the survey for that-”

You hold up your hand to stop him, and his face falls as if he's done something wrong. You smile reassuringly. “It’s good that you've done your research, Steven; let me clarify what I'm asking.” you say gently.

Steven brightens immediately. He sits up a little straighter and watches you attentively.

“Why are you so tired, Steven?” you ask in a tone of friendly concern.

Steven tugs at his jacket sleeves nervously.  He's clearly thinking about how much he should say. He takes a deep breath in and speaks in a quiet voice, “Well I’m not getting much actual sleep, and the sleep I do get isn't very good. I'm… I'm afraid to go to sleep most nights."

You nod and hum sympathetically, but you don't say anything yet, giving him space to talk.

“I think I'm sleepwalking, and I'm worried about what I might do. I put tape on the doorframe before bed, so that I'll know if I've left my flat. Sand around my bed. And…” He clears his throat and folds his hands together in his lap, then looks down at his fingers. “...I bought a restraint, a medical one with straps on it, tethered it to a beam by my bed.” 

Steven's voice goes very low as his cheeks blush. “I put that around my ankle before bed… wear it all night.”

You nod slowly. “That's a creative solution.”

Steven looks back up, eyes wide with surprise. “Do you really think so?” His voice is hopeful.

“Yes, I do,” you say with an encouraging nod and smile. "There's not really any wrong way to get sleep, if you're not hurting anyone. I've had clients find all sorts of weird tricks to help them sleep."

Steven relaxes a little, letting his shoulders fall back from where he had folded in on himself.

“Do you think it's helping?” you ask carefully.

“I'm…not sure,” he admits. “I haven't woken up anywhere weird lately, but I'm still exhausted. I still fall asleep standing up on the bus.”

Steven pauses, flexing his fingers together. “Do you think…you can help me?” he asks. 

Steven's eyes lock onto yours across the small space; he looks so vulnerable, so much like Marc when he first came to you for help. You grip your own hands together tightly in your lap to keep from moving closer and running a soothing hand through his hair. This is Steven, not Marc. He just met you today, and he may not find the same actions comforting, anyway.

“Yes, Steven, I believe that I can help.” You give him a warm smile. "I'll certainly try, anyway."

Steven smiles back immediately, and the beauty of it stalls your thoughts. It's so purely happy; all of his relief and hope shows so clearly on his face. Have you ever seen Marc smile like that? Never, not even when you've helped him into a deep sleep. Your heart twists with the melancholy thought, and it's enough to bring you back to the present moment.

“The next step is to find out exactly what’s happening to you when you're asleep. We should start with a sleep study here, in my home. Based on that we can plan and test out adjustments, so that you can sleep better on your own.  Does that sound alright?”

Steven nods quickly. “Yeah, absolutely!” He rubs his palms on his pants. “I'm a bit concerned about sleeping here, though. I don't want to go sleepwalking and cause you any trouble.”

You shake your head. “You won't, Steven. I've handled many, many instances of sleepwalking.” You open your phone to check your schedule. “I could do it tonight or in three days.”

“Tonight?” Steven echoes with surprise. “Hang on, don't I need to…pay you or…” he trails off.

Money, right. You were so distracted by the Marc question and Steven’s situation that you forgot. You scribble a number on a blank page before handing the notebook over to Steven. “This is my rate for all-night sessions, to sleep here and have me monitor you. I have several clients who come in a few times a month for that; it's like a hard reset for them, especially with insomnia.”

Steven is quiet as he stares at the number with a solemn expression, as if he's doing the math in his head and coming up short. 

“I wouldn't charge you for the initial study,” you explain quickly, “just if you need ongoing services.”

Steven looks up sharply from the paper when you speak, then looks back down with a frown. “I'm pretty sure I will need ongoing services,” he says quietly.

You don't exactly need his money, but any night with a new client here is a night you can't take on anyone else, even in the other rooms. It's not safe to have your ability and attention divided like that, at least until you know what you're dealing with. “If the cost is a concern,” you say slowly, “then maybe you would be willing to help me test a new service I want to offer?” You raise one eyebrow.

Steven looks up again, this time with curiosity in his expression.

