A Touch of Darkness (for BlackAkuma)

[Crossedes]

Storm could not believe he had made it as far as her door. He slumped his head against the nearby wall, trying to will himself to start knocking.

He knew he needed the help. Storm didn't get... any of this. After his match with Luong, after his complaints about the nonsense she had pulled at the end of the match - much less her cheating - League officials had all but laughed him out of the room. While she had been a bad sport, they claimed that their bad sports among the women's roster tended to create great moments that drew in new viewers and that they didn't plan to put a stop to those antics. The answer had stunned him.

Any idiot - and Storm didn't consider himself an idiot - knew that the League loved their obscene matches. Storm... hadn't seen many of them, just bits and pieces, but he could imagine their nature. But the League also featured arguably the world's best wrestlers, which was precisely why he wanted to join, and he hadn't expected the two styles to overlap. He had expressed his interest in hard-fought sport, in straightforward competition, and in helping build the mixed division, and yet they assured him he would still be expected to occupy the ring opposite women who sat on other's faces. Even the thought of what he had gone through with Luong made him shudder below the belt. No reviewing that match film, ever.

But the fact remained - he would have to deal with these sorts of women, and according to the officials, the Highlander's contract contained some fine print that explained he would have to be assigned to any match type if there were ever any booking emergencies. Storm could see the bottom line clearly. He had to figure out how to deal with... cheapness. He had chosen to call it cheapness. But he still didn't know how he would explain all of this to the woman waiting for him behind the door or what would come of the meeting with her.

The word therapy didn't sit right with him, anyway. He had never thought of himself as someone who needed therapy for much of anything. Some of his old-fashioned coaches had treated it like the purview of the weak. He certainly felt weak hovering outside the door. Talking to a woman about this particular cloud that liked to hover over him? It made his heart pound, made him a little nauseous. But he had to figure out a way to handle it - he needed the keys to success here. And, he told himself again, as he had on the way over, most of the therapists he had encountered struck him as professional, strict, maybe even colorless in some ways. A nerd with her hair in a bun. She might not even react to him beyond intimidatingly writing notes.

He grunted. "Fine." He willed his fist to knock on the door.

Spoiler

[BlackAkuma]

Alyssa watched Storm’s match for what had to be the third time today, from start to finish. It wasn’t terribly long, to be fair, only about ten minutes at the longest, and most of that was because of the rather elongated way in which it had concluded. That was the part she had focused on mostly, with no small amount of interest.

As a session wrestler, she had spent a good deal of time sitting on men’s face, and even had the ‘pleasure’ herself on a few occasions, when she took on other women and found herself on the losing end. It could be a harrowing experience, especially if you hadn't gone through it before, and she would wager that was the case for Storm. She could see it in the way the man wrestled, in the flawless technique and pristine form. He was a pure wrestler, well-trained, athletic and skilled and focused…but the league was throwing things at him that he’d never trained for, and it would continue to put that pressure on him until it boiled over.

He needed help. He needed her. Though she had a feeling he wouldn’t see it that way. Fortunately, she could be quite convincing when the time called for it.

That time was now. ”Come in, Mr. Jordan.”

The doctor will see you now.

He would enter to find himself in a dimly lit room, one with shelves of books lining the walls. She liked to keep the lights on low, calming both her and her subjects, along with the gentle hum of ambient music coming from speakers on the far wall. The walls were white, matching with the black carpet to give a muted appearance, as if the color was being sucked out of the air, and in the middle of it all, she sat on her desk beside a chaise lounge chair, one that was waiting for him to lay across it.

And then, of course, there were mats on the opposite side of the room. Just enough space for a man and a woman to wrestle each other. If the need arose.

Alyssa sat in her chair, in her usual haunting garb, not looking his way at first. She kept her eyes on the screen, where the final moments of his match was playing out, just loud enough for him to hear as he entered. She let it go for a few seconds, making sure he knew what she was seeing, before she hit the pause button and cast her gaze his way, eyes blazing through the gloom.

”Stancil Jordan. The Highlander.” She stood up in full and extended a hand over her desk. Ostensibly for a shake, though she kept her palm down, almost as if she expected a kiss. ”A pleasure to meet you in person.”

