From: ThePimpernel Date: Sat, 20 Mar 2004 11:14:46 -0000 Subject: NEW: Splinters of Rainbow III (1/3) Source: atxc Title: Splinters of Rainbow III Date: December 2003 Author: The Pimpernel Rating: PG-13 but I don't want to offend anyone so let's say R for sexual situations, and bad words. Summary: An irreverent look at biological imperative and genetic predisposition -- possibly. Just read and enjoy Classification: SRA Keywords: AU -- a 'what if' parallel time line that mangles the two, angst, MSR sort of. Spoilers: YES, but I haven't yet evolved past season 7. Play spot the reference. Feedback: Warms the cockles of my heart and other bits of my anatomy. - thepimpernel@waitrose.com Archive: I'd be stunned but go ahead. It's written to be read. Disclaimer: Just five more minutes Dad, then I promise I'll put them away. Fanfic is a self-indulgence of the non-fattening type for neither body nor bank account. In other words any reference to characters created by Chris Carter real or imaginary is purely deliberate but they're not mine. I'm English, forgive me my spelling. Genuflexions to Elsie, a wonderful beta who prods, pats and moulds my grammar and punctuation into something comprehensible. That just leaves the plot holes as a distraction. Third part of the story. I'm not sure this one makes much sense without having read the first two. More to come, so check your WIP tolerance before continuing. ************************************************* Part 1 of 3 'What the fuck did she think she'd been doing?' Mulder muttered to himself as he walked down the hospital hallway. Not that it was really any of his business but still... He shook his head as if to get rid of unwelcome thoughts. Pausing outside a doorway, he looked through the window and saw Dana. She was sat in bed, scrapes and bruises making a stark contrast to her pale skin. She looked... vulnerable. He tried to compose himself; it wouldn't do to get personal about this. He ran through his options again before sighing, straightening his shoulders and pushing open the door. "Morning, Doctor Scully," he said, throwing the bag he had been carrying onto the chair, but retaining the folder under his arm. "How are you feeling?" Dana startled as the door opened, having been gazing out of the window and not seeing anyone lurking outside the door. Her head snapped around to look at him. Her heart skipped a beat, whether from the surprise of hearing his voice or just from someone suddenly entering the room was hard to determine. He was certainly one of the last people she expected or maybe hoped to see. That and his addressing her as 'Dr. Scully' did not bode well. She was very aware of how this might appear to him. She flushed, uncomfortable on several levels. She looked at his face but it was impassive. She supposed she ought to be grateful for that much. "I'm fine, thank you, Agent Mulder." She was bruised, beaten, grazed and shaken but nothing broken according to the medical report. It was the first time he had seen her since 'Kate' had walked out of his apartment several weeks ago. They'd spoken on the phone. At first, he'd decided he should leave well alone before he got hurt. He wasn't nursing a bruised heart -- he liked her and he was curious. She could be charming... but she was frustrating and fascinating all at the same time. Like when she left, what she said had managed to stroke and bruise his ego in the same sentence. Half of him wanted to shake some sense into her, make her face up to her demons. The other half knew it was her own decision to lead her life how she wanted, that if she didn't want him in her life he should take the hint, respect her wishes. Except, her parting comment had indicated that she didn't want him out of her life entirely. She just didn't want him... what? Intimately? No, that was something they seemed to get right -- well, the sex any way. Intellectually? Well, their opinions might have been at opposite ends of the spectrum but they'd sparred equally -- enjoyed the verbal challenge. In fact, she'd initiated several of the exchanges of views. No, if anything that was the bit she wanted to keep -- the friendship. Emotionally? Did she really think that all he wanted was random acts of sexual relief, physical comfort? No, but that was all she could offer him and she knew it wasn't enough, which was true; he would have been looking, hoping, expecting to grow their relationship. Of course, he didn't know the whole story, but he felt she had it in her for more, to move on. She was a strong woman, a survivor, but she obviously thought she had to go it alone. To persuade her that life could be different would require considerable effort and delicate handling on his part, and he wasn't sure he had that much philanthropy in him. He couldn't be objective enough to be a friend, it would be just too tempting, too intriguing, engrossing. He might not be in love but he was captivated and he wouldn't be able to leave it alone. He knew himself; with that much emotional effort he'd become invested, entangled, and if at the end she turned around and said 'thanks for believing in me, I'll be moving on now', he'd be devastated. So, in the end, Mulder did nothing. His resolve lasted all of three days, right up to the point where he came across a medical curiosity for which he needed an opinion. He rang her number without thinking. He was most surprised when he heard her speaking, although her astonishment probably trumped his amazement when he spoke. Both of them politely refrained from commenting on the matter. He asked his question, she answered. He asked her how she was. She said 'fine' and returned the question. He said 'fine, thanks for the information' and rang off. All very civilized. If he'd needed to justify it to himself later, he'd have said he reserved the right to use her as a walking, talking medical encyclopaedia. If he had any other feelings, they were unconsciously thought. She hadn't minded; in fact, she had been touched. There'd been half a dozen such conversations since. The atmosphere had lightened between them, but they'd not met. He was trying for acceptance, she was feeling less guilty. Not that she'd anything to feel guilty about. She felt she'd always been honest in her dealings with him. So, here they were now facing each other across a hospital bed, after she'd been assaulted, practically murdered by a man she'd been drinking with and had then gone back to his apartment with him. She knew how it would look. The local PD had but thinly disguised their own thoughts on the matter. Well, she had been wearing the man's shirt when she answered the door to them. She sighed to herself. How could a simple thing like going out for a drink turn out so complicated? Another thing she didn't understand was what Mulder was doing in Philadelphia and how he knew she was here. Was he here as friend or foe? "Is there anyone you would like to be contacted?" he asked. "No, thank you," was her terse reply. She'd have liked to say more, but she didn't know where she stood. In these situations she tended to default to saying as little as possible, rather than babbling. To Mulder, she was just being her usual informative self. He sighed. "No family or friends?" She shook her head, glancing down at the bed sheets. He stared at her for a minute, then opened one of the folders in his hand and took something out. He tossed a clear, plastic bag onto the bed. "Are you sure?" She reached out for the bag and saw that it contained a photograph, creased and now slightly singed around the edges. It showed a happy family picture, parents and four children; two boys, two girls. Dana's hands trembled as she fingered the edges. This photograph led a charmed life, she thought as she carefully tried to smooth out the creases through the plastic, swallowing back the emotion as she focused on the faces of each member of her family smiling at her. It was the only one she had and despite the bittersweet memories it raised, she'd kept it with her. It had been in her purse when she'd been attacked. There was a moment of sadness, which was quickly hidden. Long ago and far away were the carefree days of her childhood. Lost in her thoughts she was brought back to the present by his soft 'Dr. Scully?' and realized she hadn't answered his question. "Yes, quite sure." Mulder wondered if he was treading on a minefield. Perhaps they'd all died in some freak accident. He'd been hoping for some sign of openness. He should have known better. "But this photograph does belong to you?" "Yes. Where did you find it?" She risked looking up at him. "The local PD found it in the basement when they did the search." He held out his hand to take the photograph back. "I can't keep it?" "Sorry, it's evidence for the moment. You can apply to have it returned when the case is closed." Reluctantly, she handed it over, its significance almost tempting her to stress it be kept safe, to explain its importance. However, common sense dictated that doing so would not have any influence on the outcome, so she kept her silence. There was an awkward pause. "So, you were in the area and thought you'd come visiting?" she asked eventually. "Something like that." "How did you know I was here?" "I'm in town investigating an apparently unrelated series of murders. The latest one being in the apartment block in which you were found. The circumstances relating to the assault on you suggest a connection to the previous victims. The attack on you was being bandied around the police station. You appear to have been a very lucky woman." "Oh." She swallowed. She could guess why her name was being 'bandied' around. "I'd like you to tell me what happened." "I've already given a statement to the police, Agent Mulder." "I know. I need to hear it from you. Especially any little details you may have thought irrelevant." "Oh, I see. What, I didn't give them enough graphic detail to get them off? You think I lied, deliberately kept something back? Why don't you just ask me what it is you want to know?" There was an uncomfortable few minutes of silence, mainly while Mulder got his temper under control. In the end, he sighed. He knew perfectly well, where this was coming from. The cops had not been reticent about giving him their opinion on what had happened. The big difference between what was in their report and hers revolved around sex -- completely missing from her account. No doubt the cops had disguised their thoughts from Dana only slightly less than they'd disguised them from him. It wasn't the first time that Dana had become defensive around this subject, nor that she tried to keep this side of her private. If he was going off her superficial track record, he'd have to agree with the cops. However, if he took the more rounded Dana Scully he knew, keeping something pertinent back to hide her own discomfiture wasn't her -- but the possibility that she might omit something embarrassing that she didn't think relevant was probable. Unfortunately, he'd have to convince her that at the moment, everything was relevant. "Dana...," he placed the folder on the end of the bed and pulled up a chair, "I'm approaching this with an open mind. There's a serial killer out there and I need as much information as possible to catch him, preferably uncluttered with other people's biases and prejudices, although informed opinions are acceptable. In the process of gathering this information, I may tread on a few delicate sensibilities and puncture a few egos. As far as I'm concerned, they're expendable against saving someone's life." She nodded her acceptance, suddenly feeling small. "But I thought Ed was in custody?" "The man who did this to you?" She nodded. This was not going to be pretty. "Yes. Actually, he's in intensive care and hasn't regained consciousness. Which leaves you in the limelight. You realize that your background is going to be thoroughly investigated?" "Why? I'm the victim here!" Indignation and perhaps a bit of trepidation coloured her voice. In fact, it was going to get nasty. "That's partly the reason, to see if there's any pattern between the victims. That and it has been known for thieves to fall out." "Thieves! How dare you?" Fully-fledge indignation, escalating to wrath. This was going to catch her flat-footed but it had to be done. "Not necessarily my thoughts, as I said. I am keeping an open mind, but all avenues have to be investigated. For instance, are we going to find anything in your background that shows you've been a victim before?" "What?" she said, stunned. "Maybe you like putting yourself at risk, frequenting unsavoury parts of town, deliberately courting danger?" "You think I've got a death wish?" She didn't like where this was going. She remembered Frankie's warning about him developing a shark's fin. This was certainly a side of him she hadn't seen. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She'd seen this level of intensity before, just not directed at her in the same manner. "No. But maybe you get a thrill from the situation. Perhaps you have a kink in your psyche. You think I haven't noticed the scars on your wrists?" And the shark went in for the kill. She went from red, hot anger to cold, white fear. She put her hands under the covers, realised the futility of that, and crossed her arms defensively. Tears sprang to her eyes. Normally, she kept her arms covered; long sleeved shirts and sweaters, latex gloves, had sex in the dark. But here sitting in a hospital bed in a hospital gown, she was exposed and with no opportunity to escape. Delicate sensibilities indeed. The silence stretched as Dana tried hard not to let her mind wander down paths she never wanted to visit again. Mulder saw her anguish. He tried not to feel guilty; they had a murderer to catch after all. But Dana was right about one thing -- he couldn't compartmentalize. He couldn't totally separate the case Dana from the friend Dana. He'd have to be careful he didn't make this personal. "Dana?" He waited a moment for her to respond. "Dana. I'm sorry it seems intrusive..." "It's okay. I understand... really, there's a murderer out there. You have a job to do. People's lives to save. Anything might be relevant -- however tenuous. I understand... really I do. What I don't understand is how any of 'your' victims overcome the shellshock to tell you anything useful." He grimaced. "I extract what I need, then the 'victim' receives years of therapy." "Don't you get training in sympathetic questioning and victim counselling?" "I adapted them to my own requirements." "Or am I getting special treatment because I'm an accomplice and not a victim?" "No. Dana... for what its worth, I don't believe you are an accomplice. I've got delicate parts of my anatomy riding on that conviction." His SAC's 'it's your balls on the line' gave that statement a more literal ring of truth than it might ordinarily be thought to carry. "I'm just trying to impress upon you that I need a full account here, that any awkwardness you might feel can't be allowed to get in the way of the facts." "And my right to privacy?" "In the case of murder, I generally appeal to people's sense of what's right. It's just you and me at the moment, Dana. I'm not asking for your life history here, I just want to try to find out why Ed Jerse attacked you, if there's any link between you and the other victims, or between him and the other murderers. The faster we can identify some association, the less opportunity there is for the team to drag up past histories. However, if it's talking to me that bothers you, someone else from the team can ask the questions." "It's not what you think." Which 'it'? he thought. The picking the stranger up in a bar it, the scars on her wrist it, life, the universe and everything it? Assuming that this response meant she was prepared to talk to him, he continued. "Things never are. Look, why don't I see if I can spring you from this joint, so we can at least have a decent cup of coffee while we discuss this." Her spirits actually lifted a bit. She'd been resigned to staying in the hospital. But if she had someone to leave with, that would be different. They might let her go. Mulder needn't know she was supposed to be 'monitored'. At the moment, she felt trapped, pinned like a bug on a slide. She'd feel better armoured if she was dressed, curled up on a chair with a cup of coffee in her hands -- to hide behind. Mulder returned shortly and she looked at him hopefully. "Do you want the good news or the bad news? "There's some good news?" "Mm hmm, your discharge papers will be coming shortly." She grinned briefly in relief until she remembered she didn't have any clothes. "Don't get too excited though, the downside is you get me as nurse maid." He moved to pick up the bag he'd dropped on the chair when he first came in. "Do you have any nursing qualifications?" "I know the importance of administering drugs, such as caffeine at regular intervals. Does that qualify?" "I think that's suitable for my requirements." They shared a small smile between them. "I thought you'd be keen to get out of here," he said. "I am." "So, why aren't you getting up?" "I don't have anything to change into -- my clothes were taken as evidence." "What's wrong with what you've got on?" "It's not suitable outdoor wear." "Oh, I don't know. I'm sure it's charming. The colour suits you. I bet it looks even better from the back." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She scowled at him. "Good thing I'm such a thoughtful gentleman," he said handing her the bag. She peered inside. "My clothes!" "Fresh from your hotel room." "Did you paw through my underwear?" "Pawing? Certainly not. I did, of course, make an informed selection having reviewed all the choices." He grinned at her as she fought between indignation, embarrassment and gratitude. "Go and get changed, then we'll be ready to go when the paperwork gets here." She refrained from commenting on his actions or his teasing, bracing herself instead for his ogling her backside as she walked steadily to the bathroom. She had a chance to think as she changed, to catch up with herself. Not that she hadn't been thinking hard for the last few weeks. It would be easy to be angry with him, at him. He was invading, prodding and poking at sensitive areas and her instinct was to defend. But if she was honest with herself about him, Mulder seemed to have her best interests at heart. So, had he her best interests at heart now or was this his way of getting back at her? Maybe a bit of both. He was only human after all. However, she found that she didn't like the thought that he might be thinking ill of her. If only she hadn't gone for that drink. Who would have thought that what she thought would be a simple step forward for her, just go out for a drink and a chat, would turn out to be so problematical? Once back at her hotel room, coffee in hand, she watched in trepidation as Mulder made himself comfortable. She was tempted to tell him to go, that she was under no obligation to tell him anything, but she knew that wouldn't wash. It wasn't as if she could threaten to get the manager to phone the cops. She had to stop thinking he was deliberately trying to invade her privacy. If there was a murderer loose out there, she needed to help him catch the killer. That's what she needed to concentrate on. It just seemed to be skimming so close to her past, it was making her skittish. Mulder spoke, "So, where did you meet Ed Jerse?" Reprieve over. "I don't think there's anything I left out of my statement, Mulder. I went into this tattoo parlour and he was discussing his tattoo with the proprietor. He seemed dissatisfied. I started looking around at the pictures of the tattoos, trying not to overhear, when the proprietor asked me for my opinion of Ed's tattoo. It looked good to me, the colours were very intense. Someone called the proprietor into the back and Ed started talking to me. He asked me out for a drink. I refused -- I had a flight out that evening -- but he gave me his card anyway in case I was ever in the area again. When my flight was cancelled due to the weather, I rang him up and we arranged to go to dinner. I didn't particularly want to eat in my hotel room alone and I didn't want to eat in the hotel restaurant. There was someone I was trying to avoid." She paused for a moment's introspection. "They say you tend to trust people you don't know over people you do, because that person has never lied to you. I think I might have jumped out of the frying pan into the fire." Mulder filed that away for later. At the moment, it didn't appear directly relevant to the case. "So, you went out to dinner?" "No," she paused. "I went to pick him up from his apartment. It was nothing remarkable -- typical bachelor pad. He wasn't quite ready. I was just sort of browsing around while I waited, when I saw a photograph on his desk. Typical family snap, Dad with two kids, except that it had the father's face burned out. Ed smoked. It looked like the sort of thing that could have been done with a cigarette. Anyway, I told him we'd go to the crummy bar he'd mentioned earlier, it seemed more appropriate for drowning the sorrows." She paused as she took another sip of coffee. Mulder made a note of that comment, too. He noticed that she hadn't switched off work mode while she was socializing either. He'd told her that about himself when he was observing the low-lifes in the bar the first time he met her, and here she was doing it herself. Well, normally it would be bodies in her case, but corpses or photographs you saw a burn mark and tried to identify it. "We had a few drinks, aired a few of our grievances. Then I noticed his arm was bleeding, the one with the tattoo. I offered to look at it. He resisted. I persisted. He told me if I was so fascinated with his tattoo I should get one of my own. It seemed like a really good idea at the time." To mark the moment, she thought, another step forward in her life. Mulder wanted to ask why, but now wasn't the time. "The tattooist said you get the tattoo you deserve," she continued. "What did you get?" "An ourobus." "A symbol of renewing life." "Yes, or a serpent eating its own tail." That sounded fatalistic. "May I see?" She seemed unnerved by that. "Do you think it relevant?" He smiled. "Probably not, just my vulgar curiosity. Why? Is it somewhere risque?" "No. Not really." But still she hesitated. He regarded her steadily. He wasn't sure why he persisted; it could be justified on the grounds that sometimes the smallest things were significant and often overlooked. Then again -- perhaps he was testing her. Eventually, she rose hesitantly, putting down her now empty coffee cup, and felt bereft of a shield. She slowly walked over to him, looking at his face for reassurance. She stepped in front of him and paused again. Taking a calming breath, she jerkily loosened her tee shirt from her jeans. Turning slowly, she put her back to him and lifted her shirt. Mulder leaned forward to get a better look. He lifted his hand as if to touch. It hovered a few inches from her skin but didn't make contact. "It's good work. You're right, the colours are very intense. Did it hurt? Does it hurt?" "It stung when he did the outline but the filling in was... it felt nice. It's still a bit sensitive. I can't see it but I have this strange sensation." 'Nice' -- guess he better not go there for now. "Thank you," he said, sitting back. She pulled her tee shirt down and tried not to scamper back to her seat. She glanced longingly at her empty coffee cup. "I'll order some more in a moment. Go on with your story." "Story? You think I'm making this up?" He sighed. Back to the bristles -- he shouldn't have exposed her like that. "It was just a figure of speech." Of course it was. She closed her eyes to centre herself, put her thoughts back in order. "When we came out of the tattoo parlour it was snowing heavily. It wasn't safe to drive, especially after the drinks. We went back to his place. I stayed the night. When I awoke in the morning he'd gone to get something for breakfast. The two cops knocked asking about the neighbour but I couldn't tell them anything. Except something they said... it made me think. I explained to them that I was a pathologist and asked them for more details. They gave me the information -- reluctantly. Ed had a computer. I logged on and looked up the substance that had been found in the blood." She paused as the memory came back, that heart stopping moment when she realised she might be suffering from the poisoning too. "The tattooist had talked about the composition of his dyes coming from rye grass. Something he'd brought from the old country. Ergot poisoning -- one of the symptoms is auditory hallucinations. When Ed came back... I thought I'd convinced him to go to the hospital with me. I went to get my things and when I came back he attacked me. I tried to run, I got knocked out. I came to in the basement and realised he was going to put me in the incinerator. I tried to fight back -- I told him to fight it, to get control. Something must have happened because the next thing I knew he was putting his own arm in the incinerator. I don't really remember anything clearly about what happened in the basement -- sorry. I must have passed out again. I told the police about the ergot poisoning. Did they check it out?" He nodded, "Blood samples from you and Jerse have been sent for analysis." He walked over to the phone and ordered coffee and sandwiches from room service, then walked to the window, obviously lost in thought. Dana kept her silence. "Why were you in the tattoo parlour in that part of the city? It's across town from here." "I was trying to look up an old family friend. I must have taken a wrong turn and then found myself completely lost. I don't know Philadelphia very well. I stopped to ask for directions. As I got out of the car, I saw someone from the conference. I didn't want him to see me and I just dodged into the first shop." "Was this the same guy you were trying to avoid in the hotel?" "Yes." "Why were you trying to avoid him?" "He's... I don't know how to describe him. He's perfectly presentable -- well-dressed, well-spoken, courteous, charming but somehow he... makes me uncomfortable. He's too smooth, too oily -- like he oozes charm rather than is charming." "A slimeball... asshole?" "I guess so, but that's not what he seems at face value. I've seen him before, when I was doing my residency. He didn't remember me -- it's not as if we ever spoke. But... I remembered him as doing neuroscience -- more into biological psychology and brain damage, but here he was at a pathology conference. I know people switch specialties but he hasn't. It just didn't gel." "What was he doing in that part of town?" "How should I know?" she answered sharply. "No. I mean what was he doing when you saw him?" he amended. "Oh, he came out of a doorway. He turned to talk to someone, I didn't see who," she answered slightly sheepishly. "Which doorway?" "I don't know... it was a door between two shops. That's all I can remember. Sorry." "That's all right. Can you remember which shops?" "They were on the opposite side of the road to the tattoo parlour, a few doors down. One was a grocery store, I think. I can't remember about the other." She paused. "Is there something else?" he pressed. "It's nothing really but... well, I thought it was him who called to the tattooist, from the back room. But I decided I must have been mistaken -- just being paranoid you know." "What's this guy's name?" "Dr. Leadbetter." Mulder took out his mobile phone and speed-dialled a number. "Rudiger? Could you do a background check on a Dr. Leadbetter, and could you find out about an address?" There was more to the conversation that Dana didn't catch. She went to answer a knock on the door, assuming it was room service. As she accepted the coffee and sandwiches she noticed a man loitering in the corridor trying not to look suspicious. "Mulder, there's a man lurking in the hallway," Dana said as Mulder finished his conversation. "Local PD," he answered without thinking. "Am I under some sort of arrest?" she asked in a frighteningly calm voice. She found the fact that he'd known and not said anything disturbing. "No." He wondered how he was going to explain this without her getting upset. He'd been trying to shield her from this while trying to balance the professionalism he needed to do his job. "Surveillance?" "There's always the possibility, that someone will try to finish what Jerse started. They just want to make sure they've covered all their options." Righteous indignation was rapidly rising to anger. "That's not what they think though, is it? They think I had something to do with the killing? That's why he's out there, to make sure a suspect doesn't escape." "They can't reconcile your behaviour with that of an upstanding pathologist." "Is that what you think? Is that why you are here?" "No, if you recall I'm here as nursemaid and to track a serial killer. But, Dana, you've got to admit it looks odd. What were you thinking?" He couldn't keep it in anymore. He'd been trying to keep this professional, but he just couldn't understand how she could put herself in this position. "What was I thinking? I agreed to go out to dinner with a man. It must happen hundreds of times a night the world over. It seemed innocuous enough to me." "That's not what I'm talking about, not even going to the bar and having too much to drink. But going to an unlicensed tattoo parlour? What if the needles had been infected? Then to go back to Jerse's apartment?" "You'd rather I'd driven in heavy snow whilst under the influence?" "You shouldn't have been under the influence, if you had to drive. It looks like you deliberately put yourself in a position where you'd have to go back to his apartment." "Oh, and if I'd been out for a drink with you, and we'd gotten deeply involved in a conversation, to the point where we were enjoying ourselves and didn't quite notice how much we had to drink, and when we left the bar the weather was so foul it wasn't safe to drive? This would be me putting myself in this awkward situation?" "Dana, it's not what I think... it's..." "You think I was out as Kate, don't you? You think I went out looking for sex?" "I... err..." He floundered for a moment because that thought had certainly crossed his mind but he'd dismissed it -- there was just a small, nagging doubt. "What's the matter, Mulder? Feeling possessive? Territorial? Jealous?" Now he was stung. He'd been giving her the benefit of the doubt, had taken flak for it. "You wish!" "I do not. Quite the opposite. If you remember, I had no intention of seeing you again. It's you that hasn't been able to keep your distance." "Well, pardon me for caring. I thought I saw something in you that was worth caring about, but my mistake." "I don't want you to care about me." "Well, tough -- because I do. You can't stop me from feeling what I do, and you certainly need someone caring about you because you don't seem to care about yourself. But don't worry too much about it, the feeling is rapidly passing." "Good, then perhaps you'll stop interfering in my life." "Interfering..." and in one of Mulder's sudden leaps of logic he understood why she was being so angry. Funny how his mind could be working on a problem subconsciously while his entire conscious thought processes seemed to be occupied elsewhere. Stranger still how these thoughts just popped into his mind in the middle of something that was completely absorbing. He could understand it, if these things happened in the middle of a budget meeting or something equally boring, but now -- maybe his subconscious was working overtime and put in an override before he said something that would