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"Dr. Gyle, your 2:30 is here."

The words were tinny-sounding and hollow, as if spoken in some alien interrogation room, and looking up from the case file he had been rifling through, the middle-aged white lion gave the intercom device that sat on his desk a blank stare. Another fifty-bucks well spent. The sleek-looking device had been purchased from an online auction site, replete with glowing endorsements of like-new quality and promises of crystal clear reception. The low price-tag, of course, was explained away as financial masochism and an undying devotion to giving customers the best deal they'll ever experience in their lifetimes. The idea elicited a wry smile. Traditionally, the good doctor always avoided buying electronic devices second-hand. You never know how the previous owners treated them or what internal components were perched right at the edge of breaking. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. With the economic mire that the country had slipped into, pennies were being pinched everywhere. There were just as many addicts out there who needed help as before, only now, fewer of them were seeking treatment. Fewer appointments meant having to choose between a nice com system and the equivalent of cans with a string tied between them. And it wasn't as if the landlords were going to supply something so "frivolous." Receiving notification of clients "is what feet are for."

The lion tentatively leaned forward and pressed the first button on the black disk, hoping it wouldn't somehow cave in or crackle in a puff of smoke. "Thanks Mary, I'll be right out."

A long stretch and a yawn followed. It was usually around this time of day that an important decision had to be made between tea or iced coffee. Sitting in dimly lit rooms and speaking in hushed voices for hours on end didn't do a lot to keep the sleep deprived invigorated. That was what a mocha iced coffee was for. Those too, however, had fallen victim to falling stock prices. Just another in a growing list of personal luxuries he could no longer afford. That wasn't the most pressing choice of this particular afternoon, though. Across the room in the corner, draped over one of the tines of a mahogany coat-rack, hung a long, white lab-coat. Being a therapist, it was quite unusual to have such a thing lying around, much less worn. His peers and mentors usually dressed simply and comfortably. Talking to a person in casual or semi-casual dress was comforting to most clients, and seeing as they were not in a clinic or lab environment, lab coats were very unnecessary. This was something that was pointed out to him almost constantly during his first month working at this location by the other therapists sharing his wing. They had just assumed he was new to the trade, making the silly mistakes of one still 'wet behind the ears.' However, once they caught on that this was deliberate, the sage advice was replaced with uncomfortable glances and avoidance.

Reclining in his chair, the doctor fixed his gaze on the white coat, brows furrowed as he mulled these things over in his mind. He didn't see why his colleagues couldn't understand what was right in front of them. By their own admission, casual or semi-casual dress set people at ease--Clothing affected the subconscious mind of their patients. Why, then, was it so hard to grasp that lab-coats are also subconscious symbols, signifying professional competence, vast knowledge, ability, and power? A white coat draped over someone smiling and holding a clipboard, calling your name, is the very definition of doctor in the deep recesses of the minds of the general populace.

The doctor shook his head. It didn't matter. What mattered was whether or not putting on this cape would help or hinder his sessions with this new client. Most clients, as far as he could tell, could be divided into two camps: Those who prefer a firm and dominant hand to guide them, and those who prefer a more passive, equal-yet-informed voice to help them guide themselves. Pride would have most clients list themselves under the second column, but experience had proven otherwise.

Looking down at his watch and then to the case-file in front of him, Dr. Gyle traced a finger over the name of the patient waiting for him out in the lounge. "Nathaniel Bryce Thompson... Which of the two are you?"

The door to Dr. Gyle's office slowly opened as the large feline tugged the remaining part of the white lab-coat over his left shoulder and adjusted the collar. It was nearly a circus act, but the therapist had put on this costume so many times, while simultaneously turning a door-knob and holding a clipboard, that it was almost second nature to him. The only distraction from this ritual was the habit he had of staring down at the little round contraption that was nestled to the side of his doorway. These old metal devices had the appearance of an overturned bowl with long, slender holes radiating out form its center. The hole pattern reminded the doctor of a daisy, albeit more cold and industrial than soothing and uplifting. These were white-noise generators--foot activated by stepping on a little switch that sat next to them--and were meant to keep the deep secrets of the therapy sessions that took place beyond the doors confidential. It was the only bit of technology, other than the single phone line in reception, that the landlords had sprung for pro-bono. Mostly to spruce up their brochures and entice young, unwary therapists to rent space in this technological utopia, no doubt. Each and every door had one and, while they did seem to inspire confidence in the clients; these upturned, whooshing cereal bowls always struck the doctor as being more like whispering eavesdroppers than defenders of auditory virtue. Even so, he always activated and deactivated the device before and after a session.

As he made his way down the hallway towards reception he could hear only one of the white-noise 'pods,' as he called them, whooshing away. It was outside Janet's office. She was a sweet young pup, fresh from university, who also happened to be the most passive counselor he had ever met. She would let the clients get away with almost anything, walk all over her, and she still hadn't developed the skill to firmly, yet kindly, end a session on time.

