From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Fri, 07 Jan 2000 03:03:49 GMT
Subject: New: Flying under the radar (1 of 7)

TITLE:       Flying under the Radar (Part 1 of 7)
AUTHOR:  Tesla
RATING:    NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Other
KEYWORDS:  None
ARCHIVE:  Okay-dokey
SPOILERS:  None
DISCLAIMERS:  Oh, please. As if.

"Biogenesis" and the whole seventh season never existed, in this universe.

Special thanks to Emerex for Super!Beta


"I'm glad you don't have a lot of chest hair," she said, stroking his
shoulder. He grunted, non-commentally, and fished between them for the
remote. "No, really, Mulder."

He changed the channel. "Ah ha! I knew you had Fox Sports." He carefully
balanced the remote on the back of the couch, and leaned back into her arms.
"You can keep rubbing my neck-oops," he shifted and felt on the floor, "My
beer-thanks." Slowly, wriggling, he moved until the back of his head rested
on her shoulder. Patiently, she kept her hands raised, until he was settled.
He held the bottom of the beer bottle on one of her knees and the fist with
the remote on the other. "Now, if neither of us has to pee or eat, I'm all
set," he told her.

"Glad to hear it," she said, scratching his chest through the sweatshirt.
"The thing is, that after years of observation of topless men-"

"Ooh, you hussy-"

"-observations obtained at the swimming pool, I have observed that most men
with attractive chest hair usually have unattractive back hair. Ecch."

He was silent. "Jerry Seinfeld. He didn't have any back hair. On the episode
when he shaved his chest?"

"We didn't see his back on that one.  George Costanza."

"Tom Selleck."

"I didn't think he stripped on 'Friends.'"

"I refer to the classic 'Magnum, P. I.' And I know you watch the reruns."

"I bet all those actors put Nair on their backs. Robin Willliams."

"Brrr. Can we talk about something else?"

"I just though I would mention it, since I saw you admiring yourself in the
mirror."

She felt his head bounce on her collarbone, as he craned up at her. "I was
scratching my chest. Those mosquito bites itch."

"No one told you to stake out a swamp. You told me yourself, you were just
closing old files. Without your partner, I might add. And, you were
checking out your chest." She flattened her hands on his shoulders. "A very
nice one, too. I was just saying, I don't miss a lot of chest hair."

He put down the beer, and covered her hand with his. "Thank you. I think.
Can you stop saying chest hair? For two educated professionals, we talk
about some gross-" He belched, suddenly. "Ah, hell." She was shaking with
laughter. "Stop laughing. I can see your nose hair from here, you know. We
can talk about nose hair."

"You don't need to talk about noses-"she was interrupted by ringing of a
cell phone, and stopped laughing.

"I thought I turned that off, " he mutters. "Could be the guys." He swung
his feet to the floor, and, stood up, reaching for the jacket slung over a
rocking chair. "Mulder."  He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I am doing something.
No, I looked at that file yesterday. Naah. That's okay. Look, I'll see you-
 He paused, and gave the woman on the couch a grimace she couldn't
understand. She wrinkled her forehead back at him. "Thanks, Scully, but I've
got plans. I appreciate it. I'll see you Monday." He clicked off the phone,
and carefully turned it off before tossing it on top of the jacket. "Scully
wanted to know if I saw a report of supernatural statues at a church in
Maryland. What did I do with my beer?" He picked up the bottle and lay back
down. "You got to love it. When I work weekends, I don't have a life. When
she wants to work-what's so funny?"

"Maybe she just wanted to spend a little time with you. A little X-file, a
little home-cooking, a little wine.look where it got me."

"Yeah, it's your cooking.  That's it. And the fact that you live one block
away." He rolled over and tugged on her t-shirt, mumbling all the while.
"Six years she acts like I'm Dale Cooper on 'Twin Peaks' and then suddenly
she wants my opinion on Catholic phenomena."

She let him pull her shirt off. "Well, remember the line from 'Moonstruck.'
You don't shit where you eat."

"They should have remembered that on 'Moonlighting.' Why are you rolling
your eyes?"

"Do we watch entirely too much television?"

"We can't help it, we're brainwashed. Hardwired." He shifted. "Speaking of
hard."

"Oh, Agent Mulder. Is that your gun?"




TITLE: Flying under the Radar (Part 2 of 7)
AUTHOR: Tesla

"It was funny how we met"

If she had known she was going to be mugged, Janet wouldn't have worn her
best suit. Of course, she had been to federal court in the District, and she
had thought that meeting the new judge was going to be the vital part of the
day. Which only showed that her Filofax was lacking an important listing:
personal encounters with criminal defendants, as opposed to professional
encounters.


She pulled up in front of her building, managing to park under the
streetlight. It was already late, and misting. She tried to pop the trunk
latch, and belatedly remembered that one of the other lawyers had advised
that deactivating the interior trunk latch would keep her from losing
everything in an auto B & E.  Janet fished her keys out of her purse, and
went to get her box of files.

The man grabbed her arm and purse strap. She let him have the purse, but he
kept pulling on her.  He wanted to---he threw a punch at her, and she
dodged; he kicked her shins, and she felt her feet sliding out from under
her.  Her hands slapped hard at him as she regained her balance. Fear, or
adrenaline was driving her breath out of her throat in sobs, and she
clutched at the trunk lid, slipping as it swung shut. She snatched at the
keys, and they came away in her hand. There was no time to get them in her
hand as a weapon, as the man smacked her hard across the face, still trying
to grab her.

"Get in the car, bitch," the man panted.  She threw the keys as far away as
she could, and when he turned his head to see, drove her knee into his
groin. He grunted, letting her go; but her momentum had caused her to fall
on her knees. For a frozen moment she was still scrambling to get away, and
he was still grabbing at her-

"Freeze, asshole." Followed by the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.
Asshole froze, and she froze. "You. Down. On your belly. Spread 'em. Wider!
Let me see your hands on your head. Good. Now hold the right one-


She sat up in the road to see a plainclothes cop, with one large dress shoe
in the middle of the mugger's back, closing his cuffs. He pulled his suit
coat down over his now holstered pistol, and turned to her.  "Hey," he said,
crouching beside her. "How you doin'?"

She swallowed. "I never thought I'd want to kiss a cop." She dimly
recognized him-- the runner from next door?

He grinned. "Well, you're still good-I'm only FBI. Can you stand up?" He put
one hand under her forearm. She gripped his sleeve, and re-discovered her
legs. He held onto her arm, while pulling a cell phone out of his pocket
with the other hand. "We'll just call APD, and get them to come get this
guy. You'll probably have to go sign some papers at the station-probably
take a couple of hours." He punched in-she assumed-911. "This is special
agent Fox Mulder. I'm outside Hegel Place Apartments. In the street-I've got
a mugger cuffed and ready for you. Thanks. No, we don't need the
 paramedics?" He raised his eyebrows at her. She shook her head. "No.
Thanks." He closed the phone. "Hey, that's not nice." This last to the
mugger, who was cursing them both.

An awful suspicion occurred to her. She staggered on unsteady feet to the
mugger and took a good look at him. "Freaky C, " she said, feeling her face
flush. This time, the emotional jolt was rage.

The mugger slowly turned his head. "Oh shi-iit. Miz Durrell."

The fed stepped up, grinning. "Well, that's interesting. You two know each
other?"

"I represented him in juvenile court."

Mulder started laughing. "This'll get you on America's dumbest criminals,
pal. Mugging your own lawyer!"

"No, really, Miz Durrell, I swear I didn't know you! I swear!"

"I should kick you until you're dead. And you know what? Big Cornelius is in
the City Jail right now. I just left him an hour ago. I'm going to make sure
he knows you jumped me!" In an aside to the agent, she said
conversationally, "Big Cornelius is about seven feet tall. He likes me."
Back to Freaky C, "How about that? Cornelius won't like it if his case gets
put off because you hurt me."

"Miz Durrell, I just wanted to jack you car! You know I don't jump women!"

"Yeah, tell it to your new lawyer. Who'll have to come from another office,
'cause none of the City or County defenders can take you. And you know what?
You looked like you resisted arrest. This is a fed. That makes it a federal
charge." Oh, she really could kick him. Her foot twitched at the thought.

Mulder looked even more amused. "You know, I can go back to my car if you
want to have a private talk. Explain his rights."

"What I want," she said abruptly, "is tequila. Several shots of tequila."
She remembered something. "And my car keys."

Mulder swiveled scanning the pavement. "I think I saw-let me go get my
flashlight out of the car." But the headlights of the approaching police car
forestalled him.

To her dismal non-surprise, she knew the cops, and they, of course, knew
Freaky C. But what did surprise her, was that they knew Agent Mulder. He
held his hands up in mock innocence as Officer Archer glared at him. "Hey, I
was just going home. I don't know them. But could I get my cuffs back?"

Archer transferred his glare to Janet. "Janet, don't we give you enough
business without you drumming it up? And stay away from this fed, here.
There've been more dead bodies in his building than even I can remember."

The other cop was exchanging cuffs. "Hey, Sarge, this here's Freaky C.
Freaky, didn't you just make bond?"

Janet leaned against the side of her car, watching Mulder walking around
with his flashlight pointed to the street. Not only good looking, but
helpful. She transferred her gaze to the policeman. "Can I come down in the
morning, Sarge? I really can't focus. Freaky claims he didn't know it was
me, but he jumped me and tried to pull me into the car. I can make a better
statement in the morning."

"Some defense lawyer, " Mulder said, coming up to her, with her keys and
purse dangling from his hand. "She wants me to say he resisted arrest and
pop him with a felony. Here's your keys, and your purse."

She took them. "He's got a felony," she said grimly. "These guys'll tell you
I ain't that liberal."

 Archer grinned. "Okay, both of you. Come down after two-thirty, tomorrow. I
'll take your statements then. See? I'm a nice guy. It's Friday. Go get a
drink."

They watched the cops bundle Freaky into the car and drive away.

"So you were saying about tequila?" he asked blandly.

"Sure. And I always buy for men who save my life."  She rubbed her face, and
looked down at her knees. "What a tribute to Leggs Sheer Energy. No runs,"
she murmured. She looked up at his laughing face.
"In the movies, you know, we would be at the bar, licking each other's necks
instead of salt. But in reality, we're damp, and in my case," she added
savagely, brushing at her formerly best suit, " covered with motor oil,
 and."

"Wearing our office clothes.  And wondering where to go get drunk, and who
would drive. And what were you saying about necks?"

She flexed her stiff fingers and rotated her head. "I wish I could be coy.
Just once in my life. But the truth is, escaping death makes me horny. If I
didn't want a drink so badly, I could do you in the car right now."

"Please don't be joking," he said, staring.

"I've been admiring your ass for years." She pointed to her apartment
building. "I live next door. I see you out running all the time." She looked
up. "Special Agent Mulder, it's starting to rain. What do you want to do?"

He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "I'll drive. I don't mind a little
motor oil. Are you the type of woman who gets affectionate when she drinks?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hell, yes. Which is why I usually drink alone."


And that's how Janet started sleeping with an FBI agent.



