Dr. McMurry tapped her pencil against the desk and bit the corner of her lip as she stared at Wyatt's file. He'd watched the psych evaluations that happened to cops on television, and he wished it were like that in his department. Maybe it was like that in New York, or Chicago, or whatever other metropolitan cities out there had a large force, but for whatever reason, when Port City had decided to enlarge its police through the Hyde Park Initiative, they'd focused more on the obvious changes, the ones the public could see... more cops, more guns, more cars, even extra stations. Wyatt had no illusions about his role -- if the force hadn't been scaled up so much, he'd probably never have graduated from the academy. Still, the changes had all the signs of being permanent, and the Mayor's approval rating was at an all-time high.

Some less-visible problems remained, though. The DA and the Justice Department hadn't enlarged its staff to account for the extra cases being brought before it, for instance. Despite the drastic increase in numbers, there was still little headway being made about the gang troubles in the north end of the city.

And with three times the number of cops to go through in one third the time, psych evaluations had become short, to the point, and for Wyatt, brutal.

"Wyatt Milter... Anything new to talk about since last time?" she finally asked, putting down the file and turning towards him, her free hand bringing her glasses down to the tip of her nose so she could stare at him over the top of the rims.

"Nope," Wyatt said.

"The captain says you're the same as you always were," she said.

"Uh... thanks?" Wyatt said.

"Do you see that as a compliment?" she asked.

"I don't know..." Wyatt said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He was looking forward to getting back to his desk. It was close to six o'clock, much of the staff including the captain would have gone home by now, and most of the rest would be out on the night patrols around the city. That meant fewer phone calls for him to deal with and a lot of quiet time at the desk, to look at the photocopies and his scrapbook, to see what new he could find out.

"What are your aspirations for the force, Wyatt?"

"I just want to help out however I can," Wyatt said, scratching his cheek. It was the answer he always gave.

"Really?" she asked, leaning back and crossing her arms. Wyatt winced. He knew what was coming next. "Any more dreams lately?"

Wyatt sighed. "I can't remember."

"Wyatt..." she said deliberately.

"I might have? I don't know. Maybe sometime earlier this month."

"Can you remember it?" she asked.

"I guess..."

"In Hyde Park again?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess it would have been..." he said.

"How many gangsters were there?" she asked.

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"Seven, I think. I think I got seven of them."

"And who did you rescue?" she asked.

"A mother and her child, this time. And officer Jamille."

"Wyatt, it's been almost a year since the Hyde Park incident." The doctor looked back at the notes. "So far, every time I've seen you since then, you've had the dream. Looking at my notes here, I've noticed that the dream has actually progressed. It's gone from just being there, to arresting a couple of the gang members, to rescuing people, and finally to killing gang members."

"They're just dreams, Doctor," Wyatt said.

"It's not the dreams themselves, Wyatt," the doctor said. "It's what they symbolize. I look at your report and I see somebody who's rushing around, having difficulties fulfilling basic job requirements, and who has fantasies about being some sort of action hero. Wyatt, this is not what your job is about. Do you understand your role here?"

"I know that's not what it's about," Wyatt snapped.

"Excuse me?" the doctor asked.

Wyatt bit his lip for a second, before answering harshly. Enough was enough. "I know what it means to be a cop. It means going out there every day, talking to people and investigating dead ends. I know sometimes it's just showing up and making sure there's not going to be a disturbance. I know it's writing tickets and giving warnings. I know it's not about pulling the gun out." He stood up, and pointed his finger at her. "But I also know it's not about sitting in the damned office every day and moving files around and getting coffee." He pointed at the file. "And I also know it's not about sitting around here discussing my stupid dreams and answering to you. How about you, doctor? Do you understand your job?"

"I really don't believe that's what the issue-"

"No, tell me," Wyatt said angrily. "When you went to school to study medicine, was your job to come in here and talk to guys like me once a month, find some stupid trivial thing to get your claws into, to prove to your boss that you can actually tell one of us from the other? That you care about the differences between us? Was that it, really?" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning over her desk, waited for her to open her mouth to answer, and then cut her off. "Because I don't think that's what you were trained to do. Just like I wasn't trained to be the office lackey and to deal with your bullsh-"

"Wyatt?" the doctor asked. "I asked you a question. Do you understand your role here?"

Wyatt inhaled sharply, realizing he was still seated.

"Yes doctor," he said quietly. "I think so."

"Good," the doctor said. "Because the sooner you understand that, the sooner you'll find a way to properly fit in here with the force. It's a good job you have here, Wyatt. If you really want to help the way you say you do, you'll understand that everybody here has an important job. Every last one of us. You might see it as just answering a phone or giving somebody a file, but what you're really doing is helping somebody do the things they need to do. Just like when the captain asks for more funds to cover your benefits. Just like when the accountant makes sure that all the numbers add up, so you can get paid. Just like when a policeman gets a description from a file you gave him, and uses it to catch somebody who might attack you or somebody you care about on the way home."

It's an intricate system, Wyatt thought, looking off to the side to keep from rolling his eyes. A complex machine.

"It's very much like... an intricate system." The doctor turned back to the file, and closed it quickly, smiling. "A whole bunch of parts making up a complex machine. You're a part of that."

"I understand that, doctor," Wyatt said. "Thank you."

"Now, next month, Wyatt, I'm hoping that when I ask your captain about you, he'll tell me you're showing the enthusiasm I know you're capable of showing."

"Yes doctor," Wyatt said. "I'm hoping for that too."

"Excellent," the doctor said, leaning back in her chair, tossing his file into the discard pile, before rummaging through the box for the next one. She looked back, a bit startled. "That's it, officer Milter. You may go."

"Yes, doctor," Wyatt said, getting up. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," she said, before pressing down on the phone. "Please send in Officer Jamille."