Dr. Gyle smiled to himself as he passed by her office. He liked Janet. She was one of the few practitioners that he got along with in this place. Her winning smile and bashful nature complemented her innate friendliness and no-one would dispute that she was very attractive. She was also the only one who didn't mind his lab-coat, (calling it "cute"), and who would occasionally have lunch with him and listen attentively as he rambled on about advances in hypnosis and various psychological theories. One of these days she would save the world. He just knew it.

The reception desk and lounge were just ahead and he could already smell the taunting aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Mary was a new-hire, a temp who had come in to replace her predecessor who was out on maternity leave, and she had brought her own coffee machine up to the office to serve as the communal brew-pot. She usually offered him a cup as he entered the office every morning, and it was there for anyone who wanted it, but as thoughtful as it was, it just wasn't iced mocha.

As if she had been reading his thoughts, a calico feline head poked out from over the reception desk and looked down the hall before pulling back to answer the newly-ringing phone.

"Shady Oak Treatment Center..." crooned the always chipper receptionist as the doctor approached. "Uh huh. Mmmhmm. Yes we can probably do that. Here, let me take down your information and I'll get back to you when I have a solid answer for you, ok?"

The waiting room, (which was referred to by the resident therapists as "the lounge" to de-emphasize the waiting aspect), sat directly across from the reception desk, which was mostly a fancy term for the large, wooden station that guarded a little alcove where various office supplies were nestled. The lounge currently held four clients sprinkled over the mishmash of cheap couches and plastic chairs. Quite a crowd for a Thursday. Only one of them was recognizable: a young, troubled, female teen cat with long black hair (sporting a purple streak), tattoos, and sharp looking piercings in every conceivable crevice. She was a regular of Janet's, borderline personality disorder if he remembered correctly, and her bored expression barely masked the annoyance at being made to wait past the beginning of her scheduled appointment. Two of the others, a scraggly-looking wolf and a well-kept cheetah female sat on the other side of the room against the wall. The wolf appeared to have been in a fight recently and his hand, resting on what must have been his girlfriend's thigh, was being actively ignored. That left one more client, sitting in the far corner, close to the door.

While surveying the room, Dr. Gyle had noticed the unhappy couple look up at him for a moment, curious as to why he was silently standing at the front of the room, holding his clipboard. Realizing he was not their therapist, they had retreated back into their own troubled worlds. Janet's client had tried her best to ignore him at first, but when he didn't speak or leave, she shot him a withering sidelong glance. There was always an expression of hate and disgusted rage burning behind those eyes. It made him wonder how Janet, the polar opposite of this troubled young thing, could exist in the same room with her client, much less make progress. The only one in the room who didn't make eye contact, however, was his soon-to-be client. Instead, the young man had simply hugged his folded arms tighter to his chest and ducked his head a little more, staring intently at the floor in front of him.

The corners of Dr. Gyle's mouth made the slightest upward turn as he attempted to suppress a grin. The white lab-coat was a wise decision. His new client was a young canine male, a dalmatian and wolf mix if he figured correctly. His file had him at fifteen years old, about to turn sixteen in a few months when autumn came. What the file had neglected to mention was how strikingly handsome his new transfer patient was. The dalmatian genetics in him were definitely pronounced, with his rounded ears and smattering of blue-grey spots. In fact, all of his markings were a curious bluish-grey, even his solidly-colored ears, with the exception of his paws which were more of a dark brown. Instead of having the traditional white fur, these markings were sprinkled on a canvas of light cream. The pup's face was framed by a mop of light-brown hair and long bangs that dangled lightly in front of his face, kissing the top of his cheeks where the spots seemed to thin and shrink to the size of freckles. He was wearing worn, dark blue-jeans and a black hoodie, loosely draped over a similarly colored t-shirt of some kind.

"Nathaniel Bryce Thompson?" said the Dr. Gyle in a friendly-yet-authoritative tone.

For the first time the doctor got a good look at the young man's eyes--hazel, like the chart read, yet predominantly a clear, crystalline blue; like a sky that stretched on forever.

Dr. Gyle swallowed before remembering to put on his usual friendly smile. Behind him, Mary had just got off the phone and leaned over to one side, poking her head out from behind the doctor and offering an apologetic smile.

"Nathan, this is Doctor Noah Gyle. You'll be in his office down at the end of the hall."

The dalmatian mutt looked from his therapist, to Mary, and back again as he began to rise from his seat. The lion looked much different than the previous two therapists he had seen. For one thing, he was much taller; a full head taller than himself. He had to be six foot five, or six foot six. Instead of being thin or feminine, this middle-aged feline was definitely all male, hints of broad, toned muscles hid beneath the professional exterior, but not so well as to go unnoticed. His fur was lighter than any of the lions he knew in his class. It was almost a greyish-white with hints of yellow, with a flowing mane, and the doctor's eyes were intense, golden, and fixed on him in a way that made him a little uncomfortable. The smile was warm and friendly but everything else about this man seemed to radiate power and authority, traits that Nathan had grown to distrust.

