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No Angel! Wheee!
I wish this fic would hurry up and finish itself. I have at least two other Mcfly AUs I wanna start posting, but I promised myself I wouldn't until I'd finished this one. Sigh =/
Title: No Angel, Chapter 5
Rating: R
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt and a refusal for help, Dougie is admitted to the psychiatric hospital for treatment with his severe depression. There he meets some of the strangest people he has ever encountered, patients and doctors alike.
Pairings: Oh, many =)
Warnings: Depression, schizophrenia and various other psychiatric disorders.
A/N: The Rousseau thing? I recently watched this programme about the Romantics, purely because David Tennant was in it of course, and instead found myself agreeing with what was being said. So therefore Dougie’s saying it too.
Previous Chapters: Introduction - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
Chapter 5
Session after session, Dougie poured half his heart into telling Harry what he felt, what he believed. Half his mind, however, was holding him back, telling him what he wanted to hear, stopping him from saying quite everything that was rushing through his thoughts. It wasn’t just his growing feelings for the doctor – spending so much time with him, telling him things he had barely thought through himself – it was little things that seemed almost inconsequential, and yet he held them back. He could not even begin to justify why to himself, so he pretended it was a game and carried on, sometimes even giving each of them points for a particular good omission (Dougie, +3 points) or falling for a quite spectacular lie (Harry, -2 points).
After one particularly rambling afternoon spent on the couch, Harry looked up from the notes he had been busy compiling and asked, ‘Have you ever heard of Jean-Jacques Rousseau?’
Dougie raised his head to stare at the doctor. ‘Who?’
‘He was a French man, in the seventeen hundreds. You seem to share a lot of his beliefs.’
The younger couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Ha. Yeah, right.’
‘Honestly. What you were saying about-’ He looked down to scan his notes quickly, ‘-how we all are ruled by our emotions, that only they can properly control us and civilisation has been designed to “enslave us”, that’s many of things that Rousseau talked about in his work.’
Dougie definitely didn’t remember saying it quite like that, but he nodded anyway. Must have been in a Matt-speech recently.
‘Oh. Um… so what happened to him?’
‘Rousseau? Well, many of his ideas contributed to the basis of the Romantic revolution in France.’
‘The one were everyone got their heads chopped off?’
‘Well, yes, it did eventually lead to historic French Revolution but that really isn’t the point. Rousseau believed strongly in following human nature rather than the supposed corruption that comes with society, that natural instincts were far better than the falseness of social and political structures. Do you agree?’
Dougie glanced over for a moment, before turning back to stare at his now-fidgeting fingers. ‘I guess so…’ He replied eventually, becoming more awkward and uncomfortable with every sentence. He had only been copying Matt because he had run out of other things to talk about! He swiftly deducted 2 points from Harry’s score (putting them at 8 - 3 to him) and mentally promised himself never to start on any sort of intellectual conversation with Harry again.
The room fell into a light silence as both thought about the other. Harry allowed it to hang in the air for a moment more then let it slip away as he caught Dougie’s gaze and continued the session.
‘It’s nearly the end of your fourth week here. How do you think you’re doing?’
‘I don’t know… you’re the one who’s supposed to know that.’
‘It helps if you’re self-aware, if you consider your progress and specifically what you want to achieve.’ Dougie inwardly snorted at this, but kept his face as blank as possible. ‘It would certainly help you to understand why you are feeling this way.’
‘Look, I know how it works, I’ve seen Girl, Interrupted.’
‘That was set in the 60’s, Dougie, a fair bit has changed since then.’ He answered with a warm smile.
Dougie shrugged, and gave a muttered, ‘Suppose’.
‘Are you still having that recurring dream?’ His head snapped up, eyes wide, fearful. Harry noticed but did not stare back, pretending to look back through his notes. ‘You only mentioned it in passing once. Would you like to talk about it now?’
The younger could only just – vaguely – remember saying anything about it, and was almost stunned that Harry had even noted anything about it. But of course, he was a psychiatrist, that was his job. Dougie sometimes forgot.
He didn’t want to talk about his dreams, whether he thought of Harry as a friend or a shrink.
‘It’s nothing! Honestly, just this little thing, means nothing, don’t even have it that often, you know? It’s not anything important, seriously.’
He made sure he didn’t call it ‘weird’. The word had been said above his head so many times he had come to despise it.
