2019-10-19 - Can I smoke?

For whatever agreed upon time, it is that time. The office is empty other than Vivian, as it usually is. Careful appointment setting allows for no chance of overlap between patients. Today finds Vivian sitting in the office behind her desk, sporting a dark grey wool dress and a black velvet jacket over it instead of her typical suits. There is classical music that is playing, but it's low enough that it can't be heard until closer to the back desk.

Alexander is accompanying Nasir, who is hopefully something approaching sober, since he was driving. The investigator is dressed in his usual shabby fashion: a dark green sweater with the bulge of a bandage at his right shoulder, old and worn jeans, scuffed workboots. His hair is messy; he's been running a hand through it, as if trying to figure out why he's even here, but other than that, he seems like he's just going with the flow. Seeing Vivian, he offers a brief, and somewhat apologetic, smile. "Dr. Glass."

Nasir was certainly sober, but no less nervous. He had been running through packets of cigarettes on their way there like he was indulging his life long dream of breaking a record on getting lung cancer. The ashtray of his truck - because of course he had one between the front sits - was quite literally packed with a not so easily measured amount of butts. Finally, as they come parking out front, before they make it off the vehicle Nasir prompts a sudden question out; "So, how was your trip to Seattle?" and in they went. The question wasn't the kind that merited answer- he was just nervous within the chit chat.

Nasir dressed equally lazy; a flannel dark red sweater torn by the lower front facing, cuffs rolled up to the elbows. Not jeans, but chinos a few fingers shy of the ankles and brown moccasins with socks so short they were barely seen reaching said ankles. As far as they were concerned, Alexander had just greeted Vivian for the two of them as he just stood there, looking at her. Tired already.

"Mister Clayton." Vivian replies with a quick smile for him before she gets to her feet, pushing to her feet, "If you'd like to make yourselves comfortable."

Comfortable. On the couch, in the chairs, it doesn't actually seem to matter to Vivian which place they choose to sit, a hand reaching for a yellow legal pad, and a clickie-pen, "I've water or coffee if either of you wish to have something to drink, otherwise..." Otherwise they can get right to it. This is clearly their show, or rather Nasir's show, and she seems particularly willing to allow him to guide the ship and how fast they move through things.

Alexander is the sort who doesn't recognize rhetorical questions, or questions not meant to be answered, very easily. So he says, "It was good. Very good, actually. Of course, I was attacked by a headless horseman shortly on coming back, but that's just this town for you." It's all deadpan as he leads the way inside. He bobs his head in a quick, jerky sort of nod to Vivian, then glances at Nasir. "It'll be okay," he tells the man, awkwardly. Then slouches his way to his usual chair and sits down in a slump. He watches both of the other two with his flat, dark gaze.

The mistake was to make Nasir the Skippy, for the moment he realized everything would go under his direction; the moment he sat, re-assured indeed by Alexander's awkwardness and two pairs of eyes lingered on him expectantly, he only but looked back, lost at first. His torso leaned deep into the brown couch, letting not an inch of him not be entirely malleable against the fabric, and it was only after that he made to ask a casual, but no less important question after clearing his throat, despite already having their attention; "Can we smoke here?" with an effort reach into his saggy pocket - pocket so profusely used that day half of it was sticking out its hole with its inner white patch - he produced a cigarette packet branded 'Weyland', so torn and crushed one had to wonder how any of the cigarettes within were even smokeable.

Can they? Vivian tilts her head a fraction at the question before she moves towards the other chair, settling into it before crossing her legs, the notebook settled on her lap before she clicks the pen and makes a notation. "You can if you'd like." There is an absent gesture towards one of the side tables, and it appears to be a candy dish, a crystal one. "Just dump the candies out, I can wash the dish out when you're done."

She then folds her hands over the notebook, glancing briefly towards Alexander, then back to Nasir, "What do you feel is the reason you are here today?"

"Smoking inside buildings is technically illegal," Alexander puts in, looking down at his hands. But when Vivian is cool with it, he just shrugs, and gives a little sidelong look like 'go for it, dude'. Vivian's question draws his curiosity, though, and he lifts his eyes to stare at Nasir. Hey, you ask the creepy nosy guy to come along on your private therapy session, and you get the creepy nosy guy staring at you.

And strangely, it was that creepy nosy guy who inflicted just about enough familiarity in Nasir to forge on to the question, naturally delayed by his process of emptying out the candy tray on the table and bringing it closer to himself, in preparation to dumping the ashes. What Nasir was visibly strained with, was Vivian's annotations. What made his neck stiff and movements uncomfortably dogmatic was her stoic, attentive poise; her professionalism, a contrast so strong to Nasir's own demeanor it chafed him more than just on his hindquarters. Zippo out, flint wheel snapped a couple of times, a flame rose and he lit that incredibly crooked and flattened cigarette hanging from his lips.

