AN: I haven't fallen off the face of the earth…yet! I'm still studying for my Lab Tech License exam and that's kind of killed every creative thought in my brain. It's like a constant uphill fight, even when I'm just editing things. I'm going to apologize in advance there are any mistakes in the psychology in this chapter. I'm not a psychologist, nor have I ever taken psychology. I came from one of those colleges where the Biology majors didn't get along with the Psychology majors. Most of us Biology majors didn't even take Intro to Psychology, to tell the truth, because the two departments didn't like each other. Personally, I took Intro to Philosophy instead. The psychology I used has been researched as going along with panic attack disorders so I hope I did alright. If anyone is still out there reading this, thanks for taking the time to do so! I really appreciate you sticking with this story and I! Any and every review…good, bad, and indifferent….is appreciated. Just let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the characters I made up and their Real World alter egos. I don't own The Matrix, The Animatrix, or any of that cool stuff. I'm broke and I just finished graduate school for my Master's Degree. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"…I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
I swear I knew it all along

And I am flawed…" (From "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional)

"Pix, what did the doctor have to say?" Wheeler asked, as Pixie slipped out of the exam room, her personal computer in the palm of her hand, and headed through the waiting room without bothering to look at anyone around her.

"Nothing," she answered, her voice tight and tense as she shoved her computer into her right pocket with her hands quickly following after it.

Almost chasing after Pixie as she exited the "office," Wheeler was pretty sure something had happened but she didn't want to tell him exactly what. There was no way something hadn't happened for her to sound the way she did. He couldn't tell if Pixie was angry or upset, though. Maybe it was both, Wheeler wasn't sure.

Wheeler had gone down with Pixie to the fleet psychologist for her mandated appointment. It was protocol after any "traumatic situations" for the surviving members of the crew in question to pay a visit to the psychologist and talk about what had happened. For some reason, it was felt that talking about the situation with a complete stranger made it easier to deal with.

According to what Wheeler had heard from others, it was the psychologist's job to decide whether or not a person was fit to return to a ship after their evaluation. The same people had told Wheeler that, more often than not, the evaluations were just for show and almost everyone always got clearance to go back to work. There were a rare few people who didn't get to go back to their post for reasons no one really liked to talk about.

Pixie was well aware of the fact she had to go see the psychologist before she could even think about getting her job back but that didn't mean she had to like it. Wheeler knew, as most of her friends did, that Pixie wasn't a fan of the field of psychology. She thought it was a "soft science," unlike the medical sciences she and Aisling practiced. Medical sciences were real, hands on sciences. Psychology, well, that wasn't a real science since it only involved talking. At least that was the feeling shared by all of the medical students in the Academy when talking about their peers in the psychology department. For some people, that feeling lingered on after graduation.

Wheeler had gone down with Pixie, half for moral support and half because he knew she might leave if she was so inclined. Pixie had told him, more than once, that she really didn't want to go visit the psychologist even though she knew she had to in order to keep her job. It was only one appointment to the fleet psychologist and Wheeler was well aware of the fact that Pixie was having a hard enough time with that. He sincerely hoped that it was as everyone had told…just a token visit for show and she didn't have to go back again.

Apparently, whatever was said during her hour long appointment was enough to get under Pixie's skin in the worst way. Though he'd only been staying with Pixie a few weeks- his captain had been asked to give testimony about how they'd found Pixie's ship and the situation surrounding those events. Not that Wheeler was complaining. He enjoyed spending worry and work free time with Pixie. -he'd picked up on a few things about his better than best friend.

One was when she was having a panic attack or on the verge of having one. The Shatterpoint's medic, Barriss, had said that there were no outward signs of a panic attack, despite what the person having them might feel. You couldn't tell a panic attack sufferer from any other person in Zion, technically speaking. Wheeler, though, had figured out when Pixie was having an attack or when she was close to having one, at the very least. He couldn't say how or why he'd picked up this strange skill. It was just something he was able to do, much to his own surprise.

Barriss had ordered Wheeler, since it was plainly obvious Pixie had declared him her "safe" person during her bouts of panic, that he was to treat Pixie with tough love during a panic attack. In short, he was simply to tell her to "get over it" and ignore her until she calmed down. If he tried babying her- being gentle with her -her attacks would only get worse. It was only through strong medication and tough love that Pixie would get better. There was no other "cure" for what was ailing her.

