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"You're a bit, well, young for a psychologist, if you'll pardon my saying so."
"And yet no less qualified for it." came the amused response. "I am older than I look, Mr. Hart."
She was lying, he knew, though he wasn't sure why or how he was so certain. The psychologist he'd been recommended, Ms. Warden, was a comely, no-nonsense young woman somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties, already specializing in amnesiac patients. She had long blonde hair, hints of what would one day become laugh lines around her mouth, and eyes that could bore through solid steel.
He'd liked her immediately.
"The key," she said seriously, adjusting her glasses and leveling her dark stare on him, "to any successful relationship, especially one such as ours, is honesty. Obviously anything we discuss here will remain in this room. I am not here to judge you or anything about you. I am here simply to help you. I can't do that if you lie to me or misrepresent yourself."
"Understood."
"Is it?" she asked and Harry gave her the courtesy of contemplating what she'd said fully before nodding.
"Good, then let's begin with you telling me a bit about yourself and what you'd like to accomplish with these sessions."
"What do you know about yourself?" Ms. Warden asked without preamble when Harry sat in what had become his usual seat in her office.
"Nothing." Came the automatic response. "I believe that is what I'm here for."
The psychologist shook her head, disappointed. "Think about it."
Harry frowned darkly. "Do you believe I haven't? I don't even know that my name is Harry Hart, except that it's on all of my papers."
Ms. Warden sat back in her chair and clasped her hands over the ledger in her lap. "Do you like chocolate?"
Harry blinked at the non-sequitur, but answered anyway. "Of course."
He cottoned on when she raised a brow and nodded encouragingly. "Right. Things I know about myself. Well..."
It was a long session, but one Harry rather thought went well.
Ms. Warden watched Harry fix his tea, noting that he seemed to avoid what had been previously assumed was his favorite, based on Kingsman records.
"Come stai oggi?" she asked once he'd taken his first sip.
Harry didn't even pause before answering. "Così come ci si può aspettare , suppongo."
There was a moment of silence wherein the psychologist smiled victoriously and Harry blinked in shock.
"Well." he said finally. "Apparently I speak Italian."
"So it would seem."
"I was not myself."
"In your dream?"
Harry nodded.
"Who were you?"
He frowned. "No, I was me; I was in my own body and my actions were my own, but," He paused, trying to find a way to explain the reckless abandon, the joy that had felt so encompassing when he'd killed those people in his dream.
"Have you ever been very, very drunk?" he asked finally. When Ms. Warden merely raised a brow, he bit his lip and continued. "I knew what I was doing was wrong, knew I would regret it. I simply didn't care. It was...fun."
The psychologist nodded and Harry searched her face for any trace of judgement or censure.
He found none.
"It was a church." he told her after a long silence.
"I'm sorry?"
"The dream. It took place in a church."
"Does that mean anything to you?"
"No."
Merlin leaned against the brick building and took several deep breaths. The brief contact had been planned weeks ago and he'd assumed he was ready. He hadn't thought seeing Harry in person would affect him so strongly.
"All right, Merlin?" a voice asked him over his comm link.
"Fine." came the automatic response. Merlin shook his head and reassessed himself. "Momentarily overwhelmed, but fine now." he amended.
"There was a man today," Harry began, frowning into his tea. "I saw him, only for a moment, but I felt..." He paused, grateful that Ms. Warden seemed content to allow him to search for the right word in silence. "Attracted, I suppose is the most accurate term."
The psychologist tilted her head contemplatively. "You seem unsure."
Harry sighed and shook his head. "The word has connotations that I don't feel are appropriate at the moment."
"You mean you felt a pull toward this man, not necessarily a sexual interest."
Harry relaxed slightly, a relieved smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "Yes, exactly. I passed him on the walk here. We brushed shoulders, he apologized, and we went on our separate ways."
"But you felt something." Ms. Warden encouraged.
A nod.
"What kind of attraction did you feel?"
Harry was silent a moment as he gathered his thoughts. "I wanted to stop him. To speak to him about something. It felt," Harry paused, frustrated with his inability to accurately describe the feelings the encounter had imparted. "It felt important. But he was wearing glasses and I felt...unsafe."
"Unsafe."
"Yes. I can't explain it."
"You say it as though it was the glasses which made you feel uncomfortable, not the man himself."
Harry chuckled self-deprecatingly. "That is how it felt."
The psychologist nodded and made a note in her ledger. "It may not seem so at the moment, but this is progress. Even if only that it promotes your thinking about your motivations and emotions toward everyday occurrences."
He hummed noncommittally and said nothing.
"There is a young man in some of my dreams."
Ms. Warden looked up from her notes. "A young man?"
Harry nodded. "He feels...significant."
"Significant. Does he feel familiar to you?"
Again, Harry nodded, but a frown pulled at his lips.
The psychologist said nothing, waiting patiently for him to continue.
"I never see his face. I-" there was a long silence, then he growled suddenly, fists clenched on the arms of his chair. "I feel as though I am betraying him by never seeing his face."
"How so?"
"He is so important. He feels like home. Like guilt and affection and frustration. And I can't even look at him properly." Harry bent forward and buried his face in his hands.
"I love dogs."
Ms. Warden smiled. "And how did you figure this out?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably, but answered anyway. "I may have broken a man's wrist."
"May have?"
"I most certainly broke a man's wrist."
"Why?"
Harry smiled, finding himself once again grateful for the woman's lack of censure in their dealings. "He struck his dog."
"So you broke his wrist."
Harry nodded. "And acquired a pet. His name is Atticus."
Ms. Warden resisted the urge to smile fondly.
Harry sensed it anyway and grinned unrepentantly.
"I did as you asked." Harry said, taking his seat. Ms. Warden glanced up from beneath her glasses, raising a questioning brow.
"Oh?"
"I researched things that seemed familiar or odd to me online."
"Ah." the psychologist nodded. "And?"
"There's no record of a Roxanne Warden in Cardiff University."
Sixty-seven miles away, Merlin leant forward abruptly, attention laser focused on the spec feed. Roxy Morton, God love her, was an excellent actress. There was no indication that the girl was even surprised by Harry's revelation and the Kingsman tech wizard allowed himself to relax minutely.
"That," Ms. Warden stated with a tilt of her head, "would likely be because my name is Amanda. Why did you think it was Roxanne?"
Harry frowned. Why had he assumed her name was Roxanne? He couldn't recall her ever telling him her full name. "I'm...not sure. I was certain- I thought-" he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as pain throbbed through his temples. "I don't know what I thought."
The psychologist frowned at him for a moment before decisively closing her ledger. "I think that's enough for today." She raised a hand when Harry looked as though he would protest. "You're obviously not feeling well and you have new information to research. You won't be billed for this session. Go. Rest."
Harry sighed, but did as he was bid.
"What do you think?" Roxy asked as soon as she was sure Harry was out of the building.
"I think the sessions are helping." Merlin stated softly and, even over the comm link, Roxy could hear the wary beginnings of hope in the man's voice.