The lion offered an open paw as Nathan approached. "Please, call me Noah."

Nathan took the offered paw and gave it a firm shake. Being overly conscious of handshakes was the product of many lectures on the importance of having a strong grip he had been given over the years. It had grown to the point that now every offered hand was a critical test--every new meeting a reason to be judged. The lion's grip was firm, yet soft at the same time; a combination of strength and gentleness that gave the young pup's mind something to contemplate as they began to make their way down the hall.

About half-way down the corridor, a door on the left, about two meters in front of them, opened to reveal the endings of a long salutation. A strangely-dressed, female mouse was exiting and waving to some unseen person before noticing Nathan's approach with a suspicious glance. Without a word, the mouse ducked her head and brushed past him, clutching her handbag to her chest and making her way back to the lounge as if this unknown dalmatian mutt was suddenly going to spin around and start chasing her. Nathan's cheeks flushed as he grimaced, looking down and to the side. The shoddily painted molding offered no comfort.

As they passed by the open door, Janet looked up from her paperwork and waved to the couple with a cheerful smile. Dr. Gyle nodded, smiling in return. It wouldn't be long before she was half-jogging down the hall to apologetically fetch that hellion waiting for her out in the lounge. Between the two clients, he certainly had the better of the deal.

"So, Nathan... Can I call you Nathan? Or do you have something else you prefer to go by?"

The pup shrugged, not breaking eye-contact with the floor. "Some of my friends call me Nate." The statement almost felt like a lie to the young man, as if it insinuated that he had many friends.

"Nate it is." Noah offered with a smile, stepping to one side as they approached his open door.

"Go on in! Make yourself at home. Sit anywhere you like and I'll be with you in a second."

Nathan stepped into the room and surveyed his surroundings. The office was larger than the last place he had been, with plenty of room for a large desk, which sat over in the corner to the right of the door, and a full complement of bookshelves which lined the walls, well-stocked with important looking tomes. Straight ahead was as a couch and a love-seat which were set a comfortable distance apart, facing each other. The room was dimly lit from electric wall sconces as well as a window with tasteful drapes set in the far wall. Sheer panels allowed only a faint, soft glow of daylight to penetrate. With the temperature set as low as it was, Nathan was glad that he had worn his hoodie. It was summer and the heat sometimes made it uncomfortable outside, but wearing the hoodie made him feel more like himself somehow--more secure.

The doctor had activated some sort of noise-maker outside the door before pulling it shut behind him. "That is just to make sure we aren't disturbed," he explained reassuringly. "It also keeps anyone walking by from overhearing anything said in this room. Anything you say here will stay just between us."

Nathan looked withdrawn as he turned and made his way over to the love-seat, allowing himself to sink into its soft cushions. He had probably gone through this exact same conversation with his previous two therapists, Noah thought to himself as he moved towards the couch. He was going to have to change things up. Transfers who have been passed around this much often grew a sense of distrust for their therapists, losing faith in ever being helped along the way. This kind of patient was a challenge to be sure. But finally reaching someone who had been through the mill for so long was all the more rewarding.

"This is just a preliminary session. Mostly getting to know each other and to help address any concerns you may have about hypnotherapy, or anything else you might have questions about for that matter. The important thing is that you are comfortable."

Noah paused, having remembered that his notepad was still on his desk, and made a detour to go fetch it.

"We don't have to have a hypnosis session today unless you want to. We usually leave that choice up to the client. Some people like to take it easy the first session. However, we can do a light hypnosis session to familiarize you with the process if it would make you feel more comfortable."

There it was. Notebook in hand, the lion made his way back to the sofa.

"There are also those who want to jump right in with their therapy the first day." Noah chuckled and offered a warm smile as he lowered himself onto sofa's edge. "It's entirely up to you. But first, I'd like to ask you a few questions if that's alright."

Nathan fixed Noah with his big blue eyes and nodded. Even with the blank expression, those eyes seemed to pierce right through the lion's professional facade. Gazing back into them for a brief moment, Dr. Gyle felt something stir within him.

"Um... Okay, let's see..."

It took a large amount of willpower to keep himself from fidgeting and to focus on the clipboard in front of him. Setting the notebook to one side, he thumbed through a couple of pages from Nathan's file, refreshing his mind with the notes he had made in the margins before Mary had paged him to reception.

"Your previous therapist, Dr. Blake, sent over your files with your consent and it says here that you were being treated for habits concerning 'various substances.' He mentioned that most of these substances did not contain a notable physical component of addiction."

Noah looked up from the file folder to wait for an answer, only to find Nathan glaring sidelong at the window, arms wrapped in front of his chest. He was becoming defensive, and Noah chided himself internally for leading with such a confrontational statement.

