"The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(21/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for headers, archive info, etc.




~~~~~

That weekend 
In the Catoctin Mountains 
As Scully Saw It

~~~~~

Despite my initial misgivings, I actually had a wonderful time on
the hike.

I've never been terribly uncomfortable around gay men or lesbians,
but I must confess to a bit of trepidation about spending an entire
weekend as possibly the only heterosexual in a group of about 40
people. I didn't let that affect my decision, though; in fact, I
decided it was a good opportunity to see how it felt with the shoe on
the other foot, to spend some time being a sexual minority.

No, I'll never know what it's really like to be gay, but anything I
can do to help increase my understanding is only to the good, right?

Anyway, after a few minor cultural shocks -- such as finding out
that the hike's leader augments his living by working as a drag
queen, or that the younger member of one lesbian couple was a rabbi --
I got along with everyone splendidly. There were two doctors in the
group; besides me and Daniel, I mean. They were brothers; one gay,
the other straight. The gay brother, Alan, was there with his
partner, Rob, a shoe salesman from Alexandria. 

Talk about an odd couple. 

I got to know them the first night we were there. We were sitting by
the campfire talking about our lives, and I told Rob that Daniel was
an orthopedic surgeon.

He winced visibly. "I never get along with those guys very well," he
said, a little sheepishly. "They hate high heels, and if it weren't
for women and high heels, I'd be out of business. Orthopedists get so
fussy about that."

"Don't I know it," I said, ruefully. 

I do. If Daniel's told me once, he's told me a thousand times to
stop wearing those heels of mine.

I told him that my feet don't hurt.

"Not yet," he said. "They will. They'll hurt so badly you'll curse
yourself for not having listened to me. You're going to be the
foundation of my private practice after I retire from the Navy. I can
see it now: It's Tuesday, so Dana Scully must be coming in to get her
feet worked on. Schedule another hallux valgus reduction, nurse."

"Daniel, I do not have bunions," I said, exasperated.

"Just wait," he said, darkly.

I told him to shut up. He did. But he still casts stern,
disapproving looks at my shoes from time to time.

I ignore him. He's 6-foot-3; what does he know about needing to wear
high heels just so you don't look like a leprechaun?

Well ... anyway. Back to the people I met at the campsite -- to
which I wore well-fitted hiking boots, I might add ... not that
Daniel noticed.

Alan was very nice. He's an obstetrician in practice at Maryland
General in Baltimore. He offered me his services "if you ever need
them," he said, with a smile. I managed to smile in return, but I
don't know how. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the idea that
there will never be any babies for me.

Alan's brother, Rick, is an oncologist at Johns Hopkins. I asked him
if he knew Jill.

"God, no, but I've sure heard of her," Rick said. "That's the Jill
Reilly everybody keeps telling me about? I'd made up my mind she must
be some old battleaxe."

"Why on earth would you think that?" I asked in some puzzlement. 

"Because I keep hearing about things that people do that 'Jill would
never have allowed,'" he said. "Apparently, she was a stickler for
sterile technique and charting."

"As well she should be," I said, a little defensively.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, doctor," Rick said, mildly. "It's
just that the reality doesn't match up with the image. That's all.
I'm sure Jill is a very nice lady."

"Very," I said, looking across to the other side of the campfire
where Jill, as usual, sat alone.

I could not, for the life of me, understand why Mulder had insisted
that she come along. It didn't seem to be doing her or Daniel any good.

But then, I suppose Mulder knows Daniel a great deal better than I do.

My unpleasant musings were cut short just then by the arrival of
Desiree, the drag queen, also known as Bob Hastings, owner of a
sporting goods store. He had backpacked in his entire outfit,
sequined dress and all, which was no small feat.

Desiree was lovely, no question about it, and the audience clearly
appreciated his effort. Somebody booted up the portable CD player,
and Desiree went to town. She could lip-sync with the best of them,
and she did a little of everything from Liza to Bette to La Barbara,
to thunderous applause.

