maskormenacelogs | 'CAUSE YOU'RE MY NUMBER ONE

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'CAUSE YOU'RE MY NUMBER ONE

WHO: Christine |

detriments and DOCTOR Chilton

slightlyoffchilt
WHERE: His office.
WHEN: Sunday (March 9th), 3PM.
WHAT: Christine wants to make amends (OR DOES SHE spoilers no) and schedules a session with Chilton.
WARNINGS: boy u in trouble

[For someone so used to being fashionably late, Christine was right on time, standing outside Chilton's office before the clock announced three in the afternoon. Draped on her arm was a coat; in her hand she held her clutch bag. A white shirt, dark pencil skirt and pastel pink high heels framed a relatively demure composure, in comparison to how flashy she'd made herself in previous encounters. Even her make-up and hairdo were toned down for the occasion.

On her features was a lack of an expression, but her eyes were never absent of intent. There was a very specific reason why she was here, and she very specifically lied about it to get what she wanted.

There was no secretary to announce her this time. So she stepped up the door and knocked lightly.]

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[He glanced at the clock. Right on time. Such was a little uncanny for Christine, who could afford to luxuriate in quarter hours -- her promptness impressed deeper the implication that she was serious about this meeting. That in itself was worth a note, but Chilton wouldn't dawdle this inception. He wasn't going to make her wait, even while the temptation snaked through his spine.

The doctor would meet this with equal gravity.

He left his desk, walking to the door to greet her. Nothing short of movement and control would do, this was not the time for idle "let yourself in"s.]

Christine, hello. You're looking lovely, as per usual.

[The skirt, especially. He took the second to admire it.]

Please. Come in. I'm eager to get started.

Thank you, doctor.

[Her smile was contained, but not strained. Every feigned emotion came to her naturally, as he'd surely deduced by now. Very little about the look in her eyes was real, and the lies had started to catch up long before she'd come to this world.

But that was a story for another time.

Christine waited in the middle of the room for him to return to his seat before she took her own, coat and bag in her arms.]

[Chilton was sure to lock the door. When he turned around to face her, his eyes measured her nonverbal communication. Methodical, calculating his gaze didn't care that its penetration was naked. This was his time, she had come to him.

They would address Christine's psychology together, yes, but in his vocabulary.]

Now.

[His smirk wore steel. Chilton leaned over his desk, his eyes barely succumbing to any blinking.]

I know where we ought to begin, if that's fine with you? I'm sure you even anticipate where I'm heading. [A beat, as if nearly inviting conversation. He spoke again, before she could.] Your little episode, Christine. That has been on my mind.

[In the intriguing sort of manner.]

[Christine had to play herself carefully, if she was to engage in this game with him. Chilton had proved to be just a little better at picking up tells than she'd anticipated - than she'd hoped - and without proper care, it could prove to make this more difficult than she needed it to be.

(Difficult wasn't quite the word she'd use. Challenging, perhaps, had a much nicer ring to it.)

She wore neither a smile nor a frown. Either or would give too much away. Instead her lips parted and her eyes were cast down, hands clasped on her lap after she'd draped coat on the back of her chair and let her bag rest behind her.]

Yes, well - I can't say I'm proud of how I behaved. [A pause - feigning a struggle to find the right words, while keeping her composure.] I wasn't really myself during that week, as I'm sure you know.

The information later coming into light -- those viruses -- certainly clarified the context. [He had to admit as much; the evidence was objective. Fact. Captain Holiday hadn't shied away from framing these infections as an apparent attack. However -- ]

How curious, that we live in such a world where the mind, rather than merely body, can be infiltrated in -- what should we call it? Chemical warfare? [It seemed a bit dramatic, but they both had theatrical inclinations.] Imagine, a viral strain that can lower inhibitions.

[That was his thesis: that Christine was provoked beyond her usual restraint, yes, but not beyond her usual personality. If Chilton had any chemical production know-how, this very thing would have been his obsession to create.

The psychiatrist didn't remove his eyes from her.]

An apology would be beneath you, especially since you were put into a position that you didn't choose to be in. I doubt anyone chose to get infected. [A beat.] And we are aware of how you dislike that. Any lack of agency.

It's true. [She spoke, then she settled, without a stir.] I don't think I want to imagine the implications of an attack, I mean - I didn't even know what was happening until they brought me in for a cure. It's - disconcerting, to say the least.

[She shifted, she gestured, her eyes moved to the side and downwards. Christine wanted to seem open about what she was saying - just open enough. Chilton wasn't expecting her to just spill everything all over again, was he?]

Still - I should apologize. For the way I talked to you that day, and what I said before. I guess I should have accepted your terms with a little more... integrity.

[Ugh.]

Everything just seemed to be spiraling out of control at the same time, and - like you said, I don't like losing control. But I'm willing to work on that.

Willing to work on that... Under my care? [His voice stroked a mild skepticism, offering the careful facade of neutral eagerness -- or rather, eager only in the way that this could help Christine. It was essential to keep a wary distance, to maintain professionalism.