"We don't have to talk about that right now if you don't want to. I was mostly wondering what made you decide to give hypnotherapy a try."

Nathan glanced back at Dr. Gyle before dropping his attention to the floor.

"Blake barely remembered that he had even met me between sessions," said the pup with an edge of contempt, "so I wouldn't give too much credibility to what he put in my file."

Noah shifted and adopted a look of concern.

"And it was my mom that decided that I should try hypnotherapy. She's gotten tired of how little progress I've made over the past few years. She thinks that hypnosis can cure me of any problem in only four sessions."

Noah chuckled and glanced down at the carpet before sneaking a glance up at Nathan, who was still looking down, but was now showing a hint of a smile. This was the bond Dr. Gyle was looking for to dissolve the confrontational atmosphere: shared amusement over a mother's misconceptions.

"I'm afraid it doesn't always work that way."

The corners of Nathan's mouth turned into a small grin and he chuckled, looking back up at the doctor. "Yeah. I know. But she's Mom. Once she sets her mind on something..."

Noah inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. Progress.

"What I can tell you is that what I do is a mixture of cognitive behavioral therapy and hypnosis. I've treated many patients with concerns like your own and we have found that a mixture of these two approaches can greatly increase the speed of healing and recovery."

Nathan nodded, now listening attentively.

"Although, it might take more than four sessions," said the lion with a wink. "We'll shoot for five."

Nathan snorted, catching himself by surprise, and then briefly covered his muzzle with a paw as he laughed. The sound washed over Noah like a chorus of a thousand happy bells. He was mesmerized by this poor, unhappy soul, suddenly brought to life, laughing at their own snort of amusement. It was so cute that he felt his heart was going to melt, but the laughter subsided just as quickly as it had arisen. However, Nathan was now more relaxed--open. His arms were unfolded, hanging loosely at his sides and he leaned back into the love-seat, letting out a soft sigh.

"Well, if you can make my life any better than the hell-hole it is, I'll be eternally grateful."

Dr. Noah's expression was filled with reassuring warmth and compassion. "I think we've got a great shot at it." And for the first time since his arrival, Nathan genuinely smiled.

~ ~ * ~ ~

"Just relax and make yourself comfortable."

Dr. Gyle made his way over to the dimmer switch near the door and gradually lowered the lights. His preferred setting was marked with a red dot, but as he observed his nervous client shifting in his seat, he decided to dim the lights a bit more than usual. Even though Nate had decided to jump right in, it was very obvious how uncomfortable he was with the whole situation.

"So..." started the pup as the doctor returned to the couch in front of him. His right leg had starting to bounce in place--his hands folded together, fidgeting in his lap. "How does this work?"

The pup tried to manage a carefree smile but failed miserably. "You aren't going to start swinging a watch in front of my face are you?"

Noah laughed, trying to ease his client's nervousness through example. "No, not at all. You've seen this place. You think we could afford a decent pocket watch?"

Nathan grinned, blushing slightly, and looked down at his paws. This therapist had a way of putting him at ease that seemed to have been lacking in his previous experiences. That and the way Dr. Noah grinned after a quip was pretty disarming.

The white lion chuckled. "No, we don't usually use any props. That is, unless you want them," he added, ducking his head to get Nate to make eye contact again.

Nate looked up and nodded. "It's okay. Whatever you think is best."

"I have used a metronome in the past," offered the doctor, making a gesture towards his desk, "but that is usually if someone is having a difficult time going under. Different people have different levels of suggestibility. Sometimes it helps to be able to focus on a simple, periodic pattern."

Nate nodded.

"More often than not, however, clients have no trouble going under using only the sound of my voice, relaxation, and visualization."

Dr. Noah paused for a moment, sensing that Nathan was wanting to ask a question.

"So... I mean, when I'm under hypnosis...will I be able to wake up if I want? I mean... I dunno. I've seen these shows..."

The lion smiled and nodded understandingly. These were the kinds of questions that almost every client new to this type of therapy inevitably asked. So much so that he had to make an effort to sound sincere when giving the reply since patients don't usually respond well to things that sound like canned answers.

"It's different than what you might have seen on TV or at the movies. Don't worry; you will be in complete control of yourself the whole time. No one can make you do anything you would be against doing and you can choose to wake up at any time."

He hoped that the answer sounded sincere. It was important that he gain Nate's trust, otherwise he would never be able to talk him down into a trance.

"But, what about if you leave or are unable to wake me up?" began the pup, still trying to wrap his head around things.

"There is nothing to worry about. Even if I were to evaporate into thin air, you would simply either wake up immediately or just take a little nap and wake up later, refreshed. It is completely and absolutely safe."