put their friendship beyond repair. She wasn't so much angry as frightened, and not necessarily at the most obvious thing. No, she wasn't angry about the surveillance -- annoyed, indignant, a touch anxious but if she was being honest, that would soon be sorted out, and she was smart enough to have worked that out. No, she'd worked out that he cared and she was frightened. This was what she'd tried to avoid when she said 'it' couldn't happen again. So, snapping at the 'situation' was just a handy outlet -- even a misdirection. He deflated, "It's alright, Dana. You don't have to care back." "Care back? What are you talking about?" "Actually, you do care, that's why you won't let us... use... comfort each other. You're frightened you'll care too much." "I don't know what you're talking about." "It's okay to start feeling again, it's okay to move forward. That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it? A step? It didn't go quite as you planned, did it?" She was unsure how to respond. He was way too close to the truth, which in one way she had been trying to tell him, but in another, was too scary to think about. "Don't worry about it now. We'll talk about it later. For the moment, just ignore the cops. They'll go away when I give them a more credible target. We need to concentrate on the present. To that end, I suggest you eat and drink and I'll..." There was another knock at the door. "I'll answer the door." Dana stared at the food, mind in turmoil. How on earth had he come to that conclusion, he wasn't close, was he? She just didn't want to get involved with anybody else. Trusting again was out of the question. It wasn't that she was spiteful or malicious. She did care about people in a general way; she just didn't want to be the cause of someone else being hurt because of the way she felt. That's why she was keeping Mulder at arms length, that's why she warned him, so he wouldn't get the wrong impression, wouldn't start off down a path oblivious to the fact that he was on his own -- not so that she could avoid emotional attachments. Well, she was avoiding emotional attachments but not for the reason Mulder was implying. And he'd said they'd talk about it later. She didn't want to talk about it later. It was none of his concern and she did not want to revisit past memories. She'd wasted time once regretting the past; she'd pulled herself out of that funk, reviewed her options, planned out her recovery process, put the damage limitation options in place and taken the steps to get on with her life. She was doing just fine, thank you. The last thing she needed was outside interference. "The cops are off your back." "What?" she said, having been lost in her own thoughts. "The lurker's gone." "Gone? Why? What did you do?" "Unfortunately, I can't claim the credit. He's gone because they are now more inclined to believe your story, so the resource is being deployed elsewhere." "And the continued threats to my well-being?" "Being pursued by different means." "And why is my 'story' more credible?" "Because your actions have been verified and because some of the results of the... forensic tests came back." "The tox screens confirm the ergot poisoning?" "Yes -- and no, both you and Jerse had traces but insufficient to be hallucinogenic." "So... that's it?" "There's more." "More?" "Yes, they did... umm... perhaps it would be better if you read it, you probably understand these things better than me anyway." She opened the folder. The first page was the ergot readings, the second was the results of the rape kit. Good thing the chair was immediately behind her because her legs suddenly didn't support her. She hadn't given it a thought, but she'd been assaulted and found unconscious, of course they would have done a rape kit. Her hands trembled as she turned the page. No bruising, no semen, no signs of irritation -- in fact no signs of sexual activity for several weeks. Did they have to put that in there? She didn't know whether to be pleased or embarrassed. Whatever the case, the sense of relief overcame any other emotions. She took a deep breath before risking a look at Mulder. He was feigning interest in the coffee and sandwiches. She was spared from finding something to say as Mulder's mobile rang. Stuffing a sandwich between his teeth, he fumbled in his pocket for the phone. The conversation was short and sweet, but enough for Mulder to look pleased and excited and to end with "I'll be right there." "Sorry, Dana, I have to go." He was halfway through the door before a residual thought caught up to him. He turned. "You'll be alright on your own? Does someone need to be here? Would you like someone to be here?" "I'll be fine." "I was supposed to watch you for another couple of hours..." "I'm fine, Mulder, really. Go do something useful." "Do you need... no, of course you don't. You have my mobile number?" She nodded. "You'll ring me if there's a problem -- if you need anything?" "Yes." "I mean it. Anything at all." "I think I will be able to manage ordering my own coffee. Go." "I mean it. If you don't, I'll be seeking you out with 'teaching you a lesson' in mind." She said nothing, just crossed her arms and glared at him. "I'll be going now." As the door closed behind him, Dana collapsed onto the bed with a great whoosh of breath. Reprieved. She felt a great need to shout, curse, swear -- something to relieve the build- up of tension from the day. It had been somewhat of a swings and roundabouts sort of time, with the swings getting higher and higher. FUUUUUCK A DUCK! Fuckaduckfuckaduck. There, she felt much better now. ************************************************* End of Part 1 ************************************************* Part 2 of 3 "Mulder, please tell me you are not treating her as one of your pet projects," said Rudiger. "What do you mean?" "You think I didn't notice? And I know how you get. Your curiosity makes you delve further than you should do, your empathy makes you want to help -- and you do. But then, you lose interest -- once all the exciting investigation is done and your curiosity is satisfied, you move on to something else. The next oddity. You shouldn't do that here. She's too vulnerable. You'd get her to trust you, maybe even depend on you, and then you'll get distracted and walk away." "My curiosity is never satisfied and she's not a pet project." Rudiger sighed. "If you say so, Mulder." He continued to stare at Mulder for a few more minutes but Mulder just clammed up. Past experience told Rudiger that there was no point pushing it at this point. He'd just have to hope he' d said enough. It wasn't that he didn't believe Mulder when he had said she wasn't a pet project or that he had anything specific to indicate that she was. The fact that Mulder had stuck his neck out when the weight of opinion was against her wasn't an indicator of specific personal interest. He'd done that before. He was frequently right, as he'd been in this case. It was just that -- well, his behaviour was off. Nothing he could put his finger on -- just different. Rudiger sighed to himself -- as if that didn't describe Mulder ninety per cent of the time. Still, something kept nagging at him. As luck would have it, Rudiger managed to assuage his conscience the following day when he found Dana alone in the airport lounge. He had a quick internal debate with himself -- he didn't want to put Mulder in a bad light, because he wasn't. He was just... complicated. However, he felt he had to say something. It was just how to say the minimum without being too cryptic. "Hi, how're you doing, Dr. Scully?" She was surprised to see him, but greeted him amiably enough, although feeling a touch wary. "I'm fine, thank you, Agent Rudiger." "Dave." "Dave." She smiled. "Then I'm Dana." "Dana, look I probably haven't got a lot of time before Mulder pops up..." "Mulder?" she asked in surprise and decidedly unsure on how she felt on Mulder 'popping' up. She hadn't expected to see him, was unprepared to see him. She thought she'd have weeks before she'd have to face him again -- if ever. "For once, I think Mulder will be prompt with his paperwork and sign-offs in his attempts to catch this plane." "Is the case over then? Did you arrest someone?" "The evidence is stacking up against a suspect who is currently being traced. That's all I can say at this point." "Aren't you involved in the search?" "Not this time. Don't keep distracting me, where was I? Mulder. Mulder's very good at what he does, sometimes he's too good, gets carried away. His enthusiasm can sometimes blind him to his effect on others. He commits himself to things without regard to the consequences. This isn't always a bad thing. His blatant disregard for procedure when he deems it appropriate, has undoubtedly saved lives. It's also got him into some precarious situations, which by some miracle, he's always managed to survive, if not entirely unscathed." "He's a regular hero," she said, not entirely sure where Dave was going with this. It didn't seem like a 'passing the time' sort of start to a conversation. "Yes, he rides in, slays the dragon, and then moves on to the next monster." "Leaving someone else to clear up the mess." "Exactly," Rudiger replied hoping she was getting the message. "Why do you feel the need to tell me this?" Yes, good question, why did he? "Dana, I may be reading this all wrong but his actions around you are... different." "Different?" she asked, puzzled. ""Yes... I don't know... I might be imagining things. Some people might jump to the conclusion that he had a conflict of interest, that he was protecting you. His support for you despite the evidence against you..." "Is he in trouble for that?" Was this what this conversation was about? That somehow she had distracted Mulder from doing his job properly? "No, nothing like that -- it's not unprecedented. He's favoured the underdog before against strong opposition. His propensity for being right is almost boringly commonplace and gives him leeway with the higher echelons." "But you think he had a conflict of interest?" "Maybe not what you might think. Since his wife walked out he's been... skittish about relationships -- understandably so. But because of that -- I think, he seems to direct his interest slightly differently. And because of the way he approaches things..." "You think he's regarding me as a quest?" Jesus, just what she didn't need! She could imagine Mulder 'questing'. He'd be very... determined. "He could be," Rudiger said, somewhat evasively. "Dave, you don't strike me as the sort of person who would initiate this conversation because you were imagining things." And didn't that just hit the nail on the head. Perceptive woman. "Strange as this may seem, we wouldn't be having this conversation if I was sure about what he was doing. We might be having a different conversation, but not this one. It's not my habit to disclose a colleague's actions, especially where it may pertain to his private life." "I wouldn't want to encourage you to do so." "But something about Mulder's behaviour on this case was odd and I feel obliged to say something." "But without actually revealing anything, leaving you with a dilemma?" He nodded. "Are you warning me or warning me off?" she prompted. "Both. Neither. I'm not even advising caution because I'm sure you are cautious, if not overly so. And with Mulder, it's not a case of thinking laterally -- more parallel universe." "And you've taken a leaf out of his book for this conversation," she said trying not to sound exasperated, but still at a loss as to what he was getting at. Rudiger groaned inwardly. Well, he'd started this conversation. He was obviously going to have to say something more specific. "Sorry. It's just.... he didn't read the background information on you. A man who voraciously absorbs all information about a case, relevant, possibly relevant, merely associated and in some cases apparently, totally irrelevant -- tramples egos in his efforts to find a perpetrator, in defiance of all niceties such as privacy -- didn't read the background check I gave him on you. He glanced at it, stared at it, toyed with it, fiddled with it. I think he even opened it at one point. But he didn't read it. In the frenzy, nobody else noticed, but I've worked with him a long time. That behaviour was unusual." Dana didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Rudiger continued. "The thing is, why was it unusual? Did he already know what I'd found? Or did he not want to know what I found? I've been pondering this from yesterday." "Did you draw any conclusions from your pondering?" "As you may have gathered, I'm still pondering. You don't want to offer a theory?" She shook her head, ignoring the little thought at the back of her mind about how Mulder had once said he'd hoped she'd volunteer the information -- and that was just her phone number. "I don't think I know him well enough to make any suggestions." "Well, putting my considerable years of investigative skills to the problem, I came to the conclusion that he didn't want to read it. So, this raises another question. Why would a conquering hero, who's profiled some horrible monsters, not want to read about you?" "I have no idea," she said guardedly. She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want Rudiger to detect that she might have something to think about. "I could just shrug and put it down to one of Mulder's oddities. No big stretch -- but sometimes these little things just niggle at the back of your mind. Wild guesses, like 'he didn't want to find out like that' cross your mind." Dana just looked uncomfortable. "Maybe I'm rambling as a sop to my conscience. Dana, you could do worse than tell him." "Tell him what?" She wasn't ready for that. She didn't think she'd ever be ready for that. "Please -- I don't know what happened to you, but there's obviously something." "It's nobody's business but mine." "True, but you run the risk of him turning you into a crusade -- probably not a desirable outcome -- for either of you." "Because he'd ride off to the next great adventure when he's slayed my monsters for me?" "He's got monsters of his own." "What monsters?" Ahh, maybe now she'd realize it wasn't all just her. "That's not my story to tell." "That's right, just whet my appetite," she said in mock disappointment but somewhat relieved he wasn't going to say anything. "Ironic, isn't it? Oh, look. Right on schedule," he said as he saw Mulder walking briskly up the concourse. "Mulder can be a difficult man to get on with, but he's a good man to have at your back -- trustworthy, loyal, discreet, arrogant, tactless sonofabitch, but I count him as a friend. I wouldn't want to see either of you get into any complicated misunderstandings. Gird your loins and prepare to do battle if you like, but as you can't defeat the hero, it's best to have him on your side. Just don't stab him in the back by accident and avoid his side swipe." She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, that there was nothing to tell but there was something about Rudiger that wouldn't allow her to brush it off, to act blas. She didn't doubt that he had thought hard about having this conversation, probably more so than about what he was actually going to say. She couldn't say that he was favouring one side or the other. Rudiger had given her something to think about. She knew Mulder for a good man and he'd certainly been discreet with her faux pas in the past. But Rudiger had no idea what he was asking. He broke her reverie. "What's the betting he got the seat next to you on the flight?" "That seat was already taken." She was right, but Mulder managed to exchange seats before the flight took off. "Did you abuse your credentials?" she asked as Mulder sat down next to her. "Certainly not. I appealed to her sense of romance." "What?" "I told her I was pining for the opportunity to talk