It was only when the show was over and Desiree was getting ready to
leave that I noticed Mulder and Daniel had joined the group. They
were standing about a third of the way around the circle from me,
laughing and applauding along with everyone else. Mulder even managed
to laugh when Desiree made a dramatic bow and suddenly swept Daniel
into a passionate, if terribly stagy, kiss.

Everyone was laughing.

Except Jill.

From where I was seated, I could see her a lot more clearly than I
could see the guys, and she was ashen. This, finally, was too much
for her. She got up and walked unsteadily toward our cabin.

"I'd better go see about her," I said to Rick as I stood up; but, to
my surprise, Rick put a hand on my arm and stopped me.

"Why don't you let me go talk to her?" he said. "I've been through
some of this with Alan's ex-wife. Maybe I can help."

"She's a fairly private person," I said, hesitantly. "I'm not sure


she'd ..."

"Hey, we've got tons in common," he said, confidently. "If she
doesn't want to talk about gay family members, we can always talk
chemotherapy, right?"

I couldn't argue with that, so reluctantly, I agreed. I sat back
down and Rick got up and followed Jill.

"Everything okay over here?" Mulder said from behind me, and I
turned around. He was standing with his arm around Daniel's waist,
one hip leaning against Daniel in a casual fashion.

I'm not sure I'd ever seen them that relaxed about being close and
touching each other; no, not even when it was just the three of us.
Daniel looked happy, too; he was positively glowing.

"Everything's fine," I said. "Come on, have a seat."

"Can't," Mulder said, shaking his head. "We were headed out for a
walk when we heard Desiree's show going on. We just stopped to see
what all the excitement was."

"I think the excitement was Desiree and Daniel," I said, and they
both laughed.

"Talk about weird," Daniel said. "I've kissed men and I've kissed
women, but that was a first, even for me."

"I'll just bet," I said, smiling. "You seemed to enjoy it all right."

"Oh, yeah," Daniel said, laughing. "Right up until he tried to slip
me the tongue, anyway." 

"He did?" Mulder said, acting annoyed. "Where is that bitch? I'll
beat the crap out of him."

"Boys, boys," I said, amused in spite of myself. "Forget about

Desiree. Go for your walk. But don't go too far -- it can get pretty
dark out here."

"Not to mention cold," Daniel said. "I checked -- the forecast is
for record-breaking cold temperatures tonight and tomorrow night."

"Oh, great," I said. "I haven't checked the weather since I packed
three days ago. I didn't bring anything warm to sleep in. I'm going
to freeze."

"I've got an extra sweater you can sleep in if you need it, Scully,"
Mulder said. "Just come by the cabin before you go to bed and I'll
give it to you."

"You're a sweetheart," I said, and I smiled at him. 

"Yeah, well, keep that to yourself," Mulder said. "I've got a
reputation to maintain."

"Too late for that, boyfriend," Daniel said. "Come on, let's head
out. The moon's going to set and I don't feel like trusting your
flashlight."

"Hey, it's genuine federal government issue," Mulder protested.

"Like I said ..." Daniel said, and then he smiled at me. "Don't stay
up too late, Dana," he said, and he bent over and kissed me. "You're
still recuperating."

"Yes, doctor," I said, rolling my eyes. "Or is that, 'Aye, aye, sir'?"

"Either one is okay, as long as you do as you're told," Daniel said.
"I mean it, Dana. Don't wear yourself out."

"I'm fine, Daniel," I said. "Anyway, if I need help, it just so
happens there's an oncologist here."

"That guy I saw you talking to?" Mulder said.

"That guy you saw me talking to," I said, nodding. 

"Where did he go?" Daniel said.

"He's gone," I said. "Actually, he followed Jill when she left. I
think he wanted to talk to her."

Mulder just nodded at this new piece of information, but then he
looked over at Daniel and his face fell.

And that, of course, was where it started.

~~~~~

As Jill Saw It

~~~~~

Boy, am I ever a dumb-ass. 

I thought I understood. I thought I had a handle on this. I thought
I had accepted it.

I had nothing.

I knew nothing. 

Nothing. 

