Note: Only this first part is told in Prof. Membranes POV. The rest will be from Dib and Gaz. Yes, this is an INCREDIBLY short beginning, but I had to get this idea down before it slipped off.


Smile. Nod. Assure them you understand. Of course, it happens all the time.

No. Not to my family. Not to my daughter.

Professor Ivan Membrane touched his forehead to the one-way glass window, looking in as a weasely, smarmy therapist tried to get a response from Gaz, but all he got was a hateful glare and threats of horrible doom. He'd learned to keep his distance--that any approach closer than four feet meant a tantrum beyond comprehension.

In the adjoining room, a second therapist sat with Dib. The boy avidly poured out all his knowledge on aliens and paranormal studies, recalling detailed bits of information most would miss. Membrane shook his head sadly. Such a waste.

His attention was recaptured as Gaz's therapist entered with a pen and notepad. "Professor, hello." He flashed a syrupy smile. Membrane steeled himself and responded with practiced politeness.


The smile drooped slightly. "Well, I'm a bit surprised you didn't bring her in sooner."

"What are you talking about? This is the first opening I've had in my schedule for months."

"No no no, I mean, I'm surprised you didn't bring her in when she was younger." At the Professor's confused look, the man pushed his glasses up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You didn't notice the symptoms before?"

Alarm rising, he grated, "Symptoms?"

Wordlessly, the man handed over the legal pad. Membrane hesitated, unwilling to seal his daughter's fate with a label. But his gaze inevitably dropped to the scrawl that confirmed his fears.

This can't be happening to me.

He heard a second door open and close behind him, admitting Dib's psychologist. He already knew what she had to say, he'd known for years. Only now, it had a name. A label.

She began with her diagnosis and recommendation, but her voice seemed faint, distant. His eyes drifted back toward Gaz. Not us.