Just an hour, yes, but it was not a worthless glimpse at an anomaly; it was not too brief to form a pattern. Surely Skovgard had dug back through the records already. He'd seen the week and month-long crescendo her cortisol had built up, until her charts were a jagged cacophony jutting out at heaven like a fist fashioned into an obscene gesture. Surely that is why he glanced then and again at his screen, and even had the bravado, the sheer gall, to click about with his hand, that same vile hand which feigned at feebleness when the situation demanded that he seem gentle, kind, compassionate, and just a little senile.

"[color=#FF6363]It's not a problem yet. I doubt your fertility levels are down. I doubt you'll have ulcers or a stroke by Christmastime! But the most dangerous problems are the ones which sneak up on us, Ona, inch by inch,[/color]" he said. He kept clicking, no doubt between past charts and the current one, the one still scratching along, scribbling a memoir for the crimson line's ascent toward oblivion in the clouds. Then he clicked some more, between her hormonal charts and her work records, the times she clocked in (that day when she was three minutes late—vivisected like a butterfly, and pinned to cork for all to see!), her conversations with the cute guy from Purchasing, of course whose name and birthday and favorite brand of aftershave they already knew. God damn it, what was he looking at? Why, like a dentist, did he want to spend all day with those hooks and needles in his sinister hands, probing at every little wrinkle in the gums of her brain? He knew he should not be welcome there, not for minutes on end! Out! Out!

"[color=#FF6363]I hope you'll take my advice and get [i]away[/i] from work awhile. Working even harder, and visiting the medical ward for a vial of happy-pills—well, I think that would be ludicrous. Quite absurd.[/color]" Why was it any of his business? "[color=#FF6363]As far as I can see, the only vacation days you've taken this year were back in April, when you caught some kind of fever. You should have plenty left. Wouldn't this be much better? When I was a bodybuilder, they taught us that the rest days are when our muscles repair themselves. When they grow bigger, you know. If you'll pardon the analogy.[/color]"