"She's definitely feeling hurt and useless," Adrian was saying the next morning, "I can just see the pain in her eyes. I know what it's like; I've felt useless a lot myself."

"I see," Dr. Charles Kroger leaned forward in his armchair, "And how do you feel about it?"

"How do I feel?" Adrian thought this over for a minute, "It feels like it's a Cold War between her and Natalie, and I'm freezing to death in the middle. I hate to admit it, especially to her, but the fact is Natalie's getting good, she's been instrumental in helping me solve some cases. Unless it was medical-related, Sharona really couldn't see that many things—which isn't her fault, she is who she is—but that's the way it is. I'm just starting to get comfortable with Natalie, finally, and then this has to happen and tear open thoughts of what might have been."

"Well, Adrian, I want you to keep in mind that you're not at fault," his psychiatrist reassured him, "Sharona made her own choices. They may have been right or they may have been wrong, but they're entirely her own choices."

"May have been right or wrong?" Adrian was a little skeptical of this assessment, "Her husband's serving a 770 year term for what he tried to do to her in Chicago. He was very lucky not to get the death penalty; I could tell the jury was considering it."

"Adrian, my suggestion is to talk to Sharona about how her attitude toward the matter makes you feel," Dr. Kroger advised him, "I think she'd be understanding if you say you feel you're being hurt."

"Well, it might work…if she'd let me, and I don't think she will," Adrian told him, "This morning I think she turned up the radio deliberately to wake me up early. I only got two hours of sleep last night; they were all using the bathroom when I went into the room for the night; I spent two hours cleaning after them."

He pointed to the dark circles under his eyes to illustrate his point. Dr. Kroger nodded. "So, on that point, you said earlier you've been hearing that Natalie's husband may be alive, and that worried you?" he asked next.

"Of course it worries me," Adrian's gaze had fallen on a poinsettia inside the vase of the windowsill of Dr. Kroger's office that was longer than the others. His internal alarm was starting to go off. He strained hard to ignore it. "If he is alive," he continued, "She's clearly going to go back to him, and I'll be stuck in the lurch again. I've lost so many people I cared for all throughout my life; I don't want to lose another one."

"I understand," Dr. Kroger looked at him, "What makes you so sure she would walk out if he's alive?"

"I know," Adrian gave him a world-weary look, "Like Rod Stewart says in that song, some guys have all the luck, and I'm not one of them."

"Well Adrian, I'm sure if he's back, you could sit down with Mitch and talk over the situation," Dr. Kroger suggested, "From what Natalie says of him, he'd probably be understanding of the matter. You have to realize people will not resist you vehemently on everything."

"Only I'm just so used to it," Adrian stared intently at the odd poinsettia. The craving was getting stronger and stronger…

"Um, moving right along," Dr. Kroger consulted his notes, "You said on the phone that you felt like you were becoming 'emotionally deficient.' What did you mean by that?"

"Lately, I can't make people feel any better," Adrian told him, not taking his eyes off the poinsettia, "Every time I try to comfort them, I only make the situation worse."

"And what do you think causes that?"

"I guess I'm just so used to being at the receiving end of misery that I can't quite reciprocate what you and everyone else tells me…excuse me," Adrian could hold it no longer. He rose up and walked over to the windowsill. Drawing his nail clippers, he cut the long poinsettia's stem so it was close to the other flowers. Returning to his seat, he went on, "The people who have been good to me when I was bleeding on my knees deserve better than that when they go through crises."

The psychiatrist stared at his clipped flower. "A, Adrian, you have to realize that some people are better equipped to deal with others' emotional baggage," he told the detective, "Again, it's not your fault if you're not as good at comforting others than other people. You're just one of those people."

"I know, I know, it's…excuse me again," Adrian rushed back over to the windowsill and gave all the poinsettias a clipping. "There, all even now," he said in relief.

"OOOOOK," Dr. Kroger said slowly, "So, I understand you're letting everyone stay at your place for the holidays, until their houses can be rebuilt. How does that make you feel?"

"Like everything else with me, good and bad," Adrian told him, "So far it's been a nightmare, a complete nightmare. I'm basically stuck in my bedroom."

"Why's that?"

