#the desk is a solid little antique my mom gave me

[thatndginger]

my project from the last three days - giving my writing corner a facelift. I figure that if I'm regularly staring off at the wall while thinking of words/plot points, I may as well be staring at things that will *hopefully* inspire me.

[snickerl]

Blutendes Herz II

XF fan fiction

Same scenario like in Blutendes Herz (Bleeding Heart) - Mulder has to face another man in Scully’s life - different plot.

Part I can be read here.

You wipe your palms on your thighs and stare at the numbers at the apartment door: three - seven - nine. It’s your first time here and you’re suddenly not so sure anymore that this is such a good idea. You thought it was a splendid idea about an hour ago when you left your house, climbed into your car and drove over here. You still thought it was a very good idea fifteen minutes ago when you started looking for a parking space, cursing the constant lack of it in the downtown area. You kept thinking it was a solid idea ten seconds ago when you knocked.

And now?

Now you’re convinced that this is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but now it’s too late. Even if you started running down the hallway this very second, she’d notice it was you. You hear her footsteps approaching the door on the other side and in a blink of an eye the door will open and she will be able to see who knocked. All you can do is take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

She won’t tear your head off, will she?

The door swings open and the woman you haven’t seen in almost a year is standing in front of you, looking flummoxed as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe you are a ghost.

“Mulder?”

“Uhm, yes. Hello, Scully,” you mumble self-consciously, staring at your feet.

“What are you doing here?”

The consternation in her voice hurts you a bit.

“I…uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you this.”

You hand her the little paper bag which has been clutched in your hands. It’s crumpled and damp from your sweaty palms. You know now that it’s so silly but a few hours ago it seemed to be the perfect pretext for you to drop by here.

She takes the bag from you, peeks inside, and frowns. “My shower gel and shampoo?”

“You forgot them when you…when you…uh,” you stammer helplessly.

What have you been thinking? That she wouldn’t survive without her shower gel and shampoo? That she hadn’t known what to do without them all those months? That she wouldn’t be perfectly able to walk into the next Walmart and get a new set? Actually, you notice she did fine without them because a scent of coconut and peach reaches your nose. Oh, how you love that smell! It’s unmistakably a mixture of Dove Coconut & Cream and Herbal Essences Peach Blossom. When you missed her so badly that you were hardly able to cope with her absence, you would take a sniff at those started bottles in the shower, the ones you never removed just in case she returned.

“And you thought I was so much in need of them just now?”

“They’re your favorites. At least, they used to be.”

“They still are,” she sighs and with a slight smile she eventually asks you, “do you want to come in?”

“Thank you,” you say before you take tentative steps inside her apartment, the place she fled to after she’d left you. You look around. It reminds you of her place in Georgetown all those years back. Same decorating style, same ambiance. You feel beamed two decades back to the beginning of your partnership when invading her private space felt awkward.

“Nice place,” you hear yourself say. ‘I hate it’ you want to add but you swallow the words.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t know how to handle the situation just like you, you realize.

“Am I coming amiss?”

Of course, you are. You came here unannounced, what did you expect? That she would fall into your arms whispering a relieved 'finally’ into your ear as if she’s only been waiting for you to show up?

“No, I…uh, I was just getting ready for…uhm… Well, don’t bother,” she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Oh boy, is she tensed-up and nervous. This is definitely inconvenient for her. She was getting ready for something. For what? A shift at the hospital? A ride to the grocery store? A meeting with her mom?

“Something important? Do you want me to leave?” you feel obliged to ask and pray she’ll say no.

“No…uhm, you can stay. There’s still some time before I have to…” She inhales deeply to steady her voice before she looks at you, asking with her exhale, “tea?”

You nod. She doesn’t want to tell you where she’s supposed to go, that much is clear. But why?

You don’t know what to say so you look around while she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. The way the apartment is decorated is so Scully, from the antique wooden furniture, the comfortable couch with the thick pillows, the plushy rugs, the floral patterns of the drapes and the candles everywhere. What stings is that you don’t recognize anything from your house, not a single item. No crystal vase, no picture frame, not even one of those dust catchers she found at one of the many flea markets she dragged you to. There’s nothing here that would remind her of her life at the house you finally settled down in after years of running from the devil. You have to acknowledge that there’s nothing here to remind her of her life with you.

And then you notice it. There’s a huge bouquet of red roses residing in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The coconut'n'peach smell on her comes from the shower she had just taken. Her hair is nicely blown-dry and her makeup is immaculate. She wears the pearl earrings her parents gave her for her graduation from med school. She’s still barefoot, in sweat pants and t-shirt, but there’s a black cocktail dress draped over the sofa’s backrest waiting to be slipped on and a polished pair of stiletto heels is standing next to it. Even if you weren’t a highly skilled profiler, solving this riddle wouldn’t be too difficult. She was getting ready for a date.

“You’re seeing someone,” you state.

She sucks in a sharp breath. A look in her face is enough for you to understand you’re right.

“A doctor?”

“Mulder,” she moans instead of an answer.

“Tell me, Scully, I can handle it,” you insist but you’re not really convinced of what you just said.

“Sit down, Mulder. Here’s your tea,” she tells you handing you a steaming mug.

You let yourself fall onto the couch. It’s nice and comfortable but you feel as if you’re sitting on a bed of nails. You stare at the flowers. Three dozen, you count. Three dozen of long-stemmed red roses. How cliché!

You never bought her roses. You always thought she didn’t attach much value to such token gestures of romance. You drove through half of the city to get bee pollen for her, you billed more than one motel room to your private credit card to accommodate her in a nicer surrounding than the usual fleabags the FBI was paying for, you donated sperm for her to become pregnant at a time she was still just your co-worker, but you never brought home flowers, let alone red roses.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the flowers with their deep red petals exuding a scent almost overshadowing Scully’s. They look perfect, like from a Valentine’s Day ad in a flower shop window. They practically scream at you how much the person who gave them to her adores her.

“So, tell me about this new guy in your life.”

You feel like a masochist asking for corporal punishment. You know what you’re about to hear is going to hurt like hell. She also seems to be aware of what her words are going to do to you. She’s hesitant, reluctant even to tell you, but you won’t be convinced to let go. You’re going to pry until you know the complete truth, no matter how painful it will be. You know it, and she knows it.

She inhales deeply, chews her bottom lip and eventually sighs in surrender. “His name his Mark. He’s a real estate agent. We had dinner a few times.”

“Dinner…I see.”

Her eyes follow yours which are going back to the roses again, and she obviously decides it’s useless to go on beating around the bush. The bouquet speaks for itself.

“Okay, Mulder, if you really need to know, here you go: yes, Mark and I are dating.”

Mark and I. Three three innocent words, actually, but the combination of them coming out of her mouth does something to you. You swallow. You knew there was a man in her life from the moment you noticed those roses, but having her say it feels like she’s stabbing a knife into your heart and twisting it. You don’t understand why you’re so baffled since you’ve been expecting it.

Your Scully is dating someone. God, she hasn’t dated in ages. The transition of your relationship from one of platonic fellow agents to passionate lovers had come along without a single date and throughout the seven years prior, she had had exactly three dates. Yes, you were counting them, you sorry son of a bitch.

“For how long?” you ask although you know it’s none of your business. You have no right to interrogate her about a life you’re no longer a part of. You’re surprised she even answers.

“Just three months.”

That’s apparently what the three dozen are for.

“How did you meet him?”

When you imagined what she was doing in this new life of hers, her life apart from you, you somehow expected her to be working day and night. She’d always buried herself with work to distract herself when something in her private life went wrong. You pictured her eating, sleeping and working, having dinner with her mother once in a while at most or going to Sunday Mass. Socializing, with men, outside the hospital was outside your imagination. Where the hell did she meet a real estate agent? Maybe this Mark was a patient who developed a crush on the pretty lady doctor who relieved him from the pain of his hernia.

“I was looking for an apartment and he was the real estate agent at the other side of the desk. He showed me a few properties, including this one here, and after I signed the lease he invited me to dinner. That’s it.”

“A first date?”

“It was just dinner, Mulder. Do you really believe I jumped into another man’s arms two weeks after I moved out?”

“But now you’re dating. Officially.”

“If you want to call it that, yes.”

There’s an awkward silence spreading in the room. Funny, back then, the silence between the two of you was never awkward. Even if it was an angry silence, it was just angry, not awkward.

Your contemplations are interrupted by a knock at the door. Three short knocks followed by a longer pause and then another two knocks. Like a Morse code. You have an idea who it might be, and so does she. You see her suck in her breath. She tries to suppress a moan but it slips out of her throat anyway.

She thinks you can’t handle meeting him, fears you’re going to make a scene. She didn’t want the two of you to meet for sure, but you almost burst out of curiosity. What kind of man has been able to conquer Dana Scully’s heart? Is he a bit like you or a completely different person? You don’t know what would bother you more.

Your eyes follow her on her way to the door. She seems to move in slow motion clearly dreading the encounter of the former and the current man in her life. When she’s in front of the door, her shoulders rise and fall with one last deep breath, then she turns the knob and opens the door.

“Hi there,” she’s greeted cheerfully.

He can’t see you because Scully is standing in the way, and despite her tiny body your slouched figure on the sofa is completely hidden by her.

“What’s taken you so long?” you hear the man ask. His voice is deep and strong, tinted by a slight accent you can’t quite figure out. “Am I too early? Why aren’t you dressed, baby? I thought I was to pick you up at 6:30.”

Baby? She lets him call her baby?

You called her that once, a few days after your first passionate night together, and she wholeheartedly laughed you in the face. 'Seriously, Mulder?’ she said to you, 'you really think you’re in a position now to use this idiotic word about me just because you made me come last night?’ You never called her that again. It remained to be Mulder and Scully between you no matter what your relationship consisted of - partnership, friendship, romance, something resembling a marriage and consequently a divorce. She had dozens of different ways to pronounce your name and only from the sound of it you could tell whether she was amused, scared, annoyed, mad, horny, disappointed, worried, content, or experiencing one of a million more sentiments.

