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Simon Glass has been privy to many thing since he was born.

He'd been empathetically gifted, so people’s emotions came like a second skin to him; it only made sense that later on in life he'd become a psychologist. He was also incredibly patient and kind, inherently offering his hand to anyone who needed it.

Simon Glass was also well aware of anomalies, anomalous objects, and anomalous beings.

It was easy to see that Simon Glass had a very interesting relationship with the world, to say the least.


 

Working as an SCP field agent isn't the worst thing Simon could imagine doing. It's not glamorous but he hadn't really been looking for glamorous. Sure, using his degree would've been pretty neat but really, working with SCP’s is all Simon could've asked for.

He'd spent too long around them to feel any sense of separation. He had accidentally found three anomalous objects in as many months, and the plainclothes agents that followed him around had eventually managed to pull him into it.

Maybe Simon was anomalous too: safe class, attractor of other anomalous objects and entities.

He snorts at his own thoughts.

The Foundation had tested him through and through, and as far as Simon knew, they weren't under the impression that he was an SCP. Simon didn't think he was, either, but he wouldn't be surprised at this point. Simon is sure he's got a foot through the door of death, and if his family hadn't assured it, he had done it to himself now. Nobody walked into the Foundation without having known a taste of insanity, and nobody walks out, period .

It was better this way, though, than anywhere else. The Foundation was the least egregious place Simon could work at, in his eyes.

Simon loads his Foundation-approved pistol, places it in his hip holster, and smiles at the lead agent of the group. The agent makes a disgruntled noise.

“You a psychopath?” she grunts as she shrugs on layer after layer of protective gear.

“Oh, I'd hope not. I'd be a very bad psychologist if I couldn't detect it in myself.” Simon replies. “I'm just very chipper. I like to think it's useful in such a field.”

“Maybe. Maybe it's just stupid though.”

“Maybe.”

Her name is Agent Antimony and she's been Simon’s squad leader quite a few times. Antimony is everything Simon assumed a Foundation raid squad leader would be like-- calculating, efficient, deadly.  She's got a small slew of scars across her cheeks and they fit her to a T, and Simon can't imagine her anywhere but the Foundation.

He also saw her knock a guy half a foot taller than her out with one bare knuckle punch when he asked her to “speak Chinese to me, babe”. She spat on him and cursed him out in Vietnamese. Simon had also seen her personally take wounded agents to medical and apologize for her oversight; she took her duties seriously, and she took her failures seriously too.

Simon had always been attracted to strong personalities, just as a general rule, so it's easy to like Antimony.

Antimony let him talk a humanoid SCP down from attacking once. It was a young girl with a forest growing wherever she walked, and the plants poisoned anyone she was afraid of. A fully armed squad of strangers were very frightening, understandably. She had killed two plainclothes agents sent after her in shock, which had prompted the raid team to go in and capture her.

He sits at the edge of her room, flooded with a weeping willow and a flurry of fireflies trailing across each leaf, and smiles at her as he peels off his mask.

“Hello,” Simon says, the girl staring at him suspiciously. Antimony is still towering over Simon’s shoulder. “I'm Simon. Sorry for coming in here and scaring you, miss. . .?”

“Yvonne.” she says quietly.

“Miss Yvonne. Lovely meeting you. Your flowers are beautiful, if I may say!"

“. . .Thank you.”

“I've always been fond of weeping willows too, you see, because I used to live near a river. They love rivers, and people say that the branches are reaching towards the water for a kiss.”

Yvonne blinks rapidly, stepping a little bit closer to Simon.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you think it wants a kiss now?”

“Oh,” Simon says with a soft grin. “I'm sure it'd love a kiss from you.”

Yvonne carefully takes one of the spindly branches in her hands and kisses it. The willow shudders and shivers, and a firefly happily lands on her nose.

“See? It’s even saying thank you!”

Yvonne giggles quietly, pleased and bright eyed, and sits down across from Simon eagerly. Simon offers his hand.

“Now, Yvonne, there are a lot of bad people in the world. And I know we scared you, and I'm sorry, but we’re not bad. We want to keep you safe, and we want to help you and your flowers and trees. I know it's been scary, but I really want to help you not be scared.”