“After the study, instead of you coming here to sleep, I would offer you over-the-phone support. We’ll start with nightly calls, then we can work down from there. I need a trial run to see if it works and how much time I should budget, but if successful, I can help more clients at a time and charge less. Since you would be helping me test it, I wouldn't charge you.”

Steven nods and sits forward. “I could take notes for you on my end! It would be like a real scientific study!” His voice rises at the end, face lighting up with excitement. “Oh, well not a real one exactly, since one person is a terrible sample size-” He stops himself suddenly, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. 

You can't help but laugh gently at his exuberance. He's talking about this like it's going to be fun. Maybe with Steven, it will be fun. “I bet you take very detailed notes, Steven,” you say warmly. You check your watch. “Can you start tonight, then? I have everything you’ll need to sleep here.”

Steven’s eyebrows scrunch together as he considers. “Yeah, I can start tonight. I'll have to go home early enough tomorrow to feed my goldfish before work.”

You wave your hand. “That's no problem. I want to observe at least five hours of sleep on the first run, so we have plenty of time if we start now.” You tap away on your phone, then hold it out to him. “Enter the time that you normally wake up for work, and I'll take care of the rest.”

Steven tentatively takes your phone and enters a time on the alarm, then hands it back.

You stand up and walk towards the kitchen. “Have you eaten?” you ask over your shoulder.

“Yeah, a few hours ago,” he says as he follows you.

“You should get a snack before bed. What do you like?” you ask, reaching for the fridge door.

Steven stands at the bar and pulls at his sleeves. “Oh, you don't have to do that. I'm actually vegan, so I'm not expecting that you would have anything -”

You grin at his words and pull out a container of veggies and vegan hummus. 

Steven's eyes go wide as you set it out for him.

“I have another client who is vegetarian,” you explain with a grin.  “But feel free to keep underestimating my hospitality, Mr. Grant. Your surprise is satisfying," you tease.

He looks a little flustered. "Mister Grant? Not sure how I feel about that; most people just call me Steven, if they even get my name right."

You grab a snack from the tray and open your notebook on the counter. "Ok, walk me through your typical evening routine. You finish work, then what?"

"If the weather is nice, I have dinner with a friend on my way home. Once I'm there, I get changed, even out the sand around my bed, then put all the locks on the door and reset the tape." He pauses to take a bite of a veggie stick. "Then I try to stay awake as long as possible."

"What do you do, specifically?"

"Read books, mostly. I started listening to this podcast called 'Staying Awake'; they've got tips and tricks for things to try, like puzzles."

"What about when you're trying to go to sleep? Do you listen to music or ambient sounds?"

"A bit, if it's too quiet. I'm used to certain sounds, living in the city." Steven pauses. “Is it alright if we stop, for now? I usually call my mum around this time, before bed.”

You hesitate for a moment, surprised. Marc never mentioned any of his family, and certainly never anyone he was close enough to talk to every day. But this isn't Marc. “Of course, Steven. You can go outside if you want some privacy," you offer.

Steven flashes you a quick smile and walks towards your living room.

You're not eavesdropping. You're not.

“Hey Mum, it's me. Just calling to tell you goodnight! I'm staying at a friend's place tonight. They invited me over for drinks, but it's going a bit late, so I'm crashing with them, just to be safe. I'll call you in the morning. Laters, gators!”

Steven turns back around, and you have to pretend to be busy with your notebook. You look up when he stands at the counter.

“Left her a voicemail,” Steven says. “She screens her calls.”

You nod your understanding. “Ready for bed?” You ask brightly.

Steven nods. "You said you had some clothes I could borrow?"

You put away the food, then lead him down the hall to a closet. As you pull out sweatpants and a t-shirt, you try not to think about the fact that these are the same clothes you keep on hand for Marc. "You can change in the bathroom," you suggest as you hand Steven the neatly-folded bundle.

Steven takes it and holds up the shirt to himself. “How did you know my size?”

“I guessed that you were close to another client of mine,” you lie smoothly.  "Meet me in that bedroom when you're done, ok?" You point to a closed door nearby.

Steven bobs his head in agreement before disappearing into the bathroom.

