This fic is dedicated to Nezumi. ^_^ Wufei’s haiku was written by Mev. Thanx Mev! ^_^ I own none of these characters. Please don’t sue. All of the poems except Wufei’s were written by me. I don’t claim to be a poet in the least. Heero’s was written while listening too Metalica’s "Disposable Heros." I don’t own that either. Please, send feedback! ^_^ I neeeeed it!!! "Therapy is Our Friend" Session 3 Heero took a seat, calmly, upon entering the little room with his appointed therapist, Dr. Carter. The room was decorated in a pale pastel flower theme with a print of a Monet over each of the chairs. Dr. Carter set in a large chair that matched the floral print of the two on Heero’s side of the room. The door was right next to Heero’s chair, which he found rather disturbing because it made it easy for someone to get the drop on him. Dr. Carter noted that Heero sat down and didn’t fidget, move, or hardly breath. He wondered if that could be natural for a boy of Heero’s age. Heero’s face remained impassive. Dr. Carter’s eyes wondered down to the oversized turtleneck that Heero was wearing that covered a large portion of Heero’s hands. Heero clenched his teeth. "So Heero, tell me a bit about yourself." Heero inhaled slightly and then began to talk in a monotone. "I was born on L1, I am 15 years old, and I attend Swissdale High School." "Is that all? Do you have any complaints about school?" "I never complain." "So, there is nothing bothering you?" Heero didn’t know how to answer that. Of course there was something bothering him. A certain braided baka never left his thoughts, but Heero was always taught that knowledge is power, and Heero didn’t want to give her any power. After a short pause, Heero answered her. "No." "You don’t sound so sure about that, Heero." Heero glared at her. #Dammit!# "I’m sure." "Do you have your poetry assignment?" "Hai." "Well please, share it with me." Heero pulled out a neatly, perfectly, pressed piece of paper, stood up as if giving a speech, and began to read in monotone. "Bodies fill the fields I see, Every hero dead, No one to console them now, No one to pretend. Running blind through darkest field, Bred to kill them all. No one showing sympathy, No one to catch them as they fall." Heero sits back down. Dr. Carter just looks at him, eyes wide. ** Duo bounced hyperly into the small room, behind his therapist, Dr. Morough. Dr. Morough signaled for Duo to take a seat, so he did. Duo glared at the picture across from him of two young boys playing happily. Dr. Morough took note of this. Duo looked at the Dr. and grinned manically. "So.." "So Doc, tell me a bit about yourself!" *grin* "Well Duo, I was born here..." "Really, right here?! On the desk?!" Dr. Morough did not look amused. "That wasn’t what I meant." "Oh... Well then... Go on... go on." "I have a degree at Yale." "Impressive." "Duo, why don’t you tell *me* a bit about *yourself*?" "Well... let me see... I like long walks on the beach, pinacoladas, and getting caught in the rain." *grin* "I see... Did you do your poetry assignment?" Duo pulls out a wadded piece of paper and unwads it. It has a piece of chewing gum stuck to it and Duo pulls it off and sticks it back in his pocket. He then begins to read dramatically, using his whole body and over-stretching the words. "This poem is entitled "Fluffy, the Cheeze-Doodly-Funky Aardvark-Eating Pig Will Jump Through the Hoop of Inflamed Nasal Hairs." Eh hem... I like pie. Pie is good. Pi r squared. No, cornbread are squared. Pi r round. No, cobbler is rectangular. Pie is round. Pie is never very scary. Fly in the sky with pie. Use your pie to kill Mariah Carey. Pie loves you. Do you like pie?" Duo then begins to snap his fingers and bow. "Thank you! Thank you! You are a great audience. I’ll be here all week." The doctor gave him a very strange look. "What?" Duo feigned innocence. *** Trowa stoicly followed his therapist, Dr. Spock, into the small room. The room was decorated in a creme motif with pictures of clowns. Something about it was... disturbing. "Have a seat, Trowa, and make yourself comfortable." Trowa sat down obediently. "Tell me a bit about yourself, Trowa." "What would you like to know. My name is Trowa Barton. I am 16 years old. I like animals." "Do you like it here?" "It is here." "What does that mean, Trowa?" "It simply means that I don’t really care one way or another because it is here, and I am here." "Hmm... Trowa, tell me, are you this passive about everything?" "Should I be?" The doctor began to get frustrated. "Trowa, do you have your poetry assignment?" "Yes sir." "Please, share it with me." "Very well." Trowa stood up and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. He began to read it. "I saw him... Walking down the hallway... He waved... I waved... We walked on." Dr. Spock looked at Trowa. "Who is "he"?" "Does it matter? "He" is everyone." **** Quatre followed his young female therapist, Dr. Izak into the cheerful little room that somewhat resembled a Victorian breakfast nook. Quatre smiled up at her warmly as he took a seat. "How are you today, Quatre?" "I feel quite well. Thanks for asking. How are you?" "My, what a polite young man you are. I am doing quite well as well. Tell me a bit about yourself, Quatre." "Well, I was born on colony L4, and I have 28 sisters. My family, the Winners, are very peace loving pacifists. I had a nice childhood there and lots of happy memories." "Tell me Quatre, does anything ever bother you or get to you?" "Sometimes, things make me feel sad, but then I look at a flower or a beautiful sunset, and I feel better. The world around us is so beautiful. It is sad that no one notices." "What kinds of things make you sad, Quatre?" "War and hate make me sad." "I think war and hate make everyone sad, Quatre. Did you bring your poetry assignment?" "Yes, Mam. Would you like me to read it to you?" "Yes, that would be nice." Quatre takes out his notebook and pulls out a piece of paper, being careful *not* to open his notebook. The doctor takes note of this. "I watch you from afar, my sweet dark stranger who isn't so strange. I wish you would let me get close. Yet, you brush me off with such cold resolve and probably always will. Still, my heart feels warm for you and awaits you attentions turned to me... for even but a second. I love you... peace." "That was beautiful, Quatre. Who was it about, or was it about peace?" Quatre smiles warmly. "You’ll just have to decide for yourself." ***** Wufei angrily followed his female therapist, Dr. Zummer, into the small pastel pink room. He angrily plopped down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is there something wrong, Wufei?" "You’re a woman!" "Well, the last time I checked..." "That isn’t funny, onna." "Do you dislike women, Wufei?" "They are weak." "What if I was to introduce you to a female boxer? Would you call her weak?" "All women are weak, and it is an injustice that I have been given one to psychologically evaluate me." "You sound like a very intelligent young man, despite your prejudices, Wufei. Tell me a bit about yourself." "Why should I, onna?" "Well... It would certainly help move things along. The more you cooperate, the less time you shall have to spend here with me." "Fine onna. I was born on L5. I am a martial artist, but my first goal is the acquisition of knowledge. Lack of intelligence seems to be a huge weakness in most. I prefer to study and learn to anything else." "I see." "What do you mean by that, Onna?" "I mean that I understand." "I don’t see how *you* could possibly understand anything about me." "Did you do your poetry assignment, Wufei?" "Of course, onna. It is a haiku. This is injustice. You are an annoying onna. Get me out of here. There, happy?" ". . . . ." ===== laters, plude