“It’s what we’re here for,” Vasiht’h said. “You know we work mostly through dreams?”
She nodded. “My father told me. A nap sounds nice… I’m tired a lot. I guess that’s normal.”
“Definitely,” Vasiht’h said. “Your body is working hard right now. So just plump up whatever pillows look good to you—they all have fresh covers—and pick out the blankets and we’ll leave you alone for a bit, all right?”
“Would you like a tea?” Jahir added.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
/What do you think?/ Vasiht’h asked outside.
/I don’t know,/ Jahir admitted. /I suppose we will see./
Inside, Jahir joined himself to Vasiht’h and reached for Brenna, and found himself distracted by an unexpected and beautiful complexity. Their sense of her was much the same as any client, but it was not alone.
/He dreams!/ Jahir said, charmed.
Vasiht’h’s smile felt satisfied and protective. /They do, yes./
/So young, though…!/
/The few times I’ve chatting with one of my pregnant relatives… yes. They’re their own thing immediately, with plans and business of their own! If that makes sense. They’re busy making themselves from the moment they have all the building blocks, so…/ Vasiht’h smiled, a memory tinging his speech golden. /One of my cousins told me she knew the day she conceived. Some women do, I guess. Maybe this is part of why./
/I had no idea,/ Jahir said, examining the bright spark without touching it. /Do you know what they dream?/
/I’ve never tried to find out. I mean, once they’re old enough to kick and push you can’t avoid hearing what they’re feeling, but by then they’re like small versions of us anyway. Not verbal, of course, but they get hungry and curious and sleepy and irritated, just like babies who are outside their mothers do. But this young? I’m a little scared to touch them, you know?/
/Yes,/ Jahir breathed. /He seems so delicate./
/And yet it’s a hardy process. My sister will tell you… once it gets going, it takes a lot to stop it. That’s what makes the Pelted problems with it so tragic. Having parents, growing up, having kids, being part of a family… that’s really basic to everyone who lives. Being engineered… it interrupted that process for a lot of people./
Jahir watched the spark shimmer and dim, then glow brighter… busy with its own developing life. He’d never considered the intersection of their talents and children, particularly prenatal. It was magical.
/Me too,/ Vasiht’h said softly. /It never gets old./
/No,/ Jahir answered. /I cannot imagine it does. But we have a duty./
/Let’s see what’s going on./
Brenna’s dreams, when they entered them, were nothing like any other dreams they’d encountered. They reminded Jahir more of the wet hallucinations from the victims on Selnor, though he couldn’t decide why. Their content was normal enough: random day to day images of Brenna’s life, occasional montages involving babies, or a hazy silhouette they decided must be her deceased mother. But the dreams resisted manipulation; they felt murky and dense, the colors dark except where they were too bright, like a storm-clotted day. Her mind resisted their departure as well, dragging at them like mud.
/What was that?/ Vasiht’h rubbed his arms. /Ugh!/
/I don’t know,/ Jahir said slowly.
His partner glanced at him, eyes narrowed. /You don’t know but you have an idea./
/I was thinking… that they reminded me in kind, somehow, of the patients on Selnor./
A cold shudder, like the call of an unidentifiable animal in a night forest, came through the mindline. /She’s not…/
/No,/ Jahir said. /But this might have more to do with the changes in her body than what we usually handle./
Vasiht’h was silent for some time, considering the sleeping Seersa. /What we do eventually affects the body, though./
/Yes. But is that a good idea, given that her body is doing things we don’t understand?/ Jahir smiled a little. /Unless you understand the biology of pregnancy more intimately than I do…/
/Not likely! Despite seeing enough of it in my extended family./ Vasiht’h sighed. /So what should we do?/
/There are several medical therapists at the hospital. I would suggest referring her to one of them./
Vasiht’h nodded. /That makes sense. I hope it goes over well./
Jahir reached for his tablet. /I will see if one of them is willing to see her. Perhaps you might have something ready for her to eat when she wakes? Her dreams did not seem to suggest any experience with nausea./
/Right./
By the time Brenna woke, Vasiht’h had set out a tea tray and Jahir had a follow-up appointment prepared. The Seersa woke groggy and grateful for the drink, nibbling on one of the cookies. “So how does it look?” she asked. “Am I totally broken?”
/Maybe you should handle this one. You’re better with words than I am./
/I would dispute that,/ Jahir said, but he accepted the charge. “We do not believe you to be broken at all. But our suspicion, after witnessing your dreams, is that your paradoxical reaction to an event you have been looking forward to all your life might be partially, or perhaps entirely, the result of the biological changes created by your pregnancy.”
Brenna’s hand sagged, cookie forgotten. “You think it’s physical?”
“The evidence is suggestive.”
“That’s so weird,” she said, eyes wide. “Why would my body sabotage itself that way?”
“Your body is not intentionally sabotaging your wellbeing,” Jahir said. “Think of it as an unfortunate side effect of its efforts. Your body is new to this particular process; it may be that subsequent pregnancies will not have this effect—”
“Or it might make it worse!” She shivered. “What do I do now? Can you fix it?”
