A/N: A missing scene describing why Chris Kelvin came back to his apartment after leaving his wife in the 2002 film "Solaris".

Palette Change

Bling a ling.

The small bell above the door rang as a vaguely human-shaped figure entered the establishment. Maybe all bars didn't have one, perhaps not even most - but at "Mike's Retreat" the bell was there for a reason. Those waiting for a friend could look up for an anticipated face to appear from outside. Those dreading the appearance of an enemy could duck under a table or disappear into the restroom unseen. In some cases, a drinking partner could be heard to leave without looking up from your particular liquid painkiller. In this case, it announced psychologist Chris Kelvin, completely soaked from the rain even though he barely noticed it. Without looking into the room, he turned and hung up his raincoat before finally deciding to turn around and scan the room for a familiar face among the few customers.

There were none. Good. He really didn't have a backup plan if the place had been full or held someone that would initiate a conversation. Thanks to colleagues and patients he knew a lot of people.

Satisfied that he had a place to sit out of the rain and think without being disturbed, he ordered a drink from the young bartender and took it to one of the many empty booths. He sat and tapped his fingers against his drink glass - his wedding ring clinked in time with the finger taps. Realizing what made the sound, he stopped quickly. He was here because of his wife.

No, that wasn't correct. He was here because of HIMSELF.

Always one to be in control at all times, he had lost his temper a few hours ago. He looked for a clock, then remembered the place didn't have one that could be seen easily. Mike preferred his customers to take as much time as they needed, unhurried by whatever pressure and schedules awaited them in the outside world. He glanced at his watch and saw that it had been almost two hours from the time he stormed out of their apartment until he had walked into the bar. He closed his eyes and concentrated; he could feel the dampness inside his boots from the rain that had wicked down his pantlegs. Maybe if he had dressed properly...

Stop, he told himself as he took a drink. He was doing just what some of his patients did to avoid a problem, concentrating on trivial matters instead of the big issues. But he really didn't want to go over that yet until he was ready. Always organize yourself and things will fall into their proper places.

Yeah, that really worked well today, didn't it.

"You're giving Happy Hour a bad name," a voice said from above him. He looked up and saw the face of the owner looking down - not so close as to intrude, but not so far as to make the greeting casual or one to be heard easily by others.

"Hey Mike." Chris forced a slight smile on his face but let it fade away quickly when he failed to continue the effort.

The bar's owner slid into the seat on the other side of the booth. "I saw you walk in alone. Need a session?"

Mike Gangler wasn't a psychologist, but everyone needs someone to talk to and Chris decided in this case he needed someone who wasn't his wife. "Do you have an opening?"

The barkeep craned his neck and looked around the place. "Looks like it. It's either squeeze you in or polish a few spotless glasses instead. What's up?"

"How did you know something is up?"

"Congratulations, you answered a question with a question. As a bar owner I know my customers. As a friend I know when one isn't acting right. You, my friend, are definitely not right," Mike answered.

"It shows that much?" Chris asked.

"Probably not to most people. But I know you. I've seen you sad but I've never seen you weep. I've seen you smile and maybe even chuckle, but I've never seen you really laugh. Now you're expression is somewhere else and - you're alone. Something's up."

"Yeah," Chris said as he contemplated just how much to tell. He had been coming here a long time, since he was a foot loose and fancy free single - although the thought of being in that state was anything but comforting. "Rheya and I had a fight."

"A fight? Chris Kelvin in a fight? What was that like, did you raise your voice or maybe cock an eyebrow at her?"

"Please, Mike. No, this was a real fight. I yelled, I threw a few things, and I walked out. I might have cursed, and I KNOW that I said some things I shouldn't have."

"Did it become physical?"

"No."

"Well at least there's that. Welcome to having real, honest-to-God feelings. Chris, don't take this the wrong way - but you're a psychologist. You spend all day telling people how to get in touch with their emotions, realize what they are and talk about them out in the open. But you're one of the most closed-off people I know, and I know a lot of people."

