Chapter Text
The large room was cast in shadows, the only light coming from the three cylindrical tanks that stood as silent sentries at the front of the room. The alien bodies floated serenely in their liquid preservative, their glass coffins refracting the meager light and making unearthly shadows on the tiled floor. Great hulking shapes were silhouetted in the gloom: antiquated scientific equipment also in its final resting place. It was quiet. Peaceful.
One of the shadows detached itself from the mechanical graveyard and made its way to stand in front of the middle cylinder. A tentative hand reached for the glass, touching it, palm up against the glass. Human green eyes searched the black alien orbs for understanding.
"Come on, guys, talk to me," the figure whispered. A moment passed, then two, and then the hand reluctantly withdrew. With a sigh, the woman stepped back and regarded the aliens sadly. Again, nothing. How many times had she tried to get some impression from these beings? She'd lost count. A wry smile flitted across her lips. She was sure that Dr. Okun knew.
She sighed again. Dr. Brackish Okun was an enigma with startling blue eyes and polyester high-water pants. An enigma that would be terminating her from the project if she didn't start getting some results.
She'd been brought to the facility seven months earlier, at the request of Dr. Issacs. He strongly believed that the aliens communicated by using telepathy, and had asked for a parapsychologist to join the research team. The name at the top of his short list of candidates was one Dr. Brenda Stevens, due to the fact that not only was she one of the leading doctors in her field, but that she had high ESPer quotient. He had flown into New York to meet with her personally, and even when he was vague about what her new assignment would entail, she accepted the offer eagerly. There was something about his secretiveness that intrigued her. There was more to this than just your typical government hush-hush project. So when she'd been given security clearance and found out that her new position would be at Area 51, she hadn't been surprised. What had surprised her was her reaction to Dr. Brackish Okun. She could remember the moment vividly.
While waiting alone in Dr. Okun's office to be officially welcomed to the project, Brenda had begun to get quite a mental picture of the man that was to be her boss. She was glad that Dr. Issacs had to go search for Dr. Okun; this afforded her the chance to get a 'feel' for the man. His office was a clutter of computer print-outs, reference books and empty ceramic coffee cups with various logos. She suppressed a grin at the black X-Files mug -- she had one of those herself. Something unusual about the mug caught her eye and she looked at it closely. The trademark catch phrase, 'The Truth Is Out There' had been changed. A white line crossed out the words 'Out There' and beneath them, the mug bore the new words, 'Down Here', written in what looked suspiciously like liquid paper.
This time she grinned openly; this was going to be one hell of an assignment.
She looked at his work station where a top-of-the-line computer system sat prominently, yellow post-it-notes adorning its monitor frame. An elaborate all-in-one stereo system with an impressive blinking light display sat in arms' reach from his desk chair, a sprawl of compact discs littered around it. Glancing at the discs, she could saw that it was mostly classic hard rock, and surprisingly, show tunes. That was quite a leap. Her eyes strayed to the walls, covered with schematics and blueprints. Rock and roll posters -- and was that a Broadway Playbill for The Three Musketeers? -- peeked out from behind the technical drawings, perhaps a reminder (to himself?) that he was more than just the sum of his work. She was really getting curious to meet the man.
When he burst into the office in flurry of frenetic energy, his white lab coat fluttering behind him like a pair of wings, she hadn't been surprised at the oddly-matched clothes and long shock of graying hair. Somehow it seemed to suit him. But the aura of anger emanating from him. . .that was out of place. And when she realized his anger was directed at her, she could only stare at him, trying to determine what was wrong.
He took her staring in stride, evidently used to the odd looks he received. "I didn't know the Psychic Friends made housecalls," he said without introduction. He went past her to his desk and plopped down in the chair, punching the CD player into action. The machine whirred and clicked and the electric guitar strains of Norman Greenbaum's"Spirit in the Sky" filled the office, sending its graphic equalizer into a dazzling lightshow.
Brenda forced herself not to cover her ears at the decibel level. She decided to play along until she could get a reading as to why he was upset. "Yeah, we do," she yelled over the opening verse of the song. "And it's a heckuva lot more expensive than a 900 call, so your credit card limit better be impressive."
He narrowed his eyes at her and Brenda found herself staring again. The eyes behind those glasses were so blue you could swim in them. Gazes locked, she felt a connection open to him. It happened so suddenly and was so intense, that for an eternity of time that in reality couldn't have lasted more than the space between her rapid heartbeats, she lost herself in him. Marshaling her thoughts, she reluctantly pulled herself away from the contact. She thought wryly that if she came equipped with a graphic equalizer herself, at that moment, her own spiking rainbow display would rival the one on Dr. Okun's desk.
Wow.
