"I'd love to tell you, but I don't think I should."

[somethingunforgivable]

[ There was some dread associated with waking up this morning. He could put on a face, agree to disagree, but the previous night's discussion had left him angry. Sigmund Freud had refused to share a simple dream, simply because he didn't think he should. Had he feared being analyzed by Carl? He had to wonder if he was seen as just another patient, or if he was a friend. Sure, their friendship was strained, but that was no reason to be disrepectful. He wondered, perhaps, if he should just avoid breakfast and have food delivered to his room.

Then it would look like he was running away. Instead, he got dressed. He made sure there were no wrinkles in his material before he headed to breakfast. He was early, not too early to seem eager or nervous. But he would likely beat the other guests. ]

Comments

lsdkjglkasjdg it's okay, as you can see...i am le slow

[somethingunforgivable]

Not in the early mornings. [ He is quiet, his words are impersonal and he has difficulty exploring the place that they had visited the night before. Jung does believe that by Freud analyzing his dreams, he has left a part of himself there. Perhaps that was why he felt no need to speak to him in that familiar way.

To treat him as an equal and always as a student. He would never - truly - be Freud's equal in the man's eyes.

The man he had so respected and admired was not so much his friend as his own psyhoanalyst. ]

If the sea air is making it difficult to speak, we should step inside.

[ After all, their conversations were all that they had. ]

WHY DID I NEVER GET THE NOTIF FOR THIS

[inestimablevalue]

[ It serves Freud's ego well that Jung seems to be grasping at the remnants of their relationship. He knows that it is a manner of pride, nothing particularly neurotic about it, but he still cannot help but be pleased.

Is this what the Father feels, he wonders, when his Son looks at him with hatred and admiration both in his eyes? Freud is a father, but his sons are not close to him. He has wrapped Jung around his heartstrings far more than he has his own son, and he thinks now that this is a mistake.

He hands this man a legacy, and he shatters it at Freud's feet. ]

Perhaps we should. [ Freud rocks backwards and stands up, taking a long drag from his cigar before he removes it from his mouth, blowing out a long, slow breath. He half-turns, unwilling to take the first step. ]

Shall we?

[somethingunforgivable]

[ Since Feud does not take that first step, he does. He turns completely and steps towards one of the doors that would take them inside. He did feel as if he was Freud's son, in a way. The one to inherit his legacy.

He knows that this is what it was like to be the son that would never quite fill his father's shoes.

He pulled open the door and step back, so not to be disrespectful. He would let the man step through first, in order to practice the courtesy that he knew he should have. The respect for his mentor that he did have - somewhere. He was grasping so desperately. ]

I will get us a table.