There was a twinge of guilt following that last statement. Every practitioner of hypnotherapy said it, but deep down he knew it wasn't entirely true. Nothing with the power to create change in this world was completely safe. And while it was true that the mind resisted suggestions that created dissonance within itself, a masterful practitioner with a good read on their client and a knack for wording could craft airplanes from unicorns if they wanted to. But now wasn't the time to split hairs with a nervous young client. All the pup needed right now was some reassurance. He was being taken care of by a trained professional. There was nothing to fear.

Seeing that the pup's worries had been satisfied for the moment, the lion made himself comfortable on the sofa. Reflexively, Nathan did the same and the corners of Dr. Gyle's mouth turned upwards ever so slightly.

"We can get started right now if you want."

"Oh... okay."

"Just sit back, relax, and listen to my voice. We are going to start off with a bit of relaxation, and afterwards, I will be guiding you through a little visualization. That's all there is to it."

"That all there is to it? But, what about the trance..."

"Once you are relaxed, I will walk you through some visualization," reiterated the lion. "Following my voice and seeing these things in your mind will help you enter a receptive state..." Dr. Gyle knitted his eyebrows for a moment while he searched for the correct words. "A state of mind where your subconscious is listening and can be given tools to help you in your every-day, wakeful life."

Nate nodded, his ears flapping slightly with the motion. He was ready to get started, eager to try this strange thing that he had only heard about in fantasy, and didn't want to delay the doctor any further.

"Now, just take a deep breath... Inhale... and exhale. That's right. Just like that... inhale... and exhale..."

The mutt had instinctively closed his eyes during the second deep inhalation. It was common for clients to close their eyes during relaxation exercises without being told to, and most of the time Dr. Gyle just went with it, using it as a sign that the patient is willing and eager to follow instruction. Once they were properly induced, and their conscious mind was lulled to the background, this kind of anticipation and initiative would usually cease. However, Nate was not the usual client. There was... something about him. This vibrant, troubled young man had moved from a state of distrust to putting himself in the doctor's hands so quickly; from looking at the floor and avoiding eye-contact to sitting in front of him with his gorgeous eyes closed, chest slowly heaving with each deep breath. This gift of trust was a necessity for his practice, but now, for some reason, he found himself treasuring it. And while he wanted nothing more than to be gazing deep into those big, aquamarine eyes--getting lost in them while letting the inherent trust wash over him--he knew that asking the pup to open them again would only break concentration and make him more self-conscious. Beginning sessions were always a tight-rope walk. You didn't want the client to start second guessing themselves.

The doctor continued, his voice getting lower and a little deeper with each passing moment. "Good... good... Inhale... and exhale... Inhale... and exhale."

Noah's voice took on a slow, rising and falling inflection; like the gentle rise and fall of the ocean waves. He carefully watched the expression on Nate's face as he relaxed. The tension started to melt away from the corners of the pup's mouth and his eyebrows slackened, tilting upwards as he breathed in time with the instruction.

"Now I want you to keep breathing, nice... and easy. Just breath... breath... listening to my voice... relaxation... You feel more relaxed with every breath you take... there is nothing else... just slow, deep breaths... good... relax... slowly... You feel so comfortable... every time you inhale you feel it wash over you. Every time you exhale, you feel yourself sink deeper... deeper. Every breath... deeper... relax... feel it wash over you. Every breath... deeper and deeper... Every breath... deeper... deeper... deeper down."

The pup's paws had slackened, fingers falling naturally, no longer curled into fists.

"So good... so relaxed..."

The doctor felt his heart beat more quickly in his chest as his... His what? Client. His client. This was a client. Concentrate.

"Deeper... deeper down... As you feel yourself going deeper, you notice that your eyelids feel heavy. So heavy... Yes... Every breath takes you deeper. Every exhale makes your eyelids more heavy... you feel so relaxed... so heavy... deep... deep down... Slowly... so relaxed... you feel as if there is nothing else in this world... just you and my voice... slowly washing over you... carrying you deeper... breath in... and out... so heavy... your eyelids are so heavy now... so heavy that you couldn't even open them... even if you tried... so heavy... because you are relaxed now... slowly... breathing in... breathing out... sinking deeper... deeper... with every breath... deeper down."

Nate's head had begun to loll forward. There wasn't a shred of tension left in his young body, and for a moment, Dr. Gyle just sat there, listening to the slow rise and fall of Nathan's breath, watching the young man recline limp before him. He could afford this small moment. The room was never completely silent. On the wall to the right of the window there was a small wooden cuckoo clock. It was out of the way and not terribly noticeable, (not to mention having the cuckoo function disabled--what a disaster that would be!), but it did provide a slow and steady tick... tick... tick... to fill in those occasional voids between instruction and waiting. Nate was so relaxed that he was almost drooling on himself and the realization brought a smile to Dr. Gyle's face, his golden eyes intently focused on his new... client. Yes... and those beautiful blue spots that peppered his client's cheeks as strands of brown hair dangled before closed and restful eyes... blue and brown spots, the doctor noted upon closer inspection.