Harry looked at him, and then he didn’t. A small sigh, barely heard, escaped and he waited, hoping Dougie would stop holding these little things back. He had seen it so many times he had come to recognise the signs instantly – he would start playing with his fingers a lot more, constantly flick at his hair, barely make eye contact. The Rousseau exchange had been to see how much attention Dougie himself was paying to what he was saying – he had heard the very same speech from Matt two days ago, and was curious if it really was these two sharing such similar ideals or just Dougie being easily led, in need of borrowed ideas to hide his own.
He needed Dougie to trust him, to open up and stop stalling just in case he said too much. Otherwise it made his job, and the kid’s recovery, unnecessarily harder.
~
28th May – in my room.
I wish I could just declare myself sane and get out of here. Danny’s taught me so much, how to lie and make everyone think you’re doing ok… how come I can’t do that to Harry? I’m just a stupid little manic-depressive, I could just stop being so… weird. Urgh.
Well, that’s what everyone else wants. My dad phoned earlier, as usual, checking how I was doing. Don’t know why he bothers anymore. We both clutch the phones for the most horribly awkward ten minutes of the week, barely saying anything, then he says he has to go and hangs up before I’ve even said goodbye. He hates me and he hopes I’m suffering in here, I know he is. He thinks I screwed everything up when it was HIM. Fucking bastard, hoping I rot in a fucking mental hospital so everyone can forget about me. I bet they have and all. None of friends have come to see me… I don’t have many anyway. I don’t fucking need them, the bloody wankers. I’ve got Danny, HA! Best mate I’ve ever had and he’s a complete headcase, it’s great.
And there’s Harry, of course, but I don’t know what to say about him. He’s just. You know, Harry. Whatever.
And Matt! He’s great, totally insane and kinda hot, for a guy. Last time he went off on one he was having a slow day (think they’ve changed his meds again) so I could write it all down. Not sure I understand it but ha, he’s amazing:
It’s the people that are all so corrupt, they’re the ones that make our civilisations so. Why am I so obsessed with them? Because they’re all sick. All of them. All that corruption from the very fucking pit of their psyche, the pure hatred and darkness that consumes every one of us, so endless and potentially dangerous, exotic and yet still the sewage of all our thoughts. It’s the ultimate force that drives us forward.
Must suck being him though, with all that running through your head. The other day they brought in a new guy - dunno what was wrong with him, he looked kinda shaky - who was called James, and as soon as Matt heard he went mental, starting smashing up everything! The second table in the common room is gone now, but that was kinda broken anyway so it doesn’t matter. Was well funny to watch! The new guy had to be moved to another ward just to make Matt calm down (though possibly it was the tranquilizers. Huh, maybe that’s why he was a bit slow earlier) It must suck being obsessed with someone with a common name, I’d hate it.
Have art class tomorrow, fucking “art therapy”. I know I can’t draw so why are they making us do it? Sadists. Might break out with Danny and go play in the music room instead.
That’ll be cool.
~
Things were relatively normal for a couple of days – well, no one tried to kill themselves and Tom remained blissfully oblivious to the outside world. Dougie was listening to Matt ranting on about his new obsession (the depravity of the American Military, complete with complicated hand gestures), who had now gotten so used to the younger boy being around he had begun saving his twisted venting solely for when Dougie came over. He wasn’t so sure why. Perhaps he had discovered a liking for a captive audience.
Danny was playing cards with Tom and some new kid, Dougie neither understanding the game nor wanting to so he just watched with a vague disinterest. Once Matt had run out of things to say (a rare occurrence, but usually a welcome one for the rest of the patients), he began to feel that untimely boredom that often came with just sitting around the common room all day. Getting up slowly, he stretched upwards and rolled his neck (making his shirt ride up, just a little. Danny snuck a look out of the corner of his eye and allowed himself a small smirk), then started wandering off, his intention set on going to the music room and playing with that bass he had grown rather fond of.
He never quite made it there. The supply cupboard, a couple of doors down from the music room, was slightly ajar and as Dougie passed it he caught sight of moment within. For the briefest moment he debated whether to look or not – the next instant he was up against the doorframe, quiet as anything, peering through the gap.
At first he could only see two bodies pressed up against each other, hands desperately holding onto each other, onto the shelves to keep them from collapsing to the floor, limbs wrapping around bodies with such an urgency Dougie found himself holding his breath. Hurried kisses across cheeks, tongues flicking up necks and he blushed, the intimacy he was invading overwhelming him. He began to move away as if he was going to leave.
Then they both shifted again, heads turning as lips sought out more skin, and Dougie saw.