A college graduate with a degrees in psychology and parapsychology and an IQ nudging 170, and the only word she could come up with to describe what had happened to her was wow. WOW.
She knew she was in trouble.
With more difficulty than she could remember, she managed to focus on the undercurrents of feelings that were swirling around her. It was tough to zero in on his anger - his aura was the most unique she'd ever had the pleasure of reading. There were levels upon levels here, intense, yet frivolous, balanced, yet unstructured. It was the most complex aura she'd ever felt. It would take her quite some time to get a handle on this man. When she was finally able to balance her dazed mental equilibrium, she pulled out the cause of his anger. Ah. Another one that thought parapsychology was a crock, and he didn't want her to "contaminate his project". Well, she'd certainly been acquainted with more than her share of those, but it was disappointing to feel the skepticism coming from this man. But she was a scientist. She was a professional. She was good at her job. She could handle it.
Oh, how wrong she'd been.
If it had been only convincing him that her field of expertise was indeed, a valid scientific avenue of research, she would have had no problem. But working closely with him, drowning in those blue eyes day after day. . .she'd fallen head-over-heels in love with him.
Her connection in the following months had grown stronger, probably due to her intense personal feelings for him. She couldn't explain why it had happened so suddenly and so thoroughly. Maybe it had been his quirky style of dress. Maybe it was the way those striking blue eyes would light up with such enthusiasm when he was off on a new discovery about his aliens. Or just maybe it was the way he'd accepted her, if not her ESP, without the usual disdain that men had for women that could stand to lose a few pounds. Or fifty. She'd always been a big girl, as her mother had delicately put it, even before The Big Gain. At five-foot six, her weight, although way over the average for her height, was pretty evenly proportioned and she never really gave it much thought anymore. It wasn't like she'd ever dated a lot anyway. Her ESP ability made certain of that. Knowing what someone you found attractive or interesting really thought about you definitely put a damper on your love life. She wasn't really a loner though, she made friends quite easily. Over the years, she had developed a healthy sense of humor to go along with her equally healthy appetite.
Which brought her back to Brackish Okun. She loved his sense of humor. He was really funny. She made it a point to be in on the briefings that he conducted down in the 'Freak Show' when the rare rotation of rookies were brought onboard to Area 51. Sideshow Okun, she affectionately called him, though not to his face. With all the flair of a carnival barker, he directed their attention to the aliens and with a wicked gleam in his eyes, extolled the virtues of the decomposing unearthly trio. She particularly loved watching him watching the reactions of the inductees. How he did enjoy the shock in their faces. A born entertainer, if he hadn't been so bookish, she thought.
The feelings around Area 51 was that Okun, while being brilliant, was one of the oddest men anyone could have the pleasure of working with. Dedicated to his work to the point of obsession, he had no tolerance for any slip-shod work. But at the same time, it wasn't unusual for Dr. Okun to pipe-in Frank Zappa over the entire intercom system. His abundant energy and enthusiasm kept him from keeping a 'normal' work schedule. It was common for Brackish to work a sixteen hour day, and often he had to be reined in, usually by Dr. Issacs. He looked genuinely puzzled when reminded that anyone would rather eat and sleep than work on unraveling the mysteries of the alien visitors. But he pushed no one any harder than he pushed himself, Brenda noted, and wondered at the shallow thoughts she'd picked up from some of the lab techs. Most speculated that Okun was keeping the good drugs for himself, or that he was one of the aliens in disguise. Or he was just simply a 'certifiable nut-case'. But then again, most of the crew thought some pretty shallow things about her as well. "How could she let herself go like that", to the ever-popular, "But she's got such a pretty face." She'd been 'hearing' things like that practically all her life and she'd built up a pretty tough skin against it, but now it hurt her to know what they thought about Dr. Okun.
And it just about killed her to know that he didn't love her in return.
Oh, he liked her, she was certain of that. There had been more than one occasion that the two of them had spent the night together, though not in the way Brenda would have liked. True, they had once spent the time lying together side-by-side, but it was in a particularly cramped section of the alien ship listening to him going over the finer points of alien technology. She treasured that night, remembering the feel of his body next to hers, watching his long, slender fingers dance nimbly over the bio-circuitry he was explaining to her. By that time, he had accepted her 'psuedoscience' degree and granted her equal status as a scientist and researcher, but she still had given him no proof that she could be of value with her extra-sensory perceptions. That night, he'd even encouraged her to try again. So she had, and with a sinking heart, felt his annoyance when she failed again.
Brenda put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat and pulled her thoughts back to the aliens in front of her. There was something there, she thought, staring into the depths of those unfathomable eyes. Something that she could use to help Brackish in his research. . . She shivered, wondering if it was from the rooms' lowered temperature or those strange yet compelling eyes. It was those eyes that had drawn her here tonight.