“This is not our expertise,” Jahir said. “With your permission, we’d like to refer you to Healer Tenebra at Veta General. She has specific experience with women in all stages of this process, and is a mother herself.”
Brenna’s ears perked. “That sounds helpful.”
“We think it will be,” Vasiht’h said. “She’s in a better position to help you than we are.”
“Here,” Jahir said, offering a folded slip of paper. “The appointment time and direction. If you need to reschedule, her contact information is at the bottom.”
“You wrote it on paper,” Brenna said, sounding charmed. She looked at the paper. “Thank you. Goodness, you have nice handwriting. You should go into calligraphy.”
Jahir ignored Vasiht’h’s amused look. “Thank you.”
“I really appreciate this,” she said on her way out. “Knowing that it might be more complicated than just my own feelings. Or at least, that my feelings are wrapped up in something bigger than I am. Does that make sense?” She smiled at them both. “I feel a little better already.”
“We wish you the best of luck,” Vasiht’h said. “Take care of yourself, alet.” Once she’d gone, he surveyed their office and started tidying. “Well, that went better than it could have.”
“She will do well with Healer Tenebra.”
Vasiht’h nodded. “There’s a cookie left. You should eat it.”
Jahir eyed him.
“It’s that or salmon mousse with your scones.”
With a sigh, Jahir took the cookie. But he smiled while eating it.
Vasiht’h decided once every two weeks as a reasonable periodicity for his visits to Tiber, to balance his need to talk with his budget. That first visit had refocused him on his priorities, and while he didn’t feel he was in serious need of therapy, he valued the way Tiber reset his perspective when it was in danger of going awry. “You’ll probably only feel these visits necessary while you’re uncertain of your financial status,” Tiber said. “Once you settle that, a lot of this will resolve.”
“But not all of it?” Vasiht’h asked.
Tiber smiled a little. “Most of us have
one or two trigger issues that we never stop grappling with. This might be one of yours.”
On reflection, Vasiht’h thought he was right.
A week after they referred Brenna, Vasiht’h followed Trusty into Tiber’s office and sank into his customary place on the carpet. The dog waited until he was done and then rested his muzzle on Vasiht’h’s paw. As usual, he rambled to Tiber, about growing up, about wishing he knew one way or the other about Veta, about how much he disliked uncertainty—that becoming a philosophical discussion between them over different belief systems that helped people handle those uncertainties, one they punctuated with experiences with clients that had demonstrated them best. Vasiht’h hadn’t had as many, of course, and the university system had skewed heavily Seersan in population, but he felt he gave back to the discussion well despite that, and Tiber’s experiences were fascinating. Necessarily nebulous, given the constraints of their ability to discuss any personal details, but listening to him, Vasiht’h had a sense of his breadth and compassion, revealed in accidental ways.
It no longer irritated him, finding things to like about Tiber. He didn’t even think it regrettable. Most of them time, it didn’t occur to him that they had fought at all… which suited Vasiht’h, since he didn’t have the energy for grudges.
But as their session wound up and Vasiht’h administered one last ear-rub to the enthusiastic dog, Tiber said, “I hear you referred someone to the hospital therapy team.”
Because of the time he’d spent unweighing himself to Tiber, Vasiht’h didn’t think anything of saying, “We thought she needed someone with expertise in her situation. We didn’t have it.” Straightening, he said, “She’s a Pelted client, so I can ask… did she go? We didn’t follow up with Healer Tenebra.”
“She went,” Tiber said, eyes unreadable.
“Good,” Vasiht’h said. “I hope it helped.”
“That’s it?” Tiber’s words were reluctant, as if he knew as well as Vasiht’h did that this conversation was… inappropriate was a strong word. What would Jahir have said? Ill-advised? Poorly timed? Vasiht’h smiled a little, trying to imagine.
“That’s it,” he said. “Did you expect us to hang on to someone we didn’t feel we could treat?” Tiber looked away and Vasiht’h sighed, resigned. “Allen. Don’t you know at least me better by now? And you met Jahir… in a towel and a swimsuit, even, which isn’t the least vulnerable of times to confront someone. Do you think he’s capable of the kind of pride you’re accusing us of?”
“I don’t think it’s pride,” Tiber muttered.
“You think it’s lack of experience, and a dangerous confidence in our own methods,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ll grant the lack of experience. And we are confident. Really confident, which means when we run into something we can’t handle, we can admit it to each other and do the right thing.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Tiber said with a grimace. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t professional.”
“It wasn’t, no,” Vasiht’h said. “But we’re all people here, making mistakes, and forgiving each other for them. And, I hope, helping each other through them.”
Tiber made an acquiescent gesture, but he remained visibly flustered. Vasiht’h took pity on him and left before either of them could fumble their way into an actual argument.
“So,” Sehvi said, listening to this story sometime later. “You decided to start seeing the therapist you hated for your problems, and you’re at the point now where you don’t want to bludgeon him even when he gives you amazing openings? Seriously, ariihir?”