to you without the interruption of work, telephones or meetings..." "Pining?" "I can do a really good puppy dog expression," he said, demonstrating. She could see how that might appeal to some women. She laughed. "Don't you have any shame?" "All's fair in the pursuit of intelligent conversation during a boring flight." "And I don't get any say in the matter? It would serve you right if I refused to speak to you for the entire flight -- or maybe I should just chatter inanely about the details of my latest autopsy..." "I guess I didn't think you'd mind, but if it bothers you that much I'll swap seats again." "Don't you feel any awkwardness at all?" Actually, he didn't. He hadn't even considered it; he'd been wrapped up in paperwork this morning. And in between times he'd been thinking about something Rudiger had said the day before. Well, not what he'd said exactly, more of a lateral thought. So, why was she uncomfortable with this meeting? Assuming that's what she was implying. Of course, if he considered their other personas, this might count as their first meeting since a certain person made a unilateral decision about their future. So, she could be feeling awkward about that. However, as she had spoken of keeping work and personal issues separate -- it couldn't be that, especially as they'd spoken since and put that behind them. His 'interrogation' of her? She wouldn't hold that against him, would she? No.... No, that was work and she said she understood. Oh, the 'caring' bit maybe? Or just wangling the seat exchange? "'Fraid not. I must be doing my insensitive male act. I just find our meetings so... delightful it doesn't occur to me to look beyond that. Besides, I really wanted to talk to you about something." Oh shit, what did he want to talk about? He had that gleam in his eyes again and here she was a captive audience. Did he just say delightful? He was kidding, right? How did this man manage to intrigue and scare her all at the same time? Maybe he just wanted to talk about work. Yeah, and pigs might fly... now that would be a distraction. "Delightful? Are you a masochist? Only, I'd have put money on the fact that you have found several of our conversations far from delightful." "Are we talking about me, Mulder, or me, Marty?" There he went, straight in with the big feet. She sighed. She supposed she'd probably brought that on herself. "Is that what you want to talk about -- Kate and Marty?" She looked at the people around her. For the most part they were occupied with something, but she'd rather not have one of those conversations here. "No... well, maybe indirectly. But as you brought the topic up, don't you think it unfair to make that sort of decision for me? I'm sure you'd be... miffed if the circumstances were reversed." "Are you saying my assessment of the situation was incorrect? That in fact, you can compartmentalize? That your feelings didn't interfere in Philadelphia?" He sighed. "They might have done at some level. The fact that I knew 'you' impacted on the way I viewed some of the evidence. But, as my gut reactions were on the money, I don't see this as a bad thing." "You stuck your neck out, didn't follow procedure." "Actually, I said it was delicate parts of my anatomy and I did follow the evidence. It's not my fault if it didn't lead where others expected it to go. If you are trying to prove to me that I don't compartmentalize, I admit it. But you see, I don't find it a problem. It's only people who do, who don 't understand how I function like that." "So, you think I was presumptuous?" "Is there any reason you didn't ask?" "Mulder, I don't think we should continue... in that way." "I agree." "Oh." She wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved that he agreed or disappointed that he didn't try to dissuade her. "I wouldn't have agreed at the time but, in hindsight... I've been thinking..." "Oh brother." "I know, a dangerous pastime, one fraught with peril. Only, I think maybe I' ve been rushing things -- for me, that is. Things have happened in my life that make me... insecure, for lack of a better word." "Insecure?" she said with more than a touch of incredulity. "You think of me as the bold, dashing cavalier?" "You come across as a confident person, certainly. With just a hint of vulnerability." "There was a time in my life, when I thought I had it all. It disappeared in a blink of an eye, taking with it a lot of the ideals and principles I had based my life on. Things I'd taken for granted... expected -- suddenly the solid, secure building blocks I thought I'd based the rest of my life on turned to dust. Time helps to heal wounds and puts things into perspective. I put my life back together and re-evaluated. I realized that what I sought wasn't unobtainable, and that I wanted that... sense of well-being, contentment back again. I wanted it back so much that I've rushed towards that goal, forgetting why I lost it in the first place, which is because I had mistaken certain feelings as good foundations for a relationship." He paused for a moment. "Dana, you once told me the characteristics that you would look for in a man. Kind, generous, good sense of humour, unselfish... I think were the words you used. What else do you regard as necessary traits for a good relationship?" That caught her off-guard. With one breath he seemed to be agreeing with her about not having a relationship and with the next asking her what she was looking for. Added to that, she wasn't sure if she was impressed with his good memory or terrified. He'd told her before the traits he would look for but, she didn't think she could reel them off like that. "Err... well, trust, honesty..." She started to put her thoughts together, pulled into the conversation despite any misgivings she might have. He always seemed to be able to do this. "Intelligent, loyal, dependable... faithful," she added quietly. Mulder noted the muted faithful, but now wasn't the time to pursue that point. He just nodded. "For me, I also need someone I can talk to, who talks to me but also listens, or who you can sit quietly with without feeling uncomfortable. Someone compassionate without being mushy. Passionate -- of the mind, not the body, although that's good, too. Someone who makes you feel good about yourself. Someone who might have faults but you accept them, because that person is a friend. And friendship is the cornerstone of every good relationship, because when the lust has gone that's what you are left with." "You know humans aren't wired for long-term relationships. Pairings last about eighteen months to three years, long enough to raise a child through infancy, then it's more biologically effective to move on to another partner, to mix the gene pool. Humans aren't designed to be monogamous." Ah, a deflection, he thought. Still, an interesting point of view. "And yet, there are many successful long-term pairings out there," he countered. "They are the exception rather than the rule." He was tempted to follow this subject but there was something he needed to say before he got too sidetracked. "Your list of traits would indicate that you favour the long-term monogamous relationship. And this is an interesting topic of conversation I'd like to continue at some point, but it's distracting me from what I wanted to say -- or was that your plan? No matter, I'm not going to make you uncomfortable, at least that's not my intention. What I'm trying to say is, that I think I've forgotten how to be friends, how to make friends." "I don't think that's true." "I'm very good at upsetting people, that's not a good trait to have when trying to win friends and influence people." "But the people that know you, the people that matter, think of you as a friend, " she reassured him. "Despite the fact that I'm a pain in the ass." "Well, you said that a true friend would accept your faults." "True. Perhaps, I haven't got enough friends?" "Quality is better than quantity, Mulder." "Also true, in more ways than one. Perhaps, I haven't got the type of friend I'm looking for." "What type are you looking for?" "Female." "Deeply rooted behavioural differences make it difficult for members of the opposite sex to be friends. You only have to look at how a couple fights when they are out shopping. They are driven by different primeval instincts: men hunt, women gather. A man treats it like a stalk and chase pursuit, concentrating on the kill and then loses interest. A woman sees it as a leisure pursuit, wandering through the shops until something catches her eye. You need things in common to be friends and men and women even have their genes stacked against them." He laughed. "I don't doubt you're right there, too. Nobody actually said it would be easy. But I don't believe it's not possible and I don't believe that you think so either. You must know some couples where it's worked. Your parents, for example?" She smiled, a little wanly. "Maybe. You have been a friend to me, Mulder. I'm not blind to that. But you are asking for more than I can give." He knew she needed a friend, he needed to remember how to reconnect with people. He wasn't after the complete package here, he was just aiming for friendship. He'd reviewed his insights from a few weeks ago when he'd concluded that he didn't have enough emotional stamina, and realized that was because he was taking a giant leap. They both needed to take small steps. He was hoping that she would realize that and would at least allow them to take the first step together. They could 'use' each other for that, surely. "Dana, risking the dangerous pastime again, I think that you are rushing ahead like I've been doing. What I'm talking about is the friendship where you can arrange to go out for a drink after work to whinge about management. Somebody to go to a movie with and not worry about getting butter from the popcorn all down your shirt because they already know you're a slob. Somebody to go to concerts, plays and all those places it's just nice to have someone there for. Someone to cheer me on at a basketball match. You know, friend things for when you want something other than to vegetate in your own space but don't want someone intruding on your space when you don't feel like it. Is that really such a big step?" No, it wasn't. Was that not exactly what she'd been trying to do with Ed Jerse? She just hadn't put it into that sort of context. All very well to talk of 'friends' as if it were somehow different to a 'relationship' -- it wasn't. All social interaction was a complicated business, that was supposedly one of the reasons for humans having large brains. That aside, she already decided it was time for her to move forward. She wasn't quite sure why she wasn't seizing this opportunity with both hands, maybe because of their unconventional beginning? "Would this put us on first name terms, Mulder?" He smiled. "I'll tell you my name but it needs to be on a Friday night with a six pack, somewhere we won't be overheard." As she raised her eyebrow in a surprised question, he continued, "It's not the name that's the problem. It's the follow-up question." "Intrigue amongst intrigue." "It's not a big deal really, I know I seem to be making it one, but it's not. I'm surprised you haven't found out." "Perhaps, I wanted the information to be volunteered." "Oh, nice turnabout," he said appreciatively. "We're a pair, aren't we? Shall we do twenty questions or maybe forty? There's a lot I don't know about you." "Nor I about you." "At least I told you I was divorced... and that I went to Oxford. I don't even know which university you went to." She started to protest but then managed to stop her automatic response. There was some justice in what he said. She was just so careful about telling anybody anything, that it was easier to tell everybody nothing. Move on, that's what she needed to do. Mulder wanted to be friends, but was apparently capable of moving on to the next interesting thing when he'd exhausted all hidden secrets. But he was loyal and discreet, she had proof of that. It didn't seem that either of them were in danger of losing their hearts at this particular juncture. She'd have to trust him on that. Maybe he was someone she could take the next step with. He seemed to understand the need, without having the reasons. He'd stretch her boundaries, which she knew she needed to do, but it was so difficult to do on her own. She had a s udden mental image of Mulder in a suit of armour, sword in hand, hacking away at rampant, thorny undergrowth. Dave was right, better to have him by her side and avoid the slashing action. Social intercourse -- she wished her brain were bigger. Mulder watched her profile quietly as he saw the thoughts whirl around her head. He saw as she came to a decision, bracing herself for what she was about to say. He had no idea which way she was going to jump. "Sorry, I think I have reflex actions to being asked personal questions, even when they appear innocuous -- at first." "Reflex? What, like seeing a snake?" "A snake?" "Yes, that deep ingrained primitive response to a threat. You know that people, who've never seen a snake or even know that they can be dangerous, have a fear of snakes. It seems to be hardwired into the brain -- a survival mechanism." "I think this is learned behaviour that's become so automatic I don't think about it. More like learning to drive." She took a deep breath. "I'm not divorced and I went to Berkeley." Okay, he could work with this for now. "Berkeley? You little rebel." "It caused some stir at home I must say." "Ahh, talking of home, I have something for you." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out. He handed her a clear plastic wallet containing her family photograph. She took it with a trembling hand. "I thought I had to wait..." "I must have forgotten to hand it back in." "Mulder!" "Tell me about the photograph -- please." The photograph? That in itself was easy enough, it was all the associations around it that were the problem. One step at a time, Dana, he only expects one step at a time. She stared at the photograph as she spoke. "Mom, Ahab, and us four kids. Big bad brother Bill, Melissa, me and Charlie." She pointed as she spoke, starting off slowly, her voice low but clear. "I can't remember where it was taken, just one of the dozens taken one school holiday when my father was home on leave. We're a naval family -- he was a captain." "Was? Is he retired now?" "He was. He died -- a heart attack a few years ago." She hesitated before going further, but now that she'd started, it seemed she needed to get it all off her chest. "We'd had a huge argument a couple of weeks before and not made up. I went to the funeral but my brother wouldn't let me through the church door -- he blamed me -- everything from I shouldn't have upset Dad to I should have been home. I bit my tongue -- he was upset after all -- he shouldn't have been taking it out on me but I was prepared to ignore it, given the circumstances... But then my mother came up and... she sided with my brother. I left. There didn't seem anything else I could do." "I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding, that once everyone's emotional distress had eased they'd see things in a different light. You can kiss and make up." "Yes, you might think that," she paused, again wondering how much more she wanted to tell. The trouble was, it was so long since she'd taken any steps forward, that now, the ground seemed to skitter under her feet; one step straight out onto a scree slope. "A few weeks later, I was in hospital. The first thing I saw when I came 'round was my brother. Any agreeable thoughts I might have had about this were quickly dissipated when, without so much as asking how I was, he bombarded me with a stream of vitriol on how I'd brought this on myself, how I'd come by my just desserts. He left in a cloud of righteousness before I could get a word out and I've never seen him since. I haven't spoken to any of my family since that time. My mother never came and I was in the hospital for a few weeks. As for the photograph, the landlord threw all my things out while I was in the hospital. If it hadn't been for a neighbour seeing the broken frame beside the dumpster, this would have gone too." She paused for breath, tears in her eyes but before Mulder could get a word out, she spoke again, "I don't know why I keep it. It's sentimentality. I don't have room for that in my life." That was babble, a distraction -- moving the conversation on, hoping that Mulder wouldn't ask too many questions. He stopped her with a touch of his finger to her arm, knowing that she'd said more than she meant to, but it had all been bottled up inside. He was nearly sorry he had asked now. What had he thought about a minefield? But he couldn't be completely sorry, although he could probably have picked a better location. She wouldn't like losing control in such a public place. It behoved him to help her retain her control. "Perhaps not, but everyone has room to remember good things from the past. And this was a happy moment, wasn't it?" "Yes. But... I guess it seems bittersweet now." "No, it's not the memory that's bittersweet, you're just viewing it through a filter of sour memories." "Is that some sort of psychologist's slant?" "No, just pure Mulder misdirection." "Misdirection?" "I had a younger sister, Samantha, who disappeared without a trace, when she was eight. I was twelve and babysitting, our parents having just popped to the neighbours for an hour. I thought it was my fault. How does a child just disappear out of the house like that? The family broke apart and never recovered. My parents divorced. I left home as soon as I could and as far away as possible." "Oxford?" "Oxford. When I came back to the States, I joined the FBI with the intention of looking for her in my spare time. With the arrogance of youth, I thought I could succeed after all those years, where others had failed." "You didn't find anything?" "On the contrary, I found a great deal. My father worked for the State Department. He was not without influence. There was a very thorough investigation into her disappearance. Except that she hadn't disappeared. Apparently, her biological father snatched her. There followed a lengthy custody battle, which only stopped when she died in an accident a few years later." "And your parents didn't tell you." "No, apparently, they were so locked up in recriminations and law suits that nobody thought to tell me anything. I confronted my father about it when I found out. He was drunk and defensive, I was angry. He blamed my mother, I got angrier. Then he said, for all he knew he wasn't my biological father either, so it wasn't his responsibility. I walked out. I never spoke to him again. He was shot and killed a few months later when someone broke into his house, although the autopsy showed that he had advanced liver cirrhosis and didn't have long to live anyway." "I'm sorry." "One of the reasons I'm telling you this now, is that I regret that those were our last words. Whatever else, he'd been a father to me. There were good times in there -- when we went camping, when he taught me to play baseball, a whole host of things. There are a lot of things I could have done, should have done but it's too late now. I'm sure you regret that the last words you spoke to your father were angry ones. Don't have the same regrets with the rest of your family." "It's for them to make the first move." "Do they know where you are?" "They can find me if they want to, I haven't kept my location secret." "It's a big task, if they don't know where to start looking." At her mulish look he added, "I don't want to argue with you on this point, just think about it." They were both lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes until the captain announced that they were starting their descent and would be arriving in fifteen minutes. After the flurry of activity of stowing and buckling, he noticed that she had the armrest in a death grip. He needed a distraction tactic. "Did you know that a pig's penis is corkscrew-shaped?" Well, that certainly surprised her out of her landing fright. Except they'd had this sort of 'game' before -- the 'I know more amazing trivia than you' exchange -- and if he thought he could embarrass her with that sort of comment, he could think again. "Few birds have penises except a few lucky ducks and ostriches. The prize example being the Argentine lake duck with a corkscrew-shaped penis up to half a metre long, the same length as its body." Good, she was playing; trust her competitive instincts to not let him win. "Wow, that's one lucky duck. Did you know that the female spotted hyena has a penis, which she displays at various intervals during the day? Without it she's a social outcast." "An extension of the clitoris I presume?" He nodded. "Did you know that a flea's penis is two-thirds the length of it's body and has to negotiate a vagina with two U-turns?" "Two-thirds? Not quite up to the duck, how does it carry that?" "Curled up inside its body." "Is there room for anything else? Did you know that earwig penises often snap off during sex? But for one lucky family, the males carry a fully functional spare." "Are you sure you didn't make that up?" He shook his head. "Did you know that the blue whale has a ten to eleven foot penis with a foot diameter?" "Eleven feet -- almost twice my height -- more than twice your height." "And that dolphins have a prehensile penis up to fourteen inches long?" She managed to keep her face straight but couldn't keep the sparkle from her eyes. "Feeling inadequate yet?" "So long as you don't start quoting strange and wonderful autopsy statistics on tumescence, I'll survive." The sudden reverse thrust of the engines alerted Dana to the fact they'd landed and she hadn't noticed. Had that been his intention? She looked at him and he smiled at her. Of course it was. She returned the smile. As the plane came to a halt and everyone scrambled for their belongings, the lady from the row in front turned and caught Dana's eye. "Eleven feet?" she mouthed. Dana nodded. "Wow, that's the best landing I've ever had," the woman replied, grinning. Dana smiled but felt a moment's consternation that she'd been overheard. However, thinking back on it they'd both been speaking quietly until the descent, when their voices had returned to a more normal level. So what if people had overheard that conversation -- it was educational. As they waited at the carousel for their luggage, Mulder asked her if she needed a lift home. She demurred, saying that she lived on the opposite side of town to him and didn't want to impose. Mulder was ready to protest when she interrupted, asking him if he was free for a drink on Friday. Friday? He could be free Friday -- even if he had to play nice with the audit department -- he'd be free Friday. "Good," she'd replied with a smile, "bring a six pack because I really want to know your first name." With that she grabbed her bag off the carousel, told him her address and disappeared into the throng heading for the exit. Rudiger found him a few minutes later, still with a shit-eating grin on his face. ************************************************* End part 2 of 3 Part 3 of 3 Frankie glanced at her watch. Time to go home -- not that she had an exciting evening planned, or a weekend for that matter. Friday night -- perhaps she'd treat herself to Chinese. Mind made up, she was about to close down her computer when Rudiger walked into her office. She groaned, loudly. "Seven o'clock on a Friday night -- only you two would show up at this time of night. We're closed." "Evening, Frankie. Me two? I know I've put on a bit of weight recently -- it's all the takeout -- and I know I'm large in general, but two of me? Are you seeing double? You got a bottle stashed in your drawers?" Rudiger said with a cheeky grin. Frankie did a quick mental adjustment, there were two things to consider here. One, Rudiger without Mulder was a hitherto unknown event, and two, she remembered that his wife had died a few months back. She was, therefore, going to give him some leeway on the latter comment. "Dave... I was sorry to hear about your wife. How are you holding up?" "Not too bad, thanks. Guilty though it makes me feel, in some ways it was a relief... especially for her. She told me, 'Don't weep for me, Dave, I'll be glad to go.' Now, I just have problems knowing what to do with myself. Which seems an awful thing to say. She'd be pissed at me for not making the most of life, but I didn't just lose my wife, I lost my best friend... Sorry, didn't mean to go off like that." "Hey, it's okay. Sometimes the adjustment is worse than the loss. Everyone needs time to settle back into a new rut -- but working on a Friday night?" "Actually, I'm not working. This is more a personal visit." "Personal?" she asked, completely at a loss. "How well do you know Dr. Scully?" That caught Frankie off guard, not that she was ageist or anything, but he seemed a bit old... It wasn't as if he was the rich, older man looking for a trophy wife. "Personally, not very much. She never speaks about a partner or family, so if it's a date you're after, I can't help you." "Oh, no! Nothing like that," he rushed to assure her. He sighed. "The trouble with having time on your hands is it gives you too much time to think." "Perhaps you should practice your culinary skills rather than having takeout. Get yourself a hobby." He smiled ruefully. "I did all the cooking for years, not that Lisa used to eat very much. I just can't seem to be bothered at the moment. It's too much effort for one." "I know what you mean," Frankie agreed. "I'm a lousy cook to start with, so there's not much motivation there. Any time you want to keep your hand in, feel free to invite me to dinner. You wouldn't want those skills going to waste, you never know when they might come in useful." "I'll bear that in mind. In the meantime, Dr. Scully." "What about her?" she asked suspiciously. Any 'generosity' she was feeling in his direction was rapidly dissipating. "What do you know about her?" He was trying not to put Frankie's back up, but he was treading on delicate ground here. "She's smart, conscientious, reliable, methodical, meticulous, and her handwriting is legible. She's a valuable member of the team," she said noncommittally. "Why do you want to know?" "I'm not sure. Well, I am sure, it's just..." "Vulgar curiosity?" she said harshly. "I wouldn't put it like that..." "How would you put it then? If you think I'm going to reveal personal information about employees, you can think again," she said stonily. This was not going well. "I was thinking more in terms of an exchange of information. I'm fairly sure that Mulder and Dr. Scully are on a date tonight and I was... It's just that..." "It's probably none of our business." "I know. I'm a Jewish grandmother, I worry. I have time to worry." "You want to gossip?" "No. Not really. I was just..." Frankie skewered him with a glare. "Alright, call it gossiping," he conceded. Frankie's face broke into a smile. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? I'll get my coat. We need somewhere more gossip-friendly." With that she switched off her computer without bothering to closedown and moved towards her coat with a sprightly step. **************************************** Mulder knocked on Dana's door, casually attired, six-pack in hand. Uncharacteristically, he was on time. Characteristically, he was buoyantly eager but trying to appear at ease. He didn't want to overwhelm her. Dana heard the knock at her door. She was a little anxious, wondering if she'd done the right thing. It was one of the reasons she'd said Friday and not Saturday, apart from the fact he'd said Friday to reveal his first name, which she didn't think was definitive -- she had less time to think about it, no time to brood when she was at work, no time to change her mind. She composed herself; this was the right thing to do. This wasn't a date -- there was no expectation. The only commitment was to be friends -- well, to recollect what friends did. She opened the door. There was a stilted exchange of greetings. An awkward few minutes of platonic questions: 'how are you?', 'nice weather we're having', 'would you like a drink?', 'how was work?', which left them sitting in her living room, him on the couch, her on an easy chair opposite. He glanced around the room. "I guess the next conventional gambit on the list would be 'nice place you've got here'." She smiled, "Yes, it would. I take it you're going to break from tradition and not say that?" The room was pleasant enough, there were even houseplants, but otherwise it was almost completely devoid of personal items. "I was expecting more books." She debated what to answer or even if to answer, before deciding she should go with the truth. She'd already told him she'd lost everything at one point in her life. "I haven't been able to afford to replace them. I miss them, though why I should have an attachment to inanimate objects is a mystery." "Because they are like old friends..." He paused to think for a moment. "Moby Dick," he exclaimed, "that's one of your favourites, isn't it? You called your father Ahab." "I'm impressed. Yes, my father used to read to me when he was home on leave. That was one of our favourites. He used to call me Starbuck." "Do you miss your family?" And wasn't that an incisive question. But friends knew about family, asked about them, didn't they? "It's a mixed feeling. I hate Bill, I feel betrayed by my mother, Charlie... Charlie just wants an easy life, he wouldn't want to get involved. Melissa... Melissa was always the wayward child, she went her own way when she left school. I haven't seen her in a long time. She wasn't around when Dad died. We didn't always see eye to eye, but I've missed her. I don't suppose you could misuse your influence to search for her?" "Dana! You shock me -- as if I would! Have you got anything to go on, such as a social security number or something?" "No, it doesn't matter. It was just a thought. How often do you see your mother?" "Just major holidays -- we weren't particularly close before I hit the self-destruct button. After the blow up with my father, I went on to confront her about it. She was none too pleased," he said, remembering the stinging slap of her response. "But when the dust settled... she's still my mother, I make the occasional effort. I should probably do more but you know how it is." She nodded in agreement. There were always excuses for avoiding potentially uncomfortable experiences -- work, laundry, chores, shopping, daily activities. For a man who dealt with unpleasant things for a living, dealing with a family spat should have been a walk in the park, but then sometimes it was just too much to make more compromises. When free time was available it needed to be spent recharging the batteries: space, peace, quiet, time for reflection, just time to relax -- vegetate, or pound up and down a basketball court. Anything, so long as it wasn't confrontational or an attempt to avoid being confrontational. She wondered what he was doing here. Oh, that reminded her, she still didn't know his first name. She watched him finish his first bottle of beer. "Are you feeling mellow enough to tell me your first name yet?" "I don't suppose you'll let me deflect?" "No, I don't think so." He sighed. "It's Fox -- Fox William Mulder at your service, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Can I get you another beer?" he said, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. "No, thanks. That should be my line -- are you trying to buy time?" He did say it was the follow-up question that was the problem. Fox. Yes, well let's avoid the obvious response. That aside, she could imagine he was teased as a child, maybe a bit of Mickey taking as he got older, but it really wasn't that bad. "Just fortifying myself with a bit more Dutch courage." "Would you rather I didn't ask further?" "Ask away -- I'm ready." "What's wrong with Fox?" "Nothing really. It's just that my wife -- my ex-wife -- had this way of saying it that had a mysterious effect on... parts of my anatomy. I think she led me around by my dick. Sometimes when people say it, it... Whatever, it's not a particularly pleasant recollection and I have no intention of finding myself in that position again. Please don't take that personally." She tried to keep her face straight, she really did. "So..." "I'm not telling you anymore, so don't ask." He glanced at her, noting her twitching lips. "It's not funny." "I'm sorry, I'm sure it's not. And I wasn't going to ask for details. I was just going to ask what you were going to do if you started reacting the same way to someone calling you Muuullldeer." She deliberately drew it out, dropping her voice. "Maybe you should just stick to the one trigger name." "Oh God. Don't say that." He stopped and thought for a moment. "No, that'll never happen. Being reamed out by my boss is always going to override any other connotations." They both indulged in a smile. "Why do they call you Spooky?" "What?" "Frankie introduced you as Spooky Mulder, you said it was a nickname. Why Spooky?" "Oh, I don't think so. I just confessed to one embarrassment. Now it's your turn." "Come on. Are you trying to tell me it's worse than Foooox?