<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-style: italic">... demonstrated a volatile behavior pattern at 1523:42, behavioral plan enacted... strong withdrawal symptoms resulting in behavior indicative of severe emotional turbulence ... genetic predisposition to inadequate control of auto-moderation techniques...</span><br/><br/>Dr. Petrov sighed to himself. The file in his hands seemed thicker than the reinforced walls of the clinic, indicative of the patient having a long history with medical professionals. It had been transferred in only this morning, but rather than showing an initiative to help an additional person his senior therapists had seemed only too happy to hand him the heavy manila folder. The twenty-six-year old counselor couldn't keep the small furrow from his brow as he continued to peruse the damning words; a case such as this was certainly not in the norm, but it wasn't the professional side to him that he found writhing in discontent. It was certainly a heavy burden for an eleven-year-old to bear. <br/><br/>One long-fingered hand came up, phalanges stretching as they combed absently through the locks of dusty black. The small computer station -it would have been called a nurses' station, had this particular clinic been large enough to warrant that many nurses- echoed with rapid little taps as those same fingers dropped down to the keyboard. Broad shoulders hunched forward in front of the glowing monitor and deep-set eyes focused, their stormy-grey depths flickering through the information. The girl's mother didn't seem to be in the picture, and her father had died from cirrhosis of the liver only six months ago (the file didn't mention anything about alcohol abuse, but Levi had his experienced-based suspicions). It seemed that she currently resided with her aunt and uncle, on her mother's side. Besides an informative <span style="font-style: italic">lack</span> of content, there wasn't much else to go on; the young counselor was unsure if it was due to the recent arrival of her case, intuition rising in his throat as he pushed his half-moon spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. He straightened again, one hand resting against his narrow hip and the other still holding the file.<br/><br/>"Ah, S-sir..." came the soft voice, sounding loud in the silence of the empty station.<br/><br/>He jerked to attention, turning to face the speaker so quickly that his long white coat fluttered along the bottom. Buttoned from collarbone to just above his knee, it was suppose to be less likely to do so, but he didn't seem to notice as his raincloud-colored optics landed on the young nurse. She looked so nervous to be speaking to him; he surmised she was still getting used to working here, though it had been almost three weeks now. <span style="font-weight: bold">"Yes?"</span> he responded politely, his soft voice low enough to easily carry. <br/><br/>"Um... w-well... thank you. F-for before. Connor and I are v-v-very grateful." Her voice was high and timid, large eyes fixed on his feet and cheeks a bright red- barely visible beneath her thick auburn bang. Dr. Petrov smiled easily, tilting his head as he did so in an open, somehow encouraging manner.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Of course, Anna,"</span> he responded quietly, his long spine curved in the picture of relaxation as he allowed his smile to broaden slightly; it was by no means a grin, but it spread warmth throughout his entire face. His angular jawline seemed to soften and his high cheekbones caused a slight crinkle beneath his eyes, his weak chin offset by the confidence of his thin lips and sharp nose. He had always looked like a scholar, from the day that puberty had chiseled the masculinity into his features, but his natural gentleness had tempered the original coldness into something that was... curiously malleable. Unpredictable, but in a way that did not cause unease. He took a step toward the nervous little nurse, the file closing smoothly in his hand. <span style="font-weight: bold">"Let me know if you need any more help."</span> <br/><br/>With that informal parting, he nodded a polite goodbye and turned on his heel, his black dress shoes muffled against the thin carpet of the clinic's hallway. He cradled the thick file loosely in the bend of his lengthy arm, entering the main lobby within a few seconds. His original intention had been to pass through the entrance area and head toward the office, but his footsteps came to a halt so abrupt he nearly tumbled forward as a small, warm body attached around his waist with surprising strength. A tousled mop of blonde hair met his gaze as he looked down, brows raised in obvious surprise. However, his lips turned in yet another smile, this one touched by more familiarity and seeming to hold an extra note of laughter. <span style="font-weight: bold">"Good afternoon, Liam,"</span> he started politely, speaking to the young boy the same way he would his senior doctors (but with a playful softness in his voice that reverberated more than a cymbal), <span style="font-weight: bold">"Here for the check-up, right?"</span> One large palm settled onto the mop of gold, shifting as a face near his navel turned to look at him with huge, chocolate eyes. <br/><br/>The boy made no sound, but his toothy grin was more than enough response. Levi chuckled quietly, and the boy released his grip as his mother walked up behind him. She was well-dressed, but in a classily subdued way and when she spoke it was with the aristocratic voice of a once-debutante. "Hello, Doctor. I apologize on Liam's behalf; we had no intention of taking your time before next Wednesday." She gave him a removed, polite smile. <br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Please, it's no trouble,"</span> he said quickly, his own expression radiating the same openness as always, exposing her coolness in a way that would be obvious to a perceptive individual. <br/></span>