Yvonne looks between Simon, his hand, and Antimony for a moment, hesitant.

“I hurt mommy and daddy.” she says quietly, sniffling. “And I didn't mean to. But I did.”

The flowers quiver, turning towards Yvonne and petting her with their petals gently.

“I'm sorry, dear. I really, really am.” Simon whispers, face softening. “But if you come with me, we can find a way so that you never hurt anyone again.”

“You really think you can help?” Yvonne asks, hand held up.

“I really do.”

She she hesitates, then puts her hand into Simon’s, and Simon smiles gently at her. They both stand, and Simon turns them towards Agent Antimony who is trying to keep a neutral face.

“Now I know miss Antimony looks scary, but she’ll keep us safe. I promise.” Simon says. “And if it helps, I'll give you a piggyback ride.”

“Really?!” Yvonne says excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

“Yeah, c’mon up!”

Simon crouches down on one knee, and Yvonne happily jumps up onto his back, little brown hands holding across his shoulders tight. Hiking her up securely, Simon stands back up and starts the journey back to the van, bouncing exaggeratedly with each step he takes to make Yvonne laugh. When he swoops down to grab a pair of Yvonne's bright pink butterfly flip flops, she squeals happily and Antimony covers up her own laugh with a cough. She secures a separate van for the rest of the raid team, deciding that her and Simon would be enough to keep Yvonne at bay without scaring her further.

Later, with Yvonne sleeping in the van and already a few hours into the ride back to Site 17, Antimony teases Simon.

“Agent Glass,” she says quietly, cocking an eyebrow. “I never took you for the children type. And do I look scary to you?”

“I'm not really the child type, no, but I took more than enough courses on child psychology and childhood trauma to get by.” Simon replies with an eye roll, cheeks stained pink. “And to any child, someone locked and loaded is pretty scary.”

“Yeah, yeah, save your own hide.” Antimony snorts, pointing at him accusingly.

“Secure, Contain, Protect your own butt.”

They share a few moments of amused silence before Antimony speaks again.

“Listen, Glass,” she says and Simon perks up immediately at her tone. “You did great with her, and you're a good field agent. But I think you'll do much better work in the psychology unit. I'm gonna send in a rec for you to be transferred.”

Simon blinks, a little shocked.

“Antimony--” he starts to say, voice a touch taut. “--thank you. It would mean a lot to me.”

“Don't thank me yet.” she says, a hint of a smile in her voice. “The psych unit hates the rest of us with a passion. You might be cursing me soon.”

Simon laughs, low and sweet, and Antimony does too, because they both know it's a lie.


 

When Agent Simon Glass is moved to the Psych unit, he sends Antimony a thank you letter with a bottle of scotch.

Antimony writes back.

“Don't do anything stupid now, I'm not around to help anymore.” it says, and Simon can hear the mocking lilt.

“Me? Do something stupid? Why, of course not Agent Antimony. How could I ever?”

He gets to sign it as “Dr. S. Glass” and it feels good.


 

Doctor Jack Bright knew many things over, and over, and over again. He had, after all, quite a few decades under his belt.

His eyes would never show it, of course, he'd joke. The real joke was that nobody knew when to take him at his word.

The psych unit kinda hated him. The head of the psych unit really hated him.

Dr. Jay was a paranoid man in many regards, wholly efficient in his job but also very prone to triggering severe lockdown procedures. Higher ups didn't outright question him, but there were a lot of questions unasked.

Dr. Jay did not like Site 19 if solely because that meant he had to have a sit down with Dr. Bright. Dr. Bright liked to endlessly terrorize Dr. Jay if solely by virtue of the fact that he was part of the psych unit.

“Dr. Jay!” Bright greets as he settles into his chair, across from Jay, smiling like the gleam of his amulet. “I didn't even realize it was time for another evaluation.”

“You say the same thing every time I come by, Dr. Bright.” Jay replies, cross deep down inside, but keeping his voice neutral. “And I would hope you're willing to cooperate this month.”

“Oh Dr. Jay,” Bright says in a dreamy voice, propping his head in his hands. “You're so hopeful! I think it's what I love the most about you.”

Today was going to be long, even though Dr. Jay and Dr. Bright only had an hour and a half of session time.