“I know,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m sure it doesn’t make sense to anyone else. But it was either keep him as an enemy forever, or make a neighbor out of him. It’s hard to hate people you know well. Since he wasn’t going to reach out to us, I figured I’d take the first step?”
“Brave of you,” she said, her face cushioned on both hands as she watched him set up for dinner through the wallscreen. “But you know sometimes getting to know someone makes you hate them more, right?”
He eyed her over his shoulder.
“Even the humans knew that. ‘Familiarity breeds contempt.’”
Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what that saying is supposed to mean.”
“It’s what it means now.” She grinned. “Seriously. There’s such a thing as knowing people too well. You can learn things about them you don’t like, or that confirm your worst feelings about them…”
“Like their taste in terrible novels?”
Sehvi sniffed. “I don’t know who you could be referring to. The only people I know have excellent taste in novels. Particularly me.”
Vasiht’h thought about it while breaking the lettuce for salad. Did he fear learning something about people that would make him hate them? In all his life, his experience had been the opposite: learning more about people made him feel more compassion for them. He guessed there had to be people out there with beliefs so awful he couldn’t forgive them for holding them, but… he hadn’t run into anyone like that. The Alliance was full of different people and cultures, but even the most alien ones made sense for those people. As long as a Harat-Shar didn’t want him to live like a Harat-Shar, he didn’t really care how the Harat-Shar lived. “I think it’s fine, Sehvi. I’m not afraid of people’s deep, dark secrets.”
“Maybe you haven’t run into enough bad ones yet.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. But I graduated with a psychology degree, ariishir! I’ve read things that would make your fur fall out. I know bad things exist. But they’re rare. And all the other stuff is just… those are irritations, really.”
“If you say so,” she said.
“I do.” He smiled lopsidedly. “We’re all works in progress. If we don’t love each other for that, what have we got?”
She studied him for a long moment, then smiled. “Guess that’s why you’re the therapist and I’m the one that works with dividing cells that don’t talk.”
“You talk with prospective mothers and fathers!”
“Who make me wish they couldn’t talk.”
Vasiht’h laughed. “You’re awful, Sehvi.”
“You see? I told you people are full of things you don’t want to know!”
“I still love you though,” Vasiht’h said, serenely. “So I win.”
Her smile softened. “We both do.”
Vasiht’h brought down the bowl to give them both time to savor that before finishing, “You could never let me have the last word, could you.”
“Of course not,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want you to get used to winning when we all know the universe is unfair. Think of it as a life lesson.”
He sighed and chuckled. “Isn’t everything.”
Chapter 19
The longer Lennea remained acting principal, the less she slept for them. Most of the time she didn’t even try; she would have tea and a cookie and talk about the week’s tribulations. But trying she would often fail, and they would return fifteen minutes into the appointment to find her under the covers with only the top of her face peeping out, eyes wide open.
“It’s no use,” she told them one day with a sigh. “Every time I try to lie down, I start twitching. All the things I’ve left undone. All the things I don’t know how to resolve. All the things coming next week that I know are coming and are just awful and that I don’t want to deal with. They’re all right there and I’m afraid to close my eyes. Even with the two of you guarding my sleep.” She looked at them mournfully. “I’m so tired.”
“We could brew you a specific?” Jahir said gently. “It might help you pass the threshold.”
“Let’s try that next time,” she said. “For now, could I just… stay here? Under the covers? Can we talk from here?”
“Of course we can,” Vasiht’h said. /Maybe we should buy a few stuffed toys./
/Those are not considered juvenile?/
/Depends on the person,/ Vasiht’h said. /An
d she sure looks like she could use one./
/She does at that,/ Jahir said, a little sadly. /This work is not suited to her, in any way. I fail to understand how this school board does not perceive it… that they have engaged a gentle spirit better suited to teaching children for a position that needs a crusading warrior./
/Like Ametia,/ Vasiht’h agreed. /Ametia would love this job./
Jahir froze as he reached for his cup of tea, a hesitation he hoped Lennea wouldn’t notice.
/No,/ Vasiht’h murmured with a frown. /That can’t possibly be the right thing to do again. That would be asking too much. We fixed Pieter’s problem entirely by sending him to a new job. We can’t fix Lennea’s too by getting her out of her current one./
/The situations are not directly analogous,/ Jahir said.
/They’re similar enough!/
/Mayhap,/ Jahir said. And added, /But negative stress can be created by our external situations. If the external situation can be ameliorated…?/
/We’re not career counselors!/
That made Jahir smile and he hid it by ducking his head and attending to his tea. /We are a fresh perspective on the lives of our clients. When we see things that they might not, is it not our obligation to speak?/
Vasiht’h eyed him.
“Are there any cookies, maybe?” Lennea said into their internal monologue, oblivious. “Or, I would get crumbs on your sofa. I guess I should sit up?”
“We clean the couch every day,” Vasiht’h said. “But you should definitely sit up.”
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