He took a necessary long, easing drag exuded slowly out his nostrils next, replying to them while his visage was technically obscured beneath the grey mist. "I lost a bet or some shit doc', I don't know," he let the answer linger in the air some, finding it somewhat unfitting a response, and continued with a more sardonic; a more playful throw, "Saw Alexander here, thought he looked like shit, figured didn't want to end like him. So here we are."

"Technically, but I'm going to guess everyone here will be understanding of the need." Vivian glances at Alexander, her shoulder lifting upwards in the faintest of shrugs before she absently clicks the end of her pen, attention shifting back towards Nasir, watching him as he goes through the motions. Whatever dislike she might, or might not, have for the actual smoking manages to remain unexposed on her face as she watches. Very professional, really.

At the explanation she nods, "I see." She makes another note on her notepad, then rests her elbow on the arm of her chair, "And what makes you think that you'd end up like Mister Clayton in the first place?" She rests her hand flat on the notebook, taking a breath before sighing, "I'll be honest, Mister Ibn Khairan, I doubt that your not wanting to end up like Mister Clayton is really the reason you're here. I can continue to make guesses, listen if you want to talk, or we can even sit here in silence. I get paid either way. But if you truly do wish to move on with things, in a more positive manner, my advice would be to address it all head on. But.." She indicates Nasir, "We're on your dime, as it were."

There's a noise from Alexander. It might even be a laugh, or something that might have become a laugh if he hadn't strangled it in its metaphorical crib, at the potshot from Nasir. "Deflection," he tells Nasir, blandly. A tilt of his head in agreement with Vivian; he looks like he might want to say more, but restrains himself to let the other man answer, or not, as he chooses.

Vivian's words may as well have been claw-clamps, and the way she went about finishing them his way a nice gripping around Nasir's throat that made him even more suffocated by it all. He had a way to look rigid, just as his words were; a pronunciation of veins, made easy by his undernourished state; an ineslatic tensing of his brows. He looked away from the woman, leaning forward and down both to tap the end of his cigarette so brittle half of it entirely fell into the tray alongside the ash. "Well," he started, bringing the maimed smoke back between his subtly puckered lips.

"I appreciate you're not being dishonest about not giving a shit, and letting us know this is all about money," his claim wasn't to her, even if speaking directly about her; it was for Alexander, with the kind of look that screamed I told you so with an even deeper frown to carry it.

Eventually, Nasir turned. Bodily, not just his head- he looked at Vivian fully, and wouldn't speak until finishing his cigarette which he lazily flicked right on that tray. "So seeing that this is all about money, let me give you the ticket. I'm an addict, doc'. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs. It's my thing. It's how I run the business in my head, and I'm seeing a girl now; kind of seeing a girl now, and I'd appreciate if my shit doesn't pile up to her world of shit already. How're you going to fix me with those dinosaurs you're writing on your notepad?"

When Nasir turns the words back on her there is a smile, and she glances over at Alexander at that, something about the response being both amusing and promising, at least that is what her expression seems to say for an all of five seconds. Then her attention settles back on Nasir, thumb of her hand absently sliding over the back of her pen, but she does not click it. Yet. No notes are written, instead she watches Nasir.

"Two potential methods of fixing you." Vivian replies after a moment, "We can walk through the ever popular twelve step programs, or those like it, dry out, find a mantra to soothe away the needs, pat you on the head when you relapse and tell you that you can get right back up and start over. Which is a fine method, works for some people, depending on the root...the why of that addiction." Which, evidently, brings her around to the second method, "Or we can figure out why you use, and address it with a multi-prong approach, address the underlying cause, practice sobriety as best as possible, depending on what you use we can even prescribe something. My preference is towards number two, it tends to be more effective because you're addressing the cause, the compulsions, as well as the use itself. Twelve step programs are fine as a secondary support network, but I'm not a fan of them as the only method."

Alexander's lips twitch at Nasir's look. "Do you want someone who's too invested in being your friend to call you on your massive piles of shit, or you want someone who's trained and paid to do the work?" It's blunt, but not particularly hostile, and he quiets when Vivian speaks, listening to the options she lays out, then turning his attention back to Nasir.