Noah began to speak again. He had done this so many times that he never had to worry about timing. When he had first started, he was ever mindful of the number of seconds that he let pass between instruction and silence, but now the words would come as if of their own accord, spilling out once he got close to that oh-so-variable limit when too much silence began to tug at the corners of the mind.

"So relaxed... so deep... You feel yourself slipping... deeper... deeper down... so deep... only you... and my voice... so relaxed... so heavy... and now you find yourself at the top of a staircase. It is a beautiful staircase and there is no one else here but you... just you and the sound of my voice. You see that there are steps... ten steps... going down... and you are at the top of them... so relaxed... and in a moment... when you hear me say ten... you will begin to walk down those steps... In a moment... when you hear me start counting down from ten... you will take one step at a time... In a moment... when I count down from ten... you will take a step... one at a time... one step for every number... down... deep down... and every time you take a step... you will feel yourself going deeper... even deeper... way down... deeper and deeper..."

Dr. Gyle leaned forward, eyes fixated on his client with an intense stare. His tail was curled to his side and the tuft of white fur at the tip twitched as the doctor changed the tone of his voice to a slightly louder, more authoritative tone. The power of cues rode on the voice. Each number would be followed by, and contrasted with, the same, low droning voice he had settled into to lull Nate into his current state. Cue, and instruction. Cue, and instruction. Nate was turning out to be a very receptive client. He was almost there.

"TEN." The number rang out in the room, only somewhat louder, but much more commanding.

"Further down... deeper and deeper... even more relaxed."

...tick...tick...tick...

"NINE... deeper and deeper... your cares melt away..."

"EIGHT... sinking deeper... so soft... even deeper..."

"SEVEN... there is nothing else... just you... my voice..."

"SIX... way down... further down these stairs..."

"FIVE... sinking deeper... so heavy... so relaxed"

"FOUR... So deep... way down... even deeper..."

"THREE... almost there... every step... brings you deeper..."

"TWO... so deep... so heavy... way down..."

"ONE."

There was only the faint sound of the clock and Nathan's breathing. The induction was now almost over and the boy's mind lay open before the doctor, like so much clay. Noah shifted back in his seat a little, still leaning forward, paws clasped in front of him and elbows resting on his knees.

"You are now in a deep state of sleep. Even though you are completely relaxed, you can still hear my voice. Even though you are so deep, you find that you can still answer my voice."

Dr. Noah had considered using ideomotor signaling techniques to communicate with his client earlier in the day before he had met him. Reading his file and all the notes warning of "non-cooperation", "mental roadblocks", "incorrect beliefs", etc., had made it sound like a good idea at the time. However, Nate had been willing and cooperative so far, and this was just a preliminary session. And deep down, although he didn't want to admit it to himself, he simply wanted to hear the pup's voice, slow and languid, responding to his questions.

Now that Nate was under, it was time to begin. Just a small amount of probing would probably suffice--get a grasp on the when and why of how this addiction started so that he could prepare for future sessions. First, however, it was time to see if he could get a vocal reply.

Dr. Noah decided to start off with a simple question.

"Nate, how are you feeling?"

There was a lengthy pause, as if the mind of the young pup, having to search through a dense fog to find the answer, had somehow lost its way.

"Nate... you are very relaxed. You are in a safe place. Nothing is here but you and the sound of my voice."

The faint ticking of the clock on the wall filled the next few seconds of silence.

"Your every muscle is relaxed and your breathing is slow and easy. Even with as relaxed as you are, you find that replying is as easy as a breath and takes no effort."

Tick tick tick...

"You are feeling very relaxed now, aren't you Nate?"

"...Yes."

The doctor smiled. The answer was soft, almost a sigh, as it escaped the young pup's mouth. He looked so peaceful now, the anxiety of earlier having melted into an ocean of soft warmth and darkness. He was adrift on this ocean now, needing only a guiding breeze to steer his vessel in any direction. His body was now very limp, draped over the small love-seat like a blanket, and his breathing...

The doctor swallowed hard as he shifted in his seat. He had to concentrate. This was a client. He was here because he needed help. Such a handsome pup. Such beautiful spots. Concentrate. Now was the time for asking questions. He needed to help the lost pup find his way through the maze of his own mind, to give his subconscious the tools it needed to fight his addiction. Not pet that soft fur... to run his paws over those exposed, lean biceps or through that thick, brown hair. Was he even deep enough for that? Gods! Get ahold of yourself!

The growing fullness in the lion's crotch created a bulge that was no longer easy to conceal. Thankfully there was no-one else in the room to see it. Just the client and the sound of his own voice.

"Where are you, Nate?"

There was no reply for a moment or two. There wasn't meant to be. The question was to get Nate's mind primed for pondering its own location before directing Nate into some event in his past. But before the doctor could elaborate with another question, his client surprised him with a soft murmur.

"Here."

Noah broke into a wide grin. So cute!