 

“-- And so when I bit his dick in half,” Dr. Bright is saying. “He looked at me like I was nuts, you know? And I'm like, that's what you get for tryna touch my ass!”

And Bright is laughing, laughing while Dr. Jay scrubs at his temples, and then there's two knocks on the door to indicate time’s up.

“Oh thank God.” Dr. Jay says. “Time is up, Dr. Bright, you are free to leave.”

“You don't appreciate me, Jaybird!”

“It takes a very particular person to appreciate every aspect of someone, Dr. Bright.” Dr. Jay says placatingly. “Maybe someday you'll find someone who does.”

“You're ready to toss me off, Jay?” Bright coos, but his heart isn't really in it anymore. “But I guess I should leave you to your work. Goodbye, dear!”

Dr. Jack Bright stands up, blows Dr. Jay a kiss, and skips off and out of the room. Dr. Jay can hardly believe he's the director of multiple sites, and he wouldn't believe it if he didn't see the paperwork marking his successes. The Foundation was an odd place indeed.


 

Dr. Jack Bright knows exactly how to get the Foundation off his ass; you didn't have a dozen hands shoved into the place without learning its ins and outs. It was necessary when he had so much to do and such a fucked up head.

Its half a miracle he hadn't blown his brains out this month already. Although, teasing Dr. Jay was more cathartic fun than Bright was allowed to admit.

“You're not supposed to torment the psych unit, Bright,” everyone said. “We don't have to like ‘em, I know, but still, Bright.” everyone said.

“Fuck you.” Bright generally says right back.

Because deep down inside, Dr. Jack Bright hated the psych department. Nothing they did would ever work and Bright could never figure out why the hell the Foundation kept pouring money into it. Agents either died or killed themselves, and the Foundation kept everyone in an empty box which no amount of therapy could ever curb the effects of.

Fucking bureaucrats. They really didn't know jack shit sometimes.

So Dr. Jack Bright would continue to torment the shrinks that came in and out as sweetly as he could. They could never help him, anyway.


 

Jack Bright had known nothing more than a farm, shady parents, and under the table liquor for a long, long time.

He'd been gifted with a hellishly silver tongue and a self-esteem not even a starving dog would take a bite at. Empathy was tough as nuts to have when shit kept going wrong no matter what he did.

And yet there he stood with square shoulders, trapped in a priceless amulet, controlling some of the most dangerous facilities in the world.

He had, in most regards, managed to look up and change the course of his life, despite the inevitable costs.

Oh, how he wishes things were different.

Chapter Text

Dr. Glass takes as well as he possibly can to being a therapist in Site 17. Or well, in the Foundation in general, since he gets moved constantly ; there's always a shortage of therapists in one site or the other. And while Glass was considered Yvonne’s primary therapist-- they made the greatest strides in progress together as opposed to other therapists who struggled with her more-- he was sometimes sent off the moment a session ended and couldn't come back for a long time.

Like now, where he was assigned for around a month to Site 19. After a week of being there, the therapist assigned to Yvonne, Dr. Hernandez, had requested that Glass send letters to Yvonne for her peace of mind. She had become reclusive and it hurt Glass’s heart to hear as much.

And, on top of that, Site 19 was a bitch .

Most SCP agents didn't like psych evals, and that was fine , because it made sense; they were private, paranoid people and having a psychologist ask them to divulge their mind was troubling to them. Glass could work with that, wear them down until they understood he was wholly trustworthy.

The agents on Site 19 fucking hate them. It's like every person on base is wary as hell about them.

The whole reason why Site 19 needed provisional therapists was because almost every single therapist on base had requested to be moved. Dr. Barahona, the on-site head of psychology, was tough as nails and refused to budge though.

Dr. Bright admired and despised her diligence in equal measures.

Dr. Barahona was deceptively soft-looking, a short, pear shaped woman with flowing loose curls and thick-rimmed black glasses. Underneath them lie sharp eyes, a shaper wit, and the sharpest tongue Bright had ever had the displeasure of receiving a lashing from.

But watching her straighten out the new arrivals with that tongue was probably the most fun Dr. Bright has had all day. They'd all give up eventually, because Site 19 chewed up shrinks and spat them back out in a splatter of copper and laughter, but this would be fun while it lasted.

