Chapter Text
Getting nearly hit by a bus somehow was not the weirdest thing Delphine had seen today. Running across the Gotham city streets like a sleek squirrel, the fat morning raindrops drenching her and the city streets, almost caused her to slip when crossing the road to get to the subway entrance, and in catching her balance, nearly had a man who was driving far too fast in the streets to take the corner too abruptly and absolutely plow her over.
She was fine, just shooting the man a harsh glare before scampering across and continuing her day as if nothing happened. Maybe this is why jaywalking was meant to be discouraged, but fuck it, nobody ever paid attention to that anyways.
Lavender et. Mind , the counseling company she was recently employed at, gave her a little boxshoe office out on the third floor of the building– the first floor included a deli of sorts, and the second some marketing company, but the third was for mental health treatment. LM wasn’t too bad– they paid a little less than she would have liked, but she was coming straight out of her PsyD program, and the experience would be good. Especially in Gotham.
When Delphine sat down on her bouncy office chair, after turning on her lamps and lighting (those overhead fluorescent lights were never going to be turned on if she had anything to say about it), she looked at the emails and appointments she had on the schedule.
“IMPORTANT: APT. REQUESTS– Dr. Thompkins”
Delphine clicked on the email that was at the top of her list and started reading. She knew the good doctor, and was partially the reason she even came out to Gotham, really. But this email was weird, though she wouldn’t deny the ability to start building up her clientele list.
Hello Dr. Montblanc,
I hope you’re doing well, and that settling in at LM has been a smooth process. A few of my closest and longest-known patients have expressed interest in both broadening their mental health knowledge, but I have also nudged them to seek treatment on their own. I’ve given one your direct contact information, bypassing the secretary. They should, if they do request to see you, write their intent for this initial meeting, and mention that it is through me. It’s nothing I’m sure you won’t be able to handle. Trust me when I say you would be doing me a great service in at least humoring their attempts to branch out into this field.
Best,
Leslie Thompkins, M.D.
Delphine scrutinized the short email. No other information, no mention to who this could be or why, nada. Dr. Thompkins worked in an area that saw a lot of people coming by with histories of substance abuse, an area of which she did not specialize in. And besides, she was a recent graduate– what could she offer that such an experienced doctor would recommend a patient for?
Whatever the message meant, she brushed it off and continued through the sludge of emails. A reminder for the team meeting on Wednesday. Dr. Tanenbaum, the clinic manager, was reaching out about her current caseload. A few emails were the generic kind sent to all the staff– maintenance would be coming by to fix the lighting by some of the other offices, that kind of stuff. But the one from Dr. Thompkins stuck out like a sore thumb in her mind, inviting nothing but rumination on what the cryptic message meant.
9am: Her first client, an initial consultation. Overall, daily straightforward– a young woman who was worried about intrusive thoughts and what the client thought were delusions.
10am: Her second client, an adult man with a good career and family, but was worried about the possibility of depression, and the shame he thought it would bring if his family knew.
11am: Her third client, a young man whose fast-paced talking, rapid thoughts, and showed clear worry that Delphine found him boring, or anything short of magnificent.
12pm: Lunch break on the clock, charting, putting in the notes and initial assessment reports.
1pm: Fourth client, a no-show. Despite her efforts to call or email, she didn’t hear back. At least it left her time to continue catching up on her notes.
2pm: Fifth client, a man with a history of aggressive behavior was seemingly forced to try therapy by his wife as a last-ditch effort to save their marriage. Not in for couples counseling, though it was suggested that it be tried out.
3pm: Sixth client, an upcoming college student with intense social anxiety who wants to work on coping skills before starting in the fall.
4pm: A break, to work on notes, charting, emails, assessments, make future client plans, and adjust or create new patient files.
5pm: A meeting with her clinical supervisor and the other new hire (an equally fresh psychologist, whose bubbly and upbeat demeanor proved a sharp contrast to her own subdued and muted one, she found).
6pm: A last check at the emails before heading home– nothing from Dr. Thompkins, or a mystery client that may be coming in to talk to her.
With a heavy sigh at the end of the workday, Delphine closed her work laptop, and let her head rest on the back of her desk chair. Her eyelids fluttered close, as she breathed out the stress that had been building up within her. It was only her second week of working here– she would be fine. The cases would come, especially in a city so desperately lacking proper care or treatment, but for now they were just throwing her what they could get. Well, her and Dr. Rovik, though she doubted by his easy-going and confident nature that he was finding any difficulties getting adjusted to his new position.
A knock came on her door, and she bolted straight, brushing a flat palm across her short hair and seeing a head peak through.
Dr. Tanenbaum peeked his head through the door and smiled when he found nobody else in the room.
“It’s six– shouldn’t you be packing up to head home?”
Delphine sighed, getting up from her chair with a slight groan, “Yeah, I guess. I was just checking emails.”
“Well, they’ll still be there in the morning. But anyways, Clara and I were just going to try a new restaurant a few streets away– we figured since you and Emil are new that it would be good for you guys to get to know some of the team a bit more. How does Spanish food sound?”
Delphine tried to imagine Clara– the tall red-head who could have easily pursued a career in modeling if she wanted to, whose easy demeanor matched Emil’s. They knew how to socialize, and have fun– something she desperately wanted to avoid at the moment.
“I appreciate it, but last Friday I went out with some of the other psychologists, and I’ve been having this killer headache all day since noon, but thank you for extending the invitation. Raincheck maybe?”
“Yeah, no problems! You can always catch us next time, I’ll let you know when that is!”
“Thanks Daniel, I appreciate it,” she said, with a genuineness in her voice. Usually she wouldn’t mind, but it was one of those days where nothing was going to stop her from getting home into her cramped little apartment and just lying down on the couch for a while, with an aimless documentary in the background.
“Of course! Catch you tomorrow?”
“Yep, see you bright and early!”
And with a slight nod, the man disappeared, leaving her door ajar. Delphine gathered up the rest of her items and headed out, and in hearing a burst of laughter come from behind her neighbor’s closed door, imagined that Clara and Emil were getting to know each other well already.
Gotham never stopped its hustle and bustle, no matter the time of day– that was something she was learning fairly quickly. Delphine kept herself small, head low and gaze turned downwards when taking the subway, and knew better than to gawk at the impressive art deco skyscrapers that were etched into the jungle of the city.
Reaching her dingy apartment complex, Delphine couldn’t help but feel like somebody was watching her. Turning around, her eyes scanned the sidewalks, but found nothing of suspicion. She typed her passcode in faster and entered the building, quickly shutting the heavy door behind her and punching the key to the elevator, constantly glancing over her shoulder.
It couldn’t come fast enough, and though she couldn’t shake the feeling off, she let herself breath out a small sigh of relief when the doors closed behind her, and she punched in ‘8’ for her floor. The day the elevator gave out was the day she would be moving apartments– no way in hell would she walk up and down those every day.
When she found the comforts of her apartment, locked up after she had entered, Delphine couldn’t help but fling off her shoes and just sink into the wooden floor, not even getting to the living room.
What had it been about this day that had left her so drained? Initial assessments were never easy, and required an even more constant vigilant eye for the twists of words and small details that served as the most miniscule signs things to delve into at later times. Maybe once she got settled, starting seeing them more regularly (or not, she was sure that the fifth one wanted nothing more than to bolt the second he stepped through her doors), things would get easier. Better.
At least her apartment, tiny as it may be, had a nice view out into the corner of her new city. And the windows were large enough to spare a good view around.
From her seated perch on the ground, she could just barely notice a small light in the sky, coming from what she assumed was just a few blocks away from her own apartment, in the shape of a bat.