She leaves his questions unanswered, ushers him in instead. He walks into the living room without any hesitancy or awkwardness, much more self-confident than you earlier. He feels comfortable here, steers directly to the spot where you’re sitting at the coffee table, the table his red roses are decking so prominently. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks.

“Oh,” he utters in surprise, “I didn’t know you had a visitor, Dana.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m running late,” she says.

He makes a step forward and stretches his hand out for you to shake. “Mark Finlay,” he introduces himself without any discomfort or rejection in his voice.

Mark. What a nicely normal name, you think. Not peculiar like yours, one people furrow their brows at.

“My name’s Mulder, Fox Mulder.”

“Nice to meet you, Fox. Are you a friend of Dana’s?” No brow-furrowing whatsoever from him.

“I go by Mulder, actually, and yes, Scully and I used to be friends, although I can’t really say if we still are.”

“Mulder…” she sighs.

“Mulder and Scully,” Mark repeats with some surprise, letting your names roll off his tongue. “You call each other by your last names? That’s weird.”

“We used to be partners when we were with the FBI. It’s not so weird there,” you hear her telling him only half the truth.

“I see. How long haven’t you seen each other?”

“Eleven months, two weeks, and five days,” you hear yourself say, unable to tell what made you. Scully moans and now Mark does furrow his brows.

As soon as the words have tumbled out of your mouth you know it was a mistake. You made yourself vulnerable to him, and what’s even worse, you put Scully into a compromising position. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together to figure out that Mulder and Scully were more than just co-workers, and Mark is able to do the math.

“Uh, what was that, man?” he asks, his voice not so gentle anymore. You can’t blame him.

“Mark,” Scully starts, looking at her…at her…her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? “Mulder and I worked together but we were also a couple for fifteen years. We separated-”

“You moved out,” you cut in and correct her, worsening the situation even more.

“-I moved out about a year ago. That’s why I came to your agency. I needed a place to stay.”

“Oh, so the long-term relationship you told me about, the one you were having troubles leaving behind you, that’s him,” he concludes, tilting his head in your direction.

Scully nods silently.

“And today is the first time you see each other after eleven months-”

“-two weeks, five days, and,” you look at your watch, “eight hours.”

“Yes,” she confirms again, probably not your precise time specification though. Actually, she shoots you a warning look. You’d even be able to tell the seconds - forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven - but you already overdid it, so you keep the seconds to yourself while they pass stoically. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five.

“I see.”

You’re an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology, you have no problems following this man’s train of thought. He takes a closer look at you to assess you and your intentions, trying to evaluate whether you are a threat to him or not. Obviously, Scully hasn’t told him anything about your relationship other than that it was difficult for her to get over the failure of it. He’s as curious of you as you are of him. He asks himself what kind of man she had fallen for before and he questions your presence here.

“Ah, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about then. Do you want me to leave you alone?” As neither of you tells him to stay, he clumsily turns to Scully. “I’ll call you tomorrow, honey,” he says, “maybe we can meet for lunch?”

Your insides tie a knot when you hear him use another affectionate nickname for her. The credit he’s giving you impresses you, though, or maybe he knows Scully already well enough to trust her. If manners weren’t so damn useless right now, you would offer to leave. You are the intruder here, not him. He had a date with her, you came unannounced, but you want to talk to her so badly and you fear you will never get another chance, so you let him go through with it. You gladly notice that she nods at him.

“It was nice meeting you, Fox…uh, M-mulder,” he says, looking at you with an intense stare that makes absolutely clear he’s leaving only for the moment and not for you to take her back.

“Yeah,” is all you reply. He’s a nice guy, no question about it, but you wished you would’ve never had to make his acquaintance.

Scully walks him to the door. You’re polite enough to give them some privacy and turn your back to them, although the suspense is killing you. You’d like to watch them interact, it’d give your psychologist’s mind more information about the quality of their relationship and level of intimacy, but you also have manners. They don’t keep you from straining your ears though to eavesdrop on their whispered words.

“I’m so sorry, Mark. He came here totally unexpected. I was just getting ready when he knocked at the door.”

“It’s alright, love. That is, if you want me to throw him out, I’ll gladly do so.”

“No, we do actually have to talk. Life hasn’t exactly been good to him, to neither of us. He’s been to dark, depressing places and I’m glad he’s made the first step out of his shell. It’s just that the timing’s not perfect.”

“You sound very compassionate, Dana. Do I have to be worried?”

“No, there’s no need for you to worry about anything.”

“But you still care a lot for him, don’t you? Although you left him.”

“If you knew what Mulder and I have been through, you’d understand. You have to trust me, Mark. I need to sort a few things out with him. I want…I need us to be friends.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine wanting to be friends with my ex. I’m a bit anxious about leaving you alone with him, to be honest.”

“You wouldn’t be if you knew all the circumstances.”

“Enlighten me!”

“Not now, Mark. I will. One day. I promise, but it’s very complicated and parts of our history together are very sad. I can’t do this in passing, and certainly not whispering to you while Mulder’s sitting in my living-room.”

“Alright, I content myself until you’re ready to confide in me, if…you promise to wear that breath-taking black dress I spied on your couch when you do.”

You can hear the sly grin in his voice and the smacking sound of a kiss shortly thereafter.

“Call me when it gets out of hand or ugly. I can be here quickly if he dares to lay a hand on you.”

You catch a soft chuckle from Scully. “That won’t happen, Mark. Ever. Mulder might seem a bit deranged to you but he’s a good person. He’d rather cut his hand off than hurt me.”

The way she defends you makes you warm all over.

You can’t blame him, though. He’s about to leave the woman he loves alone with a man who makes the impression of, to put it mildly, not being totally clear in his head. Your meticulous timekeeping of the moment Scully moved out didn’t exactly help him to trust in your intentions. You can’t decide whether his leaving astonishes you in a good or in a bad way, whether he’s an idiot quitting the field for another man or someone who deserves admiration for the trust he has in her. If you were in his shoes, you’d most certainly take yourself by the scruff of your neck and throw yourself out. Maybe he’s just not such a pathetic alpha male like you are.

There’s another smacking sound and you hear him hum delightfully.

“Mark,” she whispers somewhat out of breath. God, did he kiss her that hard? The cinema in your head makes you dig your fingertips into your palms with so much force your nails leave deep dents in them.

“Love you, baby.”

Your self-control is put to a severe test. 'This baby belongs to me,’ you want to yell at him. At least you’re spared to ear-witness her say the same to him as she answers him with only as much as an non-committal 'uh huh’ before she closes the door, probably out of consideration for you. You hear her take a deep inhale before she steps back into your field of vision.

“I’m terribly sorry, Scully. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

Honestly, you’re glad the guy is gone.

“You’re not ruining my evening, Mulder.”

“What were you guys up to?”

“A vernissage. Mark has a friend who is an artist with an exhibition at Monroe Gallery. Well, I guess we can do it anytime, save the free champagne.”

She smirks at you and you actually do feel bad that you confounded her plans. You know that she likes the fine arts, that she enjoys going to classical concerts, galleries, and book readings. You’ve never taken her, it’s not your cup of tea. It’s his, apparently.

“I didn’t come here to mess up your evening plans, Scully. I should’ve been one leaving, not your…” No, you can’t bring yourself to pronounce the word.

“Well, Mulder, what did you come here for?”

“I…”

“Yes?”

You might as well say it. “I needed to see you, Scully. It’s been a year, for Christ’s sake. I missed you, that’s all.”

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and swallows hard before she speaks. “I missed you too, Mulder.”

“Seriously?”

She looks at you, her eyes pleading with you. “Tell me you know why I left, that it wasn’t because I didn’t care for you anymore.”

“I kinda figured that out together with my therapist. Took me a while though.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Yes. Twice a week.”

“That’s good, Mulder. That’s very good. Are you getting better?”

The honest concern in her voice makes your stomach flip.

“I am. You were right with everything you said, Scully. The shrink, the medication, the getting more sleep and eating healthier food. I even started running again. I haven’t turned the corner yet, but I’m getting there.”

She spares you a triumphant 'I told you so’. Actually, there’s nothing resembling triumph or smugness in her eyes, no 'I knew it’ or 'you should’ve listened to me’ on her face, instead tears are pooling in her eyes mirroring a heavy sadness you can’t make anything of.

“What? Aren’t you happy for me?”

“I’m very happy for you, Mulder. I was so worried. You didn’t answer my calls, you never handed in the prescriptions I sent you. I feared you’d sink deeper and deeper into this depression up to the point you’d…” she trails off but you know where she was going with this.

You won’t tell her that you’ve actually been at this point she’s unable to speak out. You remember that night you didn’t see any fair reason to go on. You had no job, no family, your Scully was gone. You didn’t have a life, all you had was this house she’d left to you and a miserable existence that caused you far more pain than anything else. The gun in your hand felt like the ultimate solution to your suffering, the cold, hard steel against your hot skin soothing in a way. You thought that if you ate a bullet, it would relieve you, would lift all the burden off your shoulders and give you final peace. Then a brief moment of sanity came over you and in front of your mind’s eye you saw how Scully would take the news when some blunt police detective called her as your next of kin. You asked yourself how much more pain you wanted to cause her and suddenly the road you had to take was crystal clear. You secured the hammer, put the gun on the coffee table in front of you and stared at it for hours. This lonesome night marked the beginning of your healing process.

“So, then why are you crying?” you ask while brushing a tear off her cheek with your thumb, thrilled that she lets you.

“I’m crying because I had to leave you for you to admit to yourself that you needed treatment. My being there couldn’t do it, only my absence. Why, Mulder? It used to be just the other way around all those years. We used to give each other strength, not paralyze each other.”

