Even among the paper-savvy and high-strung officers of the KCPD, Joseph Oda has always been a bit of an overachiever. His forms are always turned in on time ( complete, detailed, and double-checked ), his work space is always neat and organized, and if he isn’t ten minutes early for a meeting there’s probably cause for concern. In a word, he’s been found time and time again to be one of the most reliable officers the force of Krimson City has ever seen. It’s a responsibility; an obligation that he takes too seriously as far as most—his new partner included—are concerned. It hardly stops him, though, and a certain ease of assurance eventually made its way to become associated with his name.
It’s that same reputation, which he usually finds pride in, that has him so tightly wound with anxiety that late afternoon. There’s no overburdening of work to keep him late and certainly he’s well aware of the location of his co-worker’s office—he had made it a point upon joining the department to familiarize himself with the building’s layout; you know, just in case—so his 3:00 appointment should have had him sitting outside the psychologist’s door no later than 2:45. That had been the plan.
Perhaps it’s because his work was finished early. It was nearly an hour prior that he’d dotted his last “i” and had little left to do but think over the upcoming meeting. Normally, that process involved recalling names, events, places—anything that might be brought up with whomever was going to be asking the question. Perhaps that’s the issue. Psychologists. Aren’t their questions always directed toward the patient? It left Joseph only to think on himself and the reasoning why he had requested the meeting in the first place.
There was some catalyst involved. A recent case had brought about an apprehended suspect who had immediately targeted Joseph ( not surprisingly, the more aggressive and macho Sebastian normally drew the criminal’s attention, so being put in the spotlight was already disorienting enough ) and, more specifically, Joseph’s ethnicity. His appearance could be considered subtly Asian with his glasses properly situated and covering most of his face. To a typical passerby, anyway. This man? He had thrown every insult under the sun in an attempt to rattle his pursuer. Outwardly, Sebastian had been far more upset at the threats and derogatory remarks than Joseph was, but it had surely stayed with the foreigner much longer.
The report was filed and the suggestion that Joseph meet with Emil was placed in the detective’s lap. At first, he was glad to do it. His previous, brief interactions with the young doctor had left him with a warm, comforting sensation that he was all the more happy to recreate. Indeed, it wasn’t until those moments before when Joseph was left alone with only himself and his own thoughts that he reflected more deeply on why he had really agreed to meet. Racial slurs and threats? No, those didn’t bother him—not to the extent that he would waste someone else’s precious time by talking on them, anyway. However…
“Shit.” It was a slip of the tongue ( he wasn’t a stranger to cursing, but disliked doing it in front of others ) brought about by the comfort of being alone in his own office. Well, one little word won’t hurt—and it was uttered for good reason. He’d gotten too wrapped up in his own head and already the clock ticked past 3:04 and 30 seconds, 31 seconds, 32 seconds…
Before that tiny, accusing hand could reach any closer to the judgmental 7, Joseph quickly double-checked that his items were secured away and then hurried out of his office. Of course, to maintain that professional image, his ‘hurrying’ consisted of tightened, concentrated features and a brisk walk. Really, not much different than his typical posturing.
He couldn’t stomach checking his watch again ( 3:08 would have registered like a lump in his chest ) as he knocked firmly—once, twice, thrice—on Emil’s door. The meeting had been arranged and agreed upon, not to mention he was late, but it still felt rude to simply enter without permission. No one needs to know what others do behind closed doors, as far as he’s concerned.
And that’s where he remained for as long as it took Emil to answer: straight-backed, a serious expression creasing otherwise youthful features, and the nauseating dizziness of anxiety and lacking confidence dulling a typically sharp and observant mind. What an idiot he is.
It was finally happening, Emil was losing his new car smell and becoming a more integral part of the KCPD. Truth be told, he was still a bit of an outsider--some of the older Detectives were approaching Emil as if he was a new and confusing computer they didn’t quite grasp how to use--but for the most he was fitting in quite nicely. He had made some friends and some impressions; he even got to be more involved in the interrogation of his last case! The job felt less like a job and more like a whirlwind of excitement. There was always something more interesting right around the corner.
In an effort to actually get to this point (and also to make himself appear more open and approachable), Emil had told others his office was always open for any sort of psychological problem. More official things needed paperwork and longer talks needed appointments, but for the most part he wanted to make sure people could be comfortable with him. That he was there for them. Not many people had taken the bite (there was a few, mostly just some curious questions or some advice on how to approach a suspect with x y z mental disorder), but it made a welcome atmosphere around him so when real issues arose, people were actually likely to turn up at his office door.
Like Detective Oda for instance. Emil had been handed a copy of the report as soon as he heard the new partner of Detective Castellanos had agreed to meet him. It wasn’t anything… exciting (and Emil felt bad for thinking that honestly), but it was something he agreed that people needed to be walked through sometimes. Sure, Emil was hoping for a little less of this after dealing with all the inane bullshit prisoners would often come to him about, but he liked Detective Oda enough. He was the perfect counterbalance to Sebastian, tidy and professional. His reports were always top-notch, literally everything Emil could ever want when handed a report too. He had his concerns about just how neat and tidy Joseph was (coping mechanism for anxiety? Maybe mild actual OCD? Abusive clean freak parents?), but it didn’t prohibit him from doing his job--if anything it made him excellent at it.
So when the detective was late…
Emil glanced back up at the clock on his desk. 3:02. His face pulled into a frown as he looked at it. If this was Castellanos or Forbs, Emil would have brushed it off as typical, but this was a man who was early to the early shift. He drummed a finger against his desk where he had left a brand new legal pad for notes and the relevant case file. The small office didn’t allow for much “Freudian styled” therapy (the laying down on the couch kind, not the overtly sexual kind), so Emil would be forced to stay on the other side of the desk during these kinds of sessions. He disliked it, it kind of put a barrier between them… but it was a necessity.
3:05. “So much for maybe being lost.” Emil murmurs to himself, giving a soft sigh as he rises from behind the desk. He wasn’t really upset that Joseph didn’t come to the meeting, it wasn’t like it was important. He was just hoping that it wasn’t someone telling him he was a wuss for seeking out Emil. That would have been the worst outcome he could think of. He hoped it was just the job calling him away and no one thinking of informing him. Emil decided it be best to take a short break and grab a cup of coffee before maybe diving into some paperwork so he started to pack up. As he was putting the file in his shoulder bag that he heard the triple knock at the door. A glance at the clock reading 3:08 and a confused smile crept over his face.
“Come in?” He said with a bemused expression. When Joseph enters he cocks an eyebrow and gives the Detective a once over--less the flirty kind and more the psychologist kind. His head tilts slightly as he reads the tension on the man’s features. “Is everything alright, Detective?” Emil asks with concern filtering over his face. He was going to chide the Detective for his tardiness, but he now thinks better of it. He could practically feel the anxiety coming off of him. Did something happen on his way here?
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