Because now he was convinced she had psychotic tendencies. Now he wanted to grasp those grapes of wrath born from her vineyard smile.]

There are techniques we can try -- anger management, anxiety modification. Ways to redirect your explosive reactions into something more... Productive.

[Not his true intent, of course. Chilton would prefer to provoke and wield her psyche, if he could only get close enough to wrap his fingers around it.]

If I may? Much of this specific kind of control seems to stem from a... hm, fear of abandonment, I think it an anesthetized way of putting it.

[SUBJECT 19: BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER, he wrote down.]

Edited 2014-03-19 18:50 (UTC)

Fear of abandonment?

[Her brows arched. She was entertained by the idea. It was true, and maybe she was quite aware of that. God knows she'd never taken too well to being told no.]

... Maybe.

[A pause.]

What about you, doctor? Are you used to leaving people behind?

Edited 2014-03-20 20:28 (UTC)

Professionally? It happens all the time.

[His thoughts lingered on Alana Bloom, the psychiatrist whose company he had sincerely enjoyed until she "betrayed" him -- Doctor Bloom had been friendly with the Chief of Staff until her integrity curdled the situation he had fabricated within Abel Gideon's mind. It was her doing, not Will Graham's, not Jack Crawford's, that ultimately undermined Chilton's two years of manipulative and abusive work.

He had left her behind, as she had done mutually to him. Both turned their backs for different reasons.

The doctor watched Christine now, with that perfect brow of hers arched just so. She was simply lovely, poised and positioned and beautifully in control of herself. It was almost an ecstasy now, to think of her in that psychotic disarray.]

But this isn't about me, Christine. I'm not the one asking for help, now am I?

[She cleared her throat when Chilton called her out, corrected the aim of their conversation. Christine wanted him to see her force a smile with the same grace she'd carried so far. She wanted him to find flaws. Give him something to play with in his head - seeing as they were done with the physical games.]

You're right. [Her smile faltered, but she returned it with a small grin.] Sorry. I guess I'm still getting used to this... dynamic.

[There was some merit to it. She could see why it would be fun. Why Chilton would want more of it. She just didn't know the extent of how much.

She'd keep playing for now. They had a full hour, after all - why spoil it and skip right to the end?]

Why are you really here, Christine? [He never dropped his smile, nor his gaze.] What is it that you want? Because I know -- oh, how I know -- you've figured out more or less what I want.

[She was very good at that, identifying the desires and subsequent motivations of others. Chilton prided himself on his ability to obscure: his priorities were so surprisingly unethical, that most people thought better of him and missed anticipating his plots. But the more mundane needs (however pleasurable, however enjoyable they might be -- he was still human, after all, he could appreciate those on some level) paled before the gnarled hunger for psychiatric triumphs.

And for all appearances, Christine was offering her own unique mind. He knew, rationally, that he shouldn't trust that -- but he wanted to, so badly, he wanted to possess that piece of her. He wanted it louder than his internal logic shouted.]

Because if we're going to do this, if I'm going to help you, I need your full. Commitment.

[He knew she wouldn't like that word.]

Sure, [She nodded after a moment of silence, grave in her seriousness.] Just tell me what I need to do.

I trust you have all the right questions.

Trust. [He smiled at the word, tasting it.] Of course. [A brief glance at his notes followed, and he leaned back in his entirely comfortable chair.]

Who else has left you, Christine? It's clearly a trigger of sorts.

[Talking about it wouldn't be so easy. She toyed with the idea of lying. Lying like she had to Isabelle, to gain her trust, to have her sympathy and have her wrongdoings forgiven. It had worked once before - though Isabelle had been entirely more gullible than a psychiatrist would be.

Christine looked down, at her clasped hands. She shook a strand of hair from her face.]

Who has left me. [She sighed.] I don't know. I think everybody leaves, in the end, one way or another.

[That wasn't so much the issue as suddenly being deemed irrelevant.]

But - my family. I think they're the most important ones.

Your family? [His skepticism was careful -- she had never before mentioned her family. Chilton had figured Christine for a woman who paved her own way, made her own fortune, without any preconceived assistance from blood or otherwise.]

Let's discuss your family then. [He leaned forward a touch, the movement alluding to his eagerness.]

Did you have a good relationship with your father?

My father, [She laughed, lightly. The cliché of a question seemed just ridiculous now.]

My father was fine. A good man. My mother was the challenge.

How did you find them differing from each other?

[A good man, she said. He was surprised that she'd ever use such words on any male persona. And that's what proved more interesting to Chilton; here was someone Christine might have respected, even loved. What kind of person was that? What did she deem worthy of "fine" -- was it simply because he was nonthreatening to her? Enabling?

Or was he as psychotic as she was? Or did Christine hate in her mother what she prided in herself? Chilton needed the comparison to evaluate his agenda.