[Crossedes]

Whew. Storm had to allow himself one last moment of hesitation, one last chance to consider leaving and dealing with his problems on his own like he always did. It tempted him, and he ran his hand through his hair and took a long look down the hallway. But he couldn't, simply couldn't, end up a fool in front of a crowd again. It was much better for one woman sworn to confidentiality to know about his problems than to go through the same experience he did beneath Luong and in the minutes after he had awoken.

So he opened the door. Coming from the blinding hallway, he had to squint, and he didn't try to take a look around the room until he had closed the door behind him, like he could close out all implications to the outside that he was the type of person who needed any sort of therapy. Books. To be expected. So was the music he supposed. And the chair. Even the glance at it made him uncomfortable enough to stare down at his feet. But that sight didn't make him a quarter as uncomfortable as the video playing across the room nor the figure of the woman he finally spotted staring at it.

A sensation like all the air beneath his skin swept over him. He couldn't watch the video - not with anyone around to see him relive it - but the video itself gripped at him far worse than seeing someone watch it. Someone who- Storm had the need to wipe his brow, clear his throat, pretend he couldn't see... so much of her. This was not the professional liberal arts school geek he had hoped would make less than no impression on him, and he wondered if he hadn't been tricked into coming here, too. What therapist dressed like that?

She looked at the video so intently that he almost had the temptation to sneak out, but her voice made him tense up, shudder, search for a way to appear far more composed than he felt. He quickly searched for something to lean on, and gathering what little cool he could muster, he propped on her desk and reached for the hand she extended. Not noticing she had it tilted down, he banged his knuckles audibly on the desk. Crap. "Storm," he shot out, doing his best to sound casual. "If you don't mind. Doct..." Realizing he was staring down at her, which could be easily construed as something else, he looked over at something on her wall. "...is it... Dr. Crowley?"

[BlackAkuma]

Some labored under the delusion that the session didn’t start until the moment they sat on the chair, and that everything before that was just polite conversation and genteel words. Some of her colleagues even felt the same, but Alyssa knew better - no, her eyes took note of everything the moment her patients stepped into the room, took nothing for granted, and ‘Storm’ was no exception in this. In fact, he was a prime example.

”Storm.” She took care to repeat the name with seriousness but threw in a slight tone of curiosity, almost as if she were asking the question he’d no doubt heard many times before. Wrestlers took on all kinds of nicknames, but they usually choose something that corresponded with their personality, their style, their gimmick. Nothing about this man struck her as being overly tempestuous - if anything, he was a calm summer’s day.

”Dr. Crowley will suffice.” She withdrew her hand and sauntered around the desk to get a good look at him and for him to get a good look at her. ”Or Alyssa. Or ma’am. I don’t care too much about that sort of thing, truly. I might even allow more creative names.”

Alyssa let that comment sit for a moment before she stepped to the side and opened the way to the chair. ”You seem nervous. Don’t be. This is about discovery and contemplation, not confrontation.” She swung back around to her seat and settled into it, easing on the chair with an air of grace. ”Am I safe in assuming you’ve never met someone like me before?”

A pause.

”A therapist, I mean.”

[Crossedes]

Storm wondered if there was not a question in her repeating his name, but expecting that he would be bombarded with so many questions that he would end up wanting to puke before he had the chance to leave, he hesitated to answer it. No, he did not want to get into its being his father's nickname among his military unit that he had adapted since he had fought back in Desert Storm. That seemed the kind of thing a therapist would latch onto and force him to talk about, and he didn't want to talk that much about it. He didn't see how anything related to his parentage could be responsible for his current problem, anyway. But her eyes on him forced him to finally rub by his nose and gently answer the unspoken question. "It's a family thing." Good enough.

And she was standing. He almost entirely missed everything she said about what to call her as she approached, and Storm had to work to avoid withering at her approach. And from looking down. He found something interesting directly behind one of her ears to stare at, though he did glance into her face long enough to subtly raise an eyebrow. Creative... names? He had no doubt he would never make it past Dr. Crowley since he had all intent to avoid becoming buddies with a therapist. A very... uniquely dressed and good-looking therapist. In a dark room with him, alone. He pulled at the neck of his shirt and did nothing more than nod in understanding.

