(Random unedited scene of Jarvis's second meeting with Captain.)
Jarvis had read the letter several times.
Several may’ve been an understatement.
It was well over a hundred times.
At the start of the day, at the end of it, and throughout when he had a moment to himself, he read the letter from Benjiman Tracy, or more commonly referred to in Hollybrook prison as, Captain.
The apology scrawled out and half smudged made Jarvis’s gut clench. He didn’t deserve it. He was the prison therapist. Yes, during their one and only session together, Captain became angry and yelled, a lot, but Jarvis should’ve sat quietly and calmly at his desk until Captain ceased venting. He’d done it before with other prisoners. Captain wasn’t the first to shout at him, and he wouldn’t be the last.
But Jarvis had gotten the impression Captain had formed an opinion of him the instant he stepped into the office when he'd run his sleep-deprived eyes over all of Jarvis’s possessions, then studied his appearance with a sneer.
A cardigan wearing man with a styled moustache and circular glasses must’ve looked ridiculous to Captain who marched in wearing black combats, and a chest hugging tight T-shirt.
He’d asked a few quick questions about Jarvis that he answered which only seemed to solidify his hatred, then Jarvis made the fatal error of asking Captain how he was dealing with his PTSD inside Hollybrook Prison.
Bad move.
It was news to Captain that his diagnosis had been shared to the prison therapist, and Jarvis’s blunt question triggered a wave of anger so startling it froze Jarvis to the chair.
Yes—he’d been yelled at before, but never like that, never with that much hatred or venom, never by a man that loomed over the desk, bracing himself on curled fists as he unleashed the horrors of what made him wake up screaming in the night.
The officer waiting outside had rushed in, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull Captain away. His shouted demands were drowned out by Captain who didn’t drag his eyes from Jarvis as the horror kept pouring from his mouth, then it turned to mocking--Captain asking Jarvis what could he possibly do for him?
Jarvis had scooted backwards, knocking his chair into the radiator behind and hit his head into the wall. It was that combination of the clang, the thud and the oomph from Jarvis that silenced Captain.
They were both shaking.
Jarvis from shock, and fear, Captain from trying to force all his anger back and compose himself enough to stand up straight again.
“You can’t help me. You can’t help anyone.”
Those were Captain’s parting words as he turned and left with the panting prison officer feebly gripping Captain’s arm. That officer wouldn’t have been able to stop Captain from leaping over the desk and attacking Jarvis.
Captain could’ve killed him.
And for weeks, Jarvis thought about that encounter as his closest call. He could’ve died. The ex-army captain on F wing wanted him dead. His loved ones had used it as a reason for him to quit and find a safer, better paid job, and Jarvis had considered that idea, but then he got the apology letter.
Captain apologised for scaring him, for losing it like he did. He reiterated in his letter that he would never physically hurt Jarvis, and he was ashamed that he’d done so in words.
It wasn’t him.
That raging beast wasn’t him and he was sorry Jarvis got to see and hear the hideous side of himself.
Jarvis accepted the apology, but the fear of the moment and Captain’s last words to him stayed with him.
“You can’t help me.”
Jarvis didn’t believe he could.
“You can’t help anyone.”
Those words picked open a wound of insecurity.
Who was he to be at Hollybrook and offer advice to these men. The majority had come from difficult beginnings, they had real problems, had gone through devastating experiences, but not him.
He came from wealth, security, and hadn’t wanted for anything.
His problems in life were self-inflicted and so trivial compared to other people.
He didn’t see Captain again even though he knew a request had been made.
It was cowardly to avoid the problem, but just because Jarvis was a therapist and had a vastly different upbringing didn’t mean he didn’t have his own flaws.
Rory, a previous ‘not-inmate’ had been the one to force Jarvis’s hand. Rory told him Captain had spiralled back into alcoholism and relied on prescription drugs just to sleep.
By avoiding the problem, Jarvis had made things worse.
He had to see Captain.
He had to make things right.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.
