Work Text:
"Of course you're not mad."
Daine considered getting up from her chair and throttling the man in the other chair. He said it so simply, like she was the silly one for even thinking so—and after a lifetime of terror that she might decide she was a wolf and run off into the woods again, she didn't appreciate it much.
"None of this is working because you're trying to fix a problem that isn't there," the man—Dr. Numair Salmalín, Daine's latest psychologist—said patiently.
"I tried to run off with a wolf pack when I was thirteen," she replied flatly. "I still think I hear animals speaking to me if I listen. I don't know what you intend to call that, if not madness."
He studied her with a mild frown of thought, then turned back to his notepad. "Tell me, if I do this—" He snapped his fingers, and Daine could swear there was glittering black fire flickering above his thumb, like he was holding a cigarette lighter just out of sight. "—what do you see."
Daine swallowed, wondering if she'd ended up somewhere... odd. "...I see black fire."
He nodded, like that was exactly what he expected her to say, then spread his hand, so she could see that there was nothing in it. The black fire curled into a wisp and turned green, circling in the middle of his palm. "Is it green and circular now?"
"...Yes."
He closed his hand and snuffed the light. "None of your medications are working because none of them are meant to turn off your senses—which are working just fine, by the way."
Daine gaped.
"My advice: stop feeding your mind chemicals it doesn't need and go into a veterinary field," he said calmly, like a man who hadn't just held fire in his palm. "The road is difficult, but I suspect you've got a talent for it."
"What—"
He smiled wryly. "I'd offer you training, but at this time, you'd likely only think I was inducting you to a cult." He wasn't incorrect. "Go conduct your own experiments. If the things you hear are truly only in your own mind, the animals won't respond to your requests, and the information you glean from them will be false. If they respond to your commands and bring you empirically provable information you couldn't have possibly gleaned on your own, then I'd say your mind can be trusted on that front."
Daine closed her mouth, floundering. "I ran off into the woods as a child. I can't risk that again."
His eyes softened in sympathy, but she could tell he was unmoved otherwise. "Try to avoid wild animals that live in groups; I would guess that it was the wolves' instinctive welcome for pack members that pulled you in. Pets should be safe enough to speak to because they are used to considering humans family, and solitary wild animals should be happy enough to leave you to your own devices."
If one took the insane premise that the voices she heard weren't a sign of schizophrenia, that was all very logical.
"You are, of course, welcome to continue with your search for the right cocktail, but I'm afraid that if your goal is to stop hearing their voices entirely, you may be forced to turn to lobotomy." Then he looked at her face, and smiled kindly. "Honestly, Daine, even if I did believe it was a problem with your mind, I would still advise you to listen for a bit. When dealing with issues such as these, fighting will only take you so far. The most important thing is that you're not a danger to yourself or those around you, and if that should mean that you try to reach an accord with the voices in your head rather than silencing them entirely, then so be it."
Daine couldn't come up with much of an argument to that.
He flipped to a new page in his notepad and started writing. "I'm going to give you my number—if you should ever decide to pursue training, you can call me here. Either I can train you myself, or I can give you some other names to investigate as you see fit." He ripped the page out and held it out for her to take. "You could always schedule an appointment here, of course, but I charge for those."
She accepted the page, staring sightlessly at the ten-digit number with Numair Salmalín scribbled just above it. "I... thank you."
"Daine?"
She looked up, and felt her heart skip a beat at the look in his dark eyes.
"Remember, whatever you decide to do, all of it—all of it—is your choice. If you decide to take me up on this, my offer will stay open for as long as you need, should that be days or decades. If you don't, then I know that I wish you all the best, and hope for your success wherever you may search for it."
It was a sentiment she'd heard often enough over the past several years of seeking psychiatric help for her problem, but whether it was the context, or his sensitive face, or that she'd just been handed the very last solution she could have expected, it hit differently this time.
Impulsively, she asked, "Can you do the fire thing again?"
He grinned and complied.
One week later found her walking into the stable next to her childhood home.
"...Cloud? Are you here?"
The mare poked her head over the door of her stall, as most equines would when they heard their name called. Well? the mare asked stiffly, rather unlike most equines. Have you come to your senses yet, or am I to put up with more of your silliness?
Daine braced herself against the reflexive terror and gave Cloud a tremulous smile. "No promises. Can we go for a ride? I want to hear all about what's gone on around here."
'Can we go for a ride', she says, the pony snorted, but ambled over to the mounting block on her own, tossing out her mane at Daine's quiet thanks.
She dug out the paper Dr. Salmalín had left her with three weeks later.
"Hey, Dr. Salmalín? This is Daine—Veralidaine Sarrasri, your client from about a month ago. Is that offer still open? I've been talking to... a childhood friend of mine... She's calling me silly for not calling you sooner—"