The Citrus Syndrome

6 ; cold

Cold

Bo

Cat is a lifesaver, but an ice cold one.

She lets Violet lay down in the corner of her office while we talk, which I appreciate. She's usually pretty intolerant of weakness. You're sick? Too bad, work through it. Death in the family? Send flowers and get your ass into the office. You're pregnant? Well that's your fault, isn't it?

So Vi sits in the corner with Faith, and I sit on the other side of the Ice Queen's desk. She's staring me down, which is always a little nerve-racking, but I'm pretty used to it. Cat glares at me a lot, but I stopped minding so much after she told me I was eye candy. She laughed after she said it, which made it even better, because Cat doesn't laugh. She only cackles with malice.

She's thirty four now, which is seven years older than me. I've only met her girlfriend once, but apparently, she's only twenty five.

Anyway, Cat's not so bad. She and I are semi-friends, maybe even regular friends, at this point. She calls me Babe when she wants something done, which I think is kind of funny. I call her Babygirl when I can get away with it, which makes her laugh.

Making Dr. Catherine laugh is a difficult feat, accomplished by few. She only laughs in private, I've learned, which is why most of my colleagues see her as a soulless robot. Wilson has seen her laugh, and so have I, but most of the team hasn't.

But I've seen something that even Wilson hasn't seen. I've seen Cat cry.

"Are you feeling alright?" Catherine asks. She isn't glaring anymore, just looking. Looking for signs, I think.

I'm impressed that she's let an infected party in her office. Granted, she does wear a surgical mask and a disapproving expression.

I think that Cat cares about me more than most of the people here. I tend to have that effect on most women, but I can't exactly tell with Cat, because she isn't most women.

When I first met her, I didn't think she was pretty. Her face is sharp and harsh, her body composed of straight lines under her pantsuit. But as I've gotten to know her, I find more and more beauty in that face of hers each day.

Of course, I feel bad for thinking these things when I come home to Violet each night. I tell myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about -- it's not like I've actually slept with Cat. I just wanted to.

I've kissed her, though. That was when she cried.

"I feel fine," I tell her. With my eyes, I say, We're both going to die. You know that, right? Her icy blues respond, I know, but I don't want to.

I don't want to, either. Not just for Violet -- for Faith. Poor Faithy, trembling in her mother's arms. She isn't crying, which scares me. Vi cries for her. Cat keeps shooting looks in her direction, but she doesn't stop her.

I kissed Catherine six months ago, two weeks after Violet gave birth. I remember it vividly, which makes me feel even worse about having done it.

It had been here, in this room. The Dungeon. I'd showed her a picture of Faith, expecting her to tell me she didn't give a shit and that I should go do my job before I ended up adding to the unemployment epidemic in America. But instead, she took a surprising interest in the baby pictures.

She's beautiful, Cat told me. Look at those eyes.

Faith has my eyes. Cat looked up, the ice in her gaze melting into tears. I remember being frightened -- what do you do when the toughest person you know cries?

What's wrong? I asked.

Catherine wiped her eyes, but the tears kept flowing. I . . . I don't know.

"That's good," Catherine tells me. "But you need to be careful, Bo. This thing is spreading like crazy. We've got a little infirmary started downstairs. Hospitals are turning people away, did you hear?"

I nod. "I would have taken Vi to the ER, but I knew they wouldn't take her."

Cat glances at my girlfriend with hard, cold eyes.

I . . . I don't know. But she did know. I want things I can't have, Bo, she sobbed.

I nodded, cautiously crossing to her side of the desk. We all do, Catherine.

I want a baby, Cat blurted out. She began to cry harder, slamming her head down on the desk. I squatted down beside her, daring to place a hand on her back. She didn't push me away, to my surprise. I want a baby, but I'm in love with a woman.

I frowned. Rubbed my hand up and down on her back, which felt strangely natural to me, like something I'd been waiting to do for a long time. There's always . . . I don't know, sperm donors? It sounded weird coming from my mouth, but it was a logical argument.

But Cat shook her head. I'm infertile, she told me, lifting her head. Her face was blotchy and red, her eyes puffy from crying. And Taya doesn't want kids. I can't even adopt. I might lose her.

She wants you to be happy, Babygirl, I assured her, although I had no way of knowing whether or not this was true. I'm sure she'd agree, if she knew how important it is to you.

I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

"Well, she can stay in the infirmary for now. The baby too. But we need you to get to work, Bo."

What do you mean? I asked. I swept my finger under a loose piece of her chocolate brown hair, tucking it behind her ear. Touching her hair, touching her face. It felt good. You know everything.

I don't, she sighed. I don't even know myself. I couldn't -- I couldn't be a mother, Bo. I don't know how to love.

Of course you do, I argued. You love Taya, don't you?

Catherine let another sob escape her. I love her, but I don't do it right. She says so herself. I want to ask her to marry me, but she'll just say no. She's going to leave me, like everyone does.

"There has to be an antidote, Cat," I say. "There has to be one."

"We're working on it," she sighs. "But I wouldn't get my hopes up. I'm sorry."

I want to love her for the rest of my life, Cat sobbed. I want to quit this damn job and fucking retire. I want to make up with my mother. I want--

What? I asked. What do you want?

I want you.

That's when the kiss happened. I've replayed it countless times in my head. At first I thought maybe she kissed me first. Now I know that it was me -- I went for her. I took advantage of her weakness.

But her kiss wasn't weak. She has these gorgeous full lips that just tease you further and further into her until you can't get out. She let me lift her out of her chair and set her on her pristine desk, kissing her harder and harder until neither of us could breathe.

When she pulled away, I wanted to keep going. I wanted to kiss her everywhere, not just her lips, wanted to touch her hidden curves and edges, wanted to feel all the private little pieces of Cat that no one knew existed. But I couldn't, because she wiped her eyes and told me to leave.