It was all taken in ponderous silence; in excessively solemn, almost taciturn looks. His brows furrowed so much the squint of his eyes dwindled away to two mere cuts of Amber-like coloration, and he made to focus them on the table itself, and the little mound of ash he had recently tucked there with half a cigarette sticking out of it. While still working through Vivian's laid out possibilities, he straightened his torso and brought forth each of his hard, leathery hands; palms littered in white, seemingly surrounding little scars from that panoptic view of them. He mimicked balance scales of sorts, and replied only as his right hand seemingly 'tilted' the scales with Vivian's archetypal possibilities while engaging Alexander; "How about a fifty fifty man? You know- how about meeting it half-way?"

Snarky responses aside, he finally brought a closed fist up to his face to drive a knuckle through his brows, one which was cut through and made slightly glabrous by a poorly healed scar. "Alright," he'd motion out towards her with a finger, finally resting his palms in an overlap on his left knee; "Click that pen shit you've got going on, and get writing. I'm going to need some oxy. Goodest shit you've got- I'm talking Heisenberg levels shit. Everytime I get the shakes? I want to know I'm doing the Sprite, alright doc'? Also no patches. No nicotine patches- write that down too. If you've got a supplement for meth, fuck yeah we getting that too."

When he asks for oxy the look that Vivian gives Nasir is all kinds of no. But that doesn't change the fact she clicks her pen and begins to write things down, "Are you detoxed currently, or do you still have something in your system?" She doesn't look up from what she's writing as she asks the question, however. "Beyond meth and opiates, alcohol and tobacco....what is there?" She glances up at that point, her pen hovering above the sheet of paper. "I'll write a scrip for naltrexone, that'll help with the opiates and the alcohol, and if patches are off for the tobacco, we can try one oral medication."

As for the meth, she has to think about that one, tapping at the notebook, "Depending on your level of use, and if you haven't detoxed yet, for the meth you might need to get admitted to an inpatient facility. There aren't any medications that'll help in that regard, so for that...therapy. Cognitive-Behavior therapy is going to be your best bet, which will also help with all the rest."

Alexander looks vaguely relieved when Vivian pushes back on the oxy, and he gives Nasir a look that says, 'really, man?' at the request. "If you need to be locked up for a bit during detox, and don't want to go to a facility, I can probably manage it. I've done it before," he says, with a shrug. "And if you want to talk about things with the doctor, I can go wait outside."

There was no shock or surprise on Nasir's expression as he was soundly refuted. No complaint from his lips, too- even if they were ajar at the time, and looked just about to put up a fight and argumentative display. One brief look towards Alexander, however, and he reasoned against it. Ah, yes, pride; pride here, there, then, on his face, and risk of seeing it sequestered. So he bobbed his head once for Vivian, to an unspecified what, and clicked his fingers thrice in quick succession before pointing at Alexander with that same hand; that same right hand. "You-you-you, you; you're staying here, right here, there," he replied Alexander, more than just instructively. Nasir hadn't brought Alexander there alone for moral support, no- he was much more than that.

"Alright doc', here's the thing, I don't know what the fuck 'detox' means. But I can tell you what I use, sure? Krokodil. Plugged myself last night, I think? Twice. Morning, then afternoon-- some benzos to wash it down and then a blotter of DOB to go to sleep. Woke up, and abstained from more. Haven't purchased, I mean- I'm not high right now, if that's what you're wondering? I've been trying to run dry until Hank's kid calls, I'm supposed to have an interview. It's getting fucking hard though."

There is a quick glance at Alexander, then Nasir, then back. Noting, perhaps, Nasir's insistence on Alexander staying as she nods, writing things down once more, "You do realize that continued use of desomorphine can cause your flesh to rot, correct?" She doesn't even look up from what she's writing once more. "If you care to see pictures or have a further discussion about what continued use will do to you, in a physical sense, we can have that talk."

Vivian makes another note, nodding faintly, "Detox. Quite simply to detoxify, meaning you no longer have anything in your system. For instance Narcan inhibits the receptors, and can help reverse overdoses, but are useless for prevention. Some medications for alcohol will make you physically ill if there is any in your system, and other medications we can start now." She gets to her feet, moving towards the desk, "I'll write you something for naltrexone and bupropion, take them as directed. If you need to cleanse your system..." she tilts her head in Alexander's direction, "Or I can have a bed for you at an inpatient facility near by. We'll set you up for weekly appointments starting out, and as things progress we can shift to bi-weekly."

Alexander does not go 'holy shit' at the litany of Nasir's evening pick-me-ups, although his fingers start tapping out a quick, erratic rhythm on the arm of the chair with the effort of holding it in. He keeps his voice neutral as he says, "She'll probably give you a shot," regarding the interview, "as long as you're clear that you're trying to kick a good portion of this shit."

