When Josh picked me up for lunch, I didn't tell him about Mulder's noticing my injury; I knew it would make him angry, and really, there was no reason to tell him.

It was all going to be fine soon; Josh had actually made an appointment with a psychologist who specialized in treating abuse-related issues, he said.

"I'm going to see him this afternoon," he said, and he smiled tentatively at me, melting my heart. "I told him I was in love with the most beautiful lady in the world and that she deserves a lot better than she's getting from me, so he agreed to see me right away."

"Oh, Josh," I said, and put my arms around him and kissed him. "I just know it's going to be okay. I know it. And I'll be with you, right here with you, every step of the way."

"That's the only thing that keeps me going, Dana," he said, and kissed me again.

~~~~~~~

I was still floating along on Cloud Nine as I walked back down the stairs to the X Files office, which I suppose is why I didn't immediately notice that there was someone there -- someone, I mean, besides Mulder.

So it was a huge shock -- or, I should say, a wonderful surprise -- to see a man sitting in my chair, wearing a Naval officer's dress uniform and looking even more handsome than I remembered.

He rose when I came in -- he was always such a perfect gentleman.

"Hello, Dana," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face as he held out his arms to me.

"Daniel," I said, "oh, Daniel," and I ran to him and flung my arms around his neck, and he hugged me tightly, lifting my feet off the floor and kissing my cheek.

"Oh, Daniel, I've missed you so much," I said, and I was laughing and crying all at once. "I don't think I knew until just now just exactly how much I've missed you."

Oh, God, it was good to see him again after so long, good to be in his arms. I held him tighter; I didn't ever want to let him go.

"I've missed you, too," he said, "a lot," and he gave me another kiss, this time on the lips and then he set me back down on my feet.

"Let's sit down," he said. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"About what?" I said. "And where's Mulder?"

"He had an errand to run," Daniel said, perching on the edge of Mulder's desk as I settled myself into my chair.

Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about all this.

"This isn't just a social call, is it, Daniel?" I said, a little sarcastically, perhaps.

"No, it's not, Dana," Daniel said, quietly. "Fox is worried about you. He asked me to come here and see you -- he said your hand was injured, and he was afraid that it was worse than you were letting on."

So that was it. It was just more of Mulder trying to interfere and run my life for me. But I could hardly be angry at Daniel. Unlike his lover, Daniel had maintained a discreet, polite silence where Josh and I were concerned.

In other words, up until now, he'd been minding his own business. Too bad Mulder couldn't.

"I have a small contusion on my hand," I said, reluctantly. "It's nothing. I told him that."

"Well, why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Daniel said, gently. "You're only supposed to diagnose dead people, Dana; I'm the bone man, remember?"

He held out his hand, and I knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Slowly, unwillingly, I put my hand in his.

Daniel's eyes widened, just slightly, as he saw the "small contusion," which even I had to admit was pretty big, but he kept his professional demeanor.

Carefully, he turned my hand from one side to the other, pressing gently against the bone but backing off immediately as I winced in pain.

After he finished examining me, he just sat there, holding my hand, and then at last he spoke.

"You know this is fractured, don't you?" he said, quietly. "It should have been set and casted on the day this happened. Now the muscles are in spasm, the tendons are contracting and there's already some callus forming over the break. I'm not sure you can reduce this fracture now without surgery; you may have some lingering deformity in that metacarpal, Dana."

I didn't say anything.

"Dana, I want you to tell me how this happened," Daniel said. "How it really happened," he added as I started to speak. "I don't want to hear that story you told Fox, because I've heard that crap a thousand times and you and I both know that's not how this kind of injury occurs."

"I don't know what you mean," I said, but I couldn't look him in the eye.

"I mean this kind of fracture happens when someone slams his fist -- or her fist -- against a solid object, in anger or frustration," Daniel said, still calm. "But judging from these fingertip bruises, you didn't do this -- someone else did. Someone held your hand and slammed it down pretty damn hard."

He was still holding my hand. I took it away; he didn't try to stop me, and he didn't seem angry.

"That story you made up is one I've heard a hundred times," Daniel went on, speaking very gently, "but it's about as convincing to me as it would be to you if I told you that a gunshot wound was really a congenital anomaly. It just doesn't fit the facts. You know that."

Once again, I said nothing.

"Dana," Daniel said, and for the first time I thought he might be getting upset, "if things are getting bad between you and Josh, you need to tell me. You can't fool an orthopedist about these things; when I see an injury like this, and I hear that kind of ridiculous explanation, I know that sooner or later one of the parties will be back seeking treatment for a cigarette burn, or a broken jaw -- or a gunshot wound."

"That's not what's happening here," I said, shaking my head. "Josh has -- some issues, Daniel, but he's working on them. He's in counseling, and he really wants to work things through. Yes, he made me angry, and I slammed my fist against a wall, but that's all. He didn't hurt me. I hurt myself."