Pixie, being Pixie and more than a little thick headed when she wanted to be, refused to take any medication for her panic attacks. She'd said, as a medic, she knew the side effects of taking the anti-anxiety medication and she didn't like any them. She didn't want to take medication that would make her perennially tired or clumsy. As it was, she could be a klutz at times, without the help of medication.

She had told Wheeler that, during one of her attacks that she feared the drugs would mess with her brain chemistry in such a way that it would change her behavior in the Matrix. If she was to go back to her old job- When she went back to her old job, Pixie would almost always amend -she wanted to be as close as possible to what she'd been before she'd started getting panic attacks. She didn't want to be a klutzy burden to those around her and wind up accidently putting everyone she worked with in danger because of some mind altering medication she was on.

Wheeler, no medic but very fond of the dark haired medic he lived with, had said that they'd figure something out to help her so she didn't have to take medication. For his part, he couldn't bring himself to use tough love in order to help Pixie through her attacks. Telling her to just "get over it" and walk away from her just seemed too mean of a thing to do to her while she freaked out.

Instead of using tough love, Wheeler found that hugging Pixie very tightly and talking to her helped her through the attacks. Alright, it was coddling her but it was the best he could do and it seemed to help Pixie so he figured it was alright. Once he started bear hugging her, her attacks would start to get shorter and Wheeler figured that was a very good thing.

Pixie had assured him, though, that the hugs weren't coddling her in any way, shape, or form. Putting her in a bear hug, holding her so tight that she almost couldn't was actually helping her fight her panic attack off. The closeness he was forcing her into helped to decrease her metabolic rate and lower her pulse rate back to normal levels. Combined with her being able to focus on his voice, as he assured her that she was going to be fine, the hugs were an almost perfect non-medicine related course of treatment.

What she was going to do once they went their separate ways- she, possibly, back to her job and he back to the Shatterpoint -was something they had yet to discuss. Both Pixie and Wheeler knew their solution to Pixie's panic attacks was only a temporary one. They were eventually going to have to go their separate ways, even if it was only he her in Zion to work on the Shatterpoint while she, miserably, cooled her heels.

That was the other reason why Wheeler was keen on Pixie keeping her appointment with the psychologist. Maybe he had a more permanent solution to her panic attacks. Not that he didn't enjoy the fact Pixie was actually allowing him to hug her all the time. It was more a necessity so Pixie could gain back some of her independence. Something she was going to need if she went back to work.

The walk back to Pixie's small home, though it was more their home than Pixie's alone, seemed to take longer than it normally did. Pixie had been staring at the ground the entire time, watching her battered boots as they shuffled along the catwalk that served as the sidewalks in Zion. The meeting with the psychologist had left a bad taste in her mouth and it wasn't going away. It was that sour sort of taste that lingered in the back of your throat for hours after you'd eaten something or gotten really sick and thrown up bile.

She'd been told by the medical doctor she'd been forced into seeing- Pixie had it in her mind she'd just use Aisling as her doctor and that was that. Since Aisling was her friend, that hadn't happened. She'd wound up visiting a different medical doctor. -that the session with the psychologist was supposed to help her with the grieving process. Theoretically, it was supposed to make her feel better or comforted or something like that. Instead of making her feel better, though, it only managed to make her feel worse.

Not just worse in a physical sense but in a mental sense as well which was more annoying to Pixie. After all her years in the Matrix, despite the fact they were just virtual years, she'd gotten use to dealing with feeling physically ill. Feeling mentally ill, well, that was something new to the young woman and it was a feeling she wasn't enjoying in the least. She almost preferred feeling physically ill, as odd as that sounded.

Wheeler closed the door behind her, making Pixie jump a good ten feet in the air. The former pitcher gave Pixie a curious look but she seemed not to notice it. Instead, she sighed and wandered over to the battered couch at the far end of what passed for her kitchen, living room, and de-facto lab. Looking a bit world weary, she flopped onto the couch, frowning when she realized that she's caused her back to smart a bit.

"What happened in there that's got you so tense, Pix?" Wheeler asked, coming to sit next to Pixie on the couch. "Did he say something to you?"