Doctor Judd and Nurse Brody.
He turned around and started running.
Title: No Angel, Chapter 5
Rating: R
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt and a refusal for help, Dougie is admitted to the psychiatric hospital for treatment with his severe depression. There he meets some of the strangest people he has ever encountered, patients and doctors alike.
Pairings: Oh, many =)
Warnings: Depression, schizophrenia and various other psychiatric disorders.
A/N: The Rousseau thing? I recently watched this programme about the Romantics, purely because David Tennant was in it of course, and instead found myself agreeing with what was being said. So therefore Dougie’s saying it too.
Previous Chapters: Introduction - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
Chapter 5
Session after session, Dougie poured half his heart into telling Harry what he felt, what he believed. Half his mind, however, was holding him back, telling him what he wanted to hear, stopping him from saying quite everything that was rushing through his thoughts. It wasn’t just his growing feelings for the doctor – spending so much time with him, telling him things he had barely thought through himself – it was little things that seemed almost inconsequential, and yet he held them back. He could not even begin to justify why to himself, so he pretended it was a game and carried on, sometimes even giving each of them points for a particular good omission (Dougie, +3 points) or falling for a quite spectacular lie (Harry, -2 points).
After one particularly rambling afternoon spent on the couch, Harry looked up from the notes he had been busy compiling and asked, ‘Have you ever heard of Jean-Jacques Rousseau?’
Dougie raised his head to stare at the doctor. ‘Who?’
‘He was a French man, in the seventeen hundreds. You seem to share a lot of his beliefs.’
The younger couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Ha. Yeah, right.’
‘Honestly. What you were saying about-’ He looked down to scan his notes quickly, ‘-how we all are ruled by our emotions, that only they can properly control us and civilisation has been designed to “enslave us”, that’s many of things that Rousseau talked about in his work.’
Dougie definitely didn’t remember saying it quite like that, but he nodded anyway. Must have been in a Matt-speech recently.
‘Oh. Um… so what happened to him?’
‘Rousseau? Well, many of his ideas contributed to the basis of the Romantic revolution in France.’
‘The one were everyone got their heads chopped off?’
‘Well, yes, it did eventually lead to historic French Revolution but that really isn’t the point. Rousseau believed strongly in following human nature rather than the supposed corruption that comes with society, that natural instincts were far better than the falseness of social and political structures. Do you agree?’
Dougie glanced over for a moment, before turning back to stare at his now-fidgeting fingers. ‘I guess so…’ He replied eventually, becoming more awkward and uncomfortable with every sentence. He had only been copying Matt because he had run out of other things to talk about! He swiftly deducted 2 points from Harry’s score (putting them at 8 - 3 to him) and mentally promised himself never to start on any sort of intellectual conversation with Harry again.
The room fell into a light silence as both thought about the other. Harry allowed it to hang in the air for a moment more then let it slip away as he caught Dougie’s gaze and continued the session.
‘It’s nearly the end of your fourth week here. How do you think you’re doing?’
‘I don’t know… you’re the one who’s supposed to know that.’
‘It helps if you’re self-aware, if you consider your progress and specifically what you want to achieve.’ Dougie inwardly snorted at this, but kept his face as blank as possible. ‘It would certainly help you to understand why you are feeling this way.’
‘Look, I know how it works, I’ve seen Girl, Interrupted.’
‘That was set in the 60’s, Dougie, a fair bit has changed since then.’ He answered with a warm smile.
Dougie shrugged, and gave a muttered, ‘Suppose’.
‘Are you still having that recurring dream?’ His head snapped up, eyes wide, fearful. Harry noticed but did not stare back, pretending to look back through his notes. ‘You only mentioned it in passing once. Would you like to talk about it now?’
The younger could only just – vaguely – remember saying anything about it, and was almost stunned that Harry had even noted anything about it. But of course, he was a psychiatrist, that was his job. Dougie sometimes forgot.
He didn’t want to talk about his dreams, whether he thought of Harry as a friend or a shrink.
‘It’s nothing! Honestly, just this little thing, means nothing, don’t even have it that often, you know? It’s not anything important, seriously.’
He made sure he didn’t call it ‘weird’. The word had been said above his head so many times he had come to despise it.
