Psychopaths weren't usually found at couples' counselling. Valerie Turner was used to couples who had been married for a long time, lost the zest in their love life, or were working to regain trust after a betrayal of some kind. That type of drama she was used to. This man was … not that.

A caged lion at the zoo; that's exactly what was sitting in the arm chair across from her. A large hulking frame that made the chair look ridiculously dainty. He wore jeans, shit kicker boots, leather wrist bands, dark button-down shirt, and a heavy leather vest that was the most intimidating part of his whole mystique. It had a huge grim reaper on the back holding an anarchy symbol. She didn't have to be born and bred here to recognize the patch from the local motorcycle gang. Scratch that – club. Motorcycle club.

Valerie knew the rumours and stories on this one, Alexander Trager. He killed people for the Sons of Anarchy. That was his duty: they pointed the gun and he went off. He killed men and women with the same detachment. When she'd asked her receptionist, Teresa, a life-long Charming resident, about him, the younger woman had told her not to be alone in the office with him. The 95-pound waif of incredibly white teeth and blonde hair had offered to hover near the door. Even without the local lore cranking up her nervousness, the man himself was enough to make any rational person wary.

Nothing prepared her for the eyes, though. They were seeing every nuance of the room. Piercing, blue eyes that glared out of a face creased by weather and hard living.

The hands clasped in front of him wouldn't stop wringing each other. The heavy rings were twisted around repeatedly. She knew that he was beyond uncomfortable to be there, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what brought him to her door in the first place.

Valerie waited. This was one thing she was good at. The men were never the first ones to start talking, and without a partner here to goad on their significant other the channels for a decent conversation would be hard-forged, if they happened at all. Valerie didn't have much hope.

"Can we start by you telling me how you heard about my office?" Jesus, he made her nervous. The air was sucked out the room with him in it. All the colour and light she made a point of including in the décor were lost in all the black that he wore.

He rubbed an eye brow, gave a strange laugh. "A friend told me to come here."

"And why was that?"

"Well, I … I punched him in the face after he dropped a wrench on my foot."

Valerie's eyebrows flew up. "Why would that make you punch someone?"

"I've been on edge. Very … on edge." He rubbed his hands on his thighs, leaning back in the chair. "Every time someone asks me the simplest question I lose it."

"So on first glance I'm going to guess you've been under great stress, is that right?"

Those eye-blue eyes slid over to her, an unreadable smirk on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I've had some stress lately."

Valerie had the feeling he was laughing at her. She didn't particularly care. She didn't know him. "Mister Trager -"

"Tig."

The damn nickname again. It was too familiar for the relationship she was trying to initiate here. "Right. Sorry. I do couples counselling. You're here alone. I'm trying to wrap my head around why you're … here."

He stood so suddenly she jumped, but he seemed not to notice. He stroked his jaw, moving to the windows that overlooked her front yard. "Okay, you're right, Doc. I'll tell you what. I'll get to it because this entire thing feels far too fucking weird for me to deal with. So I might as well just throw it out there."

She waited for what was coming next, letting him stare outside. Patiently.

"I find, at this point in time, that I am … unable … to perform. Sexually. It happened suddenly. I don't know why. I just can't get it up."

Valerie looked down at the blank note pad in her lap. "Okay. Well, that's something to start with. Would you mind sitting back down?"

"Yes, I would."

"Okay then. That's fine." She exhaled. "Have you had … a medical assessment?"

"The fuck you mean by that?"

She looked back up, and as angry as the voice sounded the face was just looking at her, questioning. "Well, it could be a medical problem. You should rule out that it's not E.D."

He just blinked, the harsh jaw clenched tight. "E … D?"

"Well, there are many medical issues that can impede sexual function. If that's the case no amount of talk here will help that. At a certain age -"

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Valerie gave her best Don't Push It face. It worked. "I mean it. Unless you can rule out a medical condition there's not a lot I can do."

"I have never in my life had any performance problems, okay? As long as there was gash to be had I had it."