Flying under the radar (3 of 7)
By Tesla

"We reeked of sex for days"

Special  Agent Fox Mulder was having a very good Monday morning. He could
hardly stand up, and he was sure he had a shit-eating grin on his face, but
he felt great. He couldn't remember when he had felt this-satisfied. Yep,
there was definitely something to be said about getting some.

He had been prepared for Janet to be kidding him. On the way to the
neighborhood Mexican grill, he found himself explaining, in all sincerity,
how the fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline caused a mild sexual rush.  Janet
was inspecting her face in the visor make-up mirror. "It's really a common
occurrence," he concluded.

She snorted. "Well, that gives me a whole new picture of federal law
enforcement." Her eyes slid sideways. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder, I won't
molest you."

"Damn."

"Not while we're eating."


They sat at the bar. "Is eating like a pig consistent with a victim
 profile?" she asked. He gave her a startled look. She lowered her forkful
of rice. "What, is it?"

"Kind of-I was just surprised because I used to be a profiler."

"Oh. Well, since Hazelwood and Douglas and Ressler all wrote their books, I
guess profiling just comes to mind. What do you do-if it isn't classified?
And does it have anything to do with all the dead bodies and the CDC crash
trucks that sealed off your building?"

He sat and looked at her for a moment. She held up her hands. "Never mind."

"No, that's okay-I just am involved with a lot of weird shit. Most of it is
so unbelievable that I don't try to explain it. " His cell phone rang.
"Mulder. Hi, Frohike. Wait a second." He stood up. "Excuse me for a moment,
okay?"
She nodded, mouth full. Mulder walked to the end of the bar and towards the
restroom. "Hey, Frohike, can you check out somebody? A lawyer here in
Alexandria-named Janet Durrell."

Frohike laughed. "Way ahead of you, my man. I picked your names off the
police scanners. They thought someone else had got shot in your apartment.
They don't like you, Mulder." He heard Byers say something in the
background. "Yeah, its him. Byers says she's clean-no connection with any of
our friends. Owns her apartment as part of her fee on a big civil case. But
she does criminal defense. Family all lives in North Carolina.  Single. Does
this mean the luscious Dr. Scully is available?"

"She's always been available, Melvin. She likes you more than she does me,
anyway."

"That's your fault, Mulder."

Mulder shut off the phone without further comment. He put it in his pocket.
It's always my fault, he thought bitterly. The whole fucking world is my
fault.

Janet looked up at him when he slid back on the barstool. Her expression
changed, out of one of faint annoyance into one of inquiry. "What?" she
asked quietly, pushing her platter out of the way.

"Nothing. It's been a shitty day. If you're done, can I have your burrito?"
She silently pushed the food to him, and signaled the bartender. Mulder took
two bites, and turned back to her. "It's been a shitty year."

The bartender was in front of them. "Top shelf margarita, no salt, on the
rocks for me." She looked at Mulder.

"The same," he said.

"Doubles," Janet told the bartender. "Run a tab." She tapped her credit card
on the bar. "So you do unbelievable shit and hate your job."

"I don't hate it. I don't see the point of it any more." He looked down at
the glass that had materialized in front of him, and took a big gulp. "This
is a bad idea." He didn't realize that he had said it aloud, until she
smiled.

Janet held out her hand. "Gimme a quarter." Mulder blinked, but played along
and pulled a handful of change out of his trouser pocket. She picked a
quarter out of his palm. "Okay. You've just retained me. I can't tell a
living soul anything you say to me. What's wrong?"

Mulder swallowed. "The kind of work I do got my father killed, and my
partner's sister killed. My partner is recovering from cancer, but she's
sterile. My sister was abducted when we were kids, and I didn't see her for
twenty-five years. I spent years looking for her, and when I found her
alive, she didn't want to have a relationship with me. " He took another
drink. "My partner thinks-my partner thinks-" he stopped. "That's why I don'
t talk about my job."

Janet took a deep breath. "Well, even though we're probably not going to be
friends  if I pursue this, I'll just say what I think. How is any of this
your fault?"

He stared at her. "I'm the psychologist here." His drink had mysteriously
refilled, and he drank it.

"Well, excuse me, but I haven't had time to run a background check on you."
He flinched at background check, and she ignored him. You may have the
degree, but you aren't practicing, are you? And you certainly aren't-"

"It's completely my fault. I started the investigations that made-"

She overrode his voice. "Could you have prevented these from happening? No?
Well, would you have done everything in your power to stop them if you
could?"
She handed him her glass.  He drank it, staring sulkily at her. Why the hell
was he having this conversation with this total stranger? She put her hand,
fleetingly, on his. "Work with me here."

He gave her a half-embarrassed look. "I'm a morose bastard. That's my other
problem. Why do you care?"

"You're my hero. You saved me from a bad situation. And I really don't want
to think about what Freaky would have done if he'd gotten me in the car."
She looked at her watch. "If you can drive, we can get home in time to watch
Plan Nine from Outer Space."

"I can drive, " he said. "You're the one who's supposed to be drinking. And
Freaky probably would have been horribly embarrassed and let you go."

"Well, stop at the liquor store up the street," she said equably. "I'll
drink at home."
She picked up her purse. "And Freaky would have raped and killed me and
never known the difference. But I bow to your superior experience." She
swallowed, hard, but her chin trembled.

"Don't try to be too tough, Counselor," Mulder said gently, rubbing her
upper arm.


Back her place-a very nice place, Mulder thought, remembering Frohike's
words-Janet turned on the television. "I've got to take off this suit. You
really don't have to stay-you don't look comfortable."

Mulder opened his mouth to say goodbye, and found himself saying, "I'll
stay. Let me go get my gym bag out of my car, though." She handed him the
apartment key.

"Let yourself in. If I'm in the shower, for God's sake don't do the Psycho
bit. I'll have a stroke."

She was in the shower when he came back up the stairs, and after a moment's
hesitation, he took his bag into the bedroom and changed into his sweats.
Jesus, I haven't been in a woman's bedroom in years, he thought. No one but
his partner had even touched him for years. And as far as Scully went, she
acted like he was-he jumped as the door opened.

"Gosh, I was hoping you weren't decent," Janet said. She was wearing a baggy
sweatshirt and leggings. She eyed his sweatshirt logo. "There's a Knicks
game on right now, if you'd prefer." She had the bottle of tequila in one
hand and an empty shot glass in the other. "Shot?" She filled the glass.

He took the glass from her and drank it down. "You're really a little upset
over tonight, aren't you? Go ahead, you're entitled."

She refilled the glass. "That's why I'm acting this way. I'm extremely
upset." She swallowed the tequila, and looked up. Her eyes were bright with
unshed tears. "I'm very very upset." And she sniffled.
Mulder took the glass out of her hand. "Come on. Let's watch tv. I know what
it's  like. Living alone sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" He put his arm around
her shoulders and led her into the living room." The Knicks were playing.

Janet gave a watery chuckle. "Oh, go ahead. You're wearing their
 sweatshirt."
She sat down on the couch and patted it. "Just give me back my glass."

"Give me another shot, " Mulder said, turning up the volume. "This could be
a good game."


Mulder jolted awake hours later. ESPN was showing some California game;
Janet was nestled drowsily against his chest, and he was as stiff as a
board.
He was still assimilating this information, when Janet stirred. "I was
wondering when you'd wake up," she murmured. She shifted in his arms and
laved her tongue against his neck, and put her hand on his erection.

"Will you respect me in the morning? " Mulder asked, "Will you call me, or
will I have to follow you around the lunchroom-" Janet straddled him, and
put her tongue in his mouth. He put his own hand in her leggings. She was
wet. She kept stroking his cock until he shoved her on her back. Grinning at
him, she pulled off her leggings and sweatshirt while he pulled off his
sweatpants.  She was holding out a condom. "Lubricated and ribbed. And
EZ-tear.  I'm impressed." After rolling on the condom (and happily not
ripping it) he crawled back on top of her, and fumbled around between her
legs, searching for her opening. "Jesus, you're tight."

She laughed. "It's been so long, I think I was revirginized." He pushed
inside her and they both gasped.

"You're lucky I remember how to do this," he said, beginning to stroke her
clit. "I haven't-" She wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Oh, I'm lucky, " she said faintly. "Oh God-there-Yes. There," and she
suddenly came hard, bucking against him and causing him to come. He
collapsed against her, slick with sweat. She held him tightly, and kissed
the side of his jaw. He squeezed her, hard. He thought his eyes were
crossing.

"Let me clean up, " he said, "and lets go watch the bedroom television." He
leaned on his elbows and looked into her dark eyes. "I had a clever remark,
but I forgot it."

She smiled at him. "Let's go to bed."


To his surprise, Mulder fell into a deep and dreamless slumber. He awoke
while it was still dark, to find Janet's leg slung over his thighs, her
breast pressed against his arm. He rolled over and parted her legs, running
his fingers over her clit and putting a finger inside. She woke with what he
could only call an ecstatic gasp.

"You're a machine," she said. "But let me." And she bent and took his
rapidly hardening erection into her mouth.

He decided to let his eyes stay crossed.



"Mulder?" Scully's voice came to him. He realized that he had been sitting
and staring at his computer screen for quite some time. He gave her his
usual deadpan, affectless expression.

"Oh, morning, Scully."

"I didn't hear from you all weekend," she said, a little sharply.  "Which
was a nice change, of course, but were you all right?

"Scully," he said, picking up a file, "I'm just fine."




Flying under the radar (4 of 7)
By Tesla



The inevitable reaction set in that afternoon. What had he done this
weekend? Over and over again. He understood that one part of his brain was
giving the automatic "Danger, Will Robinson", telling him to reject Janet
before she could reject him. And another part kept saying, "Scully. She's
not Scully."

She's not Scully.

But he had to face it. He couldn't have Scully.

He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach, and quickly looked up
to make sure his partner was still out of the office. He randomly opened a
thick file from his "in" box and pretended to read it, in case she came
back.

He could never have Scully. His subconscious had been telling him that for
weeks. Months; it wasn't a new idea. She thought he had won. She'd told him
so, and she plainly wanted him to come up with a new list of goals, a new
plan of how to mop up the consortium, or at the very least, a new list of
unexplained case files, chock full of mutants and liverflukes. "Move
on,Mulder" seemed to be her unspoken thought.  He couldn't move on. He still
wanted to see his sister. He still wanted to know why she had been taken,
and why Cancerman had raised her.

(And why hadn't Samantha ever tried to find him? And why had she ignored him
for two years? One torment at a time, he told himself.)

Scully had recovered her health, but not, apparently, any inclination to let
him into her life outside work. She wasn't going anywhere; she wasn't
leaving the X-Files or their professional partnership, but she wasn't
getting any closer, either. The baseball thing--months ago. He was tired of
making up X-files, just to have an excuse to talk to her on Friday night.
Tired of making jokes and playing the obsessed victim of a global
conspiracy. The gunmen were tired of him--look how they had called _Scully_
to come to Las Vegas.

Scully.

He couldn't think clearly, about her any more. Every thought he had of her
was freighted with so much guilt and pain and bitterness,  that he didn't
want to think of her at all.