And now, now it felt like scolding. He had seen the pictures, the shots; he had seen the addicts six months deeper in from where he was, and knew them to be dead by now. He knew the canvas to be once white, and now, how here, stroke by stroke as time passed, turned even blacker. Former military rigidness hid some of Nasir's weaknesses, but not many- he may be undernourished, but there was some bulk. A mirage of what strength once was, but not even that lie could hide how he pulled the right sleeve shirt's sleeve further up and past the elbow, revealing the total collapse of two black, blotched purple veins cutting through his bicep, appearing no different than a corruption of sorts, as if a gangrenous virus that spread in a blackened grip of clogged blood.

"I know about the pictures doc," he re-assured, sounding not-so-sure himself. A sudden itch seized his windpipe and he quickly moved his right hand to rake it away, finding it futile, so he scratched some more.

"That's why I'm here, right? I'm trying to kick it off. I'm going through the channels. Besides, with how the money situation's looking after I pay for all of this I'm probably going to go cold turkey even against my own fucking will," looking from Alexander was a hard deed, to have to see Vivian again; to see that cold, professional embodiment of all the drugs he wasn't going to get any more. She was a villain, he reasoned then- the wedge between him and artificial bliss. It gave him quite the scowl. "Write me a prescription, and hopefully I don't end up puking in Alexander's toilet again."

"You will."

Vivian doesn't bother lying about it, because then where will they all be? Instead she's honest, the notebook dropped onto her desk as she settles in the chair behind it, reaching into a drawer to pull out the notepad. Good old fashioned paper prescriptions, no electronically sent ones. The pen gets clicked a few times as she considers something, then she starts to quickly write out the prescriptions, "I'd suggest contacting this Hank's kid and asking for an interview to be set up in two weeks, if you can wait that long for it. That'll give you time get get steady on your feet. Also two more sessions so that we can begin to pin point situations that set you up for use, and how to avoid them."

Alexander's gaze drops to study the collapsed veins. There's no repulsion there, just a reptilian sort of interest, like he's adding another line to whatever internal file he's building on the man in the other chair. There is a soft huff, a mix of amusement and exasperation, at Nasir's comment about puking in the toilet, and Vivian's calm rejoinder. Other than that, though, he's quiet; just watching, and listening, like he's the one being paid to be here and record this with his eyes.

There was want there, to be apologetic when his gaze met Alexander's at the news, but in truth; in reality, it was a purely grim, almost self-deprecating kind of amusement. That's where his life was going, he supposed and laid a palm across his navel to pat the ol' foodpot away in apology to nausea to come. The price to pay, for borrowed happiness; "Her name's Lilith. Hank's kid, only kid. Works the pawnshop, I don't know her that well, Alexander could probably tell you more about them is my guess," his reasoning was brief and casual, giving little thought to the explanation with a shrug to follow.

"Also, doc', no fucking way. I need the money, really- I'm two months back on my rent, I need gas money, food money, I've got this stray cat around my house that keeps showing up to eat the rats trying to get at my empty fridge so soon I'm going to need cat money. I need to get this job, so whatever it is you give me can't take me out of the game for two fucking weeks. Not an option."

Without any further response the prescriptions are torn off the pad, and the pad is tucked back into the drawer before Vivian gets herself back to her feet, the pen held in one hand, thumb on the end of it like she might start clicking it again. But no, she doesn't, instead she just holds the slips of paper out towards Nasir, "Go get them filled, and start taking them. Avoid your dealers, avoid parties, avoid any situation where you know there will be drugs, and avoid any situation where you just think there will be."

There is a look briefly shot towards Alexander, then she adds, "And be here at the same time next week."

"I can probably keep him upright and functional enough for some sort of work," Alexander says, tonelessly. He glances to Nasir. "If you consent, I can counter some of the physiological symptoms of withdrawal, and even blunt or...alter some of the psychological cravings. You won't like it. It won't be fun. And it won't stop you if you make a choice to fuck off and go get high. But I can help." He looks back at Vivian, studying the woman with dark eyes when Hank's kid is identified. He meets the look with a sigh, and a little shrug.

Nasir's fingers weren't made for things as delicate as paper, so the moment she indeed offers it over and it falls into the vile hold of his grip, the paper immediately becomes slightly wrinkled and crunched. He doesn't seem to mind, however- he also doesn't notice Alexander's subtle alarm at the mention of Lilith's name. All he focuses on is reading the paper, and getting a shallow understanding of his prescription in those three skimmed seconds before looking up, at Vivian and Alexander respectively; "He's talking about some magical bullshit doc', don't worry about him, he's insane," his re-assurance was entirely amused, all at Alexander's expense- he presumed Vivian was glimmerless, and didn't hesitate to turn it on Alexander's surely mental capacity.