"That's right. You are in a safe place. And from here you can travel anywhere you want and still be completely safe. This place is yours and yours alone. If you ever feel like you need to return here, all you have to do is say 'I'm back' and no matter where you are, you will be back in this safe place. Do you understand?"

Nate gave the slightest of nods. "...Yes."

"Good. Now I want you to remember the first time you ever tried using drugs. Can you remember when that was?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to travel back to that time and tell me what you see. Don't worry, you are completely safe and can return to your special place at any time using the words I gave you. Are you back in the time where you first tried drugs?"

"...Yes." The expression on Nate's face changed from one of relaxation to a slight frown, almost a pout, and his voice had somehow changed.

"How old are you."

"Five."

Noah blinked. Every once in a while a client would throw him a curve-ball but no matter how many times it happened, it never failed to catch him off-guard. There was nothing in Nate's file about him being exposed to drugs at such a young age. The best his previous therapists had discerned was that he started using in Jr. High, age twelve or thirteen at the earliest, due to peer pressure and family troubles. While it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that his client was exposed at the age of five, it was more likely that his subconscious had taken him somewhere deeper--a place that it associates with the root causes that eventually led to the first encounter with intoxicants. In his years of experience, Noah found that it was usually best to go along with these occasional missed destinations. The mind, deep down, holds the keys to its own healing, and often these 'field trips' would get you to truths in one session that might have otherwise taken years of talk therapy to uncover.

"What do you see?"

"I see my daddy." The voice was that of a little child and carried with it a heartbreaking tone of sadness.

"Is anyone else there with you?"

"No."

Noah swallowed. The reply was small, plaintive, and pitiful. By the look on Nate's face he could tell where this was going. A strong urge to pull Nate back from the memory gnawed at him but he knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't just assume the worst and proceed to throw darts in the dark for the rest of the sessions. He had to press on.

"Can you tell me where you are?"

"My roooooom."

Nate was starting to cry now, wet streaks running down his cheeks from closed eyes; his body shaking with sobs. The scene was heart-rending and Noah's eyes began to sting, tears of sympathy welling up and threatening to spill. Without thinking he got up from his couch and moved over to sit by the shaking pup, brushing tears away from his cheeks with the back of his paws.

"Shhh... it's ok. It's ok. There's no need to cry... You're safe. No one can hurt you."

In the back of his mind, the doctor was watching himself with disbelief. What the fuck are you doing?! Something about this session was not right. Things were getting out of control. Many patients had cried their eyes out on that dimly-lit love-seat in the past, and not once had Noah lost his composure. Never before had he felt compelled to sit next to them much less brush the tears from their cheeks. His professional self would have sat there with stoic compassion and guide the patient through the moment or back to security with questions or simple commands. But now...

The crying pup leaned over against the doctor's chest, wrapping his arms around him and staining his shirt with tears. "Daddy... Daddy?... Please!... Daddy?..." The sobs were getting louder now. "Please don't go! Please don't leave meee!"

The doctor wrapped his arms around his client as hot tears fled from his bewildered, golden eyes; rubbing his patient's back consolingly and holding him close to his chest. Years of training and professional experience down the drain, all he could do was hold the shaking pup and pet him gently, nuzzling down into his hair and trying to speak. After a few shaky breaths, Noah managed to choke out in a raspy voice "Nate?... Nathaniel?... Say the words. It's ok, honey... just say the words."

The sobbing young pup raised his head from the doctor's chest and gazed up into his eyes with large, moist, aquamarine orbs; lower lip still quivering and eyebrows raised with fear and sadness.

"...Words?"

The doctor stared back down into those two, trusting crystal pools for a moment, muzzle only a couple inches from the boy's and eyes filled with compassion, before responding in a soft whisper. "Say, 'I'm back.'"

~ ~ * ~ ~

Nathan stretched and yawned widely, taking up as much of the love-seat's surface as he could. The session didn't seem to have taken much time at all, and while he didn't remember any of the hypnosis part beyond the very beginning, he did feel strangely rested and spent, as if a large burden had been lifted from his shoulders. After rubbing his eyes to clear them of their blurriness, the dalmatian mutt noticed that there was no one sitting in front of him. With a frown, he began to swivel in his seat and look over his shoulders before locating Dr. Noah who was facing away from him, hunched forward over the edge of his desk with his head hanging low. This was the kind of pose he often seen his mom or dad make after there was a fight and the other had stormed out of the room--a sign of someone who was upset, deep in thought, and finding solutions nowhere.

The young pup's ears flattened a little, his voice reflecting the worry in his eyes. "Um... doctor?"

The doctor almost jumped, startled out of his revelry by his now-wakeful client. It only took a fraction of a second to replace his expression with a happy, professional grin as he wheeled around to face his perspective patient, clipboard in hand.

"Oh, Nathan! You're awake! How do you feel?"

The pup's features brightened instantly. There was nothing to worry about after all, just a doctor hunching over his notes.