Janet would tell him to get on Prozac, he thought. Janet didn't know how
truly fucked up he was. He took her business card out of his pocket. What
would she think about a guy who was so paranoid, he ran a background check
on a possible one-night stand? What would she think if he told her about
just one of his regular work-months? Well, she read science fiction. She
even had it in the bathroom.

Janet. who wasn't Scully, who was the opposite of Scully, who laughed at all
of his jokes, and watched ESPN and bad movies with him, and didn't start a
sentence with "But Mulder, the evidence..." The one with the longer legs and
the bigger breasts, who fucked his brains out. Who didn't seem to regard him
as an encumbrance, or an idiot or a traitor to her cause. Who fucked his
brains out.

Okay, he told his id. You win. We'll see how long it takes to totally
alienate this lady.  Then I'll probably have to move, before she sends Big
Cornelius after me.







Flying under the radar (5 of 7)
By Tesla

"We hung out and watched a lot of television."


When Janet woke up, sometime in the night, she was alone. Opening her eyes,
she saw Mulder silhouetted against the window, staring out into the night.
The faint light from the street softened all the sharp planes of his face
and hid the lines on his forehead.

God, he was gorgeous. It was so easy to be good to him, because he was so
grateful for any uncritical attention, and so receptive to being touched. He
was unaware of how he seemed to crave even a little affection. Janet
wondered what kind of women he had known. Why hadn't his partner knocked him
down and ravished that mouth?

The first few times they had sex, it was hot, sweaty and urgent. Not very
romantic. But tonight, she had felt a wash of tenderness coloring her every
touch, her every word to him.  As though they had been lovers for a long
time.

He had come over straight from his car; he had walked across the street, and
taken her briefcase out of her hand. "Buy you dinner?" he asked, carefully
casual.

"Only if you really want to. I'd rather cook spaghetti; I've been craving it
all day."

He gave her a big smile. "Sure. I'd love to eat spaghetti."

As they walked to her building foyer, she said, "You know, if you want to go
for a run and come back and eat, that's cool."

He gave her a surprised look. "Maybe later this week, if that's okay. I kind
of wanted to hang out, if you don't care."

(What could she say, that wouldn't betray her sudden pity for him?)"Care? I
thought you realized I'm a couch potato. Potato Anonymous member: 'My name
is Janet and I watch Cops.' "


He had gone straight to her bedroom to hang up his jacket and tie, and
unlace his thick, trendy dress shoes. While she shucked off her suit, she
heard the small noises of his holster, wallet, keys, badge, coins, and cuffs
clinking on the dresser. She went to him, and pulled his face to hers for a
kiss. She kissed his lips, both eyelids, and his jaw. Then she hugged him,
hard. "What's that for?" he asked, hugging her in return.

"No reason, " she said. She broke away, and finished changing clothes. "Now
I gotta cook. Come open the wine?"


Now, watching his brooding profile, Janet felt a strong distaste for every
idiotic so-called friend Mulder had.  It wasn't as though she had a
multitude of her friends in the metro area, but she had more than he did.
Even if they were all lawyers or cops, she thought with an inward laugh.

She got out of bed and slid an arm around his waist. He leaned into her; his
face still turned outward. "I'd like to go where we could see the stars,' he
said quietly.

She stroked his back. "I'd like that. You can't see them here." She yawned,
despite herself. "I went to an Astronomy Society program and saw the comet.
In fact, we could see the comet from the sidewalk. Remember?"

He looked down at her and gave her his slow, wide smile. "I forgot to look.
My friend Frohike went to the same program you did. He wanted me to go." He
put both arms around her. "I don't sleep well at night. I don't want to keep
you up."

"Come back to bed and turn on the television. It won't bother me. I'll put
my Walkman on." At his short laugh, she explained, "I have insomnia, myself,
but I usually listen to NPR all night. I sleep with it."

"So that's why you have the headphones under your pillow."

"Yeah, but this bed has good mojo. I sleep pretty well. You have too, so
far."

He let her pull him back to bed. "Have I?"

"Well, if snoring is any indication." She was reaching for the television
remote, but he caught her wrist, stilling her.

"Let's listen to the radio. Classical music has a soporific effect on me,
too."

"Yes, it's amazing how sophisticated we both are." She leaned across him and
switched on her boom box. "It's what attracted me to you."

"I thought you liked my ass," he yawned. She began slowly stroking his
shoulders and back. "Ooh-I like that. You can do that all night."

"I could tell you were sophisticated from your ass, alone." She felt her own
eyes getting heavy. He turned under her stroking hand, and put his arm
around her waist.

"I'm good. Go to sleep."






























Flying under the Radar (6 of 7)
By Tesla

"Scully was surprised."


Mulder hadn't been reading the Weekly World News lately, thought Scully,
because he didn't find an X-File to investigate that week. He had sat at his
desk, the picture of a model department head, and gone through a stack of
case files, and  making his comments. The only case he had found of enough
interest to mention was one of a serial killer in New York State with
similarities to an UNSUB from Canada. It wasn't an X-File, he told Scully,
just a little "hinky." That was Tuesday; he spent Wednesday and Thursday in
silent contemplation of the lab reports, while Scully finished entering her
autopsy reports into the FBI database.

It was almost like being a normal agent, back in the bullpen, except Mulder
actually did his assigned work. He was still there in the basement office
when she got in every morning, but he didn't look like he had spent the
night and showered in the gym. These signs of responsible behavior made
Scully feel suspicious.

Maybe the Gunmen have him involved in something off the clock, she thought.
That would explain his placid behavior at work-he was cooking up something
disgusting. Well, she would just get some personal time in, before he
dragged her to: (a) a haunted fish cannery, (b) a restricted government
research area, or (c) Graceland.

"Mulder," she said.

He looked up, blinking owlishly over his reading glasses.

"Since you don't have anything you need me to autopsy, I think I'll take a
half-day tomorrow, and get a head-start on the weekend."

"Sure, Scully," Mulder said, and went back to sorting crime photos. "You don
't take enough time off."

"Oh, this from the man who was forced to go on vacation."

"True, but I never said I was normal," he said, pleasantly enough. He looked
up from a particularly grisly photo. "Take the whole day, if you like.
Skinner will be thrilled and delighted."

She frowned. "Skinner? Why?"

"He said we were building up too much vacation time again or something.
Throwing off the statistical average is apparently the new no-no. So have a
nice weekend." He found the picture he wanted, and bent back over the file.

"Okay, Mulder. I'll see you Monday, then."

He waved goodbye without looking up.

So here she was on a nice Friday evening, after a day shopping at Georgetown
Mall, going into her favorite new restaurant to meet two girlfriends. She
still felt vaguely dissatisfied about her day away from work. You're just
worried Mulder will ruin it, she told herself. It's been so long that you've
had a life, you don't know what to do with yourself.

The restaurant had a large, central bar, surrounded by booths and tables.
Although the bar had the usual television screens, complete with baseball,
the effect wasn't distracting, and the sound wasn't audible where she was
sitting; instead, she could hear Fifties jazz. Scully settled back on the
padded bench with a pleased sigh, and ordered a glass of California Shiraz.
"My friends won't be here for about thirty minutes, "she told the waiter.
"But I'll go ahead and look at the menu."

Scully alternated sips of wine with glances around the room, which was just
beginning to fill up with the happy hour crowd. She thought she saw a
familiar post-modern haircut, and did a double take.

Mulder.

He was at the bar, tieless, but wearing his jacket. So he had left early,
too. There was no way he could have followed her-no, that was too weird,
even for her partner. She leaned back, studying him.

It was odd to watch him while he was unaware of her presence. He was
squinting up at the baseball game, making some comment to another barfly.
She was a little surprised to note that he quite match up to her mental
picture of "Mulder."  She still thought of him as wiry, but he was really a
very solidly built man. Not a young man, any more. He was going to be
thirty-eight next month.  And his haircut exposed a receding hairline and a
lot of facial lines that hadn't been there when they met.  That was
strange-she could compare her new-agent self to the present and feel happy.
She looked the best she had in her life, despite the abductions, Melissa's
death, the cancer, and the New York gunshot wound. Mulder was the one who
looked aged. Don't start feeling sorry for Mulder, of all people, she
thought firmly.

Before she could pursue that idea, the bartender moved, and she realized
that Mulder was not alone. Very much not alone. Some blonde bimbette with
large breasts was leaning on his every word, pointing to the television
screen, and laughing.  Mulder pretended to flick the woman on the nose, and
she swatted his hand. What was this, his pick-up place?

Scully told herself that she was annoyed because Mulder was making a fool of
himself, and that she resented his intrusion into "her" territory. Maybe I
could meet the others at the door and go somewhere else, she was thinking,
when Mulder pulled out his wallet and tossed a bill on the bar. He and his
date stood up, and came towards her. He put his arm around the woman as they
walked out.

Scully didn't know why she leaned back in her booth and pretended to study
the menu, when Mulder didn't even see her. He was laughing at something the
blonde said.  "You are truly twisted," he was saying, still laughing, and
then they were out the front door and walking down the sidewalk.

Oh, God, Scully thought, he's answered a personal ad.



Flying under the Radar (7 of &)
By Tesla

"But there's always something."


Janet was deeply involved with her leaking tire. "Is that code for something
kinky?" Mulder asked hopefully.

She snorted into the phone. "No. I stopped by Wal-Mart and bought a tire
gauge. I think I bought a defective tire, so I'm going to check it for a few
days before I go in and threaten Goodyear."

"And I thought I lived life on the edge. Do you want to walk over to the
coffee shop? Unless you want to sit beside your car and take hourly checks."

"Sure. We can go now."

"Meet you outside."


Outdoors, Mulder pretended that he wasn't supervising. "Admit it," Janet
said, wiping her fingers off on a tissue, " It's genetic. Males don't think
women can do anything with a car." She dropped the gauge into her shirt
pocket.

Mulder wrinkled his forehead. "Have you actually changed a flat tire?"

"No," she said reluctantly.

"And that would be because."

"Somebody has always taken the tire iron out of my hand and finished. "

"Some man."

"No, actually, three girls going to play church softball changed my tire
once. I must send out waves of incompetence."

Mulder laughed, and they stepped back on the sidewalk to go to the coffee
shop. They had gone around the corner of his apartment building, and she was
telling him about her latest stupid criminal nominee, when a man in a
leather jacket slid between two Dumpsters, and  accosted them.

"Krycek," Mulder said. He stepped away from Janet, his face cold and hard,
and his entire body stiffening.

The other man smiled. "That's not very friendly, Mulder. I came to do you a
favor." He made a slight motion, and Mulder hit him. The two scuffled,
"Krycek" clubbing at Mulder with a stiff left arm, and Mulder getting his
hands around the other man's throat.

The two had moved in their struggles, so that Krycek had Mulder against the
Dumpster, a gun pressed to his neck. "I wanted to give you-" He stopped, as
Janet pressed the end of the tire gauge into the base of his skull.

"Give Mulder the gun," she said. "And don't bump my arm. This thing goes
off-"
But Krycek had silently placed the small gun in Mulder's hand, still pressed
against him.

"Step back to the sidewalk," Mulder told her. He pushed Krycek away. "You
wanted to give me what?" Janet stopped at the street and watched.