Pixie opened her mouth to say "nothing" but, looking at Wheeler sitting patiently next to her, she changed her mind. After the whole incident with Hawk and everything that had happened after it, Wheeler was on the short list of people Pixie was totally sure she could trust. There were some days she was convinced he was the only person on the list of people she could trust in Zion. It wasn't paranoia that Pixie felt. It was more her own being cautious after what had happened though the psychologist had called it uglier, more frightening names.

"This," she answered, pulling her small computer out of her pocket and opening the first file that came up to show Wheeler. "This is what's bothering me."

For a moment, Wheeler didn't understand what Pixie was showing him. To him, an outsider in her science based world, what the file said meant next to nothing to him. It was just a lot of technical jargon that he knew made perfect sense to science minded Pixie. The former pitcher just saw it as a lot of really long words thrown together in complicated looking sentences.

As he started to scroll through the message, reading through it a second and third time, Wheeler found a handful of words that he understood. They were the words that Wheeler figured upset Pixie the most. Even though she was a medic and scientist by training, she was human. Pixie had gotten very good at compartmentalizing her mind, only dealing with the parts related to science and ignoring the rest because of her job.

That was partly why going to the psychologist had upset her. It was easier, for Pixie anyway, to deal with the logical things since those were the things she understood best. The part of her mind that was causing her panic attacks- the irrational part that was just a scared nineteen year old -was something she wasn't as comfortable with.

The fact Pixie was very comfortable with logical things but more emotional things confused her should have bothered Wheeler but it didn't. He'd decided, once he and Pixie went from being best friends to better than best friends, that nothing about Pixie was going to bother him. Not that things about Pixie ever did. Where people like Hawk and, sometimes, their friends were bothered by her sometimes strange behavior, he wasn't. Pixie was Pixie and that was that. She was who was she was, no matter how hard that was to figure out sometimes.

"But you said you knew you were having panic attacks," Wheeler stated, looking away from the screen.

"No, that part I knew," she countered with a small frown. "I knew I'd been having panic attacks since the attack on my ship. I figured that's when those started. It's the rest of the stuff in there that's bothering me."

"Pix," Wheeler pointed out. "I don't know what you mean. I mean, this is all medical mumbo jumbo to me. I don't really understand it."

"After one meeting, after talking to him for just an hour, he decided I have a schizoid personality disorder," Pixie mumbled. "One meeting and he decides that I'm completely incapable of having any kind of functioning relationship with anyone. He says I've been permanently damaged by the fact I was a really huge introvert in the Matrix. Basically, I'm what happens when a kid never gets over her shyness. I can't deal with other people because of the Matrix and circumstances afterwards."

Wheeler put his arm around Pixie, not letting her pull away from him though he knew that was what she wanted to do because she was uptight and stressed. He wasn't sure what disorder she was talking about but he didn't feel it was right for someone who'd only known her for an hour to say something like that to her. Pixie had admitted to him that she'd been damaged by things in her past, especially the aunt and uncle who'd raised her for a time, but that was her saying it. Not some random stranger who barely even knew her.

"I know it's harder for you to make friends and stuff but you have all of us and we're not going anywhere. Even if the others did, I'm not going anywhere," Wheeler stated. "I don't care about the mental scars you have. I just wish there was something I could do to help fix them."

"According to that idiot doctor, there's nothing anyone can do except take a little of this and a little of that," Pixie said, showing Wheeler the list of medications the doctor wanted her to take. "That along with weekly therapy sessions will fix me up...eventually. He couldn't say when or if it would work at all."

"So all this guy could say there was something wrong with you but he couldn't give you any better answer than to just give you medication so you'd be all foggy and not have a clue what's going on," Wheeler surmised. "How is that even helpful?"

With a sigh, Pixie answered, "It isn't, really. The figuring is that the medication will dull both my panic attacks and everything else about me so I'll be more 'open' to treatment for this other disorder. I really don't want to take any medication, Wheeler. I was on so much medication before I got here that I'm surprised I was even able to find my way to the computer in my room or across the street to talk to you guys."

"I don't think you need medication for the panic attacks, Pix. You're dealing with them really well without taking anything for them," Wheeler started.