"No one who really cared about you would keep going until you were that upset, Dana," Daniel said, and he stood up. "Besides, I can't imagine you doing that. You're not the slamming-fists- on-the-wall type; even when you're angry, you don't do things like that."

Once again, I had no answer. I was so ashamed; I didn't want Daniel to know the truth, to know just how little self-control I had these days.

"Dana," Daniel said, very quietly. "I want you to tell me the absolute truth, as God is your witness -- has Josh ever hit you?"

"No, Daniel, of course not," I said, after a brief pause, trying to smile.

But of course, I hadn't answered fast enough, and I knew it by the anger that blazed up in Daniel's dark eyes.

"God DAMN it!" he said, through clenched teeth, leaning on Mulder's desk as though he thought he might fall over.

Strangely enough, it didn't frighten me to see Daniel so angry. I was afraid, don't get me wrong, but I wasn't afraid of Daniel; whatever happened, however angry he became, I knew Daniel wouldn't hurt me.

And he was, without question, extremely angry. His eyes were closed, he was breathing hard and every muscle in his body was tensed. He stood that way for a moment, collecting himself, then whirled around to face me.

"Does Fox know about this?" he demanded.

"Know what?" I said, as calmly as I could, but inside I was shaking like a leaf. "There's nothing to know."

"Dana, don't try to bullshit me," Daniel said, and he really must have been angry, because he almost never used that kind of language -- not around me, anyway. "I've seen this too many times, and I've patched up too many women who went back and got the shit beat out of them again. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime."

He sat down on the edge of Mulder's desk again and took my uninjured hand in his.

"Dana," he said, urgently, "I don't mean to be angry, and I want you to know that I'm not angry at you. But if there's one thing I cannot, and will not, do, it's stand by and watch you being abused by your lover. Not you ..."

Daniel's voice trailed off, and I could see that he was trying hard to calm down, for my sake. He was more upset than I've ever seen him, and I didn't know what to do.

I just sat there; I said nothing.

"When was the first time he hit you, Dana?" Daniel said, in a dead, flat voice, looking down at my hand.

For a moment, I started to protest again, but there was something in Daniel's voice that prevented me.

"Last week," I said, quietly.

"Where?"

I bit my lip, and for a minute I thought I might just refuse to answer. But this was Daniel, and he loved me, and somehow, deep inside, I knew that telling him was the first step toward ...

Something. I didn't know what.

"Dana, where did he hit you?" Daniel was asking, looking me in the eye now but still holding my hand.

"In the face," I said, hanging my head. Daniel didn't say anything; he seemed to be waiting. After a moment, I gathered my nerve and went on. "And in the abdomen."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Daniel said, through clenched teeth. "And then he did that to your hand."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I said, barely above a whisper. I wasn't even sure Daniel had heard me, because he didn't say anything.

"Tell me what happened last week," he said, finally, almost whispering himself. He looked as though _he_ were bracing for a punch in the stomach.

"I made him angry," I said, closing my eyes. "I had invited him to go with us to Denver and then just as he was getting all excited about the trip, I changed my mind and told him he couldn't go. He was really disappointed, and he's been under a lot of stress lately; he just snapped."

"That's no excuse for hitting you, Dana," Daniel said, very quietly. "There is no good excuse for that."

I opened my eyes then, and I tried to answer him, but instead I astonished myself by bursting into tears.

I covered my face with my hands; I felt so ashamed of myself for losing control, ashamed that Daniel knew what had happened, and ashamed that I hadn't protected Josh's secret better. It really wasn't his fault, but no one was ever going to believe that.

I heard the rustle of wool, and felt Daniel's arms going around me, surrounding me, protecting me, as he knelt beside me and gently pulled my head down to his shoulder. His uniform was rough against my skin; it reminded me so much of how it felt to hug my father when he came home from the sea.

I took my hands away from my face and put my arms around Daniel's neck, clinging to him for dear life, and he held me tighter, patting my back soothingly until I calmed down a little.

"Don't tell Mulder," I whispered. "Please don't tell him."

"Don't ask me to do that, Dana," Daniel said, shaking his head, moving back a little so he could look at me. "Don't ask me to keep secrets from him. I can't; not this kind of secret, anyway, and certainly not when it concerns you. He would never forgive me."

"You have to keep it a secret," I said, groping in my pocket for a tissue. Daniel saw, and reached into his own pocket and gave me his handkerchief.

"Thanks," I said, and wiped away what remained of my makeup, and blew my nose, and crumpled the soggy handkerchief in my hand.

"You can keep this from him," I said, still sniffling. "Call it doctor-patient privilege."

"You know better than that, Dana," Daniel said, gently. He got up and sat back down on the edge of the desk, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not your doctor; I'm your friend, and as a friend, I'm telling you that you need to get out of this relationship before you get hurt even worse."

