Cassian sat inside a room normally reserved for interrogations, though it had been temporarily repurposed for his psychological evaluation. His posture remained straight in the chair, with his hands resting against his thighs and his expression carrying the same distant composure he had worn since walking through the door.
His attention eventually settled upon the darkened observation window across from him. Cassian could see nothing beyond the glass except his own reflection, but he knew Sibylla and Damos were standing somewhere on the other side. They were watching him, studying him, and probably hoping this evaluation would finally convince him of something they had already tried telling him countless times.
You need more time....
Perhaps they were right, but Cassian had grown tired of hearing it.
What did any of them truly know about what he needed? They had seen what remained after his captivity, but they had not been inside that cage with him. They had not spent countless hours wondering when food or water would come again, nor had they learned to recognize approaching footsteps and determine whether they belonged to someone bringing a meal or someone coming to drag them into another interrogation.
Cassian needed something definitive now. He needed someone to tell him that he could return to active duty or that he couldn't, because living somewhere between those two possibilities was becoming unbearable. Perhaps this evaluation would finally provide the answer he had been unable to give himself.
His mother had offered another possibility shortly after his return.
Maybe it's time to let go.
Cassian understood what she meant, although he had never answered her when she said it. There were probably quieter lives available to him if he wanted one, but he wouldn't be happy. The problem was that Cassian had no idea who he was supposed to become afterward. Service had been his life since he was young. Service game him direction, it gave him a purpose. Walking away sounded simple when someone else said it, but Cassian couldn't imagine waking every morning without somewhere he was expected to be or something he was responsible for accomplishing.
If he failed this entire evaluation, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Cassian felt the familiar trembling beginning in his right hand.
He lowered his eyes and watched his fingers move slightly against his thigh. There was no surprise or alarm in his expression because it had happened often enough since his return that he had stopped reacting emotionally to it. He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips several times, hoping the sensation would disappear, but the trembling continued.
Cassian eventually closed his hand tightly into a fist and held it there. He drew a slow breath through his nose and released it just as gradually. Several seconds passed before the trembling finally subsided, allowing him to loosen his fingers and place his hand against his thigh again.
The door opened shortly afterward.
The psychiatrist entered carrying Cassian's file beneath one arm, and Cassian straightened slightly as the man took the seat across from him. He rolled his shoulders once before settling comfortably against the chair, presenting himself almost as though this were another routine briefing rather than an evaluation that could determine the future of his career.
"How are you feeling today?"
Cassian gave him a small nod. "I'm okay, considering everything. I'm here, and that's what matters."
"That's good to hear."
The psychiatrist opened the file and spent several moments going over Cassian's service history. There was plenty to review despite his relatively young age. Cassian had accumulated a distinguished record during his military service before eventually transferring into Intelligence at the request of his father and Damos. There had been a tarnish upon that record during the transition, though the incident had eventually been expunged once the full circumstances surrounding it came to light.
Cassian watched the psychiatrist turn through several pages without displaying much interest.
"Do you believe you're ready to return to active service, Cassian?"
"I believe that I am."
The answer came without hesitation, with just enough conviction to confirm it.
"Why do you believe you're ready?"
Cassian considered the question before answering. "I believe I can still perform the duties expected of me."
"Despite what happened during your captivity?"
"I wouldn't be sitting here if I believed otherwise."
The psychiatrist studied him for several seconds, perhaps expecting Cassian to elaborate further. Cassian offered nothing else and simply waited for the next question. "All right. I'm going to work through some standard questions with you. There isn't any reason to rush your answers, so take whatever time you need."
The faintest smirk appeared at the corner of Cassian's mouth. Taking his time was almost an evaluation in itself. If he waited too long before answering, someone might assume he was constructing an acceptable response. If he answered too quickly, they might decide he had anticipated the questions and rehearsed what he intended to say. Either way, these questions were designed to make someone appear a certain way. Just answer honestly, that was all it was.
"Have you been sleeping?"
"Not particularly well. Some nights are better than others, but I wouldn't say I've been sleeping much."
"Are you having nightmares?"
Cassian's expression remained unchanged. "Every soldier has nightmares."
"I'm asking about you specifically."
Cassian looked at him for several seconds. "Then yes, I've been having them."
"What are they about?"
"Everything...."
"Have you spoken to anyone about them?"
Cassian's eyes shifted briefly toward the darkened observation window. "No, I haven't spoken to anyone about them."
"Not Sibylla or anyone else in your family?"
"They know I'm having trouble sleeping. I don't see any reason they need to know everything that happens when I close my eyes."
The psychiatrist made another note, as Cassian watched the stylus move across the page before his attention drifted elsewhere.
"Have you been drinking alcohol since returning home?"
The question required slightly more consideration because Cassian knew lying would accomplish nothing. "Yes, I've been drinking."
"How much would you say you're drinking on an average occasion? One glass or perhaps two?"
Cassian lightly caught his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it. "It's usually closer to three or four glasses."
"How frequently?"
Cassian looked down toward his hands before answering. "I've been drinking that amount almost every day."
The psychiatrist stopped writing for a moment. "Three or four glasses every day?"
"Approximately."
"Do you believe that's becoming a problem?"
Cassian looked back toward him with the same expression, laced with a tone of agitation. "No."
"Why are you drinking that much?"
"It makes the evenings easier." Cassian voiced, but you could tell his tone was getting a slight more aggresive.
"In what wa-?"
"Are we done here?" Cassian voiced, eyes staring daggers into the man in front of him.
The psychiatrist allowed several seconds of silence to pass before moving forward.
"I'd like to try some word associations. I'll give you a word, and you respond with whatever immediately comes into your mind. Don't spend too much time analyzing your response. If I said something like pain, you might respond with something such as..."
"Endless." Cassian responded easily enough, he had played this game several times before. Annual evaluations, this was a common exercise. The Doctor nodded his head, raising his hands up. "Okay..." He took a breath, looking from Cassian's file once more, then back to him, hands clasped together.
It seemed as a battle of wits almost, Cassians responses where short, sweet and quick until the very end. Until the last few words caused him to narrow his eyes at the man before him, he didn't say much until finally he said one more word.
Cassian took a deep breath, before standing up. "Done...." Cassian gave the viewglass a look before he hit the button next to the door, it opened up and he left the room.