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Am I going to regret telling you that?" "No. Your secret is safe with me." She smiled wickedly. "Spooky is a term of both derision or endorsement, depending on whether I'm the flavour of the month or not. You should ask Rudiger if you get the chance. He can embellish it with a few examples. Now, what makes you say that a relationship can only last eighteen months?" She let him change the subject. It was only fair. He'd mentioned his interest in that statement when she'd said it, but he hadn't had the opportunity at the time to return to it. She wasn't surprised that he hadn't forgotten about it; he obviously believed in long-term relationships. As far as she was concerned you might as well believe in fairies. "It's down to pure chemistry. You mix the chemicals together, add energy, get a spectacular result, then the reaction completes and the spectacle fizzles out." "And you're left with a new, more stable compound." Ever determined, she thought. "Or it's all gone up in smoke and all that's left is a pile of ash." "How cynical of you. Come on, I know you. You must have more than that. Why eighteen months?" There he went after the gory details, as usual. She wasn't averse to supplying the facts. She just hoped this would stay clinical otherwise it might get nasty. "Eighteen months to three years -- maybe five if you want to be overly optimistic. It's long enough to raise a child through infancy. We discussed before that reproductively speaking, from a human male's point of view it is more genetically viable to procreate with as many females as possible. However, with some investment of his time in caring for his offspring, he can considerably increase the odds of his progeny surviving. The woman has considerably more investment in the reproductive process, and it's to her advantage to have assistance to bring up the child. The whole process is geared towards this, the sexual attraction being maintained by fundamental brain chemistry for this amount of time. In addition, in primitive cultures, breast- feeding is sustained until the child is three or four. Lactation tends to suppress ovulation due to the high levels of the milk hormone, prolactin. But as the child is weaned, and the urge to procreate reasserts itself, it's biologically more sound to seek out a different genetic partner for the next child." "Brain chemistry? Not something I'd normally associate with sexual attraction. I thought testosterone was more a driving force. Did you know that high levels of testosterone in women is what makes them more confident, gives them more presence, a firm hand shake? The downside is that they smile less often." She debated internally whether to take the bait but decided to stick with her theme. "Certainly testosterone and oestrogen induce the lust factor, the indiscriminate scramble for physical gratification. However, it's the brain chemicals, or neurotransmitters, that initiate and maintain the attraction and infatuation. Different neurotransmitters playing different roles at each stage of the mating game." "The chemistry of love just took on a whole new meaning. What happened to the lightening bolt out of the blue or a magical Cupid's arrow?" She smiled, shaking her head. "Not involved unless they're tipped in PEA." "PEA being?" "Phenylethylamine, one of the neurotransmitters. I suppose, if you wanted to look for the 'magic of love', this chemical might be considered as the visual component of love at first sight. It's one of five amines in the central nervous system, along with adrenaline, noradrenalin, serotonin and dopamine. PEA is a mood elevator and triggers the interest, the fascination. Dopamine, noradrenalin and serotonin have individual affects but combine together to keep the focus on one individual. Actually, PEA is frequently referred to as the love drug and during intense experiences, it is produced in large quantities in the brain, with effects similar to amphetamines, making you feel high, full of energy. It mediates feelings of attraction, excitement, giddiness, apprehension and euphoria. Although very high levels are thought to trigger paranoia." He ignored the paranoia jibe to concentrate on the bigger question. "Do you mean what I think you mean by 'intense experiences'?" She didn't pretend to misunderstand him -- this was a clinical conversation after all. "Yes, PEA levels peak during orgasm, although exercise, parachuting, bungee-jumping, the new exciting, passionate period of a relationship, all lead to increased levels. It's one of the brain's reward mechanisms. People who have just done a parachute jump experience exhilaration for some time afterwards." "I thought they were after the adrenalin rush. That feeling of anticipation, eagerness..." "I didn't realize you were an adrenalin junkie, Mulder. Adrenalin is involved in the acute stress response and does encourage risky behaviour. It's even present in above average quantities in workaholics who like working to deadlines. It does have a role in the 'love' response. The rising noradrenalin levels set off tingles and butterflies in the stomach and stimulate adrenalin production that gets your blood racing, causes sweaty palms and a racing heart. Basically, primes you for action." So, workaholics... was that another jibe or an unhappy reflection or just added information? He filed it for later. "Okay, I'll accept that I'm all revved up ready to go, cruising the boulevard or strutting my stuff. I'm surrounded by scores of potential mates and the PEA kicks in. However, I don't behave like a fox in a hen house trying to get all the birds at once. It's usual to just pick one." "Actually, focusing on one individual conserves mating energy. For this it's the dopamine that helps you focus, increases the sex drive. It's the great motivator that makes you act, walk across the room and start a more serious approach. It's associated with the feelings of pleasure and euphoria, gives you the giddy elation. It adds to the physical effects of a racing heart, pupils dilating, and a light sweat." He could see she was warming to the conversation now, sitting less rigidly on the chair, gesticulating between sips of beer. Her face was less guarded, allowing her enthusiasm to shine through. He planned on her maintaining that attitude, because it made him feel good too -- even if she wasn't going to agree with him. "I've heard about dopamine, another of the brain's reward mechanisms nicknamed the 'pleasure chemical'. It can be stimulated artificially by alcohol and drugs and contributes towards cravings and addiction. It's thought to be involved in thrill-seeking." He tensed, suddenly remembered that he had 'suggested' that she was a 'thrill-seeker' while in Philadelphia. However, she didn't seem fazed by the memory, if she remembered it. She nodded. "Its affects are wide ranging, affecting judgement in otherwise sensible people. There's even evidence it's involved in compulsive gambling." "Really?" "It's used to improve muscle control and balance in patients with Parkinson's disease, but if the dose gets too high, there have been instances of some patients developing a compulsive gambling habit." "Hmm, that's interesting. Next we know casinos will be slipping that into their free drinks. But not everyone reacts the same way?" She had allowed herself to relax with the impersonal discussion, but she wondered how much of this he already knew, whether he was testing her in some way. Maybe he was just trying for an easy, uncontroversial conversation -- well, uncontroversial in the personal sense. This type of debate certainly wasn't unprecedented. If it followed a predictable pattern, after the exchange of information they'd get to the argument. She had to admit she was looking forward to it. Despite the fact she was aware that, if the topic slipped from the clinical, it could get very personal. She put that thought aside for the moment. "Well, no. It affects people in different ways. It's possible that some individuals have a genetic predisposition to addiction, so everyone reacts differently to different stimuli. Riding a roller-coaster for example, some people get a charge out of it and never want to get off, others never want to go on one again." "That's true. Unfortunately, roller-coasters make me sick which tends to quash any thrill I might get from the ride. How about you, Dana?" Her heart had missed a beat before when he had said 'thrill- seeker', but she'd tried to assume it wasn't a covert question and had kept her composure. Was he subtly gathering information about her? Looking for the kink in her psyche? "Being shaken and tossed about has never held much appeal." He noticed she hadn't really answered his question. He wondered why she would prevaricate. He had a sneaking suspicion that she'd like the danger, even if it was mostly illusionary in the case of a roller-coaster. Maybe it wasn't exciting enough. Maybe her days of courting danger were over. He let it pass -- for now. "So, we've had lust, drive and attraction. What else... infatuation?" he continued. She breathed a sigh of relief at dodging the issue. Not that she had much to hide, it was just too close. "That's where serotonin comes in." "I thought serotonin was responsible for depression?" he said, trying to cast his mind back to his student days. Chemistry had never been his forte, but he was supposed to remember the basics. Still, neuroscience had moved on in leaps and bounds in the last few years and, as he didn't practice, he'd let that side drift. "Both. Serotonin levels get lowered as the levels of the other neurotransmitters rise, which is widely associated with depression, but low levels intensify sex drive and infatuation, while high levels decrease it. It's interesting to note that antidepressants elevate serotonin, so decrease sex drive." "That's confusing. I don't remember being depressed when I was having sex regularly. In fact, it was more as you said earlier, elation." Was that more information than she wanted to know? This was skirting into the personal. She needed to keep the discussion on track. She fell back on her usual tactic of regurgitating facts. "In actual fact, at normal levels serotonin makes you feel good, relaxed and even sleepy, and it increases when you feel good about yourself. A pleasant dinner conversation with your significant other will increase serotonin levels. Loving someone and being loved are among the best ways to feel good about yourself." Had that sounded wistful? She continued, "However, serotonin levels can vary rapidly affecting an individual's mood, which everyone knows can fluctuate drastically in the process of falling in love. It's also linked to impulsive or risky behaviour, confusion and obsessive thoughts. The behaviour of people in the early stages of a romantic relationship and obsession are similar. In fact, the hormonal level abnormalities are biochemically similar to those found in patients suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. " He had to admire her tactic. Ignore, deflect and divert. He couldn't disregard the obsessive jibe, that was asking too much. "I hope you're not implying that my interest in the paranormal is a sublimation for the lack of romantic interest in my life?" "Did I say you were obsessed?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye. "You're thinking it though." He glared back, an answering gleam in his eye. "Well, is your ability to concentrate on other things compromised? Do you experience feelings of euphoria when you're chasing down an 'event'?" she teased. He decided that chasing this particular line of enquiry was not in his best interests. "So, if romantic love is similar to obsessive-compulsive disorder, this explains why couples can't stop thinking about each other, spending up to eighty five percent of their waking moments fantasizing about their loved one." "That and compulsive acts are also common." "Are they? Is that the part where they can't keep their hands off each other? That sounds like a great sexual harassment defence. The hormones made me do it, your honour. I just couldn't help myself. Not guilty by temporary hormonal surge." She hid a smile. "I don't think you'd get away with it." "Why not? Women can claim PMS for being bi... tetchy. I don't see why men can't claim touching due to raging hormones. They've both got the same level of control." "Are you going to put it to the test? I'll come and visit you in prison." He looked at her, a grin lurking on his face. Then he got up and moved towards her. He stopped within inches of her legs and started to lean over. She felt all the affects of a surge of adrenalin. His head came very close then he said, "would you like another beer?" as he reached for her empty bottle at the side of her chair. She nodded dumbly. He turned to get the beers and she thought, 'bastard' as he walked away and her heart rate returned to normal. She had to smile though and tried not to think what she would have done if he hadn't been teasing. She'd have slapped him, right? As he walked back he returned to the main theme. "So, falling in love combined with 'exercise' and orgasm gives you a triple whammy?" She nodded. "It's an escalating rapture. Basically, romantic attraction is a kind of drug that alters how you think, how you feel, encouraging you to take risks you wouldn't otherwise take, do things you wouldn't normally do." Like leap into bed with a complete stranger, he thought. And then he decided he was being petty. That was her resolution to a problem she had; with the resources at her disposal she probably hadn't had a lot of options. And hadn't he practically done the same thing? He just thought his motives were... purer. But she'd been as honest about her requirements as him. It looked like the fact that they didn't match and had done it anyway could be blamed on chemistry. That was a great get-out clause -- primitive instincts overriding rational thought. If everyone operated like that, they'd still be hitting each other with clubs. Not necessarily all bad, at least it was simple. Still, brain chemistry was fascinatingly seductive. Just imagine the chemicals combining, resulting in steam coming out of your ears. But he wasn't ready to let it go at that yet. "A veritable