You stand in the hallway for a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing away your confusing thoughts. You need to stay focused. This is a new client, and however strange it is that he looks just like Marc, you know that Steven needs your help.

You open the door to the bedroom and step inside. Marc isn't the only client who uses this room, but you've already changed the sheets after the last visit.

Steven appears in the doorway while you're turning the covers down. He rubs his hands together nervously as he watches you.

"Come in, Steven," you urge him.

"Yeah, alright. I just…lie down, then?" he asks as he approaches the bed.

"Why don't you sit first, so we can discuss what you want," you suggest, pulling a chair closer to the bed.

Steven tentatively comes to sit on the bed in front of you.

"I usually leave a small light on, but if you prefer total darkness, I'll turn it off."

"No, the small light is fine," Steven says quickly.

You nod. "Do you want a fan or some music on?"

"I think I'll be alright," he says.

"Ok. I don't need to watch you the whole time, but I do need to be able to hear you. Some people feel safer if I stay in the room with them. If you prefer to be alone, I can leave the door open and come check on you periodically."

“It might feel a little weird to have someone just sitting in the room with me,” Steven admits. “Like I'm a little kid." He fidgets with his hands.

You reach behind you and open a drawer. Steven watches you with curiosity as you pull out a dragon plushie and a flexible fidget toy and hold them both out to him. "In case you need something to hold onto," you explain.

Steven accepts both items with a small frown. "Isn't it a bit silly to use a soft toy at bedtime?"

"Why would it be silly if it helps?" You counter. "I love having soft things in my bed!"

His eyes go wide. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply that you were silly-" He stops as you shift closer to him with your chair.

"Steven…you're really nervous, aren't you?" You ask gently.

He swallows hard and starts to bounce his leg. "A bit."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," you assure him. "You're just going to sleep."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, but it's not really up to you, is it?" He taps his forehead with one finger. "It's all whatever happens in here."

Shoot, of course, he doesn't know about your abilities. "That's true. What do you think happens in there, in your mind?"

"I don't know. I really don't," he says softly.

You watch his serious expression, the way his face shows the dark path of his thoughts. "Why don't you go ahead and get comfortable? I'll stay until you're asleep, then I'll be awake in the living room if you need anything."

Steven shifts to lie down, pulling the blankets over himself and wriggling until he's comfortable.

You hold out a hand. "Can I try a hand massage? Many of my clients find it helpful."

Steven nods and holds out his hand to you. You take it and gently work along each of his fingers, pressing some of your power into his mind slowly at the same time. "You said you read to stay awake. What have you been reading about lately?"

That gets you a lengthy speech from Steven about farming practices along the Nile River, until he finally succumbs to your abilities and falls into a deep sleep.

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At first nothing seems strange about Steven's sleep. You can sense as he falls in and out of dreams. After a few hours, your abilities alert you that he's waking up. You walk into the bedroom to see Steven sitting up against the headboard, but he greets you in a familiar American accent.

“Marc?” You question in surprise.

“What time is it? How long was I out?” Steven says in Marc’s voice.

Something about the way he sits on the bed confirms in your mind that this is Marc, now. What if he doesn't know that he's acting like two different people? “Marc,” you begin carefully, “do you remember getting here last night?” 

His face falls. “Shit, did I forget to call again?”

You swallow nervously. “No, you called, but you didn't seem like yourself when you got here. You had a lot of questions… like you hadn't really been here before. Almost like you were someone else.” You watch his face intently.

Marc’s expression goes cold and serious as he masks his emotions. His whole body tenses. “Sorry, I don't remember that. I must have been really tired,” he mumbles, looking at the wall.

He's obviously lying, which means he knows something about what's happening, so you don't have to tiptoe around it.

“You said your name was Steven Grant. Know anything about that?” you ask as anger creeps into your tone.

Marc shakes his head slightly; he still won't meet your eyes. He's breathing quickly and gripping the blanket like a lifeline, just like he used to after a nightmare-

Damn, of course! He's scared. Whatever is going on, Marc is terrified to tell you.  Some of your anger ebbs away with that realization; you deliberately relax a little in the chair, opening your shoulders and placing your palms on your knees.