"I know," Chris agreed "but I do it on purpose. You see, there was this psychologist by the name of Carl Stumpf and a horse named Clever Hans." When Mike looked confused Chris continued with "Long time ago. The important thing is, we learned over time that our patients will sometimes...hell, often...give us answers based on what they think we want to hear. They try to read us for the 'correct' answer, which is neither an answer nor correct. In an effort to get a more honest answer that truly reflects what the patient is experiencing, we try to moderate ourselves and provide no outward clues. We're only human so we usually have some ideas what might be going on based on observation and comparing this patient to others - but we try to not let the patient know. If we give them a snap diagnosis, they may grab it like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver until finding out it was a lead weight."

"Makes sense. I try to make everyone here feel good no matter how they came in because it's good for business; I don't try to cure anything." Mike glanced over at the bar to see that his bartender was keeping busy instead of watching the TV off to one side. "You don't go for the instant feel-good play because you're looking at a longer term solution that will pay off for the rest of their lives, not just to the end of happy hour."

"Tell me Mike, why was it you didn't go into psychology?"

"Bartending school was a lot cheaper. I still get to hear peoples' problems, but I can do it without student loan debt choking me to death. But I'm telling you this as a friend, not your bartender: Moderate, mask or suppress your emotions all you want at work. Don't let it carry over too much into your private life. If YOU were angry, it was probably for something pretty important." Mike let the statement hang like a question, giving Chris the option to treat it either way.

"It was. Turns out Rheya was pregnant and she terminated it without asking me."

"We've never discussed the topic, but are you against abortion?"

Chris opened and shut his mouth a few times, struggling. "I...don't know. I can see both sides, but I never gave it much thought. I never even seriously thought of having a kid of my own or not. But when she told me, I just got angry. Are you for or against it?"

"We're discussing you, not me. But it sounds like that wasn't the root of the issue anyway. You got married, had sex - I'm sure not in that order - and never considered the possibility of children? You may be a great psychologist, but you're a lousy guy. I can't believe you didn't bring up the topic with Rheya before you got married...or even afterward, until you had to."

"We talked about our childhoods, but never about US having kids," Chris explained. "We would play word games with each other all the time; almost like a fencing match as we tried to out-cleaver each other. We had fun, we - lived more for the moment, I guess. The play was as important as what we talked about, and we both loved it like we were made for it."

"So you DO love her."

"Of course I do. I wasn't really alive until she came into my life and I found that I had something - someONE - to think about besides work. Who knows why she got hooked up with a guy like me, but she did."

"Why wouldn't she bring that to you? You basically have said that your life was practically a blank canvas emotionally, or at least a painting with muted colors. Then she comes along and throws what amounts to fluorescent paint onto your canvas, completely changing your life's color palette. What's your favorite art? What kind of paintings or prints do you have in your apartment?"

Chris shrugged. "None."

"No artwork? No photos or sculpture or even some hand-made pottery?"

"No. I did make an ashtray in grammar school but it was broken twenty years ago."

"Tell me you at least have plants."

"One potted palm. Fake."

Mike sighed. "Doesn't even sound like you had any paint on your canvas at all. But the important thing is now. If you still want to be with her - and depending on what you said, if she still wants to be with you - then you HAVE to go back and work it out. Don't be afraid to be emotional! Partners need words, sure - but they need something BEHIND those words. Go back, say you're sorry. You don't have to apologize for what you felt, but just how you dealt with it. That is if you want to keep the girl of your dreams."

"She's the only one I ever dream about," Chris confided. "The only one I ever HAVE dreamed about."

"Then go get her back or you'll regret it the rest of your days. And I say that as a professional and a friend; I don't need another bitter, grumpy person in my establishment or my life. Shall I make an appointment for you next week? I think Wednesday is good."

"We'll see how it goes," Chris said with a smile. "Thanks, Mike."

"Anytime. Now get out of here and do what you have to and I'll go count toothpicks behind the bar."

The End

A/N: Well, not to spoil the movie but things didn't work out very well when Chris got back to the apartment - but I guess they worked out in the end *wink*. I was going to write something based on the Dylan Thomas poem "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" quoted in the movie but it went this direction instead.

I would rather have written one based on the original Russian film (as I liked it better) but it's been too long since I've seen it and I don't have a copy to review.