She could tell him not to be nervous all she wanted, but that did nothing to stifle it, especially once she reached her chair and made it all too clear he should sit down, too. After a solid chew on the inside of his cheek, Storm, trying to avoid seeming entirely awkward, moved around and sat down, though he didn't lay back. He perched perpendicular to her, facing one of her bookshelves and resting his elbows on his knees. And he supposed there was no point in saving face. "No, I haven't," he admitted. "And it's not nervousness." He couldn't help himself. "I just... don't know how therapy helps me with-"

He didn't want to say it, so he gestured vaguely at the screen she had been watching and dropped his head to their feet. "I don't understand what I can learn. No offense."

[BlackAkuma]

‘A family thing’.

Three simple words, but they already painted an interesting picture. A man of tradition, perhaps? Trying to live up to a legacy? It was a common thing in wrestling. Perhaps more than any other sport, careers were built around family. Second, third, even fourth-generation wrestlers, trying to live in their parents' shadows, worried about falling short, attempting to forge their own way - when she got around to compiling her book, she could dedicate an entire section for this topic alone.

She sat back down and turned to the side, just enough for him to get a good view of her chest but not enough to be blatantly forcing it into his view. It was hard not to smile at his antics as he struggled to look at everything in the room besides her breasts. Not a phobia, she was sure of that, and if the reactions of his lower body in the match were anything to go by, he wasn’t immune to the alluring form of a woman.

”None taken, Storm.” Alyssa brought out her notepad and jotted a few quick things down, marking his demeanor, his name, how uncomfortable he seemed set on being. ”And it might be that you can’t learn anything. I like to think that therapy is about providing tools - tools that can help you manage obstacles in your life, in your career, in your activities. But just like any tool, there are applications where it fits, and ones where it doesn’t. A hammer is a poor tool for putting in screws, but that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with the hammer.”

It was a bit of a detour, especially for the onset, but she decided this wasn’t the worst road to start on. If nothing else, it would give her a decent idea of the way he thought about things. Alyssa turned to face, letting her haunting gaze and warming smile radiate over the desk, as she steepled her fingers in front of her blossoming chest.

”Tell me,” She rolled her shoulders and settled into the leather. Just because he wanted to be uncomfortable didn’t mean she had to. ”What do you think therapy is supposed to be, exactly? Why can’t it help you with…” She wiggled a finger at the screen. ”...this?”

[Crossedes]

Of course, she sat like that. Storm perked his head up long enough to get a judge of where she sat, what she was looking at, how she had positioned herself - because he was just that sort of person, needing to know where everyone was and how they regarded him - and he could see right down the trench. His eyes wandered back to the space between the two of them, and he rubbed at his temple as he listened to her. Or tried to listen, anyway. He wondered how in the world someone who dressed like that ended up as a therapist or, given the League's reputation, if she was truly a therapist at all, at least in the sense he understood therapists.

It didn't matter. The Highlander focused on listening so he wouldn't stumble and because, though he could hardly admit it to himself, he was scared of what he might hear. And scared of whatever she wrote down. He tried not to get tempted to look at it. Frankly, though, he supposed that some of what she said made sense, and he ended up nodding in reluctant understanding once she had finished. What she described sounded much like training for sport, specifically wrestling. One trained for every possibility that could arise - short of... weird taekwondo experts - and pulled the tools out of his toolbelt whenever they arose. Storm had fought against many wrestlers who walked out with one big tool and tried to use it to smash through every situation, but he could typically beat those wrestlers.

Typically. Luong's skillset had appeared focused on the one tool, her legs, and he still couldn't beat her. He needed more tools.

She put the impetus back on him to answer, and he shifted in place and thumbed at his chin to stall after he had followed her finger back to the screen. Of all things, Storm didn't care to insult, even if he did possess a low opinion of therapy. But for the same reason he could intermix her description of therapy's tools with training tools, he could understand the differences, too.

"It's... trying to target problems and talking your way through them," he began. "But I've always learned things through repetition. What happened wasn't anything... anything anyone can repeat. It was just a weird thing that happened. It's not like it's always been an issue, I've wrestled women with no problem, and-" He realized he was talking too much and too rapidly to try and cover for himself, so he paused, glanced at her, wound down. "That's basically it."

[BlackAkuma]

Alyssa did few things by accident, wanting to get the most out of every interaction with her patients, and the placement of her notepad was no exception. When she sat it down, she placed it just close enough to Storm that he could, with some effort, read what it said upside-down, but not discretely. He would have to put a little obvious effort into the attempt. Would he risk it? It wasn’t as if she laid down any rule saying he couldn't read her notes, nor would she, but people always assumed whatever she wrote there would be off-limits. A good way to judge how anxious he was, how daring, and how much he valued what she thought of him.