Marc is stubborn, sure, and sometimes challenging him directly works, but you know it won't right now. If you push him to a point where he has to choose, he will shut down or run, taking all of the answers for you, and for Steven, with him. 

So you don't yell. You don't demand answers. You don't threaten to never help him again if he lies to you. It takes every ounce of your patience, but you wait for him to explain. You stay silent as the minutes tick by. Just when you think you're going to explode from the suspense, Marc throws back the blanket and shifts to sit on the side of the bed. He rubs his hands over his face, through his hair, then he sighs. 

“Can I use your phone?” he asks quietly.

You unlock it and hand it to him silently. Marc taps away at the screen before handing it back to you; there's an article from a medical journal pulled up.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” you read out loud from the title. You glance up from the article to meet Marc’s dark gaze.

“Read it, please,” he says quietly.

As you start to read, you notice Marc stand up and pace from the bed to the wall and back. You skim the article quickly, then take a deep breath. Marc stops pacing and stands a few steps away, watching you with his hands on his hips.

“This is what you have?” you ask cautiously. “Steven is…”

“An alter.” Marc finishes your thought. “Look, it's not like the movies-”

“Most things aren't,” you mutter.

“-Steven and I have separate lives, for the most part. I need to keep it that way.”

“He doesn't know?” you ask. The hesitant look on Marc’s face confirms it. You close your eyes. “Right, so all the times he thinks he was sleepwalking, it was you taking over.”

Marc looks down at the floor and crosses his arms over his chest. He nods without looking at you.

“Did you send him here on purpose? He found one of my cards-”

Marc’s eyes go wide as he steps forward and grabs your hand. “No!” He shakes his head frantically. “That was an accident! I didn't want to mix you up in this at all.”

You look down at his hand on yours. “How do you want to do this, then? I can help explain it to him-”

“No, no no no!” Marc grabs your shoulders, pulling your gaze up to his face. His dark eyes look wild, like a trapped animal, and his expression is grim. “You can't explain it; you can't tell him anything, ever, understand?” He shakes you a little as he speaks.

Your heart races at the contact and his intensity, but you don't back away from him. “I'm not going to lie to him, Marc,” you say firmly. 

Marc pulls away from you and turns towards the wall, growling in frustration. His fingers clench into fists at his side. "It's only going  to hurt him if you tell him. He won't be able to handle it," he tries to reason.

“He won't be able to or you won't?” you ask.

Marc scowls. “There are things in my life, very bad things, that he shouldn't be involved with."

“But why do you get to decide that? Steven is his own person! He has separate dreams; I felt it.”

“Because I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy!" He snarls. "I definitely don't want Steven to deal with all that." Marc shakes his head and continues in a low, barely-controlled voice. “If you can't keep it from him, I'll disappear. I'll figure out a way to make him move to another country; I've done it before,” he says ominously.

There is more that Marc isn't telling you about all this. It's right on the edge of your brain, some kind of overlap in their dreams, but it keeps shifting away, scattering like sand in the wind every time you get close. You've always known that Marc was holding back most of his personal life, but it didn't bother you before. You take great care not to push into your clients' personal lives anymore than you have to; it makes it easier to keep them out of yours. Marc never even questioned your abilities, appearing to accept them as a convenient reality.

You intentionally relax again and soften your voice. "You don't need to run, Marc; I'm still going to help you." You stand up slowly and hold out a hand to him. Marc watches you warily as he reluctantly give you his hand. You take a deep breath, silently prompting him to do the same. "I know there's more that you aren't telling me; maybe you can't."

Marc tenses, hand flexing in your grip. You trace his fingers gently, trying to keep him grounded.

"You didn't intend for this to happen, but Steven is now my client, just as you are," you continue. "I won't tell him, for now, as long as you are both safe. If that part changes…"

Marc lets out a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. His shoulders sag with relief. "Thank you," he breathes.

You wait for him to open his eyes and look at you again. "You're welcome." Your fingers continue tracing over his hand. "Now, can I help you get back to sleep? I don't want you to ruin my reputation with Steven on day one," you tease him with a light smirk.

Marc's answering smile is so genuine that for a brief moment you expect Steven's voice to answer you.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Marc assures you.

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