Two prison officers waited outside the office at Jarvis’s request. They didn’t fill him with confidence. Captain was a giant of a man, muscular, thick. Jarvis swallowed when he thought of his huge hands curled into fists, his biceps, his neck muscles all pulling tight as he shouted, and that voice, sharp and savage enough to cut through him.
Jarvis squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t seeing that man again, but the one from the letter, the one who drowned himself in self-loathing and shame.
Knuckles wrapped on the office door. It had clear window so Jarvis could see Officer Monroe behind it, shooting him a small smile. Monroe clutched his radio in one hand.
“Captain’s on the way.”
The glass was paper thin. Monroe didn’t even need to raise his voice.
Jarvis managed to nod.
Officer Monroe with his lush brown hair, round face, and peach fuzz facial hair didn’t look like the kind of man that could hold Captain back if he chose to launch the desk and attack Jarvis. In fact, he didn’t look like a man at all, but a child. Jarvis knew he was at least twenty to be working at Hollybrook, but he didn’t look it. The other officer, Castor, was at the other end of the scale age wise. He had the experience unlike Monroe, but no longer had any strength to back it up, not when it came to six-foot-three muscular men with eyes that had seen horror and a temper that could strip paint from the walls, Castor wouldn’t stand a chance.
None of them would.
Jarvis eased out a slow breath at his bare desk. He’d removed all his figurines and trinkets, convinced they’d given Captain an impression of him that he didn’t like.
Maybe it was unprofessional, but other prisoners seemed to like his eccentric collection of figures, and books. They were conversation starters.
His office looked so distinctly different to any other room in Hollybrook, or as least it had…
He had his notebook, his pen, and his picture frame with himself and his girlfriend. Her smiling face felt comforting at times, but mocking at others.
He could practically see her eyeroll.
Jarvis was being ridiculous. Captain wouldn’t be allowed to see him if he was considered dangerous.
The two extra officers outside were at his request.
Monroe greeted someone out of Jarvis’s view. He smiled. Castor got to his feet, albeit slowly, and made his way over to the officer that had stepped into view. Seinfeld had escorted Captain to the office, and rather than be ignored like Jarvis had witnessed numerous times, the two officers greeted Captain too who spared them a brief nod before turning to the door.
Jarvis had to swallow his heart back down as it tried to escape his throat. It shook him as it beat. His palms were coated in a layer of sweat, and when Seinfeld opened the door for Captain his first instinct was to ask Seinfeld to sit in on their session.
He didn’t, but it was a near thing.
Captain closed the door behind him and the click of the latch sounded ominous.
Jarvis glanced at the window to the three officers chatting away, not looking towards the office, not making sure he was safe and well like they were supposed to. He felt himself being inspected. It was true, he’d dressed differently. He’d ditched the cardigan and wore a smart jacket that itched his nape, and he hadn’t twirled his moustache with wax like usual.
“Hi…” Captain murmured.
Jarvis’s gaze snapped to Captain advancing across the small office. His hair was military short, a neat, no nonscience haircut. Jarvis wondered whether his own mop of curls had added to Captain’s negative opinion of him and had considered trimming them. Captain was clean shaven, but he’d missed a patch on his chin, and there were a few cuts, like he’d been in a rush or used a rusty razor. His eyes were brown, Jarvis couldn’t see the shade, they only looked dark to him, but Captain’s file said they were brown.
“I won’t take long,” Captain said, stopping behind the free chair in front of the desk. He curled his fingers around the top of it. They were big. Captain had big…everything from what Jarvis could see. “You read my letter?”
Jarvis nodded.
Captain slumped as he sighed. “I’m sorry. I lost it that day. I shouldn’t have said those things, I shouldn’t have made you feel that way. You were scared of me. I know you were. I could see it, I could sense it, I could fucking taste it, and I’d liked it at the time. It made me feel good. But you didn’t deserve years of my pent-up anger. I’m sorry Doctor Jarvis, I really am.”
“Jarvis…it’s Jarvis.”
“Okay. Jarvis. I’m sorry for how I behaved. I’m sorry for coming into your space with the wrong attitude. I have a lot of shit in my life that I’ve never dealt with, that I don’t know how to deal with, but blowing up on you was the wrong way to go about it.” Captain released the chair. “Thank you for letting me apologise to you face to face.”