"That's something I wanted to talk to you about, Alexander- the reason I dragged you along to begin with. I guess.. It's not something "Miss Glass" needs to hear, though."

"If you've a talent for inducing sleep, I suggest using it at night as well." Vivian points out to Alexander when he starts talking about helping out with some of the physiological and psychological problems on the horizon. "That combined with the medication should propel this rather quickly down the path, and once the therapy begins in earnest we can hopefully keep him from relapsing."

Evidently if Nasir is involving Alexander in all this he is going to become part of the treatment of it all. Vivian moves back to her seat, retaking it and crossing her legs before she offers Nasir a faint smile, and no comment on Alexander's sanity or not. "I'm fairly sure that the reason you felt compelled to include a third party in your therapy is something that I really should hear. You can feel free to talk about it. What is said in here is confidential, after all."

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Dr. Glass is well aware of my insanity, the nature of Gray Harbor, and the 'magical bullshit', Nasir." He notably doesn't deny that he's crazy. He reaches up and scratches at the skin along his jawline, and frowns at the other man. "I admit, I'm curious why I'm here, myself."

A clearing of the throat, a brief look of shock at Alexander's reiteration, and soon Nasir was standing up from the couch. Not in a way he denoted a desire to leave, no; he did so under the acceptance that it was his turn to speak, and more importantly, address Alexander on a matter still loose. "I haven't been completely honest to you, Alexander," the admittance was accompanied by a necessary scratch to his nostrils with a knuckle. "I didn't just randomly ran over your mailbox. I was trying to find your house, the mailbox part I couldn't help, I knew you lived in Elm-- just not where, and, well, fate aligned for one turbulent meeting," he smiled a cynical smile then, casting a side-long glance towards Vivian in a brief display of shamed, penned brows before continuing back to Alexander;"I spoke to a friend not too long ago- a Minerva, if you didn't know her. And she directed me to two names."

A moment of silence; a moment's chance to let it sink in, before he motioned gently towards Alex. "You were the second option, and in a way; in a way just like Doctor Glass here, I need your help. About the crazy, magical bullshit-- and; and, to that, I thought, you could even help me where my mind alone can't. Because you like to help people, don't you, Alexander? Well, I need help. And this is me asking for it, finally, here, in front of you. To you. I need your help."

There is no judgment about driving into people's mailboxes. Although, there is a brief moment of thoughtfulness about it, but otherwise Vivian simply remains silent, listening now.

"All...right," Alexander says, his voice slow and wary when Nasir confesses that he hasn't been honest. The investigator visibly tenses when Nasir mentions that he was looking for him, but aside from a brief glance towards Vivian, he doesn't move or interrupt. Just listens - although there's a frown when Nasir says that he likes to help people. Like it's not something he particularly enjoys having said aloud. He might even want to argue with it, but after a moment of struggle, he doesn't. Instead, he says, "What is it you need my help with, Nasir?"

Slowly, Nasir began inching towards Alexander. He lifted his right hand, jabbing the equally right flank of his forehead with his index finger over and over again, almost as if he was trying to jackhammer into his head with the digit alone. His torso lowered down to such level that he appeared about to crash into the man in question, but stopped shy some inches from truly reaching in, leaving little distance between their faces as to convey this one message; this cardinal, crucial fact; "I am not in control."

There is a quick look towards Alexander, then another one towards Nasir. It wasn't her help in this that Nasir was wanting, but Vivian almost opens her mouth, only to close it quickly right after.

From the look he directs her way, it may not be Nasir who requests the good doctor's aid in this. Alexander has a bubble. A nice personal bubble that he clearly doesn't like being violated by people he doesn't know well, and as Nasir leans in, he goes rigid, restraining himself from reacting. Still. Curiosity flickers in his eyes, competing with the incipient panic - and wins, in the end. "Okay." No disbelief there. Just interest. "Who is? Or what?"

Nasir looked perplexed at his reply, perhaps assuming it was obvious. He straightened himself again, tugging at the collar of his sweater in brief discomfort before continuing a reply; "Well, the drugs. The nightmares. The anxiety. The memories-- you can block those out, right? That's something you can do. I hope, at least," at their fabled mention, Nasir forced yet another cigarette out the packet in his backpocket, flattened just like the last, and brought it to his mouth with no little hurry as he worked the zippo's dingy flint wheel, giving it flame to puff the front. "It's not something I can do. This all may as well just be wish-washy bullshit without your help, as any other time I'd walk out and wipe my ass with this prescription, hit up my boy Jimmy, and get another hit," he explained, quite casually; "No offense, doc'. That's what most addicts to."