“I’m still trying to find the answer to this phenomenon, Scully. The shrink is not letting me off the hook with this, I can tell you. What I have already figured out though is that you are the sole reason I’m still here. Your absence left a hole so vast in me that I couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. Believe me, I had tried many ways to numb it, none had worked. One day I decided to give it a shot and called the number you’d written down for me. It was still stuck to the fridge.”

“Imagine where we could be if you had called Doctor Summers the day I gave you her number. We could still be together.”

How often have you asked this what-if question yourself? Hundreds of times? Thousands? You’ve learned from said Doctor Summers that what-if questions are not only useless but counterproductive. They keep you from accepting what is and from changing what’s in your power to change. The past can’t be influenced anymore, only the future, and that’s what you’re determined to do. You want to build your future life, and you want her to be in it.

“We could work on getting back together. That is…if you want us back together.”

She looks at you with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension.

“What?” you ask. “Would it be so out of the realms of possibility?”

“I’m in a relationship with a very gentle man who has been very patient with me. I can’t drop him like a hot potato.”

No, of course, she can’t. She’s far too decent and kind to treat another person like this. She hadn’t jumped into this new thing light-heartedly, she really likes this very gentle, patient man. She’s gotten involved with him for his sake, not to get over you.

Nausea makes itself felt, you have problems swallowing because of the lump forming in your throat. Has it taken you too long? Have you lost her to another man because you didn’t get your act together fast enough? Does she not only like him but has she fallen in love with him? Scully doesn’t fall in love easily - head over heels and love at first sight are not her concepts really - but when Scully loves, she loves unrestrictedly and unconditionally. You were at the receiving end of her love and she defended it against everyone who dared to question it; her peers, her superiors, her brother. You won’t stand a chance against Mark if she loves him, so you have to ask.

“You can’t drop him or you don’t want to?”

“Both. Mulder! You can’t just come here, tell me you want us back together, and expect me to leave everything and everyone behind and follow you home.”

“So…it’s over. Between us, I mean.”

You wince.

“That’s not what I said.”

You gasp.

“Then what did you say, Scully?”

“I like Mark, and I enjoy being with him.”

She likes him - okay. She enjoys being with him - this you need to be clarified.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

You look into two crystal blue eyes so boring through you they make you shiver. Of course, you know you overstepped the mark. It’s absolutely none of your business, but you need to know, so you insist regardless.

“Are you?”

You tilt your head and peek at the roses on the table, pursing your lips and arching your eyebrows. She follows your line of sight, still clearly pissed off by your question. She keeps her eyes on the flowers for a long moment, then sighs audibly.

“Okay, Mulder, if you feel like you want to know…not that I owe you any explanation…but yes, Mark and I have sex.”

Now that you know you wished you hadn’t asked. You give a short, bitter chuckle.

“What? Are you expecting me to live in isolation just like you?”

“Maybe.”

“I wasn’t looking for this, Mulder, believe me. But you know what? It’s nice to be paid attention to. You didn’t even look at me anymore. You took for granted that I was there but you didn’t notice me anymore, let alone reciprocate in any way.”

“And he looks,” you state, unable to keep that disparaging ring out of your voice.

“Yes, he does. He looks at me, notices me, realizes I’m there. He’s made me feel like a desirable woman again.” She holds your gaze for a moment and you see more pain in her eyes than you’re able to deal with. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I didn’t make you feel like a desirable woman?” The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

“Oh, you did, Mulder,” she breathes, and you see the sweet memory flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. “God, you made me feel so alive at a time I didn’t want to live. After William was gone, I feared I’d never be able to feel anything again, that I had become completely numb inside. It was the intensity of your love and passion that gave me the strength to love you back and to go on living, but your passion eroded over time. Not your love, I was always sure of your love for me, but I didn’t feel your passion anymore. In the end, your world had shrunk to this little room full of dusty files, blurred photographs, and yellowed newspaper clippings. I could step into this room but I couldn’t enter your world. You didn’t let me in, neither did you come into my world anymore. You’d drifted away from me so much, I didn’t know how to reach out to you. We’d lost our connection.”

Her voice has become very quiet, the last words were a mere whisper. It speaks for the suffering all of this caused her. You don’t have anything to say to this. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

“I missed our physicality, Mulder, and you didn’t even realize it. In the end, I craved it so much, it ached. It’s a good feeling to be again touched and kissed. I enjoy being looked at, being told I’m beautiful and wanted.”

Every word feels like a slap in your face. You deserve it, there’s no doubt about it. You didn’t give her what she needed, so living with you had become unbearable for her. You drove her away from you and finally out of the house. It’s all your fault.

This insight doesn’t come as a surprise to you. You’ve already figured all of this out together with Doctor Summers. She’d put her finger right in the wound and poked at the raw flesh until you were honest with yourself. It was a difficult step you refused to take for quite a while, but after having walked down that road you started getting better. It had been the first step forward of many and there are still hundreds more for you to make. If you want to heal completely, you have to run a marathon.

“I’m in the process of becoming the person I used to be, Scully. I can make up for the way I made you feel, I promise I will. You’ll be treasured and desired like never before. I’ll do whatever you want me to do…meditate, eat bee pollen, burn every single X-File in the filing cabinet. You name it, I’ll do it. Just give me a chance to prove how much I’ve returned to my former self in the past year, to the person you once loved. Please!”

God, you’re pathetic, begging for her affection like this. But what else can you do? You’re desperate and scared to death that you’ve irretrievably lost her. Not to cancer, the aliens or any dark forces but to another man who happened to be there for her at a time you could only deal with your own issues and with nobody else’s, not even hers.

Oh, how you hate this fucking depression!

She sees what’s going on in your head. She’s always been able to read you like a book, your separation hasn’t changed that. Your plea has touched her. Tears are brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t do this for me, Mulder. I can’t be the sole reason for you to be willing to heal. It’s too much of a burden. You have to do it for your own sake, because you want to get better. And by the way…” She cups your face with a hand and caresses your cheek gently with her thumb, “I’ve never stopped loving you, even when this damned depression had turned you into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.”

You’re paralyzed. You forget to breathe. “You still love me?” you finally croak.

“Of course, Mulder,” she tells you with a smile, “that will never change. But we can’t be together unless you have this illness completely under control. I couldn’t help you back then and I can’t do it right now. I see your progress, but you’re far away from being through, and you know it yourself. I’m more than willing to support you as your friend and physician, but I can’t be more than that. Not now.”

“But…one day?”

“If you expect me to give you a guarantee, I can’t. There are no guarantees when it comes to personal relationships. I once thought ours was indestructible, but it wasn’t. I can’t foresee our future, Mulder, all I know is that you will always be a part of my life. As my best friend, my partner in crime, my son’s father. You’re the one and only person who knows every scarred side of my soul. Maybe…maybe one day you can be my perfect other again. It’s not impossible, but it depends on so many factors that I don’t dare to predict let alone promise anything. I don’t know how far Mark and I will go. What I do know is that I’m humbly happy as it is right now and that I want to give this a try. Can you live with that?”

Can you?

“No promises, Mulder, only chances.”

You have to let this sink in for a moment before you’re able to answer, but then you know exactly where it leaves you.

“When has the fact that I didn’t know where the road ahead would lead me to ever stopped me, Scully?”

The corners of her mouth rise into one of those lovely smiles that make the bridge of her nose crease and you’re thrilled because this smile is genuine, and it’s meant for you, and the best thing is, you have elicited it from her. You haven’t done this in a very long time. After having made her sad for you don’t know how long, you eventually made her feel good again, you made her smile. If that isn’t a valid first step. There might be a million steps more for you to take, but you’re willing to face every single one. Uphill, downhill, through the desert or the Antarctic, you might do a step or two backward at times, but you will keep going. And you will be your former self again. Maybe you’ll end up with a reformed version of Fox William Mulder even, freed of some of the traumas of your past that had pushed you to the dark place of complete hopelessness you’d been in a few months ago.

“You know me, Scully. The smaller the chance, the more unlikely the theory, the more determined I am to show you I was right.”

“Yes…yes, I know you do, and I rely on it.”

You lock your eyes with hers in one of those looks you used to give each other in another life, before the loss of a child and the impediments of an existence in seclusion had taken their toll on your relationship. You connected gazing at each other like this at a time you were each other’s touchstones, and maybe this means that you still are.

All has been said, that’s why you stand up and move in the direction of the door. When you reach it, you desperately try to think of something else to talk about - the weather, the last book you read, medical research - it doesn’t matter, something, anything, just to have a reason to stay. You turn around and find her right behind you, her delicate hand already reaching for the door knob. It seems you’ve missed your chance to prolong your being here, but then she catches you off-guard when she leans in. For a split-second you think she’s going to kiss you on the lips which she isn’t doing, of course, she’s in a relationship with another man, but she kisses you on the forehead.

The nerve endings start shooting electrical sparks through your body the moment her soft lips make contact with your skin. The forehead kiss has lost nothing of its magic, you realize. It’s as intimate an act as ever. You shared a lot of those before you turned your relationship from one of co-workers into one of lovers. More than once, you wanted to travel from her forehead to her lips but never dared. Once you almost did it, but then a bee carrying a deadly virus came in the way. You can’t explain why today of all days you feel bold enough to make the journey, but before you’re able to rethink, your lips are on hers and the familiar, much longed for sensation is your undoing.

You cannot do anything against it, your body acts on its own. Your hands go into her hair, your body presses her small frame against the front door she wanted to usher you out of mere seconds ago, and your tongue slides over her lips. You’ve ceased thinking, you’re acting on pure instinct and the sensation is too overwhelming for you to be able to stop. You hear Scully moan quietly. Her knees buckle and bump into your shins. When you feel her tongue caressing yours and her body melting into yours, all you want to do is carry her into the bedroom and devour her.