"I can't infringe in their sectors any more than they can infringe in mine," the detective said, "Fair is fair. Couple with that the amount of garbage we're going to have to through out till New Years' and you can imagine how it feels on the down side."

He grew strangely sentimental. "But on the up side," he continued, "It does feel good to be able to share the holidays with others. That's what Christmas is all about, after all: coming together with others."

"Christmas was lonely for you when you were younger?" Dr. Kroger inquired.

"Exactly," Adrian told him, "Most of my life it was just my mother and Ambrose, and that wasn't exactly what you'd call a social get-together. And I never really got any real toys, just encyclopedias and scientific equipment like microscopes. Everyone else had family, friends, and whatever presents they wanted. Like Eric Hart and Rochelle Tracey, for example. They had everything at Christmas. That wasn't the least of the reasons I wanted to be like them…what's up with those flowers?"

He jumped up again and gave the poinsettias yet another cutting. "So basically," he told his psychiatrist, "You're talking to someone here who never liked Christmas at all for many years." He looked upwards. "Trudy, on the other hand, loved it. Even in Los Angeles where they had no snow, she felt there was something special about the holidays. During our seven years together, she almost managed to change me over to her point of view. For once I didn't care about decorations being out of alignment, or the rampant colds that sprung up during ever Christmas season. I remember this one year she called together a group of her friends here to go on a caroling expedition through the city, and I volunteered to join up. I never told her while she was alive, but that was one of the best evenings of my life, walking around, spreading good feelings to others. I felt like I was doing something positive for others. I even lasted through midnight mass afterwards, which was in itself a miracle, since churches are disease deathtraps."

"I see," Dr. Kroger nodded again, "And since she's died, you've basically given up on Christmas again, I take it?"

"It's not worth really celebrating without her," Adrian said dismally, "Trying to celebrate it would just bring back memories I don't want to have surface again. And who could I invite? Everyone at the precinct has their own families they go with, Ambrose wouldn't come over if his house hadn't exploded on him, and apart from those two, and there's no one outside either of those groups that's really close to me."

"Well, I'm sure there would be some people you know who wouldn't mind coming over," Dr. Kroger said.

"I don't think so," Adrian shook his head, "The other day I ran into Ben from Pross Financial on the street; he turned his back and walked the other way when I waved hello. If I'd want anyone over, it would have been the Pross group. They made me feel welcome before the bowling fiasco made…what is with this bouquet?"

He ran to the sill again and started cutting away at the stems. When he was done this time, the flowers disappeared from sight into the vase, now only being half as long as the vase itself. "Oh," the detective said sheepishly, realizing he'd made another mistake, "Well, at least now they're good and even. Would it be okay if I bought you another set?"

"If you feel like it," Dr, Kroger said, his hand over his face.

There was a pounding on the office door. "The hour's up!" came a gruff shouting that Adrian recognized all too well. "Wait your turn, Harold!" the detective yelled out at him, "We've got a poinsettia crisis in here!"

"Actually, Adrian, the hour is up," Dr. Kroger showed his watch, "So, I guess we'll put you down for next week at…"

"Make it tentative," Adrian told him, "If we don't catch the bad guys by Christmas Eve, they'll irradiate the whole city, and coming in again would be kind of pointless."

The pounding on the door resumed. "Keep your pants on!" Adrian yelled at Harold, "This may be your last checkup too if they detonate!"

"Anyway, I'll put you down tentatively, for this time at one," Dr. Kroger filled out a note and handed it to his patient, "And don't worry about Christmas, Adrian, I think you're going to enjoy it this year."

He had a strange look in his eye that Adrian couldn't quite place. "Ten more seconds and I'm coming in!" Harold shouted outside, "You're a minute over schedule!"

"I'm coming out, I'm coming out!" Adrian left the office. "The garland!" he shrieked, staring at a strand on the wall that had once been perfectly wrapped around an announcement board, but was now stretched above and the to sides of it. "What did you do to the garland!" he shouted accusingly at Harold.

"I fixed your mess!" Harold told him smarmily, "Learn to like it."

He closed the office door behind himself. Adrian rushed to the garland, wipes over his hands, and tried to set it back to normal. "As if I didn't have enough problems already!" he moaned to himself as he went about it.