She held up her hands, almost a motion of surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. This is the first time it's happened." She sighed. "I'm going to ask a personal question."

"Why not? You've already got me fucking scared that I need a blue pill to get laid from now on."

She pointed to the chair, her discomfort making her slightly bitchy now. To her surprise he sat as she instructed, running hands over his crazed dark hair and stroking his beard again. Suddenly the fidgeting made sense. This really was a man that used sex as a stress reliever, and without it he was a walking nuclear catastrophe.

"Can you get an erection on your own?"

His expression snapped right to pissed. "What?"

"Can you get an erection with no one else around? No one expecting anything from you? Like, first thing in the morning? Do you … wake up half-mast?"

That stare was unreadable. When he burst in to a mad cackle of laughter she jumped, realizing what had just come out of her own mouth. Her face grew warm and she hoped to hell the blush wasn't obvious.

"I haven't tried doing … that. Yet." He said, still laughing and rubbing his face.

"Then let's make that your first bit of homework. You find out if the plumbing works. Then we can assess the main frame to see what circuit's flipped." Great, she was nervous and making metaphors like a drunk on their first date in decades.

He slung back in the chair, put his chin on his hand, elbow on the chair's arm as he took her in. Valerie refused to squirm, knowing he was sizing her up to see what she was made of. She wouldn't fall for it. But those eyes were greedy as they ran from her face down to her legs, crossed in front of her. Valerie was wishing then for cooler weather so she could always wear nice, loose-fitting trousers comfortably. She couldn't lie and say that the blatant appraisal didn't tingle her skin.

His eyes returned to her face and she suddenly realized the eyes could be as joking as they were menacing. They actually twinkled at her right then. "Okay Doc. I promise to do my homework. For you. Thinking of you the whole time."

A lick of heat shot through her, and she cleared her throat, getting to her feet. She pointedly ignored the innuendo. "That's our hour. If you want to keep a standing Tuesday afternoon appointment please confirm it with Teresa at the front desk."

He sat where he was, looking up at her now. His expression hadn't changed and she fought the urge not to join in the humour he was obviously finding in this situation. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave less politely when he stood with a sudden surge of energy that had her backing up as quick as a reflex.

She cursed inwardly, pissed she'd let the intimidation show. So she forced her chin upwards to meet his eye. She wished he hadn't seen her flinch.

"You're not scared of me, are you, Doc?" The voice was so sardonic.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, Mister Trager? Because that's not a great way to handle your therapist. If I so felt like it, I could leave that brain of yours to be your only companion. Your brain and your sad, limp dick."

He pushed his jaw out, but rather than getting mad his smile broadened. "There she is."

Valerie was taken aback. "Who?"

"The bitch that's going to fix me." He brought his face closer, and suddenly he was too much too close to her. Imposing. Terrifying. "I knew she was in there."

Then he was gone. Sunshine flooded the room once again. She could breathe.

Valerie basically fell back in to her chair, breathing deep, feeling the sweat that ran down her back in a couple of beads, wetness under her arms confirming that her body had been expecting harm, even as her brain had been sending her mouth off to places she sure didn't intend for it to go.

A throat cleared in the doorway and Valerie straightened up. "Teresa. Hey."

"He … made another appointment. For Thursday."

"This Thursday?"

"Yeah."

The day after tomorrow?

Teresa cleared her throat. "What was he doing here for couples' counselling?"

Valerie got to her feet, flipping her notebook closed. "Teresa, you know better than that."

The girl nodded, chastised. "I know, I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Valerie stood and tossed the notebook on her desk. She shook her hands, willing her nerves to settle down. Teresa noticed it, of course.

"What did he do? Did he scare you?"

Valerie looked at her hand, shaking her head. "Not really. I mean, he works pretty hard to make a person nervous. But … he wasn't threatening, no." She gave Teresa a pointed look. "The scariest part of him is probably everything you all say behind his back."

Teresa shrugged. "Just going by what my momma always told me."

Read this complete story on The Freak Circle Press Blog at: fan-fiction/c-d-breadnerfuzzypeaches1/