"I can't leave him now," I said, shaking my head. "He just started therapy today, and he's suicidal. If I leave him, there's no telling what might happen."

"I can tell you what might happen to you if you don't leave," Daniel said, but he was wavering; I could see it in his eyes. He seemed to be thinking, hard.

"Dana, if you won't break up with him, then make a deal with him," he said, finally. "He goes to counseling, but you two live apart until he's been in therapy and on medication for at least six weeks. That should be enough time to know whether he's going to make any real progress."

"He doesn't have any money, Daniel," I said, ashamed for reasons I couldn't explain at having to admit that I was supporting Josh. Surely I wasn't that old-fashioned. "He's been out of work since he came to D.C. He can't afford to live on his own."

"Then maybe you should be the one to leave," Daniel said, very gently. "You could stay with Fox, or with me, and let Josh have the apartment, at least for a couple of weeks. If he's really going to confront these issues, he may get worse before he gets better, and you need to be safe. That's the first, most important thing."

For just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to live with Mulder, or with Daniel; to be with either of them, or both, every single night, to have those quiet times we used to have together, to feel calm instead of tense, to feel ...

To feel safe, and feel loved.

No. I shoved that thought aside. Josh loved me; he did. He had just had too much pain in his life, and he couldn't express his love properly. He needed me, now more than ever, if he was to recover from all that.

I couldn't do it. Josh would never understand. It might push him right over the edge.

I shook my head. "I'll talk to Josh," I said. "I'll tell him that if I don't see some real progress over the next few weeks, we're going to have to break up. But I can't leave him now, Daniel; as much as I'd like to come stay with you, he wouldn't be able to take it. He would see it as betrayal."

"And how do you suppose he sees the fact that he hit you?" Daniel said, quietly.

I didn't have an answer for that. Somehow, I just couldn't put into words all I felt about this, couldn't get Daniel to understand just how badly Josh needed me right now, and I was getting more confused by the minute.

Daniel was my friend, and he loved me; that, I could not doubt. But Josh was a stranger to him, and I could hardly expect him to understand that there might be another side to this story.

I had to get out of there, now, before I let Daniel talk me into doing something that might destroy Josh forever.

I got up from my chair. I wouldn't meet Daniel's eyes. "Tell Mulder I'll see him tomorrow," I said, and then I left quickly before Daniel could do anything to stop me.

I all but ran down the hallway, up the stairs, and out of the building. Once outside, I caught a bus to Georgetown and walked the rest of the way home.

Josh wasn't there. I supposed he was at therapy. Tired and emotionally exhausted, I stripped off my work clothes and fell across the bed, and cried myself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~

When I woke up, Josh was sitting on the bed beside me, stroking my hair.

"Hey," he said, smiling at me. "You sick or something? Why aren't you at work?"

"I ... I didn't feel well," I said, raising myself on one elbow. That was true enough; my hand hurt terribly and my head ached from crying. "What time is it?"

"About the time I usually go pick you up," Josh said, leaning over to kiss me. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I thought you were at therapy," I said. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "How did it go?"

"Pretty good," he said, and he really did look pleased. "He said he wants you to come with me next time, so we can start working on some of our relationship problems."

"He does?" That surprised me. Mulder is the psychologist, not me, but I had thought the counselor would want to get further with Josh before starting with me.

But then, what did I know about it?

"When are we supposed to see him?" I asked, as I reached for my robe.

"Two days from now, same time, same channel," Josh said, putting out his hand. "Don't, Dana."

"Don't what?" I asked.

"Don't get dressed," he said, and then his hands were at my breasts. "I feel ... I feel alive again, like the world is full of promise again ... I want to share that with you, I want to make love with you."

I smiled, shook my head and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let me.

I tried again.

"Josh, I would love to make love with you, but as much of a cliche as it is, my head hurts," I said, touching his face to soften the blow. "Maybe later, after I've had a shower and a couple of Advil?"

He shook his head. "Come on, Dana," he said. "Let's do it now. Like the man said, I don't want to fuck your head."

"Oh, really, Josh!" I said, genuinely offended. "That's not the most romantic line I've ever heard."

"Don't be a prude, Dana," Josh said, and he moved his left hand down, between my legs, and began rubbing, just a little too hard for it to feel good. "It was just a joke. Come on, you know I don't mean to be ugly; I was just trying to make you laugh."

I started to tell him that it wasn't funny, that I really didn't want to do this, but I didn't want to risk making him angry; not when he was clearly trying so hard to make things better between us.

"I really, really want to make love right now," he said, and his voice grew deeper and huskier. "Come on, baby; please. For me. Please," he said, as his mouth descended on mine and he pushed me roughly back against the bed.