I never should have come here. I'm not strong enough. I have nothing
to do, I have no place here, there is nothing here for me but the
shame I feel at seeing Daniel kissing a drag queen.

A drag queen, for Christ's sweet sake.

And he was laughing at the whole thing, when I had absolutely no
idea what could possibly be funny.

It was just so ... gay.

It wasn't Daniel.

But it was, of course. Daniel is gay. 

For the first time, I was really, truly facing the truth: Daniel was
gay. He hadn't just fallen in love with a guy, he hadn't just been
playing around on me. Everything that being gay meant, he was.

It meant he felt happy and at peace watching a drag queen perform. 

It meant he laughed when the drag queen kissed him.

It meant he walked around with his arm around Fox, looking like one
of those West Hollywood couples.

And it meant that I had to face something far more unpleasant: I was
far more of a homophobe than I would ever have imagined I could be.

Daniel was gay.

And I hated it. 

I was deeply, deeply ashamed of feeling that way, but there was no
getting around it. It, like Daniel's sexuality, was real.

Unlike Daniel's sexual orientation, however, my attitude could be
changed. It had to be.

If only I knew how ... 

I didn't really have any clear idea of where I was going when I left
the campfire. I just walked until I came on a fallen tree that seemed
like a good place to sit. That was as far as my advance planning took
me. I just wanted to get away from it all, to be surrounded by
something that wasn't gay for a few minutes.

Yes, I recognize the homophobia as well as the irony in that. Daniel
lives his whole life that way, surrounded by the straight world, and
here he was with a couple of days to escape that and I was furious at
him for wanting to do it.

Mostly, though, I was furious at myself for having been foolish
enough to come along.

Daniel had no time for me. He came here to be with Fox. He came here
so he could be gay, so he could be somewhere that it wouldn't matter
to anyone, where he wouldn't be different.

My intellectual reactions are so perfect. 

Too bad my emotions aren't listening.

I was deep in my dark, horrible thoughts when I heard a voice from
behind me. It was the man Dana had been sitting next to. I couldn't
remember if I'd heard his name or not.

"Can I sit here for a minute?" he asked, gesturing toward the place
next to me, which also happened to be the only dry spot in that part
of the forest.

"It's still a free country," I said, and immediately felt ashamed.
This man didn't look like he was trying to be difficult. He looked
.. kind, really, is the only word I can think of. He was looking at
me the way Fox looks at Dana when she's sad, or when she lets her
feelings for him really show.

Which, I suppose, is why this man was looking at me that way now:
I'd let my feelings for Daniel show just a little too much. 

How's that for an understatement?

He sat down, carefully, leaving just enough distance between us; not
enough to seem cold, not so little that it presumed an intimacy that
didn't exist. 

"It is an unbelievably complicated situation, isn't it?" he said.

"Complicated?" I said. "I'm not sure you can possibly know, Mr. ..."

"Cameron," he said. "And it's Dr. Cameron. But call me Rick. Dana
says you're the famous Jill Reilly, late of Johns Hopkins."

"Doctor," I said, "please forgive me, but I'm not in the mood to be
psychoanalyzed right now."

"Hey, that's cool," he said, pleasantly. "I'm not a shrink. I'm an
oncologist. At Johns Hopkins, actually, where your name is still
spoken in hushed, reverent tones. We're practically related."

"No, we're not," I said, irritably. "Why are you here, Dr. Cameron?"

"Because you seemed upset, and I thought maybe I could help," he
said, simply. "Was I right?"

"Half right," I said. "I am upset, but there's nothing you can do to
help. Right now, if you'll forgive me, the last thing I want is to
cry on the shoulder of yet another gay man."

"Hard as it may be for you to believe it, I'm not gay," Dr. Cameron
said. "However, I am here with my brother, who is -- gay, I mean. And
I'm great friends with his ex-wife, Shannon -- which is why I thought
maybe I could help."

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time then.
"Dana told you?" I said.

He nodded. "She told me you'd been married to one of the guys here --
the one that Desiree was playing tonsil-hockey with -- and I figured
that was what upset you."