Also, it would be funny. She couldn't resist her small games.

She leaned back as he explained, trying his best to work through the words. She could tell he was going out of his way not to insult her, doing his best to dismiss her aid without being dismissive. A difficult tightrope to walk, but he made the best of it. A true gentleman, this.

Alyssa took a moment to digest his words, fixing him with cool, level gaze. She waited right up until the point before it grew awkward before she spoke again. ”I like you, Storm.” She closed her eyes and brushed stray hairs away from her face. ”You strike me as a thoughtful man. You choose your words carefully. I appreciate that.”

She jotted down a quick note, then raised her pen to point his way. ”I do think, however, you’re suffering under a couple of delusions, and I’m curious to know from whence they came. In particular, when you assert that what happened with Luong couldn’t be repeated.”

Alyssa tapped her chin with the pen and leaned forward with a narrowed gaze. ”Why do you think she defeated you? The cheating, her skills? Something else, perhaps?”

[Crossedes]

Storm couldn't decide if her mention that she liked him terrified him or reassured him. Probably a bit of both. He swallowed, scratched his forehead to hide his nervous eyes behind his hand, and waited to see where she was going with the comment. It wasn't anything groundbreaking, he supposed and certainly sounded like the sort of thing a therapist was wont to like - especially ones who worked with boisterous wrestlers all the time. He did think about everything he said, and though he knew he could come across as abrasive, he did try to say the right thing in all the right situations. It could be exhausting sometimes. A lot of times.

But she was writing again. Storm again peered long enough to follow her pen until she stopped, thinking he could somehow glean what she wrote by the motions of her pen. He went to inspecting his hands when that proved understandably fruitless only to peer back up at her when she continued. Delusions? That sounded like a strong word. Storm raised his eyebrows before forcing them down again, especially once she mentioned Luong.

She left the impetus for answering to him again. He started to think maybe that was why people did lie down on these couch-seat things - because answering questions got exhausting after a while - but he only leaned on one hand. Fortunately, he had already thought plenty about the answer to the question, though his nerves made his words sloppier than his thoughts. "Everything. I've never had to wrestle someone who brought those sorts of skills into a wrestling ring. And I know I could have had her in the middle of the match without the other girl, and the..." He pointed, disgruntled, at a small red streak by his nose, still healing.

"And there was a... weird conversation before we started. Don't know if the audio picked it up. Just a weird... feeling around the whole thing, and I started off on the wrong foot."

[BlackAkuma]

Alyssa wasn’t quite so wrapped up at the moment that she didn’t notice his eyebrow raise at the mention of delusions - that always carried negative connotations, even when it really shouldn’t have. ”I don’t mean that as a slight, naturally. Everyone has delusions, an altered way of seeing reality because of our biases. It’s simply a part of being human. The best way to overcome them is with an outside perspective, the eye of a neutral party. One of the benefits of therapy.”

It was raining outside - a strong one, by the sound of it, with raindrops hard enough to be heard over the hum of her air conditioner. Good providence in her estimation. Nothing quite like the rain to steady the nerves and cleanse the air.

As the pouring grew stronger, Alyssa leaned in and listened intently, never letting her eyes wander. It wasn’t just important to listen but to make sure he knew that he had her full attention - which he did, especially now. She had been curious about that little conversation before the match, which the cameras couldn't quite pick up, and had wondered how to brooch the subject. And lo, the universe provided.

”Pardon my bluntness. But.” She placed her elbows up on the desk crisscrossed her figures, mimicking the look of a stern schoolteacher. ”Wouldn’t you say you’re making excuses? From my eyes, she didn’t bring anything revolutionary to the table. A skilled woman, to be sure, but not singular in any real way. I can rattle off a dozen women in LAW with similar styles off the top of my head.”

A tad confrontational, perhaps. Better to dial it back. She leaned away and held out her hands. ”Table the thought. For a moment.” She held up a finger. ”First, this conversation - what did she say? What set you off on the wrong…”

Her smile grew by an inch. The choice of words was too perfect, but she couldn't resist. In fairness, she was only repeating what he’d said.

”...foot?”