It wasn't Bright’s fault everyone had slowly come to absorb his negative feelings.

Dr. Bright is leaning towards the railing of a landing, cast in opaque shadows where only a soft red gleam broke through, watching underneath as Dr. Barahona lectured. She outlined some of the things Dr. Bright was not allowed to do to the therapists, punctuated by a “but”.

“But,” she says, and Bright perks up. “He's a being with free will. There's only so much that can be done by us. I expect you all to do your best. Now I'll be meeting you all individually soon, but for now you all have your assignments-- Dr. Glass, come with me.”

“Already picking on one, Xiomara?” Bright tuts quietly, watching as a soft looking man with glasses and light brown-blonde hair steps to her side.

“I know you're up there, Bright.” Dr. Barahona says without looking up from her clipboard.

“Oh, the jig is up.” Bright teases as he leans into full view over the banister. “Hello! I'm Dr. Jack Bright, Director of Site 19. Pleasure to meet you all; I'm sure we'll be well acquainted soon enough.”

Glass smiles up at Bright, soft and brilliant, even as the people he came with become wary, shifting from foot to foot uneasily. They had, of course, all read the Foundation wide memo about Dr. Bright’s actual bureaucratic powers, his repetitive “pranks”, and his actual Foundation approved work. Dr. Barahona ignores him, succinct as she assigns her new underlings.

Glass was either ignorant, dumb, or incredibly brave in Bright’s eyes. Which were all very fun options, regardless of which was true; he liked it when there was someone to play with.

“Now Dr. Bright,” Barahona says once everyone but her and Glass are off. “I do hope you play nice this time around; Dr. Glass here will do wonders for our humanoid SCP’s, and it would be a shame of you to give him the wrong impression.”

“I'll throttle you with my own gun-calloused hands if you scare him off,” she doesn't say but Bright hears it anyway.

“Thank you for your high praise, doctor.” Glass says quietly, that sunshine smile turned towards Dr. Barahona.

“I'd never do such a thing! I'm sure he has his own impressions already, right, Dr. Glass?” Bright coos, leaning almost half folded over the railing.

“It's impossible not to,” Dr. Glass starts, and a grin cuts across Bright's face; oh, the memo would come up soon enough-- “I'm very flattered and happy to work somewhere with such a successful Director. To manage three relatively high level sites so efficiently must be quite the trouble, but I'm glad you excel in such.”

The grin manages to stay even as Bright's brain sputters to a stop. Even Dr. Barahona has stopped, glancing between Dr. Glass’s soft expression and Dr. Bright’s slowly tilting body.

“And while the extreme cold might take some adjustments, I'm more than happy to get accustomed.” Glass continues, seemingly unaware of the slowly changing atmosphere. “I'm sure everyone says that at first though!”

Glass’s quiet, smooth laugh breaks Bright's confusion and he stands back up, dusting his lab coat anxiously.

“Well, uh, yeah, really, everyone complains a little!” he rushes out. “Thanks, nice meeting you, but uh, I gotta get going, see you both!”

With that, Bright stumbles off, his ears tinged pink.

“You are fully aware that, while brilliant, Dr. Bright is utterly difficult to work with, right?” Dr. Barahona says with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, the memo was succinct in explaining he could be unreasonably playful and to not always take his offhand suggestions. But there's more to people than their mistakes, doctor.”

Dr. Barahona snorts, thinking of the actual memo’s wording before shaking her head.

“You're a good kid, Glass, which is why I wanted to talk to you privately. Follow me.”

They walk towards Dr. Barahona’s office in silence, the only noise being their footsteps and her flipping through her clipboard and scribbling down notes in neat cursive on the margins. Glass has a moment of thinking, wow, this feels like a funeral march, when some D Class personnel make a wide berth around them.

“They're terrified of landing face to face with me.” Barahona snorts, glancing back at Glass. “They're just lucky I mainly interact with high level staff and not the lower level staff.”

“I'm sure they're just afraid of your prowess, doctor.” Glass says cheerily as they step into her office.

“I've shot plenty of D Class personnel. Non lethally, of course.” Barahona says, waving for Glass to take a seat on one of the patient chairs.