"An address," Krycek said. "It's in my pocket."

"Slowly," Mulder said. His voice was cold, but his face was still flushed.
He watched Krycek pull a slip of yellow paper out of his right pocket. For
the first time, Janet realized that Krycek had an artificial left arm. A
one-armed man? I'm with Richard Kimble?

"Drop it on the ground, here. " Mulder said. He put his foot over the
fluttering slip.
"Why-" Janet didn't see any distraction or flicker of Mulder's eyes, but
Krycek must have; he suddenly kicked the gun out of Mulder's hand, knocked
Mulder down, and whirled to run. Janet froze, clutching the tire gauge.
Krycek looked at her hand, and he stilled, an extraordinary expression on
his face, even though Mulder was getting to his feet behind him.

"Be careful, little sister," he said. "Get rid of that. It can be traced."
And he ran, down the alleyway, Mulder after him.  Janet stood and stared,
her mouth open. She bent and picked up the paper; it had a Maryland address.
After a minute, she realized that Mulder wasn't coming back any time in the
next few minutes, and she walked back around Mulder's building and crossed
the street to her apartment.

No wonder Mulder didn't talk about his work; he was right. It was weird shit
no one would believe. Slavic names? One-armed men? Little Sister?  What the
hell was that about?

She had microwaved a tamale dinner and had eaten it before Mulder buzzed
her. (He always tried to use the Close Encounters musical sign.) She hit the
building lock, and went back to the couch. Mulder stomped in, face flushed
and haircut standing on end. He came over and sat next to her.

"Did you get that paper?" he asked, looking tired. "I lost him. " She
pointed to her coffee table, and he picked it up, glancing at the address.
He looked up, and suddenly grinned. "I'll never make fun of your tire gauge
again. " He picked it up from the table with his other hand.

"I thought he would think it was a gun, " she said, narrowing her eyes, "but
he thought it was something else."

"Yeah, he thought it was a pressurized stiletto. Very rare. Only the members
of a certain organization have them. And what was so perfect, was that you
put it exactly," he raised the gauge and put it on the base of her skull,
"here. Instant death."  He put it back on the table. "Priceless."

"Did you hear what he said to me?" she asked. His head came up sharply.

"What?" Mulder barked, all amusement gone. "He didn't know you, did he?"

"No-" she repeated Krycek's words. Mulder sat back, taking her left hand in
his, and tracing the lines in her palm. He blinked, visibly processing the
information.

"You're safe," he said finally, squeezing your hand. "He was waiting for me,
because he knows where I live. He didn't know you." The corner of his mouth
twitched up. "And now he thinks you were a fellow traveler. If he wanted to
do anything to you, he wouldn't have bothered to warn you to get rid of the
stiletto."
He leaned back, beginning to chuckle. "I bet he almost shit when saw that
thing in your hand." He wiped a hand over his face, and sobered. Getting up,
he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and punched a number.

 "It's me. I just saw Krycek. No, he got away. But he left me an
address-yes, I know it could be a trap. That's why I'm calling. Well, I won'
t leave without you. That's why I called. Maryland. Not too far away. I don'
t think there's time to call a team. I'll meet you. I'm leaving." He closed
the phone. "I'm leaving," he repeated to Janet. He seemed defensive, as if
he expected her to argue.

She shrugged, looking up at him from where he stood in front of her. "Scully
's going with you?" He nodded. "Okay, G-man. Have fun in Maryland." She
stood up and put her arms around his neck. "Was I supposed to be crying
here? You seem like you have the situation under control."

Mulder kissed her. "Keep your tire gauge handy," he said, and gently removed
her arms from his neck. "Gotta go."


It was hours later. She was lying on her couch, slow tears leaking from her
eyes.  Had she said the right thing? Was this some kind of test? Maybe she
should have acted more concerned. He seemed to expect her to do something
else. "I'm not going to freak out," she said aloud. But oh, God, where was
he?

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"It was an empty house," Mulder said, without preamble. She heard car
noises. "I'll have to run some checks, see who owned it, that kind of thing.
"

"No bodies?"

"Naah, and here was Scully with her bag of saws.  I just dropped her off.
She's getting antsy. If she doesn't get to autopsy something soon---well."
He paused, and she heard the car radio playing Elvis. "I didn't want you to
worry," he said in a slightly different voice.  "I may go on over to Frohike
's place and get him to look at this address."

"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. "Well, I was just practicing my stiletto
technique. It's been a slow evening." Despite herself, she sniffled.

"Have you got a cold?" he teased. "Or were you watching Shakespeare in Love
again?"

"You--. It's the other way I cope with my flight-or-fight adrenaline rush."

"You weren't worried about me? Not the tough lawyer lady?" He paused again.
"You know, speaking of that adrenaline rush-I think I'll call Frohike about
that address. I'm having a delayed reaction."

She had to laugh. "How close are you?"

"Janet! Oh, you mean in miles?" She hung up on his chortle, and went to wash
the mascara streaks from her face.

"I guess I passed the test," she told her reflection.


End.


AUTHOR'S NOTES:  All my thanks to Emerex, who helped and encouraged me more
than I can express. She is my Super!Beta.






From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Fri, 03 Mar 2000 02:50:10 GMT
Subject: REPOST: Gaining Altitude (1/2) by Tesla

Title: Gaining Altitude (1/?)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip". Of course, in a real alternate universe, the Yankees would not have
won the Series. Or the pennant.
Archive: Sure, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone I knew.
Feedback: See above.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this,  HI!  I know a copyright
lawyer who said he'll defend us!

Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar"-I think that should be
read first. Or not. It's a free country.

THANKS to Emerex for holding my hand, and to Jill and Paula, who point out
that real women lawyers don't act like this.

"I want you to sweep my friend's apartment for bugs, " Mulder told Frohike.
"Just in case." He gave the other man a bland stare.

It didn't work. Frohike looked almost scandalized. "You spend that much time
with her? What about Scully?"

"What about Scully? She told you not to sweep her place, didn't she?" Mulder
countered, deliberately misunderstanding the other man.

"You know what I mean, Mulder. Stop yanking me."

"Scully and I are partners, " Mulder said dully. Scully and I are partners.
He'd said it, thought it, and lived it for years. Now, he felt like they
just went through the motions. After Krycek had given him an address-of an
empty house once owned by C. G. B. Spender, years ago-Scully agreed to go to
the address, but with an air of one indulging a child. Or an old man. Maybe
it was time-

Frohike had been talking all that time. "Snap out of it, wouldja, Mulder?
Set it up with your girlfriend. We'll take care of it."


Janet was not as agreeable. "No," she said flatly, not looking up from her
transcript. She was sitting with her feet up on the couch, surrounded by
files, magazines, the Saturday Times, Post and TV Guide. She had only
reluctantly shoved some of this reading material to the floor so he could
sit beside her.

Mulder was taken aback. "What?"

"No. I don't want those guys in here. And it isn't as if you ever talked
about anything that wasn't public record." She looked up at him then. "You
never told me who the hell Krycek was. And 'a bad guy' isn't enough-so I don
't see the need to check for bugs. You don't use my phone line, or my
computer, so no one is getting any secret government information from
monitoring those."

Mulder cautiously put his hand on her ankle. "Am I in trouble, here?"

Janet rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just pointing out that you self-censor
yourself," and she raised her voice to an imaginary microphone in the
lamp, "ENOUGH THAT NO ONE WOULD BE INTERESTED IN OUR CONVERSATIONS."

"Ceiling fixtures," Mulder said, smiling in spite of himself. "They usually
have the  monitors in the ceiling. He traced an invisible design on her
ankle. "But I want to tell you-things. Things I'm paranoid about. I like
talking to you."
He cringed inside. Jeeze, how pathetic did he sound?

"One of those new age guys, who just wants to talk," she agreed, finally
putting her papers aside. She turned her ankle within his grasp.

"Well, you're the first woman I've heard about who got turned on watching
the Baseball videos. You probably run with the wolves."

"Dancing with lawyers, baby. And it's all that male bonding in the
video-sexy."

"That's extraordinary for a Braves fan." He stroked her leg. "The guys won't
monitor you, or put anything here. They'll just check. "

"Hah. So if I don't get the place checked, I don't get to hear about some
global conspiracy?" she asked sharply. Mulder's grip on her ankle tightened
convulsively, although he kept his usual deadpan expression. Her eyes and
mouth rounded. After a moment, she swallowed and said, "I meant-and I mean
this kindly-don't blackmail me."

"No," he said, barely above a whisper. "I'm still talking to you. Even if
you don't-"
She pulled her feet under her, out of his cold grasp, and crawled over her
magazines into his lap. She wound her arms around him, and he hugged her
tightly.

"Okay," she whispered into his ear. "Bring in your buddies. Does this mean
we're going steady?" She kissed his jaw, then pressed her face in his
shoulder.

"Yeah. Does this mean I get a key?"

"Oh, I've got one for you," she said, sitting up in his arms. "Had one made
for weeks, now."

Mulder grunted. "Watch that knee. And you talk about me being
self-censoring. I have to deal with that goddamn courtroom face. I never
know what you're thinking." One part of his brain said, What's up with this
shit?

She laughed, a short bark. "Pot, meet Kettle, to quote Chandler Bing."

"Oh, and it's the great erotic quotes, too. That's a big plus in this
relationship." The same voice was saying, Relationship? Get her off the
dick, blood flowing out of brain, Danger, Will Robinson.

Her eyes gleamed. "Relationship?  'And though Ill spirits walk in white, we
easily know By this these angels from an evil sprite; Those set our hairs on
end, but these our flesh upright." She straddled his lap, and ground herself
into his groin.
" 'License my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above,
below.'  Don't fuck with an English major, Agent Mulder."

"But that's what I thought you wanted," he said, his voice innocent. "Let's
go in the bedroom. Last time I got newsprint on my knees and I thought I was
bruised."


His own snore woke him. He raised his face from Janet's shoulder. "John
Donne," he said thickly. He pulled a strand of her hair from his lip. "Ptoo.
I remember it from Dorothy Sayers."

"Yeah, Lord Peter talks almost as much as you do," Janet said, in an I'
m-the-English-major-here tone of voice. "I memorized that poem to piss off
my professor in one class. He was trying to embarrass us by having us
recite. A friend of mine decided to come out and recited part of Howl. "

"Just tell me the name of the poem," he said. "Humor me." She was giggling.
"What now, damn it?"

She rolled over and faced him, putting her fingertips on his face. " 'To His
Mistress Going to Bed.' You want some more erotic quotations?" She was still
grinning.

"Let me get my strength back," he joked. She stroked his lower lip with her
fingertips. Her lips parted, then closed. "What were you going to say?" he
asked.

She shook her head, still smiling. "Oh, a bunch of mushy stuff that would
make you deeply uncomfortable. About your eyes, and your mouth and your
skin-the kind of stuff that real people never say." She was still touching
his face.

He hoped he wasn't flushing. "Tell me about my eyes." He kissed her
fingertip.

"Very hot eyes. Bedroom eyes. I'm surprised you're not groped in the
elevator at work."

"I wish," he mumbled. "And my mouth?"