Windows to the soul, she thought. It was how she'd been able to see past all Brackish's odd quirks to the man inside, and why she always felt a tingle of dread around the aliens. But beyond that scant impression, nothing. And if she didn't produce anything valid soon, she'd probably be back in NY in time for the July 4th fireworks show. It was July 1st - no, check that, she thought, glancing at her watch. It was after midnight. July 2nd. Yeah, Dr. Okun had been pretty patient up until now, considering that he thought the ESP angle with the aliens had no scientific grounding, even though she had been able to convince him of the scientific validity of parapsychology. She also sensed that Brackish was tiring of Dr. Issacs' firm belief that he had been right to follow-up on the notes that Dr. Welles, the original director of the Project, who had stated he'd had telepathic 'conversations' with the aliens. The arguments between the two scientists had been escalating, and Brenda knew that her lack of success in receiving any kind of connection with the aliens or their spaceship was the cause of the tension. Area 51 was a closed environment with an extremely delicate balance that had to be maintained. The Base Ops commander, Mitchell, was sure to be stepping in soon if Brackish and Newt didn't settle this conflict soon.
The sound of the mag-lock cycling made her jump. She didn't turn, realizing/sensing it was Brackish. She could feel his aura coming from a mile away. She blushed, caught again at another unsuccessful attempt with the aliens.
"Even dead, they're pretty neat, huh?" he said as he walked up behind her.
"Yeah," she said, wishing she'd taken her hair down from its usual workday ponytail. It was the one feature she really liked about herself. Long and chestnut brown, when freed, it spilled down in silky waves past her shoulders.
"So what brings you down to the Freak Show this late?" he asked cheerfully, his child-like enthusiasm spreading through her. She sensed that he already knew the answer to that, but for some reason, he was giving her a way out of declaring another failure. She actually considered a lie, but she respected him too much for that.
"I thought I'd give it one more try before I turned in," she answered, trying not to look at him. She always lost her logical train of thought when she did, and it was important to her to be professional around him. Especially since she loved him and she knew that he did not feel the same way for her. It had been devastating to realize that he only thought of her as a scientific colleague, and she supposed that she should be grateful that at least he did consider her to be a colleague and not some turban-headed fortune teller masquerading as a scientist. His initial feelings of her hadn't been too far off that mark.
They stood together for a few moments in silence, staring at the aliens. When Brackish spoke again, it was with a hesitance that Brenda had never heard or felt from him before. "You know, um, it's probably not your fault that you can't. . .ah, sense anything from them. It was never proven that Dr. Welles actually received any kind of telepathic thoughts from them." She could feel him looking down at her, feel the grin spread across his face at his next words, "And like I said, they're neat but they're dead."
Brenda smiled. "Sounds like a catch-phrase for a movie." She deepened her voice to mock a Coming Attractions voice-over. "'Area 51: The Aliens. They're Neat But They're Dead'."
He laughed and Brenda felt delicious tingle at the sound. "Not bad." He sobered. "I can't remember the last time I went to a movie. I mean a real movie at a theater." Shrugging, he went on, "The one we've got down here is great, but I kinda miss the sticky floor, crying-baby-behind-you experience."
"Really?" Brenda allowed herself a glance in his direction, thinking of the times she'd watched him and not the movies that were shown in the state-of-the-art THX mini-theater that was housed here.
"Okay, I don't really miss the crying baby," he confessed with a smile. "But the movie popcorn is to die for. The smell alone is guaranteed to drive sane men to drool."
"Ah, but the nineties spoiled all that decadence," Brenda said with a theatrical sigh. "I've actually heard the large size of that 'to-die-for' popcorn you refer to as the 'Roger Ebert Tub o' Death'. How's that for appetizing?"
"Yum," he said and they both cracked up. Most of the workers at 51 had problems talking with Brackish. The only problem she'd ever had in that regard was that once he began a discussion about his Freak Show and the Big Tamale, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. But she loved his voice so that was never a big problem in her opinion. After he realized that she did understand some of the techno-babble he was reeling off, he slowed down and actually tried to explain even more to her, not at her, as he did with most everyone else involved with the Project. Oh, yes, he liked her, liked the friendly relationship they'd developed. A relationship that wouldn't keep him from terminating her, though. As well as she thought she knew him, he continually surprised her.
But it looked like for once she was going to be the one to surprise him.
A sudden wave of nausea swept over her, and gasping, she looked up at him with wide eyes. He locked gazes with her, startled. "What's wrong?"
She tried to answer but was swept away as a tidal wave of psi-energy hit her. The last thing she saw was his hands, oh, those gorgeous hands, reaching for her as she fell.