Harry looked at him, and then he didn’t. A small sigh, barely heard, escaped and he waited, hoping Dougie would stop holding these little things back. He had seen it so many times he had come to recognise the signs instantly – he would start playing with his fingers a lot more, constantly flick at his hair, barely make eye contact. The Rousseau exchange had been to see how much attention Dougie himself was paying to what he was saying – he had heard the very same speech from Matt two days ago, and was curious if it really was these two sharing such similar ideals or just Dougie being easily led, in need of borrowed ideas to hide his own.
He needed Dougie to trust him, to open up and stop stalling just in case he said too much. Otherwise it made his job, and the kid’s recovery, unnecessarily harder.
~
28th May – in my room.
I wish I could just declare myself sane and get out of here. Danny’s taught me so much, how to lie and make everyone think you’re doing ok… how come I can’t do that to Harry? I’m just a stupid little manic-depressive, I could just stop being so… weird. Urgh.
Well, that’s what everyone else wants. My dad phoned earlier, as usual, checking how I was doing. Don’t know why he bothers anymore. We both clutch the phones for the most horribly awkward ten minutes of the week, barely saying anything, then he says he has to go and hangs up before I’ve even said goodbye. He hates me and he hopes I’m suffering in here, I know he is. He thinks I screwed everything up when it was HIM. Fucking bastard, hoping I rot in a fucking mental hospital so everyone can forget about me. I bet they have and all. None of friends have come to see me… I don’t have many anyway. I don’t fucking need them, the bloody wankers. I’ve got Danny, HA! Best mate I’ve ever had and he’s a complete headcase, it’s great.
And there’s Harry, of course, but I don’t know what to say about him. He’s just. You know, Harry. Whatever.
And Matt! He’s great, totally insane and kinda hot, for a guy. Last time he went off on one he was having a slow day (think they’ve changed his meds again) so I could write it all down. Not sure I understand it but ha, he’s amazing:
It’s the people that are all so corrupt, they’re the ones that make our civilisations so. Why am I so obsessed with them? Because they’re all sick. All of them. All that corruption from the very fucking pit of their psyche, the pure hatred and darkness that consumes every one of us, so endless and potentially dangerous, exotic and yet still the sewage of all our thoughts. It’s the ultimate force that drives us forward.
Must suck being him though, with all that running through your head. The other day they brought in a new guy - dunno what was wrong with him, he looked kinda shaky - who was called James, and as soon as Matt heard he went mental, starting smashing up everything! The second table in the common room is gone now, but that was kinda broken anyway so it doesn’t matter. Was well funny to watch! The new guy had to be moved to another ward just to make Matt calm down (though possibly it was the tranquilizers. Huh, maybe that’s why he was a bit slow earlier) It must suck being obsessed with someone with a common name, I’d hate it.
Have art class tomorrow, fucking “art therapy”. I know I can’t draw so why are they making us do it? Sadists. Might break out with Danny and go play in the music room instead.
That’ll be cool.
~
Things were relatively normal for a couple of days – well, no one tried to kill themselves and Tom remained blissfully oblivious to the outside world. Dougie was listening to Matt ranting on about his new obsession (the depravity of the American Military, complete with complicated hand gestures), who had now gotten so used to the younger boy being around he had begun saving his twisted venting solely for when Dougie came over. He wasn’t so sure why. Perhaps he had discovered a liking for a captive audience.
Danny was playing cards with Tom and some new kid, Dougie neither understanding the game nor wanting to so he just watched with a vague disinterest. Once Matt had run out of things to say (a rare occurrence, but usually a welcome one for the rest of the patients), he began to feel that untimely boredom that often came with just sitting around the common room all day. Getting up slowly, he stretched upwards and rolled his neck (making his shirt ride up, just a little. Danny snuck a look out of the corner of his eye and allowed himself a small smirk), then started wandering off, his intention set on going to the music room and playing with that bass he had grown rather fond of.
He never quite made it there. The supply cupboard, a couple of doors down from the music room, was slightly ajar and as Dougie passed it he caught sight of moment within. For the briefest moment he debated whether to look or not – the next instant he was up against the doorframe, quiet as anything, peering through the gap.
At first he could only see two bodies pressed up against each other, hands desperately holding onto each other, onto the shelves to keep them from collapsing to the floor, limbs wrapping around bodies with such an urgency Dougie found himself holding his breath. Hurried kisses across cheeks, tongues flicking up necks and he blushed, the intimacy he was invading overwhelming him. He began to move away as if he was going to leave.
Then they both shifted again, heads turning as lips sought out more skin, and Dougie saw.
Doctor Judd and Nurse Brody.
He turned around and started running.