"Thus behavior therapy, and in patient facilities." Vivian points out, not at all shocked by Nasir's admissions. "But if you're using to shut out..." She gestures towards the air, indicating what Nasir was saying, "Those are issues that we can address." She has no idea what Alexander can do, so doesn't even presume to comment about those.

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "No," he says, simply.

After a moment, when he starts to breathe again, he says, "I can't alter your memories, Nasir. Not 'won't', although I sure as hell would have some objections on that level, but can't. I'm an empath. Emotions, I can read, and I can fuck with, but it doesn't last for very long. I can listen, I can provide poor advice about coping, and I can keep you - probably - from dying from withdrawal symptoms. I've got enough healing in me to blunt some physiological reactions to anxiety, in the moment, but erasing or changing your past?" He shakes his head. "Can't do it. Sorry."

"Bullshit,"

He inhaled a sharp intake of air through his nostrils, sweeping a knuckle out across them after. A clearing of throat, a re-straightening of his shoulders and a hard affixing of his spine, almost as if Alexander's revelation had been entirely refused out his body in more ways than just mentally, but physically too. "It's-- the-, I, see," he slurs, and stammers; and takes yet another deep, reversing breath as if to bring them thirty seconds back into the conversation, prior to his denial; "It's the same shit, with the head. Fuck with emotions, fuck with memories, do the same fucking thing, stop fucking around with me- get rid of the thoughts. Get rid of the thoughts, Alexander; get rid of the thoughts," Nasir fetched his cigarette to free it from his mouth, using it to point at Alexander accusingly and instructively with the end of it. "Just do the same fucking thing."

"If Mister Clayton says that he cannot....I would believe him." Vivian offers in what is most likely meant to be a helpful manner, but it is probably to very last thing that Nasir is wanting to hear right at this moment. She gives a quick look towards Alexander, then turns her eyes back towards Nasir, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Alexander puts his hands on the arms of the chair and pushes himself to his feet. "It's not the same fucking thing," he says, without much in the way of compromise. "I can't read your thoughts. Unless you have the ability to project them to me, I don't get words. I get feelings. If a memory is strongly bound up in an emotion you're experiencing in the moment, I might get glimpses of it. I can impose emotions, and because brains don't like cognitive dissonance, you might alter your thinking to incorporate that feeling into that memory. I can cause hallucinations. But I cannot change your memories, Nasir. I can't get rid of your thoughts. Only you can do that, and you'll probably need help. And help, I'm willing to provide. Dr. Glass is willing to provide. But there's no," he makes a sound of frustration, "magic fix for what's in your head. Or my head. Or anybody's head. Just shit we gotta work through and figure out how to live with."

That cigarette caught between the index and middle finger of his right hand comes curling inwards into his fist, soon as Alexander's clarification finds its conclusion. Still lit, still burning, and still smoking; that smoke ebbed through his knuckles as he crunched the spliff in that grinding, squeezing hold that spilled little crumbs of ash from the base of his hand. His eyes closed, his head turned away and his pronounced jawline squeezed a bit so hard there was a subtle shake to his entire lower visage.

It had all been fantasy, up to that moment; the moment Alexander's escape chute came to a close. The burden of that paper he had left on the couch; the prescriptions, the hard reality, crashed like the piano that it was on his head, then. Just shit we gotta work through, and that echoed in his head like a blaring alarm that already felt drowningly hard. Some more breathing, some more silent acceptance, and he staggered back from the standing man as if a sign that he himself should sit;

And he did. Nasir plopped back down on his couch in defeat, staring at the floor with dejected eyes that soon opened again. "Alright. Fucking therapy."

Vivian continues to wait this one out, allowing Alexander to explain what he can, or can't do. His expertise with regards to the 'magic bullshit' far outstripping her own, and so she just waits. There is a briefly pained look when ash fall from the cigarette, her eyes flicking towards the floor. But no comment.

"Therapy." She agrees when Nasir sits back down. "We'll work through things, I promise you....but it's not going to be easy, and it won't be quick. I don't see much point in lying about it..."

"Fucking therapy," Alexander agrees, with a touch of sympathy. It's not like he was sweetness and light to Vivian the first few sessions, either. He slowly moves to sit down in his seat again, keeping most of his attention warily on Nasir. There's a skip of his gaze towards Vivian when she speaks, then back to Nasir. "So. Are you in? I mean. Really, actually in." Because he also knows what most addicts do, and because he's curious.