From the depths of your conscience, various memories make it to the surface with a vengeance: how soft her naked skin feels, how her warmth used to envelop you, how you became one when you were buried deep inside her. You’ve lost your grip on the world around you, of time and space. You plunge head-on into the sensation the moment offers you, although there’s this voice at the back of your head telling you that this is not right. It’s yelling at you that overwhelming her with your yearning for her is not fair. You’re playing her off against her emotions, taking advantage of the soft spot she still has for you.

Not fair!

The voice is demanding of you to stop, to stop it right now before she lets you carry the matter too far and compromise her. It’s the most difficult thing you had to do ever, but you grab her shoulders to push your bodies apart and pull back, your mouth leaving hers with a loud smack. Her head falls back and bangs against the door. She’s panting with her eyes closed. Her hair is disheveled, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen. She looks so alluring that it takes all your willpower not to crush your lips right back onto hers.

Both of you are gasping for air, Scully with her back leaned against the door, you frozen into a pillar of salt. You can’t believe what you just did. You wronged the women who offered you her friendship overpowering her with your frenzied, base lusts. You stare at her, guilt-stricken and self-conscious. In the not so unlikely case that she throws you out of her apartment and tells you that she doesn’t want to see you ever again, you couldn’t complain.

It takes her a while to recompose herself and to get her breathing back under control. You startle when her eyes suddenly jump open and two pools of blue transfix you. “God, Mulder,” she breathes and you hear shock and disbelief in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Scully, so sorry. I’m beyond sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please, forgive me. You have to forgive me,” you beg.

She takes another deep inhale without taking her eyes off of you. You can’t read from her face. There’s no way for you to predict how she’s going to react. When she starts to speak, you hold your breath.

“And I thought I would have to go to bed unkissed tonight after Mark had left,” she says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m such an asshole, Scully. I don’t know what had gotten into me.”

Her left eyebrow shoots up. “You don’t know why you kissed me?”

“Of course I do, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

Another moment of silence occurs, the unspoken words billowing between you before she speaks again. “Mulder, don’t look at me like you’ve been told you can’t have ice cream for breakfast.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I didn’t exactly fight back, did I? It was…nice. I’ve almost forgotten what a great kisser you are, but…” she licks her lips, “…this doesn’t change anything of what I said earlier.”

“I listened to what you said, Scully, and I understood. I’m not going to get this wrong, but I will live off it for a long time. The memory will keep me going. The notion of being allowed to kiss you like this again some day in the future will push me further.”

“Mulder-”

“No promises,” you interrupt her, “only chances, I know. That’s enough for me. For now.”

Her lips rise into a tight-lipped smile. “You never cease to amaze me, Mulder.”

“I should jolly well hope so!”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “What I would’ve missed if I hadn’t accepted that assignment to work with one Fox Spooky Mulder all those years ago.”

“You would’ve been spared quite a bit, Scully.”

“But I would’ve missed so much more. Mulder…I regret nothing.”

She keeps telling you this, using different words like 'I’d do it all over again’ or 'I wouldn’t have wanted another life’, but always meaning that she’s happy with how everything has turned out. Despite her reassuring you, sometimes you have problems believing it, picturing the life she could have had as a mother to a bunch of beautiful children and a wife to a nice guy. To someone like Mark.

Mark.

Time for you to quit the field. Leaving you alone with her, Mark had demonstrated a certain amount of trust in you, a trust you bitterly betrayed. He’s most certainly waiting for her to call him to let him know everything is alright.

Will she tell him about the kiss? Probably not as it isn’t the beginning of something, it’s no threat to their relationship. You tasted a bit of what your past relationship consisted of when times were good and being together was all that was important. Maybe - maybe - you’ve also tasted some of your future, you don’t know. You hope, but you can’t be sure.

You’re willing to let her try a normal life. A life with a well-situated, good-looking real estate agent who asks her for dates, who brings her flowers and calls her by her first name. You face the risk of losing her to that mundane kind of life, to a life without monsters and conspiracies where the darkness retreats with every sunrise and doesn’t linger on for the entire day, darkening the sky with its heavy, gray clouds. With that risk you have to live, it’s the only chance you have to win her back.

“What if you put that beautiful black dress on and I gave you a ride to the art gallery you told me about? Call Mark and tell him you’re going to meet him there. The night is still young, you can still have a glass of free champagne.”

She tilts her head and squints one eye suspiciously. “Mulder, are you serious?”

“I materialise in front of your door out of thin air with the lame excuse of bringing you two half empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel, I chase your spiffy date away, I yammer about how tough my life is without you, and as if this wasn’t enough, I pin you to the door mounting some kind of kissing attack on you…I’d say I owe you one.”

You meant every word you said and are therefore veritably flabbergasted that your admission is obviously amusing her. A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth she desperately tries to suppress, in vain. Eventually, she chuckles.

“And I told Mark you’d never lay a hand on me.”

“Yeah, well, a slight misconception from your side. I would cut my hand off, though, rather than hurt you.”

She gasps. “You heard us?”

“It was impossible not to hear you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Good, good. So…uh, what about that lift to the gallery?”

“Thanks for offering, but no. I’d rather spend the rest of the evening alone. I need to contemplate a few things.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhm…are we good?”

“Sure, Mulder, we’re good.”

“Great. Would you mind if I ever dropped by again? I’d even issue a pre-warning.”

She emits another amused chuckle. “I’d appreciate an announcement, but don’t call it a warning. I don’t need to be warned of you. Just let me know when you’re on your way over so I can get dressed and have the tea ready when you get here.”

“You could also drive out to the house. There’s still some of the organic green tea in the pantry, the one you like so much.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” you reply shyly.

Like it? You’d be thrilled to entertain her. You might even bake an apple pie for her following her mother’s recipe which Maggie wrote down some years ago for you on the inside of one of the few cookbooks you had.

“Bye, Mulder. Thanks for stopping by. Despite the…uh…unexpected circumstances, it was good to see you. I’m glad we found a common ground again.”

She turns around to open the door, exposing her reverse side and the special spot you’ve touched a million times at the small of her back. Your hand goes there as if remote-controlled. You could swear you feel her shudder and it feels so familiar for a moment, but this time you come to your senses in time. Everything is different now, so you remove your hand and give her shoulder a friendly squeeze when you walk past her through the door into the hallway.

“Bye, Scully. Thanks for everything.”

“Take care, Mulder.”

You exchange one last look, then she closes the door and her face is replaced by the numbers you stared at two hours ago: three - seven - nine. You look at your watch and set it to stopwatch mode. The timer tells you it’s been eleven months, two weeks, five days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds since she left. You press the little button again to reset, it says 0:00:00 now. You press it again and the time starts running.

[nicosroom]

Nico’s “52 list”

The aim of the 52 list are to set down a “to-do” list of sorts in order that 

I don’t get overwhelmed by everything I’ve ever wanted to do (and therefore never do anything); 

and to weed out things I don’t actually want to do with my life (as in, if I don’t do it at the end of 2017, I have to decide if I want to put it on next year’s list or just admit I’ll never do it). 

Here it goes--

1. Learn to poach eggs - perfecting them is an ongoing process, but I have the basic technique down; follow the saga on Twitter

2. No sugar in smoothies or oatmeal for two weeks - January 23-February 5. My plan is to maintain sugar free smoothies, but some oatmeal just needs sugar, okay?

3. Practice blow drying my own hair approximately once per week. Despite how little I do it, I really do enjoy wearing my hair straight once in a while. Typically, I have it dried straight at the salon after a haircut. I’m far too clumsy and impatient to do it myself. But, this year, I want to practice so that just maybe I can do more things with my hair than letting it air dry and throwing it up in a bun when I get tired of it falling in my face. 

4. Try Penzeys Spices.  It was everything. 

5. Day trip to Yellow Springs, OH.

6. Visit Old Schoolhouse Winery in Eaton, OH.

7. Visit Hanover Winery in Hamilton, OH. It may be the best kept secret in Butler County. 

8. Buy an immersion blender at the KitchenAid summer sale.  I bought an immersion blender and then some. 

9. Use sumac in a recipe. Almost two years ago, Catherine and I were cooking from Ottelenghi’s Jerusalem cookbook for my shoddily run cookbook club. It seemed like a ton of the recipes called for sumac. After a couple attempts, Catherine finally located it at the international market and she gave me ziploc snack-bag filled with sumac. Have I used sumac one single time since she gave this to me? No. This has to change in 2017.  It took a while, but I have now. 

10. Save $15 per week. Is it cheating if I automated this?

11. Buy a membership at the Cincinnati Art Museum. Student memberships are $30 per year. That’s like the smallest fraction of my discretionary spending budget that I could ever imagine. 

12. Make cannellini bean and lamb stew from Jerusalem. Check it out. I’ve been cooking out of this book Spring 2015 and it took me all this time to realize they sell lamb stew meat in very neat packages in the regular meat section at Kroger. This whole time, I keep looking for it at the international market, but they only have fancy lamb cuts that seem overwhelmingly expensive. 

13. Take more baths. I recently have been rereading The Bell Jar. Old Esther Greenwood may be kooky, but Plath sure made sure Esther knows a thing or two about taking baths.  **This is basically over. I probably took three baths in the month and a half after I made this list. Now, I’ve moved into an apartment that doesn’t even have a tub. Too bad! 

CANCELLED 14. Go speed dating.  Jen & I did a little research and we found that “Predating” seems to be the only speed dating service in the area. And they separate their groups into “25-35″ and “27-39,″ charge $39 to participate, and hold a session like once a month at a really inconvenient time, like 7 pm on a Tuesday. I’m highly dissuaded. Ladies should be able to speed date for free. The way I see it, reparations for sexism and patriarchy.

14. Make a leche flan from scratch. It’s my very favorite imperial dessert. I devour it at Filipino holiday parties and I always save room for it when I eat out at an American Mexican restaurant. But, I should try to make my own, at least once. 