“. . .Of course.” Glass replies, settling lightly and pursing his lips. “The Foundation will always be the Foundation, I suppose.”

“Mhm. Once you're in long enough, you'll get the hang of it.”

“Well, I just assume this won’t be too different from field work, honestly.” Glass confesses. “Handling dangerously trigger happy beings who can kill you at will. I guess I'm a little worse off, without the power to fire at will.”

He flashes a small teasing smile and Barahona sits down across from him with a laugh.

“Oh, I'm sure O5 could understand.” Barahona waves off.

“Let's just see how far I get without it.” Glass replies and settles back. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I know they had you working with humanoid SCP’s in Site 17, correct?”

“Mhm. I've become quite adept at having them speak to me.”

“Well, you're gonna need all of that.” Dr. Barahona says, rolling her wrist as she scans a paper on her desk. “I'll be assigning you to some humanoid SCP’s, but mainly to high level staff. It seems like they need a new face to soften up to, and they're top priority when it comes to mental health.”

“I suppose you're right,” Glass concedes, fingers curling together anxiously. “But I can't guarantee results from the high level staff.”

“I'm hoping for results, doctor, just not fully expecting them.” she admits, shuffling a pile of papers together and tidying them up before passing them to Glass. “And even if things don’t pan out with the staff, the SCP are still your expertise; you can always go full into working with them.”

“Thank you for the reassurance. I'll do my absolute best, though.” Glass says, smiling at Barahona. “Hope is a strong tool.”

“How sweet. Site 19 will break you in soon enough.”

Glass laughs, happy and slightly mocking.

“That's what they keep telling me! Maybe site 19 really will do it this time.”

Chapter Text

Glass misses Yvonne and Antimony in equal measures while at Site 19. They lent him a sense of normalcy, grounding and warm; he could rely on having Yvonne bloom new flora every week, or on Antimony’s small bottle of liquor on his desk (of which he'd reply to happily with her favorite vodka). He misses Antimony bitching about the dumb things her teams do, and her nonplussed nature, and he could use some of her backbone in that moment as he sat before Dr. Bright.

Dr. Barahona had scheduled Dr. Bright as Glass’s first human session. An ambitious woman indeed.

Christ, Glass could use some of Antimony's whiskey. He writes letters to her, mostly psychologist-backed advice to support any recruits that seem a little off; not that the Site shrinks weren't effective, but most recruits took their squad leader’s words heart more often than not. That's what he's doing when Bright knocks on his office door.

“Enter, please.” Glass calls out, switching out the screen for the Foundation approved evaluation sheet. He picks up a clipboard with a printed copy of it, having always been a sucker for the inherent romanticism in handwritten pages of work.

Bright steps in with some fanfare, twirling as he shuts the door. Glass smiles and stands, walking around his desk to the twin couches.

“Hello there director, a pleasure seeing you again so soon.” Glass says, sitting down neatly.

“Oh Glass, are you already enamored by my charm?” Bright coos, tossing himself onto the other couch. Glass giggles, slightly mortified. “I can tell by your eyes doctor!”

“Well, I can't fault you for wanting to see it in me.” Glass appeases. “How are you today, Director?”

“I am warm from your love, window flower.” Bright continues, throwing his head back and putting the back of his hand to his forehead.

Glass throws his head back in laughter.

“Then I suppose that makes you the winter wind?” Glass replies, clicking his pen and shaking his head as he scribbles the basic information onto the sheet. “Robert Frost is pretty popular, though I can't say I hear many people quoting Wind and Window Flower .”

Glass pauses, tapping his pen to the paper for a thoughtful moment before looking back up. Bright is sprawled in the same way, but he’s steadily watching Glass; Glass notices the glittering red quality to his eyes for the first time.

“Is there something wrong?” Glass asks.

“No, nothing. Just glad you got the reference.” Bright says.

“Poetry is an old favorite of mine. Are you fond of it?”

“Very.” Bright says, crossing his legs.

“Then I guess it wouldn't hurt to talk about it, would it?” Glass asks, smiling. “Unless you'd rather not.”

“Shouldn't you be psychoanalyzing me or something?” Bright shoots back.

“Or I could do that. It’s just that I don't see the point of making this experience impossible. I know you don't like me, and you're not going to make things easy, so I'd rather not try.”