"That," I said, looking away again, "was just the straw that broke
the camel's back."

"So why are you here, if it makes you so unhappy to be around him?"
Dr. Cameron said, gently.

"That's none of your damn business," I said, getting up from the
log. "If you'll excuse me, doctor ..."

"I'm sorry," he said, rising, and he sounded as though he meant it.
"I didn't want to upset you any more than you already were."

"You didn't," I said, turning away from him. "Actually, I'm just not
sure that's possible."

And then I burst into tears. 

It shocked the hell out of me, too, and I'm reasonably sure Dr.
Cameron felt the same way. But he put his arms around me and held me,
very loosely, and let me cry it all out on his shoulder, saying
nothing, just giving me a hesitant pat on the back now and then.

When I finally calmed down, he reached into the pocket of his jacket
and handed me a handkerchief.

"Thanks," I said, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

"Not a problem," he said, easily, as we sat back down. "You want to
talk about it?"

"No," I said, crumpling the handkerchief in my hand. "I really don't."

"You don't want to talk about it at all, or you don't want to talk
to me?" he asked.

"I _am_ talking to you," I said, wiping tears away as I spoke.
"Although I don't for the life of me know why, Dr. Cameron."

"Rick," he said again, patiently. "It's Rick."

"Rick," I said. "You want to know why I'm here? Because Daniel asked
me to come. Right now, I could kill him for it, too. I suppose you
think I'm awful ... or that he is."

"Should I think that?" Rick said. 

I shook my head. "No," I said, between sniffs. 

"Well, I won't, then," Rick said. "But he did hurt you pretty badly.
Even if I hadn't seen it first-hand in my own family, I could tell by
the way you're crying. I think you're still angry at him, and that's
understandable."

"I have no right to be angry," I said, shaking my head. "I know
Daniel. I know he never wanted to hurt me. He never would have hurt
me if he could have found another way to survive."

"You've got a right to your feelings, whatever they are," Rick said.
"But as I noted, I'm not a headshrinker. So what about you? How do
you survive?"

I didn't answer him right away, just looked down at my hands in my
lap and thought; really thought.

"I just keep going," I said, quietly. "I work, I go home, I sleep,
and then I go back to work. Labor and delivery, these days. I guess
I've had all I can take of death and disfigurement."

"Death also stalks the L&D suite sometimes," Rick said, softly. "How
do you deal with that?"

"Not well," I said. "But it's rare, and most of the time, it's a
happy place to be. I like it."

"That's good, then," Rick said. "That's the only reason I can think
of to stay in medicine."

"I'm not in medicine," I said, just a little haughtily, I guess.
"I'm in nursing. There's a difference."

"Yes, there is," Rick said, slowly, but he was smiling. "Forgive me.
I didn't mean to slight your profession."

It was my turn to smile. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to mount my
soapbox."

"No, you were right," Rick said. "It's a bad trait among physicians
to treat nurses as though they were just some sort of ancillary to
the medical process, and they're not. Nursing is a discipline all its
own. One of my professors in med school told me that people don't
need to go to a hospital for medical care. They can get medical care
in your office, he said. They go to a hospital because they need
nursing care."

"One of my instructors told us that, too," I said. "I tend to agree.
And I guess that's one of the things I've always liked about Daniel.
He respects a nurse's knowledge. Nurses he's worked with have told me
he even asks their advice about things like dressings and patient
positioning, pain relief ... things they know about but most doctors
won't ask."

"Did you meet him at work?" Rick asked. 

"No, I met him long before that," I said. "And I fell in love with
him almost immediately."

"Sounds like something nice to remember when things get bad," Rick
said, and I laughed.

I couldn't help it. If he only knew ...

"Actually, believe it or not, the day I met Daniel is one of my
worst adolescent memories," I said, shaking my head. 

"How's that?" Rick said, then caught himself. "I mean, if you don't
mind talking about it ..."

"No, I'll tell you," I said. "It's really not that bad a memory; not
all of it, anyway." 