"That's because you're here and you're helping me control them," Pixie cut in. "When you go back to work, things may be just a little bit harder."

"We'll figure something out for when both of us go back to work," Wheeler assured Pixie. "I thought you had asked Aisling about alternatives to medication for your panic attacks and she told you something you could do."

With a friendly sort of smile, Wheeler, carefully, added, "Though I wish you'd take something for your back. I know that's still bothering you."

"My back isn't the issue right now," Pixie, dismissively stated though she knew her back was an entire issue unto itself. "This idiot's evaluation is. I only went down there because I was just following orders and now he's going to give me a write up that's going to prevent me from going back to work."

"Why?" Wheeler asked. "Does this schizoid thing you supposedly have make you dangerous or something?"

The former pitcher remembered, back in his own Matrix days, that schizophrenia was a bad thing. Not a mental disorder anyone wanted to have because it sometimes made people violent. He couldn't see Pixie as a violent person- she'd never shown any sort of violent reaction to anything, even Hawk taunting her and, just in general, making her life miserable. -but then he also hadn't had the chance to spend a long time with her. Maybe that side of her was something that came out when he wasn't looking or when she worked in the Matrix or something.

"You're thinking of schizophrenia, aren't you?" Pixie asked, guessing at Wheeler's line of thought.

After he nodded, she explained, "Schizoid and schizophrenia are two totally different things. It's just unfortunate luck for me that the two have similar sounding names. I'm actually far from being dangerous since I'm supposed to have reduced emotional affect...whatever that means. I'm a real scientist. Not a fake one like this psychologist."

"But if you think psychologists are fake scientist, then why are you letting this get to you Pix?" Wheeler wanted to know.

Pixie shrugged and took a second to collect her thoughts. She wasn't entirely sure why the psychologist's words had bothered her so much. There was a vast difference, in her mind and the minds of anyone who worked as a proper scientist or medic in Zion, between a medic and a psychologist. Medics did actual work dealing with the body; not so much for psychologists who worked with the mind. Sure the mind and body were connected- the Matrix taught everyone that much -but students in either discipline didn't always care about that connection.

A lot of good natured- and some not so good natured, of course -ribbing took place between the medical students and the psychology students during their Academy days. Kids being kids was what the instructors called it since that's what they really were. They were just kids acting their age, even though it was Zion and not some school campus. According to what she'd heard, there was a long standing feud between the medics-scientists- since they tended to be the same person for some reason -and the psychology-behavioral science students. Each generation of students just continued the feud in their own way.

Pixie, herself, had never taken part in any of the ribbing or rough housing but she knew plenty of people who had. Aisling was one of the biggest ring leaders when it came instigating things between the departments. She always wanted to get Pixie involved but Pixie always declined, claiming she had to study or was busy with other work for other classes. Truth was, she just didn't want to get into trouble and risk her place in the program.

"I guess because I'm kind of angry he said something like that," Pixie admitted with a sigh. "One appointment is not enough to come up with something like that as a diagnosis."

After a very long pause, Wheeler brought up, "I don't want to pry, Pix, but didn't you already have a psychological evaluation. I remember Mace having Luminari give me one just after I started working on the Shatterpoint. He said it was procedure for any new person working on a ship to make sure we could handle the pressure of working on the ship."

Biting her lower lip- a gesture Pixie had been desperately trying to stop doing since she always thought it made her look young than her given age -the young woman thought back to her early days on the Nebuchadnezzar. She remembered spending a great deal of her time and energy training, both in the Construct and in the Real World. When she wasn't training, she was working in the medical bay, getting to know her surroundings and proper procedure and, basically, all things relevant to her post.

"Dozer- He was head medic on the Nebuchadnezzar when I got there. -might have but I don't really remember," Pixie, finally, answered. "I mean, I'm sure if it was protocol, Morpheus might have ignored it. In case you haven't noticed, Morpheus isn't big on following rules all the time. Not that I'm going to complain since he got me my job."

"You sure?" Wheeler asked, trying to make a point. "I thought it was something we all had to do."

"I'm almost sure, yeah. I mean if they did regular psych tests on my ship we might not be in this situation," Pixie countered with a small, sly grin. "I would have been diagnosed within weeks and stuck back in here cooling on my heels and waiting for news about you guys to come down."