"I feel... great, actually. Like I just took a really nice nap."

The boy's tail was wagging now, thumping against the love-seat cushion as he leaned over the armrest and looked up at the approaching doctor. He was excited and interested now, probably enjoying the feeling of true relaxation for the first time in years. The image melted the angst and worry in the lion's heart which was now having to hide a new, very different set of emotions. He just wanted to reach down and ruffle the boy's hair lovingly, and almost did, but caught his paw, in progress, with the other one. To the pup, it simply looked like the smiling doctor was shifting the clipboard from one hand to the other as he made his way to sit in front of him on the couch.

"So..." started Nate with a smile, "was I really out? Like... under a trance?"

The doctor leaned back and sat his clipboard in his lap with a nod. "Yes. That you were."

A genuine chuckle rose from his chest, kindled by the warmth of this cute pup's mood. "Out like a light," Noah added jokingly with a snap of his fingers. As the noise rang out, Dr. Gyle had a flash of imagery invade his mind, a scene where this pup had heard such a sound and suddenly became limp, falling into the doctor's arms.

Nate leaned back and grinned, spreading his arms across the top of the love-seat with a pleased expression. "I knew I could do it. Easy as pie. And my mom will be happy to know that I'm finally cured."

Noah eyed the pup suspiciously for a split second before noticing the impish spark in those teasing, blue eyes and both lion and mutt began to laugh.

"I'm sure she will! But just in case, maybe you should sign on for a few more sessions."

The suggestion was playful and light, but deep inside the lion's chest he was clawing at the edge of his seat, praying to the gods that this would not be the last time he was ever going to see such a heart-warming smile.

"Yeah, I guess..." Nate was breathing more freely now, a happy and peaceful expression wrapped around his distant stare that focused on the soft light filtering in through the window. "I really don't feel like anything happened. I'm just really relaxed."

Dr. Noah chuckled as he scrawled a few things onto the forms held by his clipboard.

"Relaxation is one of the perks of hypnosis. And don't worry. Today was just an introductory session..."

The doctor tore off the lower segment of the form and leaned forward, handing it to Nate as he hoisted himself out of his seat. The clock hand was announcing the immanent end of the appointment and Nate took the cue, as well as the slip, and made his way to his feet as well.

"What we generally go for here, especially those seeing long-term clients, is about one to two sessions a week. Since what I do is often a mixture of cognitive behavioral therapy as well as hypnosis, I often focus on one of the two treatments per session. So, if you decided to come twice a week, for example..."Please... Please do. "... then we could do a normal session one day and then a hypnosis session the next. That seems to work best for most of my clients."

Noah carefully studied the reaction of the pup who was standing next to him, almost close enough to be touching; the couch and the love-seat conspiring to push them together. The pup was frowning thoughtfully as he mulled it over, and at first, Noah was searching for signs of whether or not his sales pitch had hit home. Those thoughts were gradually replaced, however, by the warmth of Nate's proximity. The pup was looking down at the slip that had been handed to him, no doubt wondering about scheduling, school, and the like; and it was striking to the waiting lion that he hadn't noticed that the top of the boys head was right about at neck level on him, the perfect height for burying his muzzle in that soft, brown hair...

"Yeah, I think I can do that."

"Huh?" The doctor blinked as he came back to reality.

"Twice a week." Nathan grinned. "For now at least. Once fall comes around things at school might be getting busy with extracurriculars and all."

Noah wondered to himself what kinds of extracurriculars Nate was into. Wait... Did he just say he'd sign on? Twice a week?!

"Sounds like a plan!"

The lion was beaming, yet still had the presence of mind to offer a paw to Nathan. The pup took it gingerly before applying a firm squeeze. Noah didn't want to ever let go. The hand-shake ended, however, and soon the pup was walking down the hall without a care in the world. Janet had just opened her door and peeked out as the mutt passed by, turning her head to watch him leave as Dr. Noah blinked and realized that he had been so busy staring at the pup's swaying backside that he had completely forgotten to escort him to the door! Janet turned and gave the blushing Noah a quizzical look and smile. Luckily, Mary caught the stray pup as he was about to leave and called him back over to her desk to fill out the required paperwork. Mary was so good about these things. Nothing ever got by her, and it was almost certain that she was going to be offered a permanent position, regardless of when the other receptionist decided to return from leave. Noah would see to that. But in the meantime, he was going to have to figure out a way to keep his new client, regardless of an impatient mom, extracurriculars, or even the internal turmoil that had previously been absent from his steady job. It was going to be okay. After all, nothing was going to happen. He just wanted to be close, that's all. To help him. Right. The boy needed his help. He'd seen too many therapists already--been through too much failure. He couldn't let him go through that again. Wouldn't. Won't.

The doctor swallowed hard as he watched his new client walk out of his sight in the distance, and in the hallway right outside his office, the little white-noise generator droned on.