~~~~~

It was another two hours before I got my shower, and by that time my head -- and my hand -- hurt so badly that I reluctantly decided I would have to resort to stronger medication than my usual Advil.

I went to the kitchen to get some Tylenol III, but the bottle was missing.

"Josh, have you seen my Tylenol?" I called out, wincing as the sound of my own voice made the pain spike higher. He was still lounging around in bed, watching the TV I'd bought for him after he told me how much he liked to watch TV in bed.

"Yeah, I took a couple of them, I hurt my leg working out," he called.

A couple? I thought there were about 20 left in that bottle. Of course, it had been a while since I'd taken any; most likely, I'd been mistaken.

Or Josh had taken a lot more of them than he was letting on.

That was a worrisome thought. Tylenol III isn't the strongest narcotic on the market, not by a long shot, but it is addictive. People with the kinds of emotional problems Josh has are at high risk of abusing codeine and other narcotics, especially if there's a family history of drug or alcohol abuse.

But I didn't really want to confront Josh right now. This migraine was promising to be one for the record books, and I needed to take something while I could still walk. Still, I couldn't go to an emergency room for an injection without raising a lot of questions about my hand.

It would have to be over-the-counter medication. I went to the bedroom and started putting on my clothes.

"Where are you going?" Josh said, frowning at me.

"To get some Excedrin," I said, pulling on my jeans. They seemed a little loose; I hadn't realized I was losing weight. "I seem to be out of Tylenol III."

"Can't you get some more?" he said, looking puzzled.

"You need a prescription for that," I said, as I pulled my sweater over my head.

"Yeah, but you're a doctor," Josh said. "Can't you write a prescription?"

"I can write prescriptions," I said, nodding, as I sat down and began putting on my shoes. It wasn't easy; my hand still didn't work right. "But I don't write prescriptions for myself, ever, and the DEA frowns on doctors who write narcotic prescriptions for themselves."

"So write it for me, and I'll go pick it up," he said, getting up from the bed. "Where's the pad?"

"In my briefcase, in the closet," I said, without thinking. "But I can't do that, Josh. I could put my medical license in jeopardy doing that."

"Nobody has to know, Dana," he said, putting on his own shoes. "We'll go to a drugstore in Maryland or something. It'll be okay. Get out your pad and start writing."

"Josh, I can't," I said, shaking my head firmly, but inside I was terrified. I could never be sure how Josh would react to anything these days, and if he had been taking my medicine, if he had become habituated to it, my refusal to get more could make him angry enough to ...

Could make him really angry.

But, thank heaven, it didn't -- which, I realized with relief, was just one more sign of how hard Josh was working to improve his impulse control. He just shrugged, and laughed.

"If you're sure," he said, grabbing the car keys from his side of the dresser. "Come on, I'll drive you to the drugstore."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was late to work the next morning, partly because I hadn't slept well the night before and partly because -- for the first time ever -- I was afraid to face Mulder. I knew Daniel would have told him about our conversation yesterday, and I dreaded the confrontation that I was sure was coming.

I'd never even imagined such a thing could be, but it was. I didn't want to see my partner.

But when I got to the X Files office, Mulder wasn't even there.

There was a note on the desk saying that I should go home and pack, and he would pick me up at my apartment at 10:30 because we were flying to Miami this afternoon.

"The state attorney's office in Dade County called," the note said. "One of the witnesses in the Longecker case is ill and may not live much longer; he wants to bring the case before a grand jury as soon as possible, and he's asked that we make ourselves available to testify first thing tomorrow. FWM."

Well. That wasn't what I had expected at all, although of course I had always known that I would have to testify in the case if it ever went to trial.

But should I? Could I leave Josh alone, miss our first joint counseling session? Could I trust that he would be all right? Daniel had mentioned Josh's needing medication, and I was sure that he did, but the counselor Josh was seeing wasn't a psychiatrist and couldn't prescribe the anti-depressants that might save his life.

Maybe I would just write the prescription myself, because there could be no question that I had to testify. I had autopsied the victims, and I had also read Longecker his rights, so my testimony was crucial to the prosecution's case; without it, nothing Mulder had to say would be admissible at trial.

And without the confession, we didn't have much of a case. We couldn't use any of the evidence we'd collected on the base of that confession if the confession itself was ruled involuntary -- defense lawyers call that kind of tainted evidence "fruit of the poisoned tree," and they are very good at keeping it out of court.

No, of course, I would have to go ...

I looked at my watch. It was 9:55. I practically ran outside and hailed a cab.