Wheeler laughed, wondering why he even bothered to try and make points around Pixie who seemed to out think him without really thinking, "What if Morpheus did do the proper tests but ignored the results?"

Leaning against the back of the couch and, being careful since Pixie was still in his arms, Wheeler added, "He could have found out what that psychologist said is wrong with you but chose to ignore it because you're too smart or too valuable as a member of his crew…or both."

"Wheeler," Pixie countered, putting her head on his shoulder and giving him a sidelong look. "If Morpheus had followed regulations and done the tests, he would have noticed Cypher was a head case who regretted taking the red pill and Hawk was a narcissist with delusions of grandeur."

Returning her look with a curious one of his own and kissing the top of her head, Wheeler pointed out, "Are you sure you're not a psychologist because that sounded awful psychological to me?"

Pixie rolled her eyes and shook her head, stating, "I'm just trying to prove a point. Morpheus would have known those things if he'd done the tests like he was supposed to. We wouldn't be in this situation if he'd done the tests and found out those things."

"I don't know, Pix. I kind of like the situation we're in now," Wheeler teased, cuddling Pixie closer to him. "This situation suits me just fine."

"Wheeler!" Pixie exclaimed, somewhere between amused and frustrated. "You know what I mean. I wouldn't be some crazy person having panic attacks. I wouldn't have had to go that huge funeral and watch Tank and Dozer's families grieve. I wouldn't have had to stand trial or go see that stupid psychologist."

Wheeler sighed, hoping he hadn't accidently pushed Pixie towards the point where she'd wind up having a panic attack. The former pitcher understood that the whole situation Pixie had found herself in was ugly and she was just trying to cope with it the best she could. The problem was that the only way she was coping was by not coping and having panic attacks.

According to her medical doctor, Pixie had dropped some weight which wasn't good for her as she was already underweight, like a good portion of the women in Zion through no fault of their own. The panic attacks might have been an entirely mental thing but they were taking a toll on Pixie's physical body as well which made Wheeler worry.

He knew Pixie was strong but, since the attack on her ship, Wheeler had become keenly aware of the fact she was quite human. No matter how strong he knew she was, she would eventually hit her breaking point. When she did, Wheeler hoped he was the one there for her. He knew Pixie trusted him almost completely- she still held her secrets but Wheeler wasn't pushing her to give them away. Everyone was entitled to their own secrets, especially those from their Matrix. -so he knew she might be alright breaking down in front of him.

Alright, truthfully, she probably wouldn't be alright with that arrangement since Pixie hated admitting weakness. She was keeping herself going by just grit and her own will. Both of which could give out at a moment's notice thanks to the panic attacks.

"I know what you're talking about," Wheeler said. "Maybe we'd still be sitting on this couch together laughing if things were better but we can't always change things. I learned that in the Matrix. You can't wish things never happened because those wishes never come true."

"I guess," Pixie admitted. "And I do understand what you mean. Morpheus is the type of man who would see things like Cypher being a total head case, or Hawk being a misogynistic narcissist, or me being schizoid and look past all of that just to see if he couldn't help us in some way."

Taking a second to put his thoughts together, Wheeler stated, "Maybe you should stop seeing yourself as whatever that doctor said you are, then. He's only known you for an hour. People like me and our friends and Morpheus, we've known you for like ever. I know you say we're all broken but everything that's broken can be fixed, can't it doc?"

Pixie thought about that for a moment and countered, "Sure most things can be fixed but what if there are some things, some mental scars, that can't be fixed?"

"Then we work around them," Wheeler, matter of factly, answered. "I don't know if I told you this but I'm going to stick around and protect you. It's a promise and I don't break my promises. You're not going to get any new scars, mental or otherwise while I'm around. I'm not going to allow that to happen, Pix. You're too nice a person to have that happen to you."

"And when you're not around?" Pixie wanted to know, half joking, half serious in her query.

"We cross that bridge when we get to it," Wheeler announced, with a bright smile. "I'm around now so you don't have to worry. You can just focus on getting better."

"Well one less thing to worry about has to be a good thing," Pixie almost joked. "I mean, the more I worry, the more likely I am to get one of those stupid attacks."