Nasir hadn't stopped brushing his palm inwards into itself ever since he sat, fingers treading against the ill-gotten marking brought forth by the scorch of the cigarette, trying to ease the pain away slowly while in thought. Even after Vivian's promise and Alexander's question, he didn't look their way. His place was the floor, right where his mind was, down and deep in the gutter of things. Where, in a way, he felt he belonged. His tongue savoured the foul taste of hardship across his upper row of teeth and his shoulders loosened, sagging him even further into the confounding feeling of defeat that heralded his response to Alexander. "I am. Not for any girl, or any person, but for me. I am," then why did it feel like loss? Like something he'd come to regret? Already he missed the drugs.

Already he flexed his fingers in claw-like manner, attentively distressed.

"Good...doing it for anyone but yourself is already starting down a path of failure." Vivian, at least, seems to be satisfied with the answer that Nasir is on board, and on board with himself and no one else. She gets to her feet again, moving back to the desk, but this time to pick up a business card, scrawling out a number on it before she moves back to Nasir, "Just in case you lost it last time." She glances towards Alexander, giving him a questioning look, making sure that he's alright with the way things are going.

"All right," Alexander says, accepting that with neither a great deal of enthusiasm or notable skepticism. He gives Vivian a look, and a shrug at that question in her eyes. He's not fleeing, so that must mean he's okay with it. He gives Nasir a thoughtful once over. "How secure is your trailer? Any place there we can lock you up as needed?"

The veteran sighed in almost disbelief at Alexander's question, the release of air done with a brief glance to the ceiling, speaking to it - yet replying to Alexander - breathlessly; "It's a trailer man," and with that, he reached out, taking the card from Vivian once it was passed over. He dipped his head in subtle thanking and creased his brows with wrinkles, pondering still. Yes, he lost her number indeed. And he'd probably lose this one as well, so soon he pulled out his incredibly smashed-up phone to go through the puzzle of cracks and gashes on the glass to input her number, and realize the two texts caught on the screen. He replied to them with three simple letters and soon cataloged Vivian's number as; "Miss Glass" with a cigarette and revolver emoji next to it for a debonair feel.

Finally, with spirits somewhat risen after whatever he read from the phone, he hid it away in his pocket and looked up, again, at Alexander; "It's full of holes, and the walls are basically vinyl. Bad place for locking anyone up," defeat, there- he knew what came next, and he looked at Vivian pre-emptively with an answer. "You're not putting me in with the crazy people in an institution. I'll tell you the same thing I told that fat fuck back in Jordan; I'm not insane. Drugs or not."

"Inpatient facility for addiction isn't the same as an institution for the mentally disturbed." Vivian points out as she retakes her seat once more, folding her hands together and setting them in her lap. She then glances at Alexander, "If he's going to work for Miss Winslow you can probably appeal to Byron about using one of the empty apartments. If that alone doesn't work, tell him that I'm asking."

Alexander's expression at the thought of Byron agreeing to allow a junkie to detox in one of his fancy apartments is a picture of absolute perfect skepticism. "I'll give it a shot," he says, slowly. "And if it doesn't work out, we'll find somewhere. I'm investigating around the Sea View, anyway. Wouldn't be hard to get a room for a bit, and it sure as hell isn't the worst use one of those rooms has been put to." He looks to Nasir, makes a thoughtful noise. "So. Get your interview done. Tell Ms. Winslow that you'll be detoxing. You can tell her I'm involved if you like. See if she'll take a chance on you, and then we'll stick you in a room for a few days and let you scream it out."

Nasir brought his left hand up to take a hold of his neck's nape, scratching it gently at Alexander's words. "We'll see, I'm not even sure if that job interview's going to come anyway. She may not want to even call me after our first attempt-- who fucking knows. I may just end up delivering newspapers at this rate, and fixing air conditioners for red necks until my hands fall off my wrists," there was sweet delight there, in the self-deprecating notions made at his expense, the kind of dark humor he took no small amount of mirth from.

Finally, he looked left and towards Vivian, briefly licking the cracked bottom of his lips before asking thusly; "Is that it, miss Glass? Can we fuck off now, come by next week you said? Just to get off your hair. I'm guessing you've got a busy schedule and whatnot."

There is a brief look at the watch on her wrist, and Vivian nods, "Get those filled, and I'll see you next week." She gets to her feet, hands smoothing out her dress, "If you need anything before then, please call."