cocktail of hormones resulting in dreamy, risk- ridden, smitten behaviour, that keep you rewarded with pleasure and make you do and say things you wouldn't normally do. Are you saying this is what triggers the stages in the relationship where self-disclosure, the up-all-night storytelling and interdependence, when lovers can be continually together, contentedly doing nothing, occur?" Was continuing the conversation admitting to understanding the argument on a personal level? This discussion was about to become a tightrope walk between clinical and personal. "Contentedly doing nothing provided the self-disclosure meets with the correct response... But yes, the euphoric high this... cocktail creates helps obscure the failings and shortcomings of the potential mate. It's what pushes many through those first stages of courtship. It's been demonstrated that really besotted lovers often idealize their partner, magnifying their virtues and explaining away their flaws. Couples exalt their relationship, think they have something special, that it's closer than anyone else's relationship." "Why do I sense a cynical 'but' coming? Surely it's this idealization that helps build long-term relationships? Otherwise, if you can't ignore someone's flaws then you'll just not try and end the relationship. We mentioned before that friends ignore faults in a friend's character. It's essential to socialization. Idealization must give you a chance of developing a long-term relationship." "But if it goes too far the pathology is akin to the primitive psychological defence mechanism known as 'splitting'. People in love exhibit similar cognitive-emotional impairments common in many mental health conditions." "Don't go Freudian on me, Dana. Other primitive defences always accompany splitting: denial, projection, introjection, idealization and devaluation. These defences compromise judgement and may weaken other important ego functions. Splitting causes an individual to experience life in extreme fashion. When things are going well, all memories that might dampen the moment are kept well out of sight. However, when a negative situation arises, there is no access to positive resources that might inspire hope or provide soothing. To make the situation even worse, one bad experience triggers memories of other similar, 'bad' experiences. It's an extreme reaction, like patients suffering from the Narcissistic Personality Disorder who idealize romantic or intimate partners, and are prone to 'splitting'. They then swing completely the other way when things start to go wrong." "How's that? I thought narcissists were in love with themselves." "Well, that would still work for our example but narcissism can be much greater that that -- think Napoleon, Hitler or Manson. To the narcissist, things and people are either entirely evil or entirely good. Their personality is precariously balanced; they cannot tolerate even a hint of criticism and disagreement. Most narcissists are paranoid and often regard themselves as 'victims of persecution'. With their love of attention, they often become leaders, fostering and encouraging a personality cult with all the hallmarks of an institutional religion: priesthood, rites, rituals, temples, worship, catechism, mythology. The leader is this religion's ascetic saint. He monastically denies himself earthly pleasures, or so he claims, in order to be able to dedicate himself fully to his calling." "Are you quoting?" He nodded. "Am I so transparent? Book 3, chapter 3, section 7." Actually, she was impressed. "I suppose we should be grateful they don't feel the urge to populate the world in their image. Would that create too much competition?" "Sometimes they do. They want to be adored. What better devotees but a bevy of innocents." There was a pause as Dana evaluated this new information and combined it with the scraps of information she already knew. "I guess the reactions of the followers must also be similar to the 'love' response. Hero worship, adoration, unusual behaviour patterns. People unable to perceive that they are being deceived by their own primitive response mechanisms. I suppose when the idol is exposed for what he is, the reaction amongst the followers would be similar to a relationship breaking up." "Not all narcissists are all facade, some are very talented. However, if the relationship is severed, the disillusionment and disenchantment are agonizing to the faithful. The process of reconstruction, to overcome the trauma of having been deceived, exploited and manipulated is protracted. It is difficult to trust again, to have faith, to love, to be led, to collaborate. Feelings of shame and guilt engulf the erstwhile followers of the narcissist. The legacy is a massive post- traumatic stress disorder." Dana looked extremely introspective. Part way through his recital he had noticed a change in her as if she'd had a sudden revelation. His curiosity was rampant but his empathy was telling him now was not the time to intrude. Had she been in some sort of cult? Exploited as a child? She called her father Ahab, he was a captain, and she'd obviously adored him. No, she didn't seem the type to be led -- not for long anyway. But then again, he should know better than to typecast people. "Dana? Are you okay? Dana?" "Oh, sorry. I guess I faded away there. What did you say?" "I was just asking if you were okay." "I'm fine." He gave her an intense stare. Her eyes dropped. "I'm fine. Please, Mulder." Okay, now wasn't the time. Yet another thing to file away for later. There was a lot of underplay in this dialogue. For both of them. Perhaps it was as well they kept to the scientific discussion. They'd both have a lot to think about when they were on their own. "Alright, before we side-tracked, I thought idealization was a positive life-enhancing mechanism and you declared love to be a cognitive-emotional impairment. That all romantic love is doomed to failure, but I think you're holding back on me. I mean this serotonin is a positive influence, right? It makes you feel good, content. You see things through rose- tinted or serotonin-tinted lenses; you think your partner is the most wonderful person in the world. As you've said, people react differently to different stimuli, not everybody is a thrill-a-minute sort of person. So, this mood change to contentment must be a good thing. It must give you a chance at a long-term relationship." Relieved to be let off the hook and feeling a certain fondness for him, she eased back on the doom and gloom aspects. It was obvious he craved the idealized version of a relationship -- stability, contentment, constancy, loyalty, fidelity, faithfulness, commitment, and devotion. She sighed at the fairy tale version that conjured up; such naivety to think this was possible. Considering he was divorced, the quote 'triumph of hope over experience' certainly applied to him. How did he manage such optimism? "Certainly, it gives you a chance. After the initial euphoric chemical flux, other hormones create attachment. Bonding occurs, and as I said, this is enough so you can tolerate an individual long enough to produce and raise a child." There were limits as to how much she could ease up. "Love isn't blind, it's chemically induced. Talk about being controlled by your hormones. Okay. Even if sex is the 'booby trap' that gets couples to bond and procreate, I still don't understand why this peters out. Why, when there's this cocktail of 'feel good' chemicals giving you unadulterated pleasure, then making you feel content, affectionate, happy... Why would you give this up? I don't see how the biological urge for a genetically different partner would be the overriding factor." "Are you saying you've never felt a relationship just drift off?" She didn't wait for a reply. It was a rhetorical question. "As I said, the heady emotions associated with being in love are linked with physiological effects -- the racing pulses, sweaty palms and heavy breathing. Clinical signs of an overdose. Love is a drug, highly addictive, and like all addictions there is a law of diminishing returns." "You mean mixing your hormones results in hangovers and the morning after effect. The painkillers stop working and you start saying never again." "I'm afraid so, Mulder. The positive effects wear off after a certain period of time, the nerve cells become tolerant to the unusually high levels of hormones and you come back down to earth." Such pragmatism. For someone who exhibited such... staid behaviour in general, he had to conclude that her 'Kate' persona was learned behaviour, a defence mechanism possibly. She was such a... scientist -- treating 'love' as an experiment, her observations concluding that there were too many confounding variables, that it couldn't be done consistently, that the results weren't reproducible. Therefore, it was statistically unlikely that love lasted. He, on the other hand, would just keep changing the variables until he got the result he wanted and damn the reproducibility. "Alright, Dana, the initial thrill wears off, but it's taken long enough that other feelings and desires develop to consolidate the relationship. You said the hormones focused you towards one individual. Surely this predisposes you towards monogamy, then you add the bonding affect. This sounds more like a stabilizing rather than dissociative effect." Such a deep-rooted desire for stability. Dana had such a desire, it just didn't involve anyone else. Once she would have agreed. Not that she thought it would be easy. She realized relationships had to be worked at. As an articulate, intelligent person, she had believed that differences could be worked out -- assuming a basic compatibility, of course -- recalling Mulder's disorganized apartment. The problem was you were dependent on someone else being equally committed and feeling the same way. An extremely rare commodity and non-existent, in her experience. But here was Mulder with his eager enthusiasm, questing for the 'perfect' relationship. She almost felt guilty about continually bursting his bubble, but then again, he needed a dose of reality. "But it's not designed to be sustained. It's a very expensive emotion. You don't eat, sleep or concentrate. You don't pay attention to family and friends. It's part of the basic survival mechanism that the brain chemicals decline. There's no instinctual force for life-long monogamy, in fact it's more natural for us to be sexually polygamous." "Is it? Are you sure that's just not an excuse, a projection?" He saw her look of outrage and, doing a quick review of what he'd said, decided a rapid amendment was required. "Present company excepted -- I was speaking in general terms." But she'd already recovered herself, and couldn't understand why she would bridle at such a comment anyway. "No, it's valid for present company. We're as subject to basic chemistry and biology as anyone else. Everyone's different but the empirical data and general consensus is that Homo sapiens are not hard-wired for monogamy. However unpalatable the truth, falling in love is, in some ways, indistinguishable from a severe pathology. Behaviour changes are reminiscent of psychosis, and biochemically speaking, passionate love closely imitates substance abuse." "And most people can't kick the habit on their own. The ongoing sexual attraction, friendship and interdependence must play a part. I don't believe that all relationships are doomed to failure. This bonding you mentioned must be sustainable. Attachments would be formed and infatuation would give way to a more stable, although admittedly less exuberant relationship. It must be returning you to a balanced state, homeostasis. That can't be an expensive emotion. You're just glossing over the next stage. What's involved there?" She found herself wanting to agree with him but the facts just didn't support his belief. She was unsure how to answer but he'd asked for more details -- facts. She could cope with facts. "The bonding is facilitated by two hormones, oxytocin and vasopressin, endorphins, brain opiates to calm the mind. As the neurotransmitter levels return to normal, these usually increase. They play a part in social interactions, including bonding and sex, reducing anxiety and producing positive feelings. Oxytocin increases the sensitivity to touch and encourages grooming and cuddling in both sexes. It skyrockets in the mother during delivery and breastfeeding. It's also known as the 'cuddling chemical' because it increases in the couple when they spend time together, hold hands or snuggle up close to someone -- and when they sexually climax." "Oh, the 'cuddling chemical' -- shame they don't bottle these things. You never know... they might be more successful than date-rape drugs. Although going around asking for the 'cuddle pill' might get you a few funny looks." "Probably cause yourself more stress than it would alleviate." "Guess I'll stick with cuddling a bottle of beer." "Actually, consuming too much alcohol, as well as 'touch deprivation', are sure ways to deplete your supply." "I think I need to set up a 'touch buddy' system. Meet after work and cuddle your stress away. Maybe a bit of massage. Do you think my macho image would suffer?" "Can you see yourself becoming a dreamy-eyed group hugger?" "Eww, that's so... girly. That image alone is enough to cause stress." "The aim is to induce peace and tranquillity, Mulder. Not generate sexual arousal." "Massage can be calming and soothing." "Not with what you envisioned." "If you've got any massage oils, I'll prove my point." He kept his face inscrutable. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Must be fate, Mulder, I'm fresh out." "You don't want to do a bit of bonding, have your oxytocin levels raised?" "Not particularly." "You mean you're passing up the chance to tie me to your apron strings? Just think of the advantages of being able to wrap me around your little finger." He was only half jesting. "In reality, you'd be the one with the unfair advantage. The oxytocin effect is more powerful in women, probably because it works in concert with oestrogen and is subdued by testosterone. Research shows that men who regularly stimulate their mates' oxytocin levels are treated by those women with greater affection." A gleam came into his eye and he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't even think about it," she countered. So, that's one of the reasons she avoided a 'closer' relationship. She didn't want to get herself caught in a trap of her own hormones. "So, there we are, snuggled up, contentedly watching the game on a Sunday afternoon and yet, this is the make or break time in a relationship?" "I suppose, at this point, the survival of a relationship depends on feelings other than sexual desire, but those psychological bonds are extremely fragile. Easily displaced by the more basic responses." Oh, now they were getting to some really sensitive stuff. He could hear the eggshells cracking. "You mean people, especially men because they bond less, are predisposed to seek out another high?" Yes, she did think that about men, but she didn't want to be drawn into the 'all men are pigs' argument. Logically, she knew that it wasn't always the man's fault. They just happened to be above average in this area. Mulder appeared to be one of the exceptions -- although she only had his word for it, not even his side of the story, so the jury was still out. "Certainly love feels good and you do get those who seek out that first buzz over and over." "Romance junkies," he concurred. "It's partly what drives affairs and even relationship fights, with the opportunities to kiss and make up. When that fails, there are other ways to get your pleasure reward, as I've said. You could throw yourself from on high or, as every girl knows, you can find solace in a bar of chocolate which has high levels of PEA." "You mean giving a girl chocolates on St. Valentine's Day is a shrewd move, and improves a man's chances of getting lucky?" "That could be a two-edged sword. Some women prefer chocolate to sex -- it's more reliable." Warning, warning, Fox Mulder! Swampy, male ego- swallowing conversation ahead, please use diversion. Sometimes, even Mulder's brain had a subconscious survival mechanism. Tempted though he might have been to defend his male honour, and some Neanderthal tendency was prompting him to prove her wrong, he was not going to venture into that monster-inhabited territory right now. He wasn't dressed for it. Careful preparation was required. He needed a shield of deflect sarcasm and a sword of slay misconceptions at the very least. He wasn't ready to give up on the discussion though. "I won't accept that relationships are doomed to failure on a chemical whim. I know that relationships go through a conflict stage -- tension, doubts about the future prompting arguments and soul searching. However, those who idealize the most early on are still closest later. It helps carry couples through the inevitable rough spots. So, I don't think you should just reduce love to its biochemical and electrical components. Love is not synonymous to our bodily processes. It's the way we experience them that's important. Love is how we interpret those flows and ebbs of hormones using our own thought processes. Love is art not science." "It's certainly not rational. You can't ignore the science, Mulder. Despite the fact that some die-hard romantics might be appalled at the idea that love can be explained in terms of biochemistry, it's inescapable that romantic and maternal love, both highly rewarding experiences linked to the perpetuation of the species, are closely linked to biological functions." And she certainly wasn't going to budge from her science rules position. Mulder adjusted his opinion slightly, trying for some common ground. Of course, if someone had asked him why, he'd have been clueless, before passing it off as common civility or friendly banter. "An underlying chemical explanation doesn't make the feeling of love any less real or intense. I think it's a mystery how a complex system of chemical reactions can lead to the feelings and behaviours we associate with any type of emotion, including love. But you cannot deny that when you feel loved, nurtured, cared for, supported, and intimate, you are much more likely to be happier and healthier. You have a much lower risk of getting sick and, if you do, a much greater chance of surviving." She thought for a moment before agreeing, "That's true." "Therefore, there must be a biological imperative to perpetuate that final phase of love, one that makes you aim for the diamond wedding anniversary." "It's not the main driving force, Mulder. Even for those who have a strong romantic drive, it says nothing about how wisely they'll use it -- or on whom. People make wrong choices all the time." Still the undercurrent to the conversation flowed about them. "And the withdrawal of romantic love has serious mental health repercussions, break-ups often leading to depression and anxiety... Okay, got that. It's a vicious circle." He paused, thinking about her tattoo and her comment about a serpent eating its own tail. Had she been in a series of broken relationships? Her attitude certainly gave the impression that she was now at the point of thinking 'never again'. He poked in the personal direction again -- slightly camouflaged. He knew he shouldn't, that he'd probably prodded enough for one evening, but he couldn't resist. "But is the emotional fallout any easier for being viewed as a biologically based, drug-like state? Does it at least provide balm for a broken heart?" "Perhaps the understanding helps with the rationalization -- that and chocolate." "Dana... I think you are overly pessimistic." She just thought she was realistic. "The divorce statistics would indicate not." "Ouch. I don't like to consider myself a statistic." "Sorry, I didn't mean to make it personal. I was just --" "It's okay, Dana." He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "You know there are three patterns to courtship. The fast and passionate, the slow and rocky, and the in- between. During the fast-track, the couple are interdependent in weeks, married in months. The slow group take on average two years to reach commitment, spending up to six painstaking months on each stage. But -- but, but, but -- at the thirteen year mark the tortoises win the day -- the more boring and deliberate the courtship, the better the prospects for a long marriage. Because for the fast starters it feels more intense early on but then the drop-off is bigger and can lead to a very changed view of the other's character." She huffed a "tell me about it". "My wife and I had a courtship that was fast and furious. The thing was, we were on different tracks. I obviously idealized more than her." She hadn't meant for that comment to be taken literally. "I didn't mean..." He was staring at her intently. Would she admit it now? She'd spoken about not having enough to give, not wanting to be involved. But she'd never actually said whether it was a parade of wrong choices or just one mega one. He was going for the biggy, but that didn't preclude a couple of iffy ones leading up to it, or after -- but that was less likely. She realized what he was silently asking. Time stood still. There was a buzzing as they both experienced blood rushing through their ears. Panic, anticipation. She couldn't say anything. Then finally, a brief nod, an acknowledgement. He continued to look at her expectantly. Eventually, she managed, "There was someone... It ended badly." A breakthrough. "You were burned?" he prodded. She swallowed, her lips thinned. "I'm not ready to go there. Maybe someday, I'll have to... I'll tell someone, but in the meantime, I don't find it constructive to dwell on it, to keep the... incident on a constant loop. I prefer to move on. To concentrate on what life is, not what might have been." Not an unreasonable attitude, viewed like that. "So, do you have some ultimate dream to move forward to?" He said it lightly, intending to move the conversation away from a sensitive subject. He knew he'd pushed her far enough this time, and really, at this point, he could only claim a friendly interest. To pursue the subject would not be friendly, and was unjustifiable even to his curiosity -- it wasn't an interrogation, after all. Unfortunately, he seemed to have hit another sore spot. She hesitated, torn between telling the truth and giving an offhand return. Unfortunately, the very act of hesitating excluded the latter. "I had dreams, Mulder. The usual girlish medley, of career, husband, children, dog, house with a white picket fence, and the rainbow over the whole, but they were shattered. Now, I have more realistic goals." "But you're working towards rebuilding your dreams, right?" "Rebuilding my dreams? I don't think so. Rebuilding my life, certainly -- but not dreams. You can't rebuild something that was ephemeral in the first place. You can't reconstruct a rainbow." "Maybe not on your own, Dana. A rainbow requires an external influence..." "Exactly, and I have no intention on being reliant on an 'external' influence again." "Ouch." "Mulder," she sighed. "I'm sure your heart is in the right place, but are you telling me your dreams are the same as before you were married? I mean it's not as if you've leapt straight back into relationship bliss." "True, but I didn't give up on my dreams, just amended them slightly." "Removed the white picket fence?" "That didn't feature in the first place." That was hardly surprising. He was always so... fidgety, so alive and curious. His desire for a permanent, stable relationship was almost an anathema. But he was probably anchored to people rather than places. "So what did? Fast cars, boats and women?" "Something like that. But it turned out they were temperamental, prone to breaking down and attracting a lot of attention, resulting in them being stolen." That had come out of the blue. She had expected a frivolous, flippant answer, which on the surface, that remark could have been viewed as. She could ignore it. A defining moment teetered on the edge of a watershed of fate, then slipped. "Is that what happened?" Well, he'd started it, now it was his turn again. He'd pushed her to reveal part of her past by revealing part of his. For whatever reason, she'd knocked a wall down to tell him. If he wanted to make further progress he would have to reveal some more of the truth about himself. He wasn't sure why he was doing this. They were just being friends. They weren't lovers ready for self-disclosure, but somehow it felt right. Perhaps they were a self-help group? Maybe he had reached the point in his life where he was ready to talk about 'it'? Or it was the beer lowering his inhibitions. Hell, for all he knew, his brain chemistry was misfiring. "I never saw it coming. I thought we were happy. I was working long hours but I thought she supported me, thought that the work I was doing was important. It appeared she was happy I was out of the house because she could give more time to her own projects -- like cultivating her next husband." "I'm sorry..." He waved it off. "I was warned about her but I thought she just hadn't found the right man. How naive is that? She married me for God's sake, I thought that made a difference. I thought it was for life. Right up to the day she walked away." "You still love her?" Such a bold question... or maybe just an automatic, empathetic response. "To be honest, I don't know. Maybe it's because I didn't get closure -- well, apart from the divorce -- that was a fairly distinct ending... or I'm just in love with what we had, what it felt like -- the closeness, the touching, the laughter, the contentment, the desire, the tantrums, the manipulation, the lust... and I've nothing to replace it with, apart from work, so I remember it more idyllically. I should hate her for what she did. Phoebe was always one for the dramatic entrance. In this particular case in was a dramatic exit from my life coupled with a dramatic entrance into his. Staged to perfection, I have to say." "What happened?" Drawn into the conversation, she had to ask, even though the uncharitable thought that she might then feel obliged to reciprocate flashed through her head. That was the trouble with watersheds, once you started down the slope there was no stopping until you hit rock bottom. "He was the big shot defence lawyer on a high profile case, in which I was giving evidence -- for the prosecution, of course. We'd tracked the suspect for months, weeks preparing the case... lots of effort, long hours at the office etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. He won on a technicality. I was pissed, in that helpless, angry, depressed way. Then I saw Phoebe on the steps of the courthouse. I thought she was coming to commiserate. She walked straight passed me and congratulated him -- embraced him -- in full view of the media. I didn't take in what she said, apart from 'everyone loves a winner'." He took a deep breath. "So, that was me -- the loser." "I don't have to tell you that you're not a loser, do I?" "Dana, at the risk of sounding pathetically miserable, just what have I won recently, mid-term, ever?" "You make a difference, Mulder. You save people's lives. You... you helped me. Illogical as it seems, your ability to see things... laterally is an amazing accomplishment." Ahh, Dr. Scully can't ignore her need to heal. To make people feel better. "My own little cheerleader." She felt self-conscious and looked away. "Hey, that's what friends are for. Just let me know if you need your ego pepped." "Thanks, Mulder. But I don't need flattery." "Who says it would be flattery? It's just sometimes, when life gets on top of you, people need to be reminded about what they have got to offer." She smiled an acknowledgement, and then yawned. She looked contrite. It had been a long week, and although overall the evening could be rated as pleasant, there had been some intense exchanges, some very strong undercurrents. They were both left feeling drained, with many things to think about. Mulder took it as his signal to go. "And on that positive note I think I should depart, before I out stay my welcome, or push my luck and say something stupid." She toyed with the idea of asking him to stay -- in remembrance of the Philadelphia experience -- just to see if he could see the irony. But that was best left in the past. *************************************** As he left her building, he couldn't help but think about what they had been discussing and his relationship with his ex-wife. It had lasted three years... ish. He'd loved her, hook, line and sinker. He thought she'd loved him the same way. Maybe she had at first, but then the brain chemicals had worn off. He didn't like to think that she'd never loved him, otherwise he'd have to consider the possibility that she'd just used him as a stepping stone. He didn't want to correlate his father threatening to disinherit him after the blow out and Phoebe's desertion as being related. It was far easier to accept that her hormones had made her lose interest, a perfectly natural phenomena, than thinking she'd married him for his money -- or rather his 'prospects' of family money. And if it was perfectly natural, it wasn't making excuses for her -- was it? And maybe he was still obsessing! He cast about him for something to distract himself from thinking about it at all. It had been raining while they chatted. Mulder saw coloured patches in the puddles when the light from the streetlights was reflected back. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he knew the colour was probably due to oily residues, but he didn't let that concern him as he walked in search of a taxi. With his vivid imagination, he preferred to view them as splinters of rainbow, hundreds of them spread across the road and sidewalk. Theorizing ways of pooling them all together made for an excellent diversion. ********************************************** Dana tidied after Mulder left. She didn't feel panicked that she had told him. In some ways it was a relief. Although she'd hardly told him anything, it felt like she'd revealed a huge chunk of herself. Not that he probably hadn't guessed that she'd had her naivety crushed. He hadn't enquired too closely; he'd been sympathetic. Not that that should come as a surprise to her. She didn't want to relive her relationship with Daniel, but she needed to acknowledge it had happened and move on. At first she thought to ignore it. Not pretend it hadn't happened, just leave it behind. That, considering it was dictating most of her personal decisions, had proved impractical. Much better to acknowledge it as an educational experience in her life, and learn from it. Three years it had lasted, and that only because she would not see or acknowledge what was really going on, so fixated on her idol, who could do no wrong. She was never going to get into that state again. It was true that the human mind and body worked better when it received regular physical contact of the comfort variety -- as opposed to the fisty cuffs outside the bar on a Saturday night. But it wasn't necessary for survival. The body was amazingly resilient; it could manage with half its organs and several limbs missing. The mind needed stimulation but it didn't need touch -- even from partners, friends and family. That wasn't why she'd utilized 'Kate' -- not at all. Funny, as she washed her teeth while getting ready for bed, she noticed little slivers of rainbow emanating from the stream of water from the tap. How did that happen? The light wasn't right. She'd never seen that phenomena before. *********************************************** End part 3 of 3