Bright stares at Glass for long enough that Glass starts squirming a little.

“I thought if anyone would appreciate a less stressful approach, it’d be you?” Glass tries again.

“You know Simon, it's not you, ” Bright says, waving a hand around and catching Glass off guard. He didn't think Jack Bright of all people would have bothered to remember his name. “You're cute and all but you're full of shit.”

Glass laughs, only a touch uncomfortable, and leans his elbow on the arm rest.

“That’s probably a fair assessment, but I don't think you believe that.” Glass says softly. “I think you're someone quite clever under the playful façade, and I think you're very good at sniffing out bullshit, and I know you can't find something that's not in me. It's just much easier for us to spend an hour talking about the things you'd like to talk about and have you leave here satisfied, if not happy, than to embitter your day.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere Simon.”

“I suppose it could, but I'm hardly being flattering. The word you might be looking for is honest.”

Bright let's out an ugly snort, rolling his eyes; Glass simply settles comfortably, crossing his legs and placing his clipboard to the side. By the looks of it, Bright is assessing Glass shamelessly. Glass let’s the fact that he wholly doesn’t mind it shine through.

“I own a copy of A Boy’s Will , and while the rhyming isn’t always my favorite aspect, it’s really quite pleasant to the ear.” Glass offers. “ North of Boston is pleasant in the same way.”

“. . . Into My Own is sort of a self dick-suck.” Bright finally says, and Glass laughs once more.

“I guess you could say that,” Glass consents. “But I see it more of an assurance. Like he’s telling his future self, ‘you’ve done this and been fine before’. Walking forward in time is scary, and maybe he wants to look back, but there’s no benefit in it; instead, when he looks at himself in the present, he is wholly sure that who he is is who he wants to be.”

“What is this, an English lecture?”

“I’ve been told I have a good voice for lecturing.”

“Horrible.”

“That’s very unfortunate for you .”

Bright narrows his eyes at Glass, trying to hide his amusement.

“I’m still your superior, Glass.” Bright teases.

“And I can sign off on you being unfit for duty,” Glass retorts, raising a single eyebrow. “We have a fairly balanced relationship if you ask me.”

“Touché.”


 

The hour session went as well as Glass could have hoped for it to go; Bright called a lot poems a self dick-suck, a curious choice of vocabulary, but nothing Glass couldn’t deal with. Antimony was equally as crass, so it was more familiar than Glass would readily admit.

Glass returns to his desk as time runs out, placing his clipboard to the side and sliding into his seat to type up the little information he had managed to wrangle out of Bright.

“Well doctor, our time is almost up.” Glass hums out. “Any last thoughts?”

“Robert Frost is a dipshit.”

“Insightful.”

Bright stands, cracking his back with ease as he meanders towards the door. Glass looks up, ready to call out a goodbye when a glint to the right of his computer catches his eye. A clear crystal sphere sits innocently on the edge of Glass’s desk, maybe ten inches across in total, with 3 pastel colored plastic stars suspended inside; pink, orange, and yellow. For a moment it looks like they’re aligned, Orion’s belt trapped in a snowglobe, but then a tilt of his head shifts it out of line. It reflects a shallow, yellow light despite being in the monitor's shadow and the industrial white lights over head.

“Dr. Bright,” Glass calls out, not moving. “Did you bring this into my office?”

“Bring what?” Bright asks, glancing back.

Glass carefully picks the sphere up, compelled to keep it in sight lest it disappear as quickly as it appeared.

This .”

“. . . I didn’t. It’s not yours?” Bright asks doubtfully, stepping up to Glass’s desk.

“No. I need to put this down.” Glass replies quietly, slowly placing it on his paperwork and carefully prying each of his fingers off of it. “I think if I stop looking at it, it’ll move.”

“That’s no good,” Bright says as he pulls out his Foundation approved phone and starts typing away. “I think maybe--”

Someone knocks on the door, probably the receptionist, to indicate the end of their allotted time, and Glass’s eyes instinctually look up at the sound. When he looks back down, it’s gone-- and returned to the corner of the desk, where only Glass can see it properly.

“Oh my,” Glass finally says. “I’ve attracted another one.”