"So what was the story?" he said, resting his elbows on his bent
knees. "How old were you when you met him?"

"I was 16, in the 10th grade at Maury High School in Norfolk,
Virginia," I said. "I had just gotten over a bad case of strep
throat, so I had missed a lot of schoolwork -- including a lab
exercise in which the class had to dissect a frog and identify any
intestinal parasites we found."

"Really," he said, "I never got the chance to do that in high
school. Did you have to pith them?"

Pith. That word still gives me a slight shiver.

See, we weren't using preserved specimens: We were using live frogs.
Dead frogs, preserved in Formalin, wouldn't have parasites that we
could study.

We had to pith them -- that means destroy their brains with a metal
probe -- and then dissect them before the heart stopped beating.

"Yes, we did," I said, repressing another shudder. "But I'd missed
the class where the teacher showed everyone how. I had to make up
that lab during my study hall period, which as it turned out, was
when the advanced third-year biology class had its lab. I was
terrified of frogs, and I couldn't stand the thought of touching one,
but I didn't want to hurt one, either. I never wanted to hurt
anything living."

"That's a trait of a good nurse, I think," Rick said.

I shrugged. "I do a lot of things that hurt people," I said.

"But you do it to make them well, to restore their health," Rick
said, gently. "There's a difference."

"Maybe," I said. "No, I mean, I know that's true. I'm just being
grumpy."

"Understandable," Rick said.

"No, it isn't," I said. "Anyway, back to the frog. I did my best. I
thought I had done it right, but when I tried to pin it to the
dissecting pan, I found out that the frog wasn't dead. It jumped
right at me and landed on my shoulder and I screamed bloody murder. I
had never been so frightened in my whole life -- it was like that
frog was coming after me to get revenge."

"Jill, if you don't want to tell me this, don't," he said quickly.
"I didn't realize ..." 

"No, it gets better after that," I said, smiling. "You see, Daniel
was in that class. I'd noticed him before -- all the girls did, you
couldn't help it, especially when he was in his Navy JROTC uniform."

"I can just imagine," he said, smiling.

"Yeah, you know," I said, softly. "He was gorgeous even then, and I
was kind of shy, but I didn't know that he ... well, you know, I just
thought he was way too gorgeous and smart, too much of a big man on
campus to notice me."

"Was he?" he said. "A BMOC, I mean?"

"Oh, yes," I said, emphatically. "Varsity basketball, swimming,
track ... biology club president, just about every NJROTC award there
was ... that was Daniel. He always was an overachiever."

"So what did Daniel do about the frog?" he asked.

"Ah," I said, nodding. "Well, everyone else was laughing at me, but
he just came over and picked up the frog and said he'd had the same
problem the first time he tried to pith a frog. 'It's a lot easier
when you've had some practice,' he said, and he took the probe away
from me and jabbed it in and that damn frog was dead as a doornail
before he put the probe back down. Then he patted my shoulder and
smiled at me, and I fell in love right then and there. Twenty years
later, I'm still in love with him, and all because of a stupid frog."

And then I just sat there, my mouth hanging open, aghast at what I'd
just admitted to a total stranger ... at what I'd admitted to myself.

Rick took it in stride, though.

"He sounds like a hell of a guy," he said, with a soft smile. "It
must have killed you when he came out."

I shook my head violently, trying to clear my thoughts and somehow,
to steer this conversation back onto safer ground, but it wasn't
working. Tears were filling my eyes again, and once again, with no
warning, I began to cry.

I felt a strong arm around my shoulders, and I leaned my head on
Rick's shoulder and wept, more quietly this time, but with tears that
came all the way from the bottom of my heart. I don't know how long I
cried, and I can't remember what --if anything -- he said to me. I
just remember that strong, steady arm, and the tears that seemed to
have no ending, and the utter exhaustion I felt when, finally, the
tears stopped falling.

"God, I'm sorry," I whispered, straightening up. "I don't know
what's gotten into me."

"A lot of things, probably," Rick said, letting his arm fall back at
his side. "A lot of things that just haven't had a chance to come out
before. It's part of the process, you know."