15. Download and create a profile on a dating app.  Check out my assessments of Coffee Meets Bagel and Tinder.

16. Watch Blue Hawaii

17. Try some place new for brunch once a month. 

January: Sleepy Bee Cafe (Blue Ash (Cincy))

February: technically I failed. I only went out for brunch one time and it was at First Watch. But, at least, I tried a new location? The one in West Chester. 

March: Spice Kitchen (Cleveland)

April: Triple header - Holly’s Homemade Eats & Sweets (College Corner, Indiana); Bellevue Bistro (Bellevue, Kentucky); Hang Over Easy (Clifton (Cincy))

May: Sugarcreek Restaurant (Sheffield Village, Oh)

June: Rising Sun Cafe (Yellow Springs, Oh)

July: Treaty City Cafe (Greenville, Oh)

August: another new First Watch location (Secor Rd, Toledo)

September: another new First Watch location (Montgomery, AL)

October: Chik’n Mi (Louisville, KY); Keystone Bar & Grill (Covington, KY location)

November: Doodles (Lexington, KY)

December: Asiana Korean Restaurant (West Chester, OH). I guess this isn’t quite a brunch place, but I ate an delicious eggy beef stew, Yukaejang and we ate there at 11 am, brunch time.  

18. Visit downtown Waterville, OH. It’s a small town adjacent to the city of Toledo. I pass through it whenever I drive back and forth to the city from my mom’s new home on the farm. One of these days, maybe I’ll check out the local business scene, the metroparks, and the possibilities. 

19. Get a desk that I like and will use. Although people say I have a nice desk, I disagree. I found it near the dumpsters at the apartment complex next door. It does its job, but I don’t love it.

CANCELLED. 20. Complete a Whole 30 reset.  Though I remain curious, after much research, I decided that the reset is a terrible idea. 

20. Watch Up. 

21. Go to a live NFL game. Hopefully not the Bengals…unless they play a really interesting team…or, I can’t afford anything else. 

22. Learn hollandaise sauce. Look. 

23. Make an eggs benedict dish for breakfast -or lunch/dinner, I suppose. Perhaps a classic with English muffins, but maybe something like a salmon or fried green tomatoes benedict. 

24. Make my bed every day for two weeks. I’ve read that this is a habit of highly successful people. I think it would be really good for my “working from home” vs. napping problem. 

25. Make a TV-watching schedule. In college, I read some advice that you should schedule when you’ll watch TV and you should only watch TV then. I read that before the days of Netflix instant video. With Netflix, and especially after I moved into my own place, I formed a habit of “watching TV” as background noise while I do any number of things - wash the dishes, cook, fold the laundry, wash my face. As such, I get a lot of stuff done and also take in a lot of pop culture at the same time. But, I also see where this is an extremely counterproductive habit. Such as when I start a new 43 minute episode, but it only takes 20 minutes to wash dishes…and I watch the whole thing…Specifying the TV watching time gives you something to look forward to and provides some space to relax (unlike watching TV while simultaneously doing chores). The schedule should also put an end time on your TV watching. I’m gonna try for an hour Sunday-Thursday, likely between 8-9pm and make Friday and Saturdays open for watching a running list of movies I’ve intended to see. Check out my schedule and what I’m watching!

26. Make roasted pine nut hummus from scratch. Big brand pine nut hummus is so good. But after those hummus recalls by both Sabra and Trader Joe’s, we are in a trust no one situation. I shelled out $24 for a 3lb bag of pine nuts at Costco and I’ll be making my own hummus all year long. 

27. Do a cleansing face mask once a week for four weeks. 

28. Exfoliate lips once a week for four weeks. Will 27 & 28 stay weekly habits?? 

29. Color (in my adult coloring book) for 15 minutes before bed, Sunday through Thursday night for two weeks. I started 2017 hoping this could be a nightly habit. A late night here, a phone call with a friend there, a “oh, I forgot to make a lesson plan” on this hand, or a “just-too-tired today” on the other and suddenly I haven’t touched my $22 coloring book in more than two weeks. Alongside some of the above plans and habits on this list, maybe I can do this if I am a little more flexible and realistic. So I’ll shoot for work nights for two solid weeks and see if I can then turn it into a more definite routine. 

30. No tech after 10 pm, Sunday through Thursday for one week. 

31. Read Ta-Nehisi Coates, “The Case for Reparations” from The Atlantic. You’d think this is easy; it’s an article from The Atlantic, after all. But when I made a PDF of this thing it was 62 pages long. That feels like a short term commitment and I’ve got to put it on the calendar one of these days (after comps).

32. Cook a Julia Child recipe. I made her hollandaise. I like the way she makes one feel empowered to do it, like its the most natural thing in the world. Not like Masterchef, where you’re doomed to fail from the start. 

33. Go on a solo weekend trip. Details here.  

34. Go to one of those miles long/wide antique malls. I pass by them often on my highway drives around the state and I fantasize about completing my Corelle and Pyrex butterfly gold collections. Somehow the timing is never right - I’m in a hurry, or they’re not open, or whatever excuse I can think up. Some local possibilities: Ohio Valley Antique Mall (Cincinnati’s largest, apparently, in Fairfield), Riverside Antique Mall (over 100 dealers on the scenic Ohio River; Cincinnati), and Heart of Ohio Antiques (according to their website, America’s largest antique destination just an hour away from me in Springfield). 

35. Visit Grand Lake St. Mary’s/Celina, OH. I passed by this lake/state park last summer when I drove up US 127 until it connected with US 24. It’s a grueling drive compared with taking the fast-paced highway, but I saw so many tiny towns that might be interesting to visit. Grand Lake St. Mary’s looks like a nice beachy getaway. Though it probably gets busy and touristy in the summers, I bet the weekdays are quiet enough for me to enjoy a day or an overnight here. Perhaps this is a good candidate for that solo weekend trip I noted above. 

36. Make tom kha gai. Thai coconut soup with mushrooms (and maybe chicken). So good, so good. 

37. Go to IKEA. I was impressed. 

38. Go to another distillery on the Kentucky Bourbon Trail. In 2012-13, I went to Four Roses, Wild Turkey, Woodford Reserve, and Maker’s Mark. In 2014, 2015, and 2016 I took trips South in which I drove right through all the places in Kentucky where I might stop off to finish the trail, but I did not stop once - not even for Jim Beam, which is right next to the highway! In 2017, I should go to one, at least. Will I finish the Bourbon Trail or my dissertation first? Stay tuned! 

39. Whole 30 Prep: Phase out yogurt for two weeks. I haven’t bought any yogurt since. The question remains, when will I tackle cheese?

40. No alcohol for two weeks. 

CANCELLED. 41. Whole 30 Prep: No grains for one week.  

41. Go see Fiona the hippo at the Cincinnati Zoo. 

CANCELLED  42.  No peanut butter, soy, and legumes for two weeks.

42. Go to Miami football and hockey games. I lived in Oxford for 5 years and did neither of these. My only incentive once I move to Cincinnati will be crossing it off this list. 

43. Make a meal with a spaghetti squash. I’ve eaten spaghetti squash of course, but I’ve never bothered to roast/dismantle/serve one on my own. This year, I’m finally making that Southwestern Stuffed Spaghetti Squash recipe I pinned about three years ago. 

44. Ride the carousel at the Banks in Cincinnati. I tried to do this a couple summers ago, but I showed up 30 minutes after closing time. Time to try again! And some of the carousel characters are pigs! 

45. Find red wines that I like. I’m a dry white wine drinker - which puts me in some difficult situations sometimes. Working wine tastings since 2013, I’ve learned some favorites - Raffy Grand Reserve Malbec, Haka Tempranillo, Brion Cabernet. That is, I’ve learned expensive taste. I haven’t stopped working on this, but here are few winners so far. 

46. Eat at J. Austin’s. It’s this restaurant I/we pass by every time we drive through Hamilton on the way to somewhere else. One of these days, J.Austin’s should be my/our destination, just to check it out. 

47. Get a couch. I’ve managed to live seemingly on my own for five years and never have bothered to get a couch. I was walking around the Salvation Army on April 7 and I impulsively bought a couch.  

48. Visit the American Sign Museum - I’ve made it to most of Cincinnati’s museums by now, but not this one. In 2017, it’s time. 

49. Visit two new U.S. states - I chatted with a guy in the dating app about his goal of visiting all 50 United States before he turns 50, prompting me to list the states I’ve been to and steal his idea entirely. After eliminating all the states I’ve driven through but had no meaningful interaction with (Mississippi, North Carolina, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Maryland, Virginia) and the ones I don’t remember (like South Carolina, where we lived when I was an infant), I’ve got 21. I was in panic mode - how will I get to 29 states in the next 22.5 years? For the next five or ten years, I think I’ll try to hit at least two a year. In 2017, I have my sights set on Missouri and Arizona. Can anyone recommend some interesting border towns? 

Phoenix, AZ trip is booked! Oct. 25-31

50. Have four artist dates. An artist date is a solo date with an artist/artwork. You go by yourself and the point is to just spend time with the artwork without the pressures to talk to other people about it or work on/around their schedules. When you go it alone, the only schedule you have to worry about is yours. Now  that I think of it, I should have called “artist date” every time I made the mistake of dragging my ex-boyfriend to a military history museum and then feeling rushed because he didn’t want to read everything on every plaque like I did. This is precisely the problem artist dates solve. Dates can range from visiting exhibits and galleries, artist talks or performances, concerts or movies, spending the entire day reading a book, or listening to music in the peace of your own home without any other distractions. I heard about artist dates from Janice MacLeod (author of Paris Letters) and had planned to have one every month during 2015. Life got busy and all kinds of excuses not to have artist dates turned into no artist dates by the middle of the year. I set the bar lower this year, at four, hoping I can do this once a quarter. 

February 19, 2017 - George Takei’s Allegiance

May 13, 2017 - Citizen by Claudia Rankine

June 2, 2017 - Jordan Peele’s Get Out 

December 7, 2017 - Tom Hanks/Emma Watson/Dave Eggers, The Circle 

51. Learn to sew on a button. Whenever my buttons need help I take the clothes to my favorite seamstress and pay $4 for the repair and make who knows how many carbon emissions driving over to her place. 

