I sit down in the nearest chair from where I stand and prop my elbows on the table, letting my head rest in the palms of my hands. The memory begins to play out in my mind like a disjointed film.


It's evening, not even half a year since moving into the office. I'm still in the process of learning the science, and you're testing me on facial expressions using a simple program on your laptop. You should be at home with her, reconciling one of the fights you've been having lately. Instead you use the office as an excuse, and I can tell you've had a drink or two.

For the first time, I answer everything correctly. You saunter over to where I sit, hovering over me. I can feel your eyes travel across my body, and you open your mouth to ask me one final question. "And what expression do you see now?"

I recognize it immediately, but I hesitate to answer.

From the very first day we met at the Pentagon, I felt a spark between us. At the time I didn't think much of it; my only job was only to provide a simple evaluation of your mental state. Except it hadn't turned out to be that simple. The more I got to know you, the closer we became. It was the first of only two times I ever let the boundaries between doctor and patient become blurred. When you inevitably handed in your resignation, you asked me to be a partner in your plans for a new business, and I eventually agreed. The deeper the tides of our friendship began to run, the greater the tension that rose. The mutual attraction between us was getting harder and harder to ignore.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Well, Foster?" you ask again.

Meeting your challenge I stand up to you, our faces now merely inches apart. Looking you straight in the eye, I answer you with one word. "Arousal."

Your lips come crashing down onto mine, and the force causes me to stumble backwards. I reach one hand behind me to steady myself. Your mouth tastes like scotch and I can't resist wanting more. In the back of my mind I know we shouldn't be doing this, but right now I can't keep playing the good doctor. So instead, I choose to relent and give myself to you.

Suddenly I feel your hands all over my body, and I can almost hear my name heavy on your breath. Your fingers quickly move to undo the buttons of my blouse. Once you've accomplished the task, your hands reach out to knead the mounds of flesh under it, and I moan at your touch. You discard the article altogether as you push me back, pinning me on top of the table. I feel its coldness and hardness beneath me, a stark contrast to the burning sensation everywhere else. I tell myself that I want this and that I need this, even though we both know it won't and can't last beyond the heat of the moment. There's the slow hum of the air conditioner in the background that the sound of our pleasure soon drowns out. I can't get enough of your contact, and I'm practically begging you to take me, which you do. I cry out as we rise and fall together, and not much time elapses before our passion peaks and you finish inside of me.

Our breath is ragged as we try to regain our composure. When our eyes meet, I catch a glimpse of myself and a powerful emotion I can't put a name to staring back at me. Surely my own eyes are mirroring the same sentiment. Silently we redress, gather our belongings, and return to our respective homes. For some days- even weeks, we don't dare discuss what happened aloud, but it wasn't long before the poison set in.


I shift my thoughts to how Alec and I had been trying to conceive for years, but how nothing had seemed to work. I knew his disappointment over not being able to provide him with a family, and I started to feel inadequate as a woman. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought it was a sign that things would be okay and we would be able to work things out, but I was so wrong and my pregnancy never made it full term. After that, the doctors told me I wouldn't be able to have any more children, and the word regret didn't even begin to cover how I felt.

As for you, from a purely clinical point of view, I think you kept trying to find deceit in Zoe to make yourself feel better about your own betrayal. She grew more and more impatient with you reading and questioning her every motive, and I remember one night in particular where I got a call from you out of the blue at 2:00 a.m. You said she had just up and walked out, leaving Emily in your care. You told me that you loved her and that you wanted her back, but that you felt lost. Then you confessed that you couldn't stand to see the emotion written on my face when we were together and that it was driving you crazy, because you still harbored feelings for me, too.

Foolishly, I suggested that we draw a line between us. One that would no longer allow us to read or question each other's personal thoughts. One that would let us bury everything within our hearts for the sake of our professional relationship and faltering marriages. I didn't want to lose you, so what else could I do? With some deliberation, you consented to the idea. The line still exists between us even now, but we've tread dangerously close to it over the past year or so.

Though the two of you returned to and left one another many times after that, we both know that first night was the fatal blow.

The invention of the line killed everything else our infidelity hadn't. Keeping up the mask drained me until I was completely empty; until I felt as if I were only going through the motions. In turn, I severed myself emotionally from Alec, and he coped with it by turning to cocaine.

You and I, we did more than just damage ourselves.