Alexander stands again. "I'll talk to Ms. Winslow. No promises, but we'll see what she says." A pause. "It's Dr. Glass." Just a reminder, although he moves on quickly from it and nods to Vivian. "Always a pleasure. Let me know when there's time in your schedule - I'd like to talk to you myself, at some point." A brief smile, warm and friendly, for just a moment before he turns away. "All right. Nasir, I've got some places to go downtown, so I'll see you later. Don't die." And then he's gone, walking briskly out of the office without another word.

He shook his head, fervently denying Alexander's fixation on the title with a wiggle of his index finger. "Nuh-uh. It's Miss Glass, like the comic. The guy, the dude; the dude from that one movie, with the black actor who's in like all of Tarantino's movies? Mister Glass? Really man, you're like, the weirdest guy I know and you don't know who Mister Glass is? You know what, fuck it. I'm not going into detail, I've got homework and shit," he waved Alexander off, pretending not to care much for his departure - and wishes of having Nasir live longer than the week - until he was gone, and then he did look. He looked at that door in its slow, steady closing forced by the tire wedge attached to the top, sighing out softly.

Eventually, he did fill out the form and stood up, leaving it out on Vivian's desk. "Here it is. And hey, can I ask you something?"

"You can ask anything you'd like." Vivian replies as she moves around the desk, retaking the seat there so that she can sort through everything, mostly getting her notebook out so that she can transfer the notes into something more orderly. Into a file.

No one likes having a file, do they?

As Nasir's life was being filed, he watched in no small degree of curiosity the whole process of being splayed out emotionally on paper and pushed away into a cabinet. "You said to tell Byron, by first name, if he didn't budge at first," Nasir pointed out, however perceptively, before doing a subtle motion of his finger towards her. "How do you know him?"

"How do I know Byron?" Vivian wonders, leaning back in her chair, thumb absently clicking her pen again before she frowns, "I met Byron in college, and we dated." She then sits up straighter before leaning forward, resting her forearms on the desk in front of her, fingers lacing together as she watches him, a brow lifting upwards, "I also know who Miss Winslow is, before you ask."

Almost immediately, Nasir knew to have stumbled upon a pandora box of sorts. That hand he laid out on the edge of her desk wasn't there just to hold him in place, but to begin a rhythm of fingers tapping on its surface almost impatiently, unknowing in how to proceed. He looked on, yes, strictly at her face- if he caught anything else from her demeanor, he guessed, it'd probably be a lot harder to continue the line of essential interrogation. "Oh shit, so, you don't like Lilith," he mused aloud for the two, faking obliviousness. He sucked at it.

He sucked at a lot of things.

"I have no feelings about Miss Winslow one way or another, I'm afraid." Vivian replies with a shake of her head, dropping the pen down in front of her before she re-laces her fingers, watching him with a passive expression. "Are you attempting to find out something, because I can assure you that asking a direct question would probably save everyone a little time in this." She then leans back into her chair, re-crossing her legs before she settles her hands into her lap.

All across his face, yes- there was a question in the back of his mind, and Nasir tip-toed around the prospect of bringing it up something fierce. He even failed to maintain eye contact, hinting at his train of thought only with his eyes kept on the nearby wall, "Eh." He reached up with that same hand on the edge, bringing up the lower front hem of the sweater to his face as to wipe the sweat budding on his philtrum, revealing the marked, vascular rise of stomach so undernourished his ribs' lower end clung to the skin shown, for he wore no clothing beneath it. "Okay, just; just heard some shit out there, about how things ended. None of my business, I just-- just want to make sure you're not made somehow uncomfortable by all of this, if you'd like to keep your distance from Byron, Lilith, and anything involved that. You're still a person yourself, file cabinet or not."

"I can promise you that I can keep my professional life separate from my personal, so you do not need to worry about anything. Especially not about how things ended." Vivian doesn't appear to be ruffled by the continued discussion about it, "I would also suggest in the future you avoid omelettes at the diner." She starts to get to her feet, but doesn't move from around the desk, instead she reaches for the pen once more to pick it up, "Was that your only concern?"

Nasir finally looked over his shoulder, out the way Alexander came. He had said his piece and looked relatively at ease with the prospect of departing, and spared only one last look towards Vivian after her re-assurances, skeptical still, but no less affirming; "I will. I'll avoid them. And yeah, that was my only concern. I may text you if shit gets hard, I may even crash your office at some off-day where you don't expect me. I hope that's not a problem. Take care, Dr. Glass."

One slow turn, a few even slower steps towards the exit, and Nasir was gone.

"Take care, Mister Ibn Khairan." Vivian replies as he starts to make his exit, then as soon as she's alone in the office she drops herself back into her seat, a hand moving to rub against her forehead.