52. Watch Star Wars. I’ve never seen it, so I have no idea about the allusions, the “Star Wars nights” at sporting events, or the Cold War metaphors about race, gender, and nation.  I wasn’t very impressed. 

[theliterateape]

Ditch the Desktop and the Laptop and Switch to an iPad

By Don Hall

By the time Dana and I packed up our stuff and headed to Las Vegas, I had two iMac desktops, a 21 inch and a 27 inch screen. Both were 2011 computers and were functional but feeling their age. Dana had a MacBook Air and I had an iPad Pro but my desktops were getting seriously creaky.

Over the course of our first year in the desert both desktops became steadily more obsolete. Internet became spotty at times. Load times for everything from spreadsheets to word processing to simply watching Netflix took much longer. I stopped updated the OS on either and went backwards to Snow Leopard because the newer OS programs took more juice than these beautiful reminders of eight years in Chicago could handle.

Increasingly I had to rely on the iPad Pro for more and more of my computing needs. The iOS was not ideal for a lot of the heavy lifting I needed but I figured out workarounds and made some compromises in complexity. Use the tool you have and all that jazz.

A year ago the 21 inch iMac bit the dust and after researching and realizing to fix the thing would cost somewhere around $500.00, I decided to sell it. The 27 inch now sits in our bedroom and is used solely for watching DVDs because that’s pretty much all it was good for. For the past twelve months my only real computer has been the killer combo of my iPhone and my iPad Pro.

With my monthly subscription to iCloud ($9.99 per month for 1TB of storage) I no longer need a hard drive. I have everything from a massive photo library to my podcast files (both raw audio files and fully edited MP3s) to thousands of archived writing stored in there. Given that, at least in the meantime, Apple is going to continue to be the juggernaut it is, I feel pretty safe with this.

FIVE REASONS IPAD IS BETTER THAN THE SHIT YOU’RE USING

Streaming Movies are awesome on it.

You can type, use a mouse or a track pad, and use your hands to make shit happen.

It can do everything your shit does but does it with style.

Apps for everything from word processing to tracking your sleep.

It makes you feel like you’re a character in Star Trek.

For much of the year, I used my wireless Apple keyboard Bluetoothed to the iPad for the real typing but have become adept at the glass keyboard for emails and short notes. Recently I upgraded to the Magic Keyboard with built in track pad, backlit keyboard and magnetic charging and I love it.

Keep in mind, if I needed high-powered graphic design or video making technology, this set up would not do. When I recommend you ditch your computers for the iPad Pro, I advise from the perspective of my own specific workflow. Here’s a quick list of tasks I’ve found far better rendered with my set up:

Writing

I’m a huge fan of Apple Notes. For a good long time, Notes was my go to writing app. Simple but flexible. Given that my writing comes in three forms (Literate Ape stuff, Random Ideas and Bullshit, and Books I’m Writing) I can make multiple folders and archive everything all in one spot. A month ago I re-downloaded IA Writer to see if it was better than a few years ago. It is. A lot better. So now I’m using that for the Books and Ape articles and Notes for Podcast Notes, Random Shit, and Business Stuff (like bank records, scans, and passwords, etc.).

Literate Ape is on Squarespace and they provide a couple of excellent apps (the Blogging app and the Analytics app) that I use daily. IA Writer includes comprehensive Markup capabilities so I can format everything including links and just copy it straight into Squarespace.

Podcasting

iPhone 11 Pro Max + Shure MV88 Digital Stereo Condenser Mic + Shure Motiv Audio Recording app + Ferrite Audio Editing app = solid podcasting capabilities.

The condenser mic was something I latched onto a few years ago and it’s perfect. When I record Peculiar Journeys I can do it almost anywhere and it sounds clean. With the Literate Apecast David and I record in Chicago and Vegas via FaceTime with good headphones. Then he sends me his half of the conversation and I use Ferrite to mix the two and balance it out.

When the world isn’t locked down and we can do live events, Bughouse! is the same set up except I put the phone and mic on a grippy tripod attached to the mic stand in the venue. Set at a wider sound grab, the MV88 does a great job with that, too.

Ferrite is just the easiest audio editor I’ve ever worked upon. Just enough add-ones to tweak sound, incredibly easy to edit. I’ve worked on software at a radio station that isn’t as effective.

Emails

I like the Apple Mail app. Simple, easy to add multiple accounts. Some people dig third party apps and of those I dig Readdle’s Sparrow but I always come back to the native app.

For work, I’m using the Boxer app connected to an encrypted server through the casino company.

It’s funny that email seems almost antiquated these days. I also old enough to have lived a chunk of life without any of this technology so even email still kind of amazes me.

News

Again I go with Apple News. I subscribe and it gives me plenty of aggregated news. I also use Feedly, Flipboard, and a subscription to the NYT. In my Doomscrolling, I have more than enough Troughs of Misery to wade through.

Photos and Video

Apple Photos and iMovie. Simple and effective.

Movies

While the iPad is a perfectly capable computer, this is where this little fucker excels. Great screen resolution, great speakers, and when I use those incredible AirPods everything from Netflix, AppleTV, Prime Video to HBO Max and Shudder just sings.

I like racing games of the Asphalt type and a few gambling games but mostly I’m consuming or creating media. I love FaceTime to chat with my mom once a week and iMessage to text my wife.

I had an Apple Pencil but gave it to my mom when I gifted her my older model iPad but I ended up buying a Logitech Crayon which works just as well and it’s flat design makes it easier to set down when doing other things.

Perhaps it is due to the fact that I didn’t have much choice in the matter but I love my rig. I like having what can feel like a laptop except when I want to use my digits to move things around and pull the monitor off and compute.

Desktops are cool if you spend more time at your desk and laptops are likewise fine but there is something almost out of science fiction carrying your entire computing rig around like a thin book. If your iMac or MacAir are in fairly good shape, stay put. But if they’re starting to get a little dusty, at least swing over to the store and play around with an iPad Pro. Perfect size, perfect computer.

I recommend it.

[carterthornton]

The Third Wave | Chapter Three: Bhang!

        In the morning, Aiko walked along the empty highway towards Port Renfrew with Yuko beside her, staring up at the towering cedars that cast great shadows upon them, kicking pebbles across the pavement out of boredom. Yuko didn't seem to copy Aiko, and she was quite silent along the way. She seemed lost, out of place, like some object without purpose. Perhaps this was her own self-awareness acting upon itself, or maybe she was perplexed by her own senses. Regardless of what it was, Aiko could feel the uncertainty in Yuko, as if they shared some kind of psychic link— an empathic bond.

       "Hey, Yuko... are you alright?" Aiko asked the giant metal woman, who simply looked down at the ground with a blank expression on her face.

       "Un..." Her reply was empty and without weight.

       The whole situation was so odd to Aiko. She had never felt such a deep connection to anyone before, and she had only known Yuko for less than a day. Surely this had to be an attribute of her ability, perhaps she was indeed linked to Yuko. Despite being only conceived the day before, Yuko unknowingly became accustomed to her perceptions. What were years of learning for humans appeared to be mere hours for Yuko; possibly a result of the link between her mind and Aiko.

       "Uh?" Yuko raised an eyebrow at the butterfly that landed gently on her shoulder.

       "That's a butterfly, Yuko," Aiko said as she let the tiny blue insect rest on her index finger. "There isn't too many of these on Vancouver Island, but-..." Aiko trailed off as Yuko's eyes fixated on the beat of the butterfly's wings. "My mom used to love these."

       "Ah..." Yuko nodded as she methodically examined the strange creature."Ko?"

       "What is it, Yuko?"

       "Uh?" Yuko grunted as she pointed towards the approaching city in the distance.

       "Oh, that's Port Renfrew. I used to go to school there a year ago." Aiko answered as she looked ahead at the quiet city fast approaching.

       Port Renfrew, even after years of technological development, remained a city frozen in time. The people there had grown up in this environment; a world of evergreens and ocean waves. Aiko got her sense of style from most of the locals, who grew up in the early 2000's; they wore old clothing, usually jean jackets or sweaters. The people there hadn't been swept up in the trends of the present, but perhaps that's what it would be like for every fading generation. Their era was filled with panic, disorder amongst the chaos of The First Wave, when Mark-users became known to the world in a tidal wave of fear. Many of their time had no idea what to think; all the world's problems at the time just seemed so obsolete, people forgot to look at the big picture. In the blink of an eye, humans became something far more. It was a scary thought to grasp.

       "Okay, Yuko. I need you to be quiet around others, okay? I don't want you to freak out the locals. So for all intents and purposes, you're a human Mark-user. Got it?" Aiko grumbled as she saw Yuko, still fiddling with the butterfly. "Just stay quiet, alright? And don't talk to anyone."

       "Uh." Yuko nodded, paying only half-attention.

       Aiko tried to help Yuko blend in; she gave her a tank top and sweatpants, and her father's giant rubber boots he had bought in a size far too large but kept as he was too lazy to return them. The blue tank top looked like more of a sports bra on Yuko, and it only covered up her chest area down to her lower ribs, or rather, where her ribs would've been if she was made of flesh and bone. Her black sweatpants barely fit Yuko's massive legs and waist; inheriting Aiko's figure didn't make it very easy to find proper clothing with Yuko's proportions. On top of it all, Aiko's father gave Yuko his baggy, yellow raincoat, which was more of a form-fitting jacket on Yuko. Though she did look like a simple, human Mark-user, Yuko's size and steel body still attracted the attention of every passerby they came across along the sidewalk of Main Street. Yuko, in her own oblivious fashion, simply smiled and waved to each person she met.

       "Yuko, cut it out. Be cool, okay?" Aiko demanded, sticking her hands in her jean pockets as they passed by antique shops and lodges.