It was a relief that she had underestimated his questioning. He smiled, placidly, counting the steps ahead.]

[She could almost sense it - how much it excited him to play around with words, play around with what lied hidden behind people's eyes and mannerisms. The giddier Chilton seemed to get, the more she had to fight not to laugh in his face about it.

Christine relished in the confirmations of all those moments she'd thought he was a pathetic, ridiculous little man.]

My father wasn't quite as... disciplined as my mother. I guess you could say that.

Mother wanted us to be proper girls. My sister and me. You know - dressed up, polite, not a hair out of place, no talking back.

[Christine wondered if he'd pick up on the fact that she had a sister - a twin, no less. She was sure there were other issues he'd explore from an assumption or more in that vein.]

But my mother also made sure we aspired for more than what we ever had.

You had a sister.

[He didn't know about that, and as predicted, it proved to be a point of interest. Sisters could imply roles: rivals, allies, confidantes, villains. Though Christine was spinning it as if she and her sister were both victimized by their mother's obsessive control, and both appeared to be (at least from Christine's testimony, assuming she was being honest) influenced by that matriarchal ambition.]

Your father allowed you to maintain your own identity, perhaps? Your mother saw an image she wanted attained, and she forced that upon you. [He glanced up from his notes, watching her.] But your father's less disciplined interaction, that was an outlet. An escape.

[He smiled at her.]

You despise being defined by others.

Yes. Clarissa. We were twins.

[Were.]

And doesn't everyone? We all - strive to be our own selves as individuals, don't we? It's a human condition.

[She paused, lips shut.]

Do you mind if I smoke?

[Clarissa. Well that explained it all.]

The mischief inherent in the opportunity that a twin poses was likely not lost on you, was it?

[He crossed one leg over the other, pondering how a mirror image might have suited Christine's evident narcissism; perhaps it was Clarissa that fostered it, the echo that followed Christine's dominance and --]

Actually. [He sat up quickly.] I do mind, yes, this is still a rehabilitation center. For addicts. Smoking is prohibited.

[And it was his neck on the line, since he was inviting patients without explicit... Permission...]

[There was already a cigarette in Christine's fingers when Chilton rearranged his posture and answered. There was a pause, lines on her expression neutral, and she cleared her throat to put it away with a single nod.]

You're right.

[But it would have made her feel just a little more comfortable in this exchange. Another compromise she'd have to make in order to keep it going.]

Are you drawing up any conclusions about me yet?

[He straightened his spine, when she said he was right. It was a phrase that Chilton proved like an addict towards. Even though he realized she probably knew that, he nevertheless found himself succumbing to the comfort. The confidence.]

Shall we begin with your narcissism? Your need to influence and control other people, and your histrionic delight displayed in using specifically your allure -- it's such a harsh negotiation, Christine. [He smiled, his tongue poking out only once to wet his lip.]

You make them want you, and then you watch them create their own downfall -- which isn't your fault, directly, is it? You're the muse. The agitator.

[Chilton quirked his head, almost asking her to deny it.]

Edited 2014-04-03 02:02 (UTC)

You're talking about what I did to you, [She narrowed her eyes, voice calm, poised and collected, pointing at him for just a brief second.] You should be careful with that, shouldn't you.

[The agitator, he said.]

I should be careful with that?

[His incredulity pitched; Chilton put down his notes, his attention wrapped in the rebuke before him. He felt that this was owed to him, that he deserved to have Christine observed, because indeed it was him who witnessed her searing, unhinged rage.

And it was him who appreciated it for what it was.]

You're the one who's a few unforeseen setbacks away from a breakdown. What happens with the next man disobeys you?

A breakdown?

[It was Christine's turn to sound incredulous, huffing a sound close to a scoff on the same vein.]

We both agreed that I was in an altered state. I don't expect to react like that again any time soon.

Altered as it might have been, that state was still within your emotional spectrum. While you had to be pushed to reach it, without a doubt you've proven to me that you are indeed capable of such an accomplishment.

[He coated the word for her, knowing that the careful handling would likely enrage her even more. In fact, that was deeply Chilton's intent: to instigate Christine's emotions, to drive her closer to his desired state.]

Do you disagree still?

[Christine looked down, without an answer in words, without an answer in her gaze.]

I think you'll find that I'm capable of anything.

[Her eyes were on him again. More incisive, this time around, smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It wasn't entirely false, it wasn't entirely dangerous.]

Doctor.

Anything?

[He pressed the question, challenging her. Narcissists tended to despise their identity, their authority, facing challenge -- it was the quickest way to erupt pulsating resentment.]

Why don't you show me, then, Christine? What, of anything, that you could do.

[She leaned back, chin tipping, an almost defiant gesture. Once again Christine reached for a cigarette, much more deliberate about her actions this time around. The cigarette slipped between her lips, and she looked down to produce a box of matches.]

Show me what you've written about me.

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'CAUSE YOU'RE MY NUMBER ONE

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