TITLE: Harmony AUTHOR: Kasey SUMMARY: Post-Galileo II (As in my second in a series of post-Galileo fics) RATING: PG DISCLAIMER: Not mine.  Wish they were, might be someday – if I inherit them somehow. THANKS: Lieutenant and Dis, my beta Diva-Nazis! (Don’t ask, it’s a VERY VERY long story) I pick up the phone and promptly hang it up again.  C’mon, Mal, do this.  You can, it’s not like this is your first time breaking up with a guy, you’ve been through the motions. Actually, they usually break up with you first, but that’s not the point. And I find myself arguing with myself and referring to myself in the second person more and more often.  It’s one thing to refer in the third person, but second is more unusual… And now I’m lecturing myself on third-grade grammar.  Instead of just picking up the damn phone and getting it over with.  Go figure. So finally I do.  Dial the phone, that is.  And I listen until his answering machine picks up. Damn.  You can’t break up with someone over the answering machine, that’s like rule number one of breaking up.  Number two is not to do it as you’re running to the plane, number three is never to combine one and two.  “H-Hey, Rich, it’s me…” And then I hear his voice.  So he WAS home.  “Hey, Honey.” “Hey, how are you?”  Smooth, Mallory, you saw him two hours ago. “Good, you okay?  You sound distracted?” “Yeah…” “The Seaborn guy?  You saw him at the concert?” “Yeah, but that’s not…I mean, that’s not why I’m sorta outta it right now.” “Then what’s wrong?” “Nothing, I -  We have to break up, Rich.”  I hear a thud.  “What was that?” “What?  Oh, I…I was walking as I talked to you and I just, sorta, ah, tripped.” Go figure. He’s even klutizer than Sam.  “You…you heard what I said?” “Yeah.  That’s why I tripped.  Mallory, Honey…what’s wrong?  Did I say something?  Do something?  Use the wrong fork at dinner?  Anything…Please tell me what I did.” “It’s not a specific thing, Rich, it’s just…Things between us don’t work.”  Why’d you say that, you KNOW he’s gonna ask for examples… “Like what things?” Damn.  “Just…I don’t know, it’s just not working, and I’m very sorry and you’re a very nice guy, but…” “Yeah.  I get it.” “I’m sorry…” “Okay.  I understand…”  He sounds like a wounded puppy…I hate when that happens… “Maybe we’ll see each other around…” “Yeah.  You know how to find the ice arena.” “Yeah.”  An awkward silence, imagine that.  “Bye, Rich.” “Bye.”  And he hangs up. There.  Was that so hard? I feel like scum. He sounded so sad, so heartbroken, like he wanted any explanation of what he did wrong, of why I didn’t love him anymore…When it truth it wasn’t him, not at all…It was Sam.  It was me.  It was the fact that Sam had gotten to me again and I knew that and we worked better than Richard and I ever did.  I hate hockey, I don’t have the slightest interest in it.  But it was one of those guys, where you go along with it because you think maybe it’ll work, even though you know deep down it won’t.  Whereas politics…I could understand, I could argue, I could debate… Which was another thing.  Richard and I didn’t fight, it was just he backed down for me, agreed with whatever I said.  And while I know people who would love that…I don’t want to be the czar, I don’t want a man who’s just subordinate to me entirely.  Sam and I…we fight, we argue, we debate.  And I love every minute of it.  Point and counterpoint…I think I should’ve been a lawyer, I really do.  ‘Cept I love kids, so there’s a perk of teaching.  And in a law office I doubt the people give you lots of presents and drawings and share with you all their hopes and dreams. Just a guess. And so here I am.  Broken up with Richard Anderchuck, and trying to get up the nerve to call Sam Seaborn. Boy, this is a fun night.