Technically, Dumas wasn’t supposed to stop watching the screens for any reason short of biological necessity.  But he trusted DEE to handle things for a few minutes.  Taking his time, he carefully studied the article Chester had produced.  Reading comprehension wasn’t one of Dumas’s strong points, nor was grasping new ideas, no matter how plainly they were phrased.  However, he wasn’t stupid.  By the time he’d finished his second pass through the text, its implications were clear to him.  Which probably explained the deep frown on his face.<br/><br/>In general, Dumas didn’t have a lot of regard for psychiatrists -- but that stemmed from his own personal (and very short) experience with one.<span style="font-style: italic"> No shit?  You really think I might have psychological scars from constantly being shot at and watching everyone around me get blown to bits?  That’s fucking amazing, Sherlock.  I can’t believe it only took eight years of medical school to teach you such an insightful diagnosis.  Now shut up and give me some goddamn drugs so I can sleep at night.</span><br/><br/>But as far as Dumas knew, Mari had never seen combat, so she wasn’t suffering from that sort of post traumatic stress. He ailment was unfamiliar to him.  And when Dumas couldn’t rely on personal experience, he reluctantly yielded to the experts.  “It does sound familiar,” Dumas conceded.  “But do you really think she’s--?”  Unable to say the word ‘crazy’, Dumas left his sentence unfinished.  Then he shook his head.  “Anyway, it’s no good guessing.  We need more information.  We need to find out where she goes and what she does.”<br/><br/>At that moment, a flurry of activity on one of the screens caught Dumas’s attention.  “Oh look,” he muttered, grateful for the distraction.  “Your boyfriend’s here.”  Dumas disliked White.  In his opinion, the DJ was far too full of himself, for far too little reason.  Pride was fine when accompanied by a useful skill, like hacking computers or snapping a man’s neck with your bare hands.  But when you thought you were god’s gift to the universe just because you had a talent for spinning records, then that was just being an arrogant dick.  So Dumas rather enjoyed Chester’s efforts to fluster White.  Hell, he’d flirt with the little crumpet himself, if he could bring himself to flirt with anyone.