He turned to leave, and Jarvis shot to his feet, knocking his chair over. “Wait.”
Captain did, frowning.
“Please,” Jarvis said gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
“I only came to apologise.”
“I know, but I want to run something by you. An idea.”
Captain cocked his head. “What kind of idea?”
Jarvis could feel his heart beating in his throat again. “If you sit down, I’ll tell you.”
There was a moment Captain glanced over his shoulder at the door, and Jarvis thought he would leave, leave without giving him a chance to make up for his cowardice, but then Captain nodded, and pulled out the chair. He sat down stiffly, eyeing Jarvis without blinking.
Jarvis righted his chair and sat down. He flipped open his notebook, choosing to speak to his scribbled words rather than the man directly opposite him.
“There are fifty-four ex service men in this prison. It’s the MOD’s responsibility to check the welfare of their ex-servicemen. There are schemes and programmes in place to help them readjust to civilian life and that extends to those servicemen in prison. I contacted them, asking for a representative to visit Hollybrook once a week to help with the transition from army to prison to civilian life again. My idea was granted, and I’ve got permission from the governor to run a…support group.”
“Support group?”
Jarvis heard the scepticism in Captain’s tone, but he continued regardless.
“A group once a week where all the ex-service men across all wings get to meet talk about their experiences of coming home, or experiences of deployment. Their struggles, their triumphs, advice. An hour a week that gets them out of their cells and interacting with others that have gone through similar things to them,” Jarvis swallowed. “Things that the rest of us won’t understand.”
He bit his lip, staring at the page, awaiting Captain’s reaction.
“It sounds like a good idea…”
Jarvis looked up. “Really?”
Captain rumbled with an amused hum. “Really. I’m assuming you want me to attend these sessions.”
“Attend?” Jarvis snorted. “I’d like it if you helped run them.”
“What?”
“You’re a captain.”
“An ex-army captain.”
“You have respect on the wing. You have a decade long career of experiences.”
Captain crossed his arms, leaning back into his chair. “Someone’s been reading up on me again…”
“The representative, whoever they are, they’ll need help running the session. They’ll need someone there who the prisoners will respect and listen to and that’s not me.”
Captain opened his mouth as if he was about to counter Jarvis but closed it again.
“What do you think?” Jarvis asked.
“I think…” Captain stared past Jarvis to the wall behind. “I think I’m interested.”
Jarvis snorted. “You only think you are?”
“I’m interested,” Captain said. “But there’s no guarantee anyone will come to these sessions. Especially if you call it a ‘support group’ or have any association in the name that suggest it’s to do with PTSD. I can only speak for myself, but that’s a very private, personal diagnosis which makes me feel lesser as a human.”
“You’re not.”
“Jarvis…I’m not here to discuss that. Me and my mental health are off limits to you.”
Jarvis held up his hands. “Understood. What would you suggest calling the group?”
“Military men meetup. Something like that.”
Jarvis made a note of it. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll let the governor know and see when the representative is ready to start, and we’re go for MMM.”
“MMM?”
“Yeah.”
Captain chuckled. “That might be kind of confusing. It has sexual connotations.”
Jarvis’s pen slipped. He looked up to see Captain smiling at him.
“Add a couple more M’s and it’ll be a full-blown orgy.” Captain lifted his eyebrow.
“I’ll never refer to it as MMM again.”
“You’ll need to have an incentive, you know, to get prisoners to attend the first session.”
“Like what?”
Captain shrugged. “I kind of like bacon sandwiches.”
“You’re not using these sessions to get an extra ration of bacon.”
“I’m just saying.”
Jarvis frowned in thought. “The governor will never allow that…but what about sweets?”
“What kind of sweets?”
“Hard boiled ones, mint, or lemon.”
Captain hissed through his teeth. “They’re no good.”
“Why not?”
“They give me ulcers.”
“I’m hoping more than just you will be attending these sessions.”
Captain smiled. “You’ll need a variety, and maybe not sweets in a setting like that, maybe something more manly.”