       "Ah..." Yuko nodded slowly as she began to walk like Clint Eastwood in the movies, with determination and a drag in her step. Then she began to hum the classic theme song to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, narrowing her eyes like a cowboy in a showdown at high noon.

       "Please don't hum that when we get to the registration office..." Aiko laughed lightly at Yuko's innocence as she continued to play the role of the gunslinger.

       Luckily Aiko's father was worried about a lineup; they had come early in the morning. There were few people in the office at the time, and most workers had only just shown up to work. Admittedly, Aiko felt a little guilty about showing up so early, and the occasional stink-eye was given to her and Yuko as they were both directed to the empty waiting area of the lobby. Yuko kept a smile on her face, though, she found it difficult to plant her rear on the seat, as she was far too large. Frustrated and growing impatient, she bent the metal armrests of the seat so she could fit, and as she sat, the chair groaned under the immense weight of the steel woman.

       "Um, uh...!" Aiko began to panic as she watched the secretary get up out of her chair. "Yuko, maybe you should stand up?!"

       "Uh?" Yuko scratched her chin as she got out of the chair, which began to sigh as the overwhelming pressure was relieved from its frail body. "Ah."

       "Aiko Suzuki Schmitt?" The secretary asked, regaining her composure.

       "Y-yeah...?" Aiko usually was scolded after hearing her full name said aloud, and now it seemed a more likely time for that than ever.

       "The physician will see you now." The secretary said as she adjusted her glasses and fastened her blazer. "Just take the door on my right. He'll be on the other side." The specialized physical examination would come first.

       "Al-alright..." Aiko rushed over to the door with Yuko following behind, shaking the ground beneath her; perhaps steel was not the best material to utilize when around delicate objects. "Slow down, Yuko!"

       "Uh?" Yuko shrugged her shoulders as she entered the small office on the other side of the door, ducking to avoid hitting her head on the top of the doorway.

       The physician sat in a rolling office chair with an apple in hand, gawking at the titanic metal woman behind Aiko, who gave him a wave and a wide grin. "Oh, my..."

       "I-uh... how are ya, Doc?" Aiko tried to cut through the awkwardness with a smile, but hers was far too forced.

       "You're, uh... who's Aiko Schmitt out of the two of you?" The physician swallowed nervously as he tugged on his polo shirt's collar. "Are you two sisters?"

       "Um, kind of, I guess..." Aiko chuckled, sitting down on a nearby chair next to the physician's desk as she closed the door behind Yuko. She gestured with her Mark to the physician. "She's my golem, I suppose?"

       "I see..." The physician said as he brushed his well-groomed beard with his right hand, then he stuck out his left hand to shake Aiko's. "Well, My name is Doctor Raj Chopra, I specialize in physical examinations for Mark-users." The clearly Indian doctor said as he shook Aiko's hand. "I'm sorry, I don't usually have an extra seat. Your friend will have to stand."

       "That's fine, believe me. I'm pretty sure she'd crush your chairs like porcelain..." Aiko laughed nervously as she thought back to the waiting room chair. "How much does it cost to replace one of those chairs in your lobby?"

       "Not much, why do you ask?" The doctor wondered.

       "Bah, just curious!" Aiko tapped her index finger on the armrest furiously.

       "Oh, I see. We'll cover that." The doctor nodded as she stared up at Yuko, who still kept a cheerful expression on her face. "Well, anyways, let's get down to business." Doctor Chopra said as he prepared a clipboard. "So, how long have you had your Mark?"

       "Less than twenty-four hours."

       "And what is your Mark t-?"

       "Alteratio-type, Construction Class, Contact Subclass."

       "Impressive..." Doctor Chopra said as he wrote the information down on Aiko's form attached to the clipboard. "You figured this all out in less than a day?"

       "Yeah, uh... yeah." It took Aiko only a moment to realize how nerdy she sounded.

       "May I have a look at Yuko?" Doctor Chopra asked as he got out of his chair. "I'm not equipped for up-close and personal examinations, but I'm curious of her anatomy. Do you mind?"

       "Um..." Aiko looked up at Yuko, who seemed a little nervous in the doctor's presence. "Yeah. Yuko, it's okay. Just do as he asks."

       "Thank you, Aiko. Now, Yuko? Can you open your mouth for me? I'd just like to have a peek inside." Doctor Chopra requested, to which Yuko did as she was asked, opening her mouth wide for the doctor to examine. "Huh... remarkable. She appears to have a mouth and a full set of teeth with an esophagus..." The doctor examined further, tapping on various parts of Yuko's body, starting with her head. "Her skull appears solid— no brain." He tapped on her torso. "Solid. She doesn't seem to have any internal organs at all. How is she sentient, or even moving for that matter? Interesting."

       "Un?" Aiko shrugged her shoulders; not even she knew.

       "So, will she have to get a registration card too?" Aiko asked.

       "Well, she's not technically human, so I think not." Doctor Chopra answered her as she shook Yuko's hand. "Thanks for being a good sport, Yuko."

       "Ah!" Yuko giggled as she clapped her hands together.

       "Now, let's have you weighed, Aiko." Doctor Chopra said as he prepared a scale.

       Since she graduated, Aiko felt the scale to be somewhat of an enemy. Though she was not overweight by any means, Aiko was not at all skinny either. She had retained a fairly high level of physical fitness throughout high school, but once she graduated, she no longer had Phys. Ed class to keep her healthy, nor did she have time do go to the gym. So, naturally, she gained weight. And although it was only six pounds, Aiko went on a diet. Though this was not the product of any self-esteem issues, Aiko was simply a creature of habit, a prisoner of routine. Any shift in an equation and Aiko would be thrown off course, any bump in the road. Aiko couldn't handle not being the same weight and shape all her life.

       "Okay..." Aiko bit her lip as she stepped on the scale, and the doctor immediately began to adjust the various dials and measures; she could almost hear a drum roll in the back of her head.

       "One hundred and thirty-one. It has gone up three pounds from your last examination in May at the clinic. Don't worry, this is expected of a woman fresh out of high school."

       "Fucking hell, are you serious?! I only lost three pounds?!" Aiko cursed her luck. "Well, at least it goes to my chest and hips..."

       "Ah, I know that look. My daughter gets that same look on her face too. Don't get worried about numbers like this, Miss Schmitt, you're sitting at a healthy weight for a girl of your proportions." Doctor Chopra tried reassuring Aiko, but she seemed to be in too much of a huff to pay attention. "Now, this isn't a real physical, so we're done here, Aiko. Your height is still five-foot-nine, correct?"

       "Yeah," Aiko replied, still hung up on the number.

       "Alright. That concludes the examination process. I'll have you talk with the secretary now at the front desk. She'll give you a temporary registration card for you to have until yours comes in the mail. It shouldn't be more than a week or so." The doctor explained as he opened up his door, ushering the two outside. "Now, I'll be having many more new people coming in soon, so you best be going. Goodbye Miss Aiko, Miss Yuko."

       "Thanks, doc." Aiko gave Doctor Chopra a salute and a wink as she and Yuko left his office and walked over to the front. The stink-eye secretary forced a smile as Aiko leaned on her desk. "I'd like one temporary registration card, Miss..." Aiko tilted her head to the side to see the secretary's nametag clearer as she handed her the registration form. "Malory?"

       With a huff, the secretary read her registration form and filled out the small yellow card with all the essential information. "Here you go, Miss..."

       "Thank you kindly..." Aiko grinned as she hopped off the orderly desk, tucking the card in her jacket pocket as she stepped outside, trying her best to shake off her previously adopted dismay with a brighter face. To her surprise there were already people lining up at the entrance, each waiting for their registration card. And as Aiko descended the concrete staircase towards the sidewalk of Main Street, she could see the line extend to almost ten meters. "Damn... maybe dad had a point..."

       "Un." Yuko nodded as she turned her attention towards each person in the lineup, greeting them all with the same innocent expression as they passed the line.

       "Okay... what did dad want again?" Aiko ruminated on the thought before taking out her smartphone, checking the list her father sent her via text. "Right, eggs." She said, tucking her phone back in her pocket as she cut through the line, taking an alleyway shortcut to get to the next street over. "C'mon, Yuko, we'll get to the grocer quicker this way."

       "Uh?" Yuko scratched her head worrisomely, following Aiko down the alleyway.

       "Oh, chill out, Yuko. I'm used to this kind of stuff." Aiko insisted as she popped a piece of bubble gum into her mouth that she had kept in the breast pocket of her jacket. "I'm not new to this."

       Aiko had traversed the alley countless times before during her trips to the local grocer, and it was the same as ever. A few dumpsters lined the brick walls confining the alley, and the occasional stray cat would often walk by, or you'd stumble across some graffiti art. But for Aiko, it was something more. To her, each pathway meant a new horizon. Her mother taught her that. All roads connected, yet they all seemed to diverge at the same time. Even an alleyway was that sort of path. And in Aiko's case, this was the path she took routinely. As a child, it was used as an escape for Aiko, a compromise to the never-changing world she grew up in. But by now, she had walked each alley, explored every inch of the silent city. What had once been adventure had been dulled to mere necessity in order to traverse Port Renfrew.

       The grocer directly adjacent to the alley's end was an organic market, typical of most towns on Vancouver Island. Even after all this time, hippies and hipsters still ran amok in Port Renfrew, and Aiko always enjoyed that down-to-earth charm of her city; it was an escape from the constant push towards the future felt in Victoria, a relief from the ever-changing world. Though, being of the newer generations, Aiko still felt trapped, caught between her own need for routine and her future.

       Grey clouds hung in the sky like any winter on the island, always waiting for the right moment to shower the land below. As a precaution, the various booths of the miniature farmer's market outside of the grocer kept tents over their heads. Yuko was intrigued by each hippie booth; some sold hand-made soaps, others sold herbal remedies and flavoured drinks, and there would even be an occasional vegetable stand run by a real farmer, riding on the coattails of the larger commercial market behind him. Aiko usually found her food here, as the prices were better and the food was far fresher.

