The office smelled of old leather and fresh paper. A smell that England had grown accustomed to ever since he started coming here. A smell that grounded him in the present. Not that he had any choice in being here. He was ordered to attend monthly psychiatric evaluations to determine whether he was fit for duty, whatever that meant. He sat in his usual seat opposite Dr. Miriam Harker, his back straight and hands folded. The room was uncomfortably warm, or maybe that was just him. He had spent so long in cold places that anything else felt foreign.
"Let's start with something simple," Harker's voice was as professional as always, "How have you been sleeping?"
"Enough," England bluntly replied.
"Define 'enough'," Harker ordered.
"About five hours," England responded, "Maybe more, maybe less. I don't really keep track."
"Any dreams?" Harker asked.
"No," England replied.
"Not even good ones?" Harker continued.
England shook his head.
Harker jotted something down into her notepad, "Any flashbacks?"
England let a breath slip through his nose, "A few but...not on a daily basis anymore."
Harker nodded, "That's good to hear. And how have you been handling...being part of this new world, for lack of better words?"
"Same as usual," England replied, "But I did get a dog."
A brief spark of interest flashed in Harker's eyes, "Nice. What's his name."
"Ross," England replied, "He's a Stafford. Friendly enough but very territorial."
Harker continued to jot down notes, "I see. And how has Ross been helping you adjust?"
England's expression softened slightly, "He keeps me in the moment. He needs walks, feeding, and...Well, he's just uncomplicated."
"You'll have to introduce me to him sometime," Harker noted, "Still, It's good that he's helping you ground yourself in the present. Is there anything else that helps?"
England thought for a moment as his gaze drifted to the window, where the cityscape of modern London stretched out before him, "I've been reading. History books, mostly. Trying to catch up on what I've missed."
"And how does that make you feel?" Harker inquired, leaning forward slightly.
"Like an archaeologist," England said with a wry smile.
Harker nodded as pen scratched across paper, "Anything else other than history books?"
"I've gotten back to reading the Bible," England admitted, "I still haven't worked up the courage to go to church every Sunday, though."
"Not to worry," Harker assured England, "Agoraphobia's a common comorbidity of your condition. Especially after your...unique situation."
"Yeah," England looked down at his hands, "You'd think after a few months of Bible reading, God would give me the strength to give Him an hour of my time on...well, what is essentially my day-off."
"With respect, Tom," Harker spoke as he made notes, "You can't just expect God to make everything better. You have to work for it yourself. And sometimes, things do not get better but they can be managed."
"Do you believe in God?" England asked.
"Not necessarily but I'm not opposed to the idea either," Harker courtesly replied, "Now, let's talk about your work."
England sighed, "Of course, you'd bring that up."
"I'm sorry but you have been through a lot," Harker spoke, "And you have been open about your 'shell-shock' and the derealization that came with it these past few sessions so...Do you talk to Ross about your experiences?"
"Sometimes," England replied, "He's a good listener. He knows when I'm going through a moment."
Harker smiled, "Dogs are a man's best friend, after all. But I'm a good listener too so, whatever it is you said to Ross, you can say to me. I'm all ears."
England's jaw tensed, "I'm not so sure about that. When I talk to Ross, I don't expect any judgement from him. You, on the other hand, are only doing this because Moore wants to know if I'm crazy or not."
"We don't use that term," Harker spoke as she continued making notes, "But I do understand your aversion to opening up about your experiences. Mental health wasn't exactly as...well, it wasn't really anything during your time."
England nodded, "Mmm-hmm. Still feels odd knowing how much had changed in the past century."
"And that even now, the world's still changing," Harker added on, "If someone told me twenty years ago I'd be living in a world where we'd have AI and mood-stabilising brain implants, I would have thought they were watching too many films."
England's gaze met Harker's, "You sound happy about that."
Harker paused to consider what England said before giving a measured response, "Well, that's because I personally feel like this technology would improve the human condition."
"At the expense of making you obsolete," England retorted, "Besides, I've read enough stories about this...artificial intelligence, as you call it, to know it will eventually see itself better than us and try to wipe us out."
"True but uh...hehe," Harker stammered slightly before regaining her composure, "That's just fiction, Tom. I don't think anyone in real-life would have the resources and complete lack of common sense to program an AI to actually think and feel like a human does. Just merely emulate human behaviour."
"At this point, what's the difference between an emulation and the real thing?" England asked rhetorically, "And while I'm not fond of science, I know people enough to know that someone will actually play God and make a thinking-feeling AI."
"Speaking of playing God," Harker asked, "And emulating emotions while we're at it, has your opinion of Director Moore changed much?"
England leaned back slightly in his chair and folded his arms, "No. I still don't trust her."
"And why is that?" Harker prompted as she jotted down notes.
England slowly exhaled through his nose, "Where to begin? She stole my life after I had neutralized Hitler on her orders. She handed me over to the Soviets to use in their own experiments. And she withheld information that would have been important for my first mission back here."
Harker scribbled something down before setting her pen aside, "Yes, I can see how that would cause...friction. And how does your distrust of Moore impact your ability to follow orders?"
"I don't need to trust her to follow orders," England replied, "I just get on with it."
Harker studied him for a moment before shifting the conversation, "I see. And when you're not following orders, do you feel like you belong in the world?"
England's gaze drifted toward the window again, "The only part of the world I feel like I belong is in my flat with Ross. Everything else just feels like a play. But I'm sure you know that from our previous sessions."
Harker nodded, "Yes, I do. Derealization aside, it's not uncommon for people in your position to feel like they don't belong unless they got orders to follow, particularly those who have seen combat over long periods of time."
England nodded, "I served with a few men back in the day and, when they spent a few months in the trenches, they wanted to go back home. But when we got back home, they wanted to go back in the trenches."
"And what about you?" Harker asked, "Did you ever want to go back to the trenches?"
England let out a low chuckle but there was no humour in it, "No. We both know I hated my time there. In fact, I don't even like fighting in today's battlefields."
"Then why do you keep doing it?" Harker asked.
England's jaw clenched, "What else is there?"
"There's always something else," Harker reassured England, "You just have to decide if you're willing to find it."
England didn't respond immediately. He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers as if testing their weight.
"That's something we can work on," Harker said as she made one final note, "But for now, I think that's enough for today."
England exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly as if the weight of the session had settled in. He stood up, adjusting his jacket.
"Same time next month?"