"What process?" I said, looking up at him.

"The process of grieving, and the process of coming out," Rick said,
gently. "It's not just the gay person who goes through that process,
you know. We all do it. Sometimes we do well, sometimes we backslide.
It takes a long, long time to get all the way out."

"Did your brother's wife act this way?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Shannon was a basket case. She and Alan stayed
married for three years after he came out. They tried everything to
stay together: They had three kids, and they were still in love, but
they just couldn't work it out."

"Are they still friends?" I asked, hopefully.

"Yeah," Rick said, smiling softly. "They are. And she's still my
sister-in-law, and Alan and Rob go to her house on Christmas and open
presents with the kids."

"That sounds nice," I said, wistfully. "I wish Daniel and I could
have stayed friends."

"Aren't you?" Rick asked in surprise. "I mean, you're here with him
.."

"I'm here with him because we're trying to be friends again," I
said. "There was a time that I never wanted to see him again. I was
so angry that I ended up hurting some innocent people along the way --
including Fox."

"Who?" Rick said.

"Fox Mulder," I said. "Daniel's ... uh ... you know, his ..."

"Partner," Rick said, calmly. "I see. Dana calls him by his last
name. That's why I didn't know who you meant."

"How can you be so comfortable with all this?" I said, feeling a bit
helpless. "I can't talk about it the way you do. I don't know that I
ever will."

"It takes time," Rick said.

"It's been four years," I said. "How much time does it take?"

"It varies," he said, and then he looked me in the eye, a little
warily. 

Sure enough, I burst out laughing. I know the joke. A monkey could
get through medical school if it could just learn to say, "It varies."

"Okay, J. Fred Muggs, I'm glad to see you know your lines," I said,
and he laughed. "So what are the variables?" 

"Practically limitless," he said. "One big one is contact with other
people in the same situation."

"I can't," I said, quickly. 

"Why not?" Rick said, looking puzzled.

"Because Daniel ... his job is one that ... could be compromised if
he were outed," I said, trying to choose my words carefully. "I can't
take that risk."

"His job?" Rick said. "Where does he work?"

I hesitated. This was the biggest secret I'd ever kept in my life,
and I had every intention of continuing to keep it. Even when I could
have killed Daniel with my bare hands, I protected that secret.
Losing a career, a vocation, that he loved seemed far too much to pay
for something that was beyond his capacity to change.

On the other hand, Rick seemed ... trustworthy, I suppose ... as
much as I could judge by a brief meeting. 

Anyway, Daniel was here with this group so in one sense, he'd
already outed himself. Everyone here was from the Metro D.C. area; he
could easily be recognized on the street someday, while he was in
uniform.

I made up my mind.

"He works at Bethesda," I said. "He's in the Navy."

"Oh," Rick said, then gave a long, low whistle. "I see your problem.
Does he know Jay?"

"Jay who?" I said.

"Jay Grosvenor, the short guy with the red hair," Rick said. "Jay's
a fighter jock in the Air Force. Seems like they could give each
other some support."

"If he does, he hasn't mentioned it," I said, standing up. "Listen,
Rick," I began, uncertainly, then stopped.

"Yes?" Rick said, as he got to his feet. "Listen, Rick, what? Get
lost? Vamoose? Make like a banana and split?"

I laughed again in spite of myself. "No," I said. "I was just going
to say that I appreciate your kindness, but it's time I got some
sleep. I need to head back to the cabins."

"Well, why don't I go with you?" Rick said. "I've been here several
times before, and I know the path pretty well. I could guide you."

For a moment, I just looked at him, struck by the double meaning in
his words... and by his green eyes and soft, curly brown hair, and
the kindness that radiated from his face.

"That'd be fine," I said, softly. "It's good to go down the path
with someone who's traveled it before."

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Rick said, smiling. He knew
what I was saying.

With that, we set out for the campsite. We didn't talk again.

But halfway down the path, Rick took my hand.

And that was how we got back home.



END "The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(21/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)