       Her usual stop for eggs was a small booth, or rather, the back of an egg farmer's truck. The egg farmer was a jovial woman in her sixties named Peggy; a widow, though not the usual that was often stereotyped. She was far from melancholy, and her wild grey hair and hazel eyes accented her charmingly eccentric personality. She typically wore some kind of plaid vest over a dress shirt, and her farm dog, Rusty, accompanied her wherever she went. He was an old dog; deaf, a little jumpy, but he was loyal and caring like any dog would be. He was a golden retriever, chow chow cross, and he brandished a scruffy looking orange mane of fur with long ears and a broad snout. He sat on the end gate of Peggy's truck, guarding her eggs, and Peggy stood beside her lawn chair close by, tending to another customer.

       Her customer was an odd duck, even more, odd than Peggy, which was hard to do seeing as how Peggy would often drink gin out of an empty coffee container. Her customer was not old, only in his mid-twenties or so, and he appeared to be Chinese, or perhaps only half, as his jaw was quite chiselled and his eyes were somewhat wider. He was well-built, and his black hair was fairly long, about shoulder length, and it was held back by the burgundy bowler cap atop his head; it had a brown band above the brim that held a red feather, and it jutted back out of the hat like Robin Hood's cap. Aiko couldn't see his eyes, as they were covered by flat, mirror shades with rounded lenses, but he brandished a thin, black goatee. His attire was even stranger, as he wore a t-shirt beneath his burgundy tweed coat displaying a famous painting by Roy Lichtenstein, Drowning Girl, a nostalgic pop art piece. He also had numerous buttons on the left side of his coat, the most interesting being a palm-sized button with a cartoon 'Bang!' sound effect on it in bold red letters with a zigzag word bubble around it. He wore dark blue jeans with a custom belt; it had a buckle that read, 'JLB', which Aiko assumed were his initials. And to top it all off, he wore a pair of pointed, brown leather loafers and brown leather gloves. He was certainly a sight to behold.

       "Thank you, miss..." The odd man said with a charismatic purr to his voice as he gave Peggy a few coins extra, taking a carton of eggs from the container beside Rusty and placing them gently inside his satchel. "Nice dog."

       "Thanks..." Peggy said as she took his money, watching him walk across the parking lot with a subtle spring in his step."Oh, hey, Aiko-..." Peggy gawked as Yuko's shadow was cast down upon her. "Uh... who's your friend?"

       "Oh, um... she's my cousin?" Aiko chuckled as she patted Yuko on the back. "Say hello, Yuko."

       "Uh." Yuko waved at Peggy for but a moment before being instantly magnetized to her dog. "Ah!"

       "She, uh... doesn't talk too much..." Said Aiko as Yuko began to pet the dog excitedly.

       "I see. And is she... one of those Mark-users?" Peggy inquired further.

       "Yeah. She's staying with us for a while." Aiko replied as she pointed at a carton sticking out of the open crate beside Rusty. "I'd like a carton of eggs please, Peggy. Still five bucks?"

       "You betcha!" Peggy grinned as she passed Aiko the closest container. "Here's a dozen eggs— fresh from the chicken's rear."

       "Thanks, Peg," Aiko grinned as she passed her the money, but stopping the exchange abruptly as she heard a ruckus coming from the parking lot. "What the-?"

       "Hey, stop!" The odd man from before had been mugged; his phone was snatched right out of his hand by a hooded figure, who made a break for it across the street into the same long alleyway Aiko passed through.

       "Hold on a sec, Peggy! I've gotta jet here!" Aiko's legs moved on their own, and she was in hot pursuit of the thief, locked on target. "C'mon, Yuko!"

       "Ko!" Yuko clapped her hands as she patted the dog on the head one last time before racing after Aiko.

       "Mark-users, man..." Peggy groaned as she held the egg carton and money in her hands.

       Admittedly, Aiko had no clue what she was doing. She simply acted on instinct, springing into action without any rhyme or reason. However, she felt a sense of purpose with Yuko by her side, like this was the right course of action. And judging by the determined gaze of Yuko, she was equally determined to prove herself. They chased the thief into the alley, Yuko catching up quickly with her long legs. Using her moderate knowledge of fighting from karate classes, Aiko had Yuko kick at the back of the thief's leg, felling him. He tumbled, crashing head first into a dumpster. As Aiko approached him, he pulled out a gun, firing it at Yuko out of fear. The bullet bounced off Yuko as if it were a tiny pebble, and she grabbed the man's wrist tightly, easily crushing it like a toothpick.

       "Gah!" The thief cried out as his bones cracked and snapped. Then, out of desperation, he outstretched his hand, creating a small opening in the air itself that shot out a putrid brown liquid at Aiko. She dodged in time and tightened Yuko's grip on his wrist. "You fuckin' bitch!"

       "Is that stuff sewage? What the hell kind of power is that?" Aiko plugged her nose as the brown liquid began to let off its rotten miasma. "Still, you aren't getting away from me!"

       "Go to hell!" The thief grimaced as he opened up another door in the air, this time a small, doughnut hole sized pocket that shot out a burst of compressed air that blinded Aiko and Yuko. Freed from Yuko's grasp, he reached for his pistol, but he was blocked by a sudden puff of debris kicked up in front of him by a very fast bullet-like projectile that seemed to snap back to its source.

       "Alright, alright..." A voice nearby called out to Aiko. "Nice save, hot stuff." It was the man who had his phone stolen, leaning against the brick wall of the registration building. "But I'll take it from here." He stepped in front of Yuko, reaching into the interior pocket of his coat to flash his IMOP badge. "The name's Johnny Lemont Bhang of the International Marked One Police. I was hoping you'd take my phone, Rick Marshal. That is your name, right?"

       "What the hell?" The thief gawked as he clasped his broken wrist. "How did you-?"

       "I've been tracking you for around a day now, Rick." Officer Bhang said as he strut towards the thief, looming over him. "I wasn't sure if you were a Mark-user or not, but luckily this vixen here proved my theory about you. You've been committing acts of petty theft in Port Renfrew for more than a month, and you haven't ever been caught. Now I got ya, pal. And you're facing some pretty hefty charges; theft and attempted murder... your future doesn't look too promising." Officer Bhang put a toothpick in his mouth and began to fiddle with it impatiently. "Since I'm such a great guy, I'll give you one last warning. Don't get an 'attempted murder of a police officer' charge on your head..."

       The thief began to sweat buckets, reaching into another pocket in the air, grabbing another pistol out of nowhere with his uninjured left hand. "Like hell, you can-! Arrggh!"

       In the blink of an eye, Officer Bhang's right forearm shot out of its socket like a bullet, slamming into the thief's face with incredible speed and force. Aiko could see the arm was still attached, though, not by flesh or bone, but by a long, steel compression spring. His arm retracted back into his elbow, and the thief was knocked out cold by the blow with his nose smashed in.

       With a long sigh, Officer Bhang turned the unconscious ruffian over onto his back and handcuffed him, lifting him onto his back with a grunt. "They never learn..." He shook his head in disappointment as he trudged over to Aiko and Yuko. "Thanks for the assist, girls. Which one of you is the Mark-user?"

       "I am, sir." Aiko piped up, pointing at the Mark on her right hand.

       "Ah, I see, you're a Construction Class." Officer Bhang grinned as he patted Yuko on the shoulder. "Pretty cool." With another grunt, Officer Bhang reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper, using his knee to write down a number. "Here, you were a big help, and I think I know a place that could use a girl like yourself. Ever heard of the IMOP Academy in Victoria?"

       "Y-yes, sir!" Aiko could barely contain her excitement.

       "Yeah, that was a dumb question..." Officer Bhang chuckled as he got a better grip on the thief. "Listen, if you ever think of joining, give me a call. If you want I can give em' my recommendation. We're looking for new recruits nowadays what with all this hubbub."

       "Really?!" Aiko's face was practically glowing at this point. "T-thank you, sir!"

       "No prob, sweetheart. Actually, give me a sec here..." Officer Bhang said as he set the thief down beside a dumpster at the entrance of the alleyway, grabbing his phone and calling someone. It took a few seconds before there was any answer on the other side. "Hey, Chief? I got em'. Nah, not by myself. I actually had this Mark-user-. Wait, what's your name, hun?"

       "Aiko Schmitt, sir!" She replied, containing the urge to dance around Yuko in a spastic manner.

       "Wait, Schmitt...?" Officer Bhang raised an eyebrow at the mention of her last name. "Related to Yumi Schmitt?"

       "Y-yes, she's my mom! She was an officer during The Second Wave! You knew her...?" Aiko's mother never told stories of her comrades back when she was still a part of the force.

       "Yeah, quite well actually..." Officer Bhang reminisced, leaning back against the wall as he awaited his automated car to hone in on his location. "Small world..." Officer Bhang leaped to his feet as his hovering police car pulled up to the alleyway, grabbing the criminal and tossing him in the backseat. "Listen, kid, I gotta get going. Talk the whole academy thing over with your parent or guardian, then phone in to book an appointment if you're still interested." Officer Bhang stepped into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him. "Thanks, Aiko, you were a big help."

       "You're welcome!" Aiko waved to him as he drove off, then hugged Yuko tightly, bouncing up and down like a rubber ball. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes! Oh, Yuko, you don't know how happy I am! Do you know what this means?!"

       "Uh?" Yuko shrugged.

       "It means I've almost assured a spot in the academy now!" Aiko let go of her golem, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Oh man... I have to tell dad!" Aiko began to race down the alleyway, to which Yuko tugged on her jacket, stopping her dead in her tracks. "What? What is it?"

       "Koko..." Yuko looked back at the organic market, pointing towards the tents outside.

       "Oh, shit, the eggs!" Aiko slammed her face into her palm, growling under her breath.