"About those," Wheeler said. "What did the psychologist say about them?"

"He said they're both a product of this schizoid thing and just something I'm having due to the 'stressful circumstances' I was under," Pixie answered. "He said that I could take medication to control them- He got very annoyed when I told him that wasn't an option for me. -or I could use alternate means. He suggested the meds but I'm going the other way."

Though he didn't want to, Wheeler started to laugh. Pixie, since starting her medical training and probably before that, had always been the most logical one in their group. Her friends, Wheeler being the exception, had found her logical ways more than a little annoying. Aisling argued that they were teenagers and being illogical was normal for them when they weren't working. When they were on the job, working with people older than them, things were different but, when they weren't; they were supposed to act like teenagers.

If Wheeler was the exception to her annoying her friends, Pixie was the exception to Aisling's rule about teenagers. Pixie never acted, in Aisling's estimation anyway, like a "normal" teenager. Her logic might have been fractured at times but she was still far more logical than Aisling, Adoh, Ngaio, and Conall.

Pixie had become, among her friends anyway, infamous for thinking things through before going off and doing them. She'd explained to Wheeler that it was a product of her time in the Matrix and the fact she'd been so sick. She had to consider how best to do things before she couldn't because she was too sick, too tired, or both.

The fact Pixie had decided to use an alternate treatment for her panic attacks was just amusing to Wheeler. It really didn't seem- It might not have been, actually -logical but that was just his opinion. Maybe, someplace in Pixie's head, it made some kind of sense. Wheeler couldn't be sure because he wasn't Pixie nor could he look into Pixie's head, no matter how badly he wanted to most days. It would have made things easier sometimes if he had that ability.

"I know it's weird," Pixie continued almost as if she could read Wheeler's mind. "But I've already been on too many meds in my life. I'm supposed to be practicing what Aisling told me to do but I haven't had time yet."

"So you did talk to Aisling…what did she tell you to do?" Wheeler almost laughed. "And I can't imagine Aisling being helpful, not without asking for a favor in return."

Pixie stifled her giggle in the arm of Wheeler's shirt and explained, "She mentioned she'd be asking for a favor but hasn't said what that something is yet. Another thing for me to worry about I suppose because we all know how Aisling is."

"Unless she helped you out of the kindness of her heart," Wheeler cut in, though he wasn't sure if he even believed his words.

Aisling was one of their friends but she had her own way of doing things. Her favors usual came with some kind or price. It wasn't a mean thing or a cruel thing that she did because she was a good friend to everyone. It was just an Aisling thing, an accepted bartering system that could sometimes be quite annoying.

"You don't even believe that, Wheeler," Pixie pointed out, with her patented pixie's grin. "Aisling will get me back eventually…hopefully sooner rather than later."

Wheeler laughed, shaking his head, and asked "So what did she tell you to do, as your friend instead of your medic?"

"She gave me some breathing exercises but she said she knew I'd never do them unless I was in a room, by myself," Pixie answered. "Since she said I was too thickheaded to do those, I should just count things when I start to feel a panic attack coming on."

"Count things?" the former pitcher stated, near hysterical. "Aisling knows as well as the rest of us that you don't like numbers. You've never liked numbers. Unless that's changed and you haven't told us."

Pixie shook her head- she still disliked math, numbers, and pretty much anything that had to do with math and numbers -and pointed out, "I said the same thing when Aisling suggested I count things but she said it was the perfect activity for me because numbers are logical and panic is not. If I could kick my brain back into logical mode, I'd be able to stop the attack in its tracks. That's the theory anyway."

"That has to be the first time," Wheeler stated, getting up and letting Pixie sprawl out on the couch. "Aisling has ever recommended you use logic for something. Usually she wants you to act like her and Ngaio."

Putting his hands on his hips, Wheeler added, "Have you, at least, tried the counting thing yet?"

"Once, yeah," Pixie answered, propping her head up with one hand. "And it kind of worked. It helped me focus on something past panic, I suppose. I'm not sure it'll work again but it's always worth a try, no?"

"Anything's worth a try to stop these attacks," Wheeler assured her. "Anyway, you take a break. I know this stuff wears you out. I'll try to figure out what we can do about food. You didn't eat again today either."