Jarvis raised his eyebrows. “You consider sweets unmanly?”
“Compared to crisps, pretzels and pork scratchings, yeah. Sweets are for intimate encounters, but crisps, they’re for a gathering.”
“Fine,” Jarvis shook his head. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He made another note in his book.
“Where have all your figurines gone?”
Jarvis hummed as he looked up at Captain. “What?”
“You had monsters and a horse on your desk before.”
“Orcs, and a unicorn.”
“It didn’t have a horn.”
“It had lost it in the battle of…you know what, it doesn’t matter. It was unprofessional to have things like that in the office,” he shifted, avoiding Captain’s gaze. “They give the wrong impression.”
“What impression is that?”
Jarvis licked his fast-drying lips. “That I’m…I’m boy in a man’s body.”
Captain tipped his head back laughing.
“That I can’t help anyone,” Jarvis continued, cutting off Captain’s laugh. “There was too much me of in the office, and it’s not about me, it’s about whoever walks through the door.”
Captain stared, and Jarvis felt compelled to add more to his argument.
“It sets the wrong tone before the session has even started.”
“Has anyone ever complained about your possessions before?”
“No.” Many prisoners expressed an interest, and a few were fans of the fantasy series Jarvis surrounded himself with. “No, but sometimes no words are needed.”
“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”
Jarvis didn’t reply.
“That’s why you’ve stripped your office of all personality,” he tilted his head in the direction of the picture frame. “I’m surprised you haven’t hidden that away too in case it offends me.”
“Does it?”
Captain recoiled as if struck. “Of course it doesn’t. You and I presume your girlfriend smiling happily doesn’t offend me Jarvis and neither does everything else.”
“It did though.”
“I told you; I came in here with the complete wrong attitude. Is…am I the reason for the jacket?”
Jarvis looked down at it. It weighed down on his shoulders more noticeably that a cardigan ever did.
“And your tash?”
Jarvis covered his top lip.
“Last time you had it all,” Captain rubbed his thumb over his finger. “You know…styled?”
“I almost shaved it off this morning,” Jarvis admitted.
“Why?”
“In case it…it doesn’t matter, I didn’t, it’s still here.”
Captain frowned. “The first time we met I came in the intending to get angry, and I did. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, or how you dress or what you like to have on your desk. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” Jarvis lowered his hand. “I mentioned your diagnosis.”
Captain sucked in a breath. “It was a shock. I don’t like talking about it. You know everything about me—"
“I know everything written in a file, that file is about you, but it’s not you. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I know something you didn’t want me to know.”
Captain rubbed his chin, considering. “It’s forgiven.”
“And you’re apology for shouting—”
“For scaring you.” Captain corrected.
“That’s accepted too.”
“Good.” Captain grinned. “So…These MMM sessions.”
Jarvis cracked a smile. “We’re changing the name.”
Captain laughed. “Will you be there too?”
“I’ll be there to assist, and to learn from you and whoever the representative is.”
“And I don’t have to attend these,” Captain gestured between them. “One on one sessions.”
A prang of disappointment fizzled in Jarvis’s gut.
“These sessions are never compulsory. I’m here, as, if and when you need me.”
Captain glanced around the office. “I was thinking this would be the perfect place to offer sweets as an incentive.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, some chocolate maybe.”
“And then you’d come?”
Captain leaned forward, smiling again. “I’ll make it a weekly thing if chocolate is available.”
“I feel so wanted right now.”
“It’s only an idea,” Captain said, getting to his feet. He tucked the chair beneath the desk. “Smarties are my favourite.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“I’m not leaving until you do.”
Jarvis snorted and wrote SMARTIES in huge letters in his notebook.
“Thank you for coming to see me today.” Jarvis said.
Captain’s expression turned serious. “Thank you for letting me. And these group sessions, whatever they end up being called, they’re a great idea Jarvis. They’re going to help a lot of men in here.”
The praise warmed Jarvis’s insides, and lit him up with a bright smile that Captain returned before leaving the room.
From fear to feeling like he was floating.
Jarvis knew it was the start of something, he just didn’t know what.