"Great mouth. Very kissable. Pouty.  Your Scully must have great strength of
mind to resist you," she said, and waited for his reaction.

"Yes, she has." he said, not offended. "Resist being a good choice of words.
And what else is great about me? What about my skin?"

"Well, aside from the actual feel of it, I love the way you smell," she
said. "I won't even talk about your dick at this time, since we're not being
erotic right now."

Mulder kissed the inside of her wrist. "What about my hair?"

"I'm going to take the Fifth on that, agent."






Gaining Altitude by Tesla
Part 2

See Part One for disclaimers

Scully was now starting to wonder about her partner.  He was so normal,
which for him, meant he was acting peculiar.  He filled out forms, went to
meetings on time, and went to consult with other department heads with
scarcely a murmur. He couldn't be up for his evaluation-and he never cared
about that anyway.
He seemed-what? He put up an impenetrable front of courtesy and bad puns,
and seemed truly more interested in the pennant race than the Cigarette
Smoking Man (as she still thought of him). With Mulder, normal was
frightening.

He came to work about the same time she did-punctually, but not early; he
left on time, instead of hanging out for hours; and he never called her at
home for any reason-not since Krycek gave them that dead end clue. He hadn't
seemed keen even about Krycek. And his Weekly World News subscription was
stacked, mostly unread, on a filing cabinet.

And he was never at home when she called; and his cell phone was usually
off.
Just as a test, one wonderful September Saturday, she called him on the cell
to tell him about religious phenomena occurring in Maryland-religious
statues that moved in supernatural fashion. The file had been forwarded, by
a field office,  to their department. He didn't even want to discuss the
file, and when she called back with a further argument, his phone was on
voice mail mode. Since she had heard a ballgame in the background, she
called the Gunmen.

"Turn off the tape, Frohike," she said. "Hi. It's me. Is Mulder there?"

"He's not at home?" Frohike sounded slightly uneasy.

"I got the machine-I was just talking to him, but his phone's off now."

"Well, he's not here. Is it an emergency? Can I do anything for you?"

No, thanks! She thought. "Naah. You don't know where he might be?"

"Uhh-no. You want me to tell him you want him, if he turns up?" Frohike
sounded definitely uneasy.

"No, thanks, anyway." She hung up.


She was only making sure he was okay, she told herself later, as she drove
down Hegel Place.  Well, there was his car. She'd go up to his apartment for
a minute. After all, he didn't need to have this attitude about odd
phenomena, just because it was church related. She parked the car, and ran
up to the building, and up the elevator. No answer at the apartment; she
pulled out her key, and tried the door.

The key didn't work; she took it out, made sure it was the right key. Yes,
the one with the (faded) "Mulder" label. She tried it again, wiggling it
gently. No. She bent and looked at it; now, she saw that the lock was
shiny-new.  Well, the damn door had probably been forced so often, maybe he
finally changed locks. It was just like him to leave her with the old key.
She knocked on the door, just to be sure, then listened. Nothing. Shrugging
to herself, she went back downstairs. His car was still there; maybe he was
out running? Well, she couldn't wait. She got back in her car and drove
home, feeling annoyed. Just like Mulder, she thought again.


That Monday, she didn't know how to ask him about the lock change. She
weighed the inconvenience of not having the right key against his smugness
at making her come to his place, and had actually lifted her head and opened
her mouth to ask for a new key, when he raised one hand to his neck and
tugged at his collar.

He had hickeys on his neck. Huge bites, just under the collar line. Just at
that moment, his own gaze lifted, and he saw her staring. "What?" he asked.

"I wanted to ask you about those religious statues again," she said coolly.

He shrugged. "Scully, if you really want to go out there, we'll go out
there. It just seems like a dozen other phenomena, and there's no crime, or
fraud or anything going on. I don't know why the field office sent it in."
He picked up another file. "Violent Crimes wants me to consult on some
stuff, and Skinner asked me to help out. I suppose it would help him out, so
I said okay. But I didn't speak for you, and actually, Skinner seemed just
a-quiver with the idea of letting you do some hotshot autopsies. He said for
you to go see him." He gave her an apologetic grin. "I just remembered
 that."

When she left the office, Mulder was whistling. The sound made her shudder.





After two weeks of working 12/7 in Violent Crimes, Mulder was surprised to
feel just fine. He supposed that being older, and having a reasonable group
of people to work with, made all the difference.  His supervisory status in
the X-Files helped; maybe, just maybe, he wasn't quite the pariah he
thought. No thanks to Kersh-well, in a weird way, thanks to Kersh, after
all. Buddy Hill, the department head, had spent a lot of time dealing with
Kersh, and seemed to think any agent that survived him was a tough S.O.B.
He wouldn't mind working with Hill, again.

And Skinner must have helped, too, Mulder thought, as he pulled into his
parking space.  Skinner had to have dropped a helpful word here and there.
But the big problem was that he didn't want to leave. How was that for
weird? He wasn't interested in UFO sightings and parapsychology. Once you've
seen one flying saucer, he thought, getting his briefcase, you've seen them
all.  Once you've realized your best ambition-to find your sister; and your
worst fear-to lose her again; what was left? Just staying in the Washington
area, since that was the only thing Samantha knew about where he lived. Just
staying in the FBI, since that was all he could tell her. Knowing that your
worst enemy, that black-lunged cocksucker, raised Samantha as his own (but
meanwhile "disappeared" his own son) was just the cherry on the parfait.

But what he really didn't want to do, Mulder realized, as he clipped his ID
on his lapel, was have to deal with Dana Scully. The past two weeks had been
a vacation from her, and her general straight-faced dutifulness.  What was
more offensive and hurtful, that she didn't love him or that she wouldn't
laugh at his jokes?

If I hate coming in here this much, he started to think, then stopped
himself.  A bit late for self-awareness, isn't it?

The elevator opened and he went inside, managing to smile at the other D.C.
drones, and even offer to take their bets on the Yankees.  As the familiar
guilt and shame washed over him as familiar as the tide coming in and
filling him up to his throat. He swallowed involuntarily. How could he leave
her?  And, Janet, _he thought.  All the sex in the world isn't going to make
me feel less guilty. I did this. I did this to Scully. I don't deserve-
"The Yanks! I'll take your money!" he said, in response to another joke. Oh,
God, Janet, please save me. I can't take this-He felt almost panicked at
entering his own office. And he had felt okay all morning long! What was
this shit?

When he opened the door, no one was there. God, he was almost
hyperventilating. He carefully put down his briefcase of files, booted up
the computer, and then sat and stared at it. Finally, reaching a decision,
he pulled a business card out of his wallet. He picked up his phone.

When he heard a hello, he said, without preliminaries, "Janet? Do you have
any vacation time?" He put a hand on his chest. Breathe.

"Sure," she said, her concern palpable over the telephone, just as he was
aware of Scully standing behind him. "I have lots, what do you want to do?"

"Let's go somewhere." He was concentrating on breathing.

"Okay," Janet said. "Let's go somewhere where we can see the stars. We can
fix it up tonight, if you want?"

"Can you come in to town today?" he asked.

"Sure-I have to file something in federal court, anyway. Do you want to meet
at the Hard Rock at noon?"

"That's good. I'll see you, then." He felt obscurely comforted.

"Mulder?" Janet said.

"Yeah?"

"Can I grope you under the table?" she hung up. Grinning, he replaced the
phone, and turned around to meet Scully's stare. "Good morning, Scully!"

Scully blinked. "Who's Janet?" She looked pissed off. Good, thought Mulder.
At least everything's back to normal.

Mulder sighed, and placed his hand over his heart. "You've caught me, " he
said sadly. "I admit it. I'm dating the Attorney General." He spun back
around in his chair and dialed up a number. "Danny!" he yelled. "When the
hell am I gonna see those lab results, you little weasel? And the only thing
that'll keep me from writing you up is Yankee tickets!" He heard Scully wait
a beat, then go sit down.


When Mulder left for lunch, he was aware that Scully was either going to
follow him, or hit redial on his phone for clues.  He bet on the redial,
because Scully had been going through this annoying passive/aggressive phase
for the last couple of years. Of course, he didn't realize that his
Assistant Director was going to be standing in line at the Hard Rock Caf,
but it wasn't too much of a stretch-the restaurant was notorious for the 1:1
ratio of tourists to feds. He saw Janet waving at him from a table, and
nodded to his boss as he squeezed past him to her.

It was the perverse side of him that made him plant a big wet kiss on Janet.
Of course, she narrowed her eyes at him, but visibly restrained herself. "I
suppose the bald guy with glasses is your boss?" she asked, as he sat beside
her in the booth.

"Mel Cooley," he agreed. He jumped, as she spread her napkin and put her
hand on his thigh in the same gesture. "And the lovely and talented Dr.
Scully may not be far behind."

Janet snorted. "Maybe they can console each other. Is everyone in the Bureau
eyeing your ass, or am I just being silly?" Her hand ran up his leg, and she
pinched him hard, to get his attention. "Are you in trouble?" she whispered,
giving him an evil lawyer stare.

He smiled. Janet always meant "legal trouble," when she used that word.
 "No," he said baldly. "I just had a panic attack."

Janet puffed her breath out. "Sheesh. And here I just saw you this morning.
You usually wait until Friday."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, that means I have time to get more food." She picked up, then put down
the menu. "I'm trying not to act like a girlfriend here-"

"God forbid," Mulder said, grinning.

She pinched him again. "Stop it. God knows I have no maximum Mulder exposure
time. It's just that you can't be too damn careful nowadays-unmarried
straight men are so skittish." She gave him a sideways glance. "Of course,
you have actually used the R word."

"So I can use the key without being asked?"

"That was the general idea." He moved to kiss her again, when someone
cleared his throat.

"Agent Mulder, may I have a minute?" Mulder slowly looked up at A.D.
Skinner. He performed the introductions, and noticed that Janet had the kind
of smile that he thought she had for district attorneys.  Then he saw that
Skinner was staring at her cleavage. Mulder felt an urge to start laughing
maniacally.

"---Very complimentary about your work these past two weeks, Mulder. Expect
a commendation.  I appreciate the effort you put into this assignment." Holy
jumping Jesus, was the world coming to an end?

"Would you like to join us, Mr. Skinner?" Janet asked.

"No, thank you. I'm with some other people."  He held out his hand again.
"Think about it, Mulder."

Mulder shook his hand, and watched him walk off. "Think about what?"

Janet rolled her eyes theatrically. "You're going to have to stop listening
to the little voices when you're out in public. He was telling you to take
the vacation time you asked for."

"I'm sorry-I was watching him watching your breasts."

"Wonderbra," she said, picking up the menu again. " Well, I don't see your
partner-can I take her? Without her weapon, I mean?"

"She's short but mean," Mulder said, his attention wandering to catfights.

"I don't do threesomes," Janet told him. "Gosh, take your Ritalin, sweetie.
I keep seeing your eyes unfocus."









Gaining Altitude (4/?) by Tesla
See previous Parts for disclaimers

Janet was pretty sure that she loved Mulder. However, paranoia breeds more
paranoia: how could she let him know about her feelings without scaring him
off? In fact, now that she considered the matter, she was pretty sure she
adored him. Watch ESPN all night, all weekend? No problem. Let him bring his
laundry over? No problema.  Just as long as he was there.  Just as long as
he came over every evening he was in town. Just don't let him know how much
she doted on his every bizarre utterance, and things would be cool.

And that was another real problem. She was in love with a nut.  A federal
employee, who ( your tax dollars at work)  did quasi-classified
investigations of---liver flukes? UFO sightings? Mysterious cow
molestations? Russian triple agents? Government conspiracies?

And his friends. Frohike: who came by with two gym bags full of electronic
equipment, swept her apartment and car and lobby and mailbox, and found
nothing. Then he took an hour to tell Janet about how dangerous Mulder's
life was. How dangerous his work was. How his wonderful and beautiful
partner was mysteriously infected with cancer and miraculously
recovered-both because of Mulder's work. Byers: who came back with Frohike,
a second time, and spent the entire time giving Frohike warning looks. As a
result, the second time, Frohike had said scarcely a word to her.

Sheesh. You'd think she was sleeping with Prince William of Wales and the
Prince of Darkness-or Bill Gates---considering the level of paranoia and
worship evident in Frohike's tone of voice.  She couldn't wait to meet the
mysterious Dr. Scully-that would be a real trip. What then? More dire words
of warning? Or something more elemental-like, would Scully actually tell
Janet to get away from Mulder, or else?

She felt as though Frohike  had been condescending, making her feel that she
didn't know anything about Mulder, or anything of his six years of
investigations in the X-Files; that she was a fool who couldn't understand
or appreciate Mulder.

That only the wonderful Scully was fit to be his mate.

They didn't seem to get the fact that Mulder didn't want Scully any more.
"I would have done anything for her," he had said. "I probably still would.
But I can't spend my life waiting for her to agree with me. I'm tired of
fighting her."
And that he was so ridiculously pleased to have someone-even the
comparatively unworthy her-to sleep with, and have sex with, and watch
television with, and eat dinner with-his friends didn't seem to understand
that life was what happened between the dramatic moments. And that she didn'
t love the beautiful young man he had been-his ID badge picture was so
young-but the thirty-eight year old man he was now. She loved the tired man
who just wanted to see his sister again.




 ".In the end, both profilers made similar mistakes," Mulder said dryly,
capping the pen he had been using as a pointer. "We both got too involved.
Fortunately, I, as the second profiler, did not feel the need to re-create
the crime scenes as vividly as did the._former_ department head. " He looked
owlishly over his reading glasses at the classroom of candidates.  "Possibly
the most extreme case of a civil servant creating work for himself that we'
ve discovered." It was the lamest of jokes; but the horrors of viewing the
crime scene photographs of John Mostow's  (and Bill Patterson's) victims
made these rookies positively shout in laughter, and then applaud.

Just outside the double doors, Scully was dumbfounded.   She couldn't
believe that Mulder was even deigning to lecture at Quantico, in the first
place; yet there he was, charcoal gray Armani, cobalt blue shirt, cobalt
blue tie, spiky hair and Hugo Boss reading glasses, standing with his
beloved slide projector, talking as casually as he talked to her in their
basement; leaning on the podium, and not a  single mention of the
para-normal escaping his lips. Oh, no. He saved all that for his partner.
At least, he didn't mention that his own partner had thought Mulder had
killed Greg Nemhauser. Even if she had only thought it for a minute there.

She had better get back to Pathology, before Mulder and his no doubt
increased ego came out and caught her staring. She hurried away, one hand to
her throat. Why did she feel so unsettled?


"How did it go?" Janet asked Mulder that evening. He had walked in,
dry-cleaning in one hand, gym bag and lap-top slung over his shoulder, and
gripping a six-pack of Coronas, and a bag of hamburgers. He didn't believe
in two trips up the stairs, he always said.

He smiled incandescently. "It went really well-they laughed at all my cheesy
jokes. Of course, I was showing them really gross pictures. " He dropped
everything but the Coronas on her couch. "How was your day, June?" he said,
in his best Ward Cleaver smirk. He put the beer in the refrigerator.

"Same old same old-another kid calling in a bomb threat. More live-action
videos of crack sales." She rescued the greasy sack of hamburgers from the
couch, and Mulder picked up his suits and took them to her bedroom. He
re-emerged, pulling his tie off and slinging it around the doorknob. He
stopped, held the door, and kicked his loafers into the bedroom. Janet was
aware that he was waiting for her reaction; she studiously ignored him, even
when he draped his suit coat over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. She
figured that his family must have been the control-freak types, and from the
little he said, so was his partner Scully; so she let Mulder toss his things
around. Not that she cared, anyway; but it seemed like he was constantly
testing the waters.

"Your damn team is playing," she told him, and he immediately sat down and
pointed the remote at the set. That remote seemed to fly into his hand like
Luke Skywalker's light saber, no matter where he was in the apartment.

"Like your Braves aren't on all the time," he said, "Where are the
hamburgers?"
He stood up and walked into the kitchen, and seemed to focus on her
activities for the first time. "Oh.  Were you going to cook?" She was
scooping salad fixings into a Tupperware bowl.

"Not now," she said. "It'll keep. We'll eat it tomorrow."

He opened the refrigerator and pulled two sweating Coronas out of the
cardboard six-pack. "Then come on and watch the game," he said, putting his
arm around her shoulders. "Unless you have to work on anything?"

Tired, Janet fell asleep on the couch, her head on a pillow on Mulder's lap.
She woke up, feeling him stroke her hair. She rolled her head back to look
up at him.
"Yanks are winning," he said smugly, pinching her nose. She sat up, and
walked stiffly to the kitchen for a glass of water.

While she was running the water, Mulder came up behind her and wrapped his
arms around her waist. She leaned back into his chest, turning her face into
his neck. He rubbed his cheek against her. "Let's go to bed, " he suggested,
as if that was a new idea. Maybe it was, she thought.  Seems like he hasn't
had anyone to go to bed with for a long time.

Mulder took a shower while she shut off all the lights and washed her face.
She was already in bed when he came in the room, turning out the bathroom
light.  His skin felt cool, like someone who had just been swimming. She ran
her hands over his shoulders and back. He yawned suddenly. "I'm more tired
than I thought," he said, putting his face into her shoulder.  "Long day."

"Let's go to sleep," she said, and felt him relax.  And they both slept.


 She had driven to Mulder's apartment after not reaching him, again. She
hated this.  She didn't know why she was doing it. It was hours after he had
left Quantico. Yet there was his car, in its usual spot. She pulled into
another space, and used her binoculars. No lights, not even the blue of the
television, from his windows. She checked out all the other windows, then,
randomly, began looking across the street. All the windows were blank, dark,
or shaded.
There. On the third floor, a blonde woman was doing something-washing
dishes? Idly, Scully focussed her lenses on the blue-white rectangle of
light.

Mulder came into view, in the tiny window, shirtless. She saw him put his
bare forearm around the woman, just across her breasts. Then the light went
out.
Scully drove home and took a Tylenol 3, and crashed. She felt feverish and
sick, and dreamed of Mulder all night. Mulder with that woman. Mulder having
sex. Mulder. Mulder leaving the X-Files. Mulder leaving her.

When she woke up, she felt nauseated. Thank God it was Saturday, and she
didn't have to go to work.  She felt dizzy. What was going on with her? Why
did she go and spy on Mulder? Why did she care? Didn't all of her family and
friends tell her to get away from him, away from him and the X-Files? Hadn't
she kept lecturing at Quantico just to keep her contacts up? Hadn't they
won?

Why did she feel that she had lost?







--
"Some days it doesn't pay to chew through the restraints."---Anonymous



From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Tue, 21 Mar 2000 14:15:03 GMT
Subject: NEW: Some Turbulence Expected (1/?) by Tesla



Title: Some Turbulence Expected (1/?)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip,"
     But spoilers for "Millenium" and "Orison".
Archive: Sure, everyone, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone
I knew.
Feedback: See above, only I'll write charming replies.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny!

Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar", and "Gaining Altitude"

THANKS to Emerex for excellent beta work, and general encouragement, and to
the small select band of folks on my reading list-and Fran58's site, at
www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58, which has my other stories.

  Fox Mulder sat on his basketball, waiting for his pickup game to start. He
was wearing his Yankees cap backwards, a stylistic note that had caused his
girlfriend to curl her lip in scorn when she met him downstairs. He didn't
know whether she was mocking his homeboy look, or the Yankees. Probably the
first-deep down, he suspected she really didn't give a damn that the Yanks
had beaten the Braves. She alternated between phases of being more of a
baseball fanatic than even he was and ignoring crucial games to listen to
Garrison Keillor.
His girlfriend. It felt weird-even thinking of a woman as his girlfriend.
Much less the greater weirdness of having a girlfriend at all. Having a
woman in his life other than Scully. He glanced at the picnic tables under
the trees. There she sat, on her stadium cushion, with her Discman securely
plugged in (probably listening to Keillor), reading the Times. She couldn't
look more like an English lit major if she tried. Well, she managed to hold
her own on the street, but how would she do against a liver-eating mutant?
He stood up, scooping up the ball, as more cars pulled into the parking lot.
Mulder was actually planning to play nice with co-workers-agents in Violent
Crimes. And that's why he had asked Janet to come along; although the guys
were cordial enough, he still wanted to underline the fact that he wasn't
Spooky Mulder in private life. See, there's Mulder's girlfriend: she's
normal. It helped that Janet thought he was normal. He had told her about
seeing the UFO in Antarctica, and she had taken it very well. (Of course, he
noticed that the sci-fi channel suddenly got a lot more play.) He had waited
a bit and told her about Tooms, and she scarcely blinked. He couldn't bring
himself to go into the Conspiracy, or about the shape-shifting alien. He
didn't think Frohike would tell her either, although Melvin had started
e-mailing her lawyer jokes.
There were a couple of women, with their chairs, and Janet was taking off
her headphones and walking up to him. He put his arm around her and she
leaned into him. He didn't realize he was smiling.

Afterwards, eating at California Pizza:

"So have you seen the bowling bag cases, Mulder?" Henderson asked, his mouth
full. They had all talked shop relentlessly as soon as the first beers were
on the table. They were still in their sweats, caps, and basketball shoes.
The three guys without dates or wives had attached themselves to Janet after
the game. Janet, of course, invited them to go eat with her and Mulder. The
three single men accepted with alacrity, so here they all were.  He felt
very macho and territorial, in a way he had not felt in years. Unlike
Scully, Janet only smiled when he draped a possessive arm over her shoulder,
and leaned into her space.

"Bowling bags?" she asked now, leaning forward.
"Yeah, some guy's putting heads in bowling bags and leaving them in alleys
all over the metro area. But here's the weird shit-"
"That's not weird enough?" Mulder interjected.
"-He didn't kill 'em. They're embalmed. And some of them aren't real-heads
off old mannequins."
"How old are the mannequins?" Mulder asked, interested. "New ones, or from a
certain era?"
"Pretty good, Mulder-they're a mix. Like someone has a whole lot of dummies
in a warehouse. We think he's digging up stiffs and when he can't find a
stiff, he puts a dummy head in the bag."
"Bags are old and new," Davis said, his mouth full. "Typical Wal-Mart,
K-Mart, some new, some could have come from the Goodwill."
"But that's not the weirdest thing, "Janet said unexpectedly, pouring
herself another beer. She looked around as they all stared at her, and she
leaned forward confidentially. (Mulder thinking, is this a client of hers?
Cops told her?)
"What?" asked Henderson, impatiently.
"Some of the bowling bags have---" They all leaned forward with her.
"Bowling balls!"
At the sight of their puzzled looks, Mulder practically snorted his mouthful
of beer. He coughed and sputtered, Janet pounding him on the back
solicitously.
"Oh, very funny," said Henderson, in mock anger.
"Good one, you two," chimed in Davis. "We tell you this stuff, hoping for
that superior Mulder expertise, and you laugh at us."
"Shit, " Mulder said. "Trace the bags. Trace the dummies. See if any
cemeteries have reported disturbed graves. Check the dental records of the
heads. Why is it ours, anyway?"
Jacobs spoke for the first time. "'Cause a Congressman's kid found one of
the heads on a class bowling trip. Teenaged kid. Thought he was a Goth until
then. Now he's turned his life over to Jesus."
"I would too, if I reached into my bag and got the dummy head, never mind
the real one."
"You want it, Mulder? For your department?"
Mulder tried to envision Scully receiving a cartload of bulging bowling bags
for dissection, and shuddered. "No, thanks. But if you really want me to
review it---" he looked up, and saw the other three agents all had odd
expressions. "What?"
"Hey, isn't that your partner?" Henderson asked innocently.
Mulder looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was Scully and Mrs.
Scully following the waitress through the tables. He felt Janet's hand
clench on his knee. He put his hand on hers, but he didn't know if he was
seeking or giving reassurance.
Mrs. Scully, naturally, stopped short and smiled. "Fox! How nice to see
 you." All four men, still mindful of Bureau training in manners, had risen.
Janet remained seated in queenly calm.
"Mrs. Scully, this is my-this is Janet Durrell."
Mrs. Scully, the veteran of Navy Officer's Wives Clubs, ignored Mulder's
stutter, and extended her hand; Janet (as she told Mulder later, a Girl
Raised In The South) shook it.
"How do you do?" they said simultaneously.
"Janet, this is Dana Scully," Mulder said, standing beside Janet's chair. He
felt light-headed, and placed a hand on Janet's shoulder. Neither woman
extended her hand; of course, Scully was standing just far enough away not
to reach.
"It's nice to meet you," Janet said, and her tone was perfectly modulated
and perfectly warm. Only Mulder knew her hand was brushing the back of his
leg, just under the hem of his shorts, making the hairs stand up.
"Hello," Scully said. Her tone wasn't quite so perfect, and the other agents
were grinning. They all said hello, and nice to see you, Dana, and then the
waitress came back to retrieve the two Scullys and take them to their table.
The men all sat down.
"Bet you didn't know Mulder's partner was so good-looking?" Henderson asked
slyly.
"Oh, yeah," Janet said, "I saw her picture-the one when you two got that
award? And one of our friends thinks 'Agent Scully' is a goddess." She
reached for her beer. "Wonderful hair," she added. Mulder slumped back in
relief. How could such a simple transaction wear him out? He surreptitiously
rubbed his heart. Well, maybe Mrs. Scully would realize he wasn't some
weirdo living in a basement, only coming out to put her daughter in mortal
peril. Maybe he should join a softball league. Carry his glove around. See,
ordinary humans interact with me in restaurants. I have a girlfriend.
Disappointed in Janet's lack of interest, the agents went back to talking
about dead bodies.

At the Scully table, Margaret Scully commented, "Well! I'm glad to see Fox's
got a girlfriend. It's about time. You know Bill was certain Fox had a thing
for you."
"Bill never had any female friends," Scully said. "He doesn't get it. What
makes you think she's his girlfriend?
"Oh, Dana! He's probably living with her. You heard that he didn't know what
to call her. That's a sure sign. She seems very attractive. What does she
do?"
"I don't know, Mom. Going by Mulder's type, she's probably a Hooter's
waitress."

Title: Some Turbulence Expected (2/?)
Author: Tesla


 For various psychotic reasons, the Violent Crimes basketball guys decided
to go bowling. The e-mail they sent Mulder even spoke wildly of joining a
league. He burst out laughing at that, and he felt rather than saw Scully's
glare. He was quickly sobered by Henderson's P.S. "We think Janet is a
goddess." But he recovered just as quickly, and before deleting it,
forwarded it to Janet. Like a good little boyfriend, he told himself
nastily. That was the problem: he could just barely wrap his mind around
having a girlfriend, but being a boyfriend-being accountable-having to call
and say he wouldn't be home.felt.wussy.

So, that evening, he went to his pickup game without calling, and lurched
in, using his key, just when Leno was beginning his monologue. It was all
rather anti-climactic; Janet was in bed reading some murder mystery
involving cats, and looked up owlishly when he came in, flinging his
basketball shoes and gym bag in opposite corners of the room. "Whassup?" she
asked, one finger holding her place.

"I didn't call because we decided to play at the last minute," Mulder said
pugnaciously. He could at least get an argument going, roil the domestic
waters a bit. He held the basketball at his hip.

"You never call," Janet said, letting her forehead crease. "I thought you
went to your place. Or you were chasing mutants or something. Or subverting
governmental order with Frohike." She opened her book again. "There's some
pizza in the refrigerator," she added. "I didn't leave work until late,
myself."

A little deflated, Mulder bounced the basketball a time or two. "No, I was
at the gym-picked up a game-" he dribbled over to the bed, and sat down. "I
bet I can make the clothes basket," he said, and shot the ball across the
bed and Janet to the round Pier One basket in the corner. He yanked his
shoes off.

"Oh, am I supposed to be mad that I didn't know where you were?" Janet
asked. "Sorry, big guy. I had a few things to do." She sat up. "Are we
really going bowling?" she asked, sitting up. The covers slipped, revealing
her bare breasts.

Mulder stopped in mid-sock pull. To hell with the delights of solitude; here
were two very good reasons to-gag-be a boyfriend. He rolled his socks up and
shot them into the basket, too, followed by his sweats. "I really had a good
game tonight, " he said, getting under the covers and mashing the pillows
more comfortably. "Can we watch Letterman?"

"But William Shatner's coming on Leno," Janet said, holding the remote out
of his reach.

"Can I at least see who's on Letterman?" he said, rolling over on one elbow
and trapping the hand with the remote. They wrestled for a moment, until
Janet suddenly relaxed and he pulled her on top of him. Her breasts bounced
on his chest. "You're fighting dirty," he murmured, putting his hands on her
hips as she pulled the sheet back.

"I'm a goddess," she whispered.
"Just don't stop to watch Shatner," he said. "Ooh-don't stop."

Later, he heard her murmuring, "But Shatner is the God Who Walks Among Us As
Man," and wondered if they should go to a Star Trek convention with Langley.
He rolled over and fit his knees into the curve of her legs, and cupped her
stomach with his hand. She slept on, and he blew her hair out of his mouth
as she curled back against him in her sleep. His. She was his.

Title: Some Turbulence Expected (3/4)
Author: Tesla

Scully felt as though she was the X-Files Division, the Keeper of the Flame,
the only one interested in the paranormal. Mulder had turned into his own
X-File; he was getting atta-boys from the superiors, he was playing
basketball with the guys from Violent Crimes, he was apparently bowling.
What was next, a vacation in the Poconos with Miss Large Breasts?

For Jacobs and Henderson had decided to rent a bowling alley for FBI night.
They justified the idea by the specious reasoning that they needed to check
out the Bowling Bag UNSUB.  Although Jacobs e-mailed half the District
Division, very few were aware of the on-going investigation. He listed Fox
Mulder as one team captain, to Scully's considerable surprise, and Mulder
wasn't even annoyed. "Do you have money down on this event?" Scully asked
him.  If he brought up that bowling alley case while I was sick, she
thought, I'll walk right now.

But Scully had forgotten, if she ever knew, how much Mulder did not want to
think about the months of her cancer. He brightened.

"Actually, I do," he said. "I'm getting Kumar from Accounting on my team. He
's in a league."

"And how is it you actually speak to anyone in Accounting?"

"Oh, he's a big UFO buff-haven't you noticed that our expense reports weren'
t getting sent back this year? Kumar."

"And does Janet bowl?" she asked.

He looked thoughtful. "I think she does-she has a bowling bag in her closet.
Hey! Maybe she's the Bowling UNSUB!" He picked up his coat from the desk. "I
better go check that out." And left. At 5:01 p.m., Mr. Workaholic left her
in the basement, with a stack of files going back to other divisions with
his-no doubt-sacred Spooky comments.


The FBI Bowl-a-rama was a rousing success, judging by the inter-departmental
memos; apparently the organizers had forgotten the existing Bureau bowling
leagues, when they sent out their invitations. A rousing division-wide
mudslinging began, involving charges of elitism by the agents towards the
support staff and counter-charges of anal-retentive behavior and
over-regulation of private time by the desk-bound.

 Mulder promptly began using the bullpen computers to send inflammatory
e-mails to everyone. "Thank God no one found a head in a bag while we were
there," Mulder cheerily told Scully, a comment she found baffling. Mulder
had neglected to mention the exact MO of the Bowling UNSUB.

Scully received a misdirected e-mail from Henderson, referring to the
Goddess of Bowlers. She didn't think she wanted to know what that was about.

The only reference Skinner made to the whole affair was to ask Scully if she
bowled. She rather fancied the idea of A.D. Skinner in an aqua-blue rayon
bowling shirt.



Shortly afterwards, Mulder was sitting in the office with yet another set of
photographs of an ape-man, when his cell phone rang. He answered somewhat
absently, "Hey, Frohike," and Scully didn't bother to listen. She heard the
photographs slide on to the floor, and looked up. Mulder was standing, his
face blank, the phone to his ear.

"Where?"  He barked. "Okay. I'm on my way." Still gripping the phone, he
turned to her. "I gotta go. Janet's been in a car wreck." He was out the
door, and Scully heard the ping of the elevator before she could even react.
 What was worse, she was relieved he didn't wait for her to react.


Frohike had heard the accident called in.  Someone charged with DUI had
driven, drunk, to the municipal court for his trial, and, in full view of
six police officers, t-boned the passenger side of Janet's car as she was
arriving to try a case. The airbag had deployed, but Janet was unconscious
at the scene and was taken by EMTs to the closest ER. She still wasn't awake
by the time Mulder arrived from downtown D.C., and she was in a bed in one
of the exam rooms, monitors hooked up to her, and Frohike in attendance.
Mulder forbore to ask why Frohike was wearing a lab coat, complete with fake
hospital ID.

"They already checked and can't find a fracture, or bleeding, or anything,"
Frohike said. "She's just out. She's breathing on her own, and the nurse
just told me they can monitor her from here."  Mulder was slumped at the
foot of the bed, his face ashen, one hand rubbing his sternum. He had
forgotten his coat. "They don't think it's a severe concussion-they think
the airbag did it. She hit her head on the window. They keep coming in and
checking. Jesus, Mulder, sit down, would you?"

Mulder sat down on the chair Frohike vacated, and stared at Janet. She didn'
t look hurt. He has watched her sleeping, wearing the same expression. He
felt like the nerves in his face were twitching. "Thanks, Frohike," he said
heavily.

"No problemo, buddy. You wanna cup of coffee?"

"Sure," Mulder said. He watched Frohike walk away, then moved his chair
closer to the bed, and took her hand. Her hand had an inkstain from whatever
she had been writing that morning. His chest hurt. "Wake up, Janet," he
whispered. "Wake up." I can't do this, he thought incoherently, I can't go
through this again.


But no cigarette smoking spawn from hell called him, no shape-shifting
aliens or double agents invaded this hospital-and no saintly mothers or
bastard brothers, either. No priests, no doctors shaking their heads and
closing their minds. Janet's eyes fluttered, and she seemed to be in a
normal sleep. He staggered up feet that had gone to sleep and went to find a
snack machine.

After a long morning of waiting, Janet opened her eyes and saw Mulder. He
got up from the chair, and sat down carefully on the bed, smiling at her.
"Hey," he said, rubbing her hand. "Guess what?"

"I got hit by a truck?" she winced.

"Close-a drunk."

"I got a case in court!" She shot up suddenly in the bed, and Mulder grabbed
her and held her.

"Fuck court," he said unsteadily. "The judge saw what happened. I think you
got a continuance."


In movies, the heroine is next seen at home in a negligee, and the hero
brings her roses.  In Mulder's life, of course, Janet was moved to a semi-
private room for overnight observation, and she was sulky about wearing a
hospital gown. Mulder felt too tired to go home and find her any clothes.
The driver's insurance adjuster called with an offer. Every attorney in the
metro area called to ask if she wanted them to handle her case, and three
cops arrived to tell her how high the driver had blown on the Intoxilizer
5000.  Mulder glared at them-the two men seemed unnecessarily interested in
how Janet looked without a bra. The woman cop smiled winningly at Mulder
(who still wore his office ID). He was watching basketball with the sound
off, and ignored her. The telephone rang so much that Mulder, without
asking, called down to the operator and asked that no calls come through.
The caring hospital, his ass. He was pleased that he could vent his
exasperation for once.

Janet accepted his high-handedness fairly well, for someone not allowed
medication for her headache. Mulder, shifting on the hard chair, supposed
aloud that she was anticipating the huge offer the insurance company would
make. "Jump in the lake, Fox, " she said. "I'll get hospital costs, money
for a used car, my rental fees, and lost income. I don't want to spend the
next year going to depositions."

He ignored the use of his first name. (She had been incensed that Margaret
Scully called him Fox. "Oh, you're only on first-name terms with women you
don't sleep with?" she had challenged. "No, that would be every other woman
on the planet," he had yelled from the kitchen.)  "So all those guys were
joking?"

"Yeah, everyone thinks it's funny. We're weird." She thumbed the sound up on
the television. The Knicks were losing. "Why don't you get something to
 eat?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry," he said. He knew he sounded pissy, but couldn't help it.
He ached all over. "You didn't eat, either."

 He got up and pulled the old recliner from the other half of the room.
There wasn't another patient yet. He felt like he had been in the wreck. He
pulled his tie off and threw it on the empty bed, followed by his suit coat.
He was thankful he had never told Janet how much he hated hospitals and how
often he seemed to be visiting them.

"I don't have anything to read," she said, with obvious misery. "Can't you
get me a magazine or something?"

"Gideon Bible right there," Mulder replied, his eyes closed. Goddamn
hospital was noisier than a gas station. Frohike had vanished hours ago.

After the eleven p.m. check of vitals, Mulder took off his shoes, dress
shirt, and belt, and stretched out on the other bed. He had a lingering
suspicion that, if he removed his dress pants, someone would mistake him for
a patient and do painful and embarrassing things to him. He turned off the
television setting, and found the local NPR station, and draped the speaker
over the pillow so Janet could hear it, too.

In the morning, Janet was released, and had to leave wearing her crumpled
suit and raincoat. Her underwear had disappeared. Mulder was shivering in
the cold. He called and left a message on Scully's voice mail that he would
be late.

When they got home, Mulder stripped, put on his flannel pajama pants, and
washed his face while Janet threw her suit on the closet floor, stepped in
and out of the shower, and got into bed, still damp. He shut the blinds, and
fell back on the bed shivering. He searched for something clever to say, and
came up blank.
He slowly pulled up the comforter, and rolled over.

"Thanks for staying with me last night," Janet said, her eyes heavy with
sleep. "I'm glad to have you around."

"The feeling is mutual, blondie," Mulder replied, wrapping his arms and legs
around her.

Title: Some Turbulence Expected (4/4)
Author: Tesla

Mulder was sitting at a desk outside the Quantico morgue. It was late
Wednesday afternoon, and he was waiting for the results of an autopsy. He
didn't have to-he could have called her. It was just something he had always
tried to do-go up, wait for Scully to finish, bring her coffee or a Diet
Coke, ask her for her impressions. Now, he wondered why he was there. She
didn't want his coffee, she didn't want his conversation, and the main
impression she would give to him was that he had wasted her valuable time.

 He had left Scully in mid-cut, but not because he was unnerved by the
procedure after all this time. He left because he realized he was staring at
his partner, and working himself into a fight. At what point in this long,
strange trip had she started rolling her eyes at almost every thing he said?
Earlier, he had asked a question as to the cause of death, and she had not
even bothered to reply, just hunching a shoulder and grimacing under her
mask.
Like he was some mental defective she was burdened with. He took a deep
breath, and unclenched his fists. He didn't want to fight, and especially
didn't want to have a screaming fight at Quantico.

He absently rolled a pencil back and forth on the curling desk blotter, and
stopped. Scully acted like every single idle gesture he made proved his
immaturity and idiocy. Every nervous twitch, every twiddle of keys or
jingling of change in his pocket, every toss of a crumpled soft drink can in
the trash basket was expressly designed to piss her off. God knows he wasn't
the most sensitive man in the world, but it was starting to grate on him.

"What are you doing?" seemed to be her constant question. At any moment, he
expected her to morph into Sister Dana Katherine, complete with steel-edged
ruler. "Don't mumble. Straighten your tie. Comb your hair. Give me those
reports." Shit, he rather longed for the fertilizer checks. At least he wasn
't the sole focus of her annoyance back then. He pulled out the case file
and pretended to be studying it. Count to one hundred, backwards. Breathe
slowly. Why get upset now? Why feel like an anxiety attack was coming on,
that this wasn't just another autopsy, just another case, but the end of the
world?

Because once in a while, she would smile, and act like they were still
partners. Just long enough for him to remember all the hope and trust he had
put in their partnership. He would start to hope.  And then he'd crack a
joke, and Sister Grim would reappear. Obviously the collapse of the
conspiracy had had meant two different things to them. She still wanted to
find Cancerman, and Krycek. Someone still protected Diana Fowley, but Scully
wanted to tie her to the Consortium. Scully wanted to move on, find all the
leaks, find all the divided loyalties in the Bureau, and find out Skinner's
motives.

Mulder wanted to find his sister, and bring her to his mother. And then?
Walk away. Try to remember where he was going before he had hypnotic
regression, back when his name was Fox. Before he was allowed to remember
Samantha screaming his name and vanishing.  Profiling seemed like an easier
job than fruitlessly investigating the unexplained. But ironically, Scully
seemed determined to explain the unexplained.

He hated being alone with her. He hated bearing the weight of her grief and
disappointment in her life. If she had ever loved him, and he could have
sworn she had, it was gone. And gone a long time before he knew or could
prevent it.
True, he now had a lover, but he didn't know if being with Janet, for all of
her decency and passion, could keep him from repeating how things had gone
so wrong with Scully. He had a new Magic Hospital Memory, too,  of running
down the hall to Janet, thinking, Not her, not her, not her, please no.

 And now, all the good memories, of how he and Scully had managed to arrest
the perp, or just get out alive, how they worked together, how she had
bailed him out and backed him up, and the day he found out that she was in
remission; all that was swamped by the bitterness. Just like the
hallucinations from the Giant Mushroom from Hell-the good stuff he
remembered was breaking down into yellow goo and melting away.

He hated his life.

When Scully came out with her briefcase, ready to leave, he was staring
unblinkingly at the file. He closed it and stood up, heavily, still feeling
nothing but a load of darkness hovering over him. "Anything?"

"I don't see anything that ties this victim to the UNSUB they have in mind,"
she said, "But this is an expert. Nothing here shows that he did anything
that wasn't necessary. Gangster execution, I think."

"Should we advise them that Tony Soprano is behind it?" Mulder asked
automatically. Gotta give her what she expects. (And what, he asked himself,
trying to swerve into the trivial, is this black push-up bra under the tight
white blouse? Is that Scully's Look for this season?) Ooh, good, there was
the token eye-roll. And, wait for it..

"Good night, Mulder," she said tonelessly, and walked past him.



Janet was riding Mulder like some pornographic movie star. She came, and
came, and came: he found lubricant, and put her in positions she had only
seen in the Kama Sutra, and still he didn't come. She was crying from the
sensations and the over-stimulation.  And because she knew he was going to
leave her. And still, he fucked her. She knew it wasn't "making love."
Mulder was fucking her, and her mind was going, and she was screaming, and
sore, but she couldn't tell him to stop. He seemed so desperate, so angry at
something. She couldn't stop crying, because he wasn't making love to her.
He didn't even know  who he was with. He was fucking her, and fucking her,
and fucking her.

Mulder hated himself. He hated having the closed doors in his head, in his
emotions flying open. All the monsters, all the fears, all the demons were
trying to get out. Sex had always been the relief, the mindlessness, the
answer that shut those doors. He couldn't come, no matter what position he
put her into, no matter how loud she screamed, no matter what videos he
thought about-he wasn't coming. He was grinding into Janet, and he couldn't
stop. He couldn't come. He was in Hell. But he still coated his dick and
fingers with lube, and still moved her into another position--You are so
fucked up, he thought. Stop. Stop hurting your baby. She doesn't deserve
this. Janet is your baby. Janet loves you.

But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop what he was doing, and he couldn't
find release. After a long time, he realized that Janet was crying, even as
he pumped in and out of her.  She was crying in such a desperate, hopeless
fashion, that he felt like a rapist.  She must have been weeping for a long
time.

"Baby," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Janet couldn't reply,

He got up, and found a bottle of bourbon he had bought, and returned to the
bedroom with the bottle and two shot glasses. Janet lay where he had left
her, her hands over her face. He felt suddenly jolted into focus; now he
felt even worse than he had sitting outside the morgue. "Janet. Sweetheart.
Please. I'm a shit. Please, sweetie." He had set the liquor and glasses on
the bedside table, and was holding her, trying to kiss her.  Finally, Janet
put her arms around his neck, still gulping with sobs. Mulder kissed her
eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, her neck.  He released her long enough to
pour a shot of liquor into each of the glasses. She gulped hers back, and
leaned back against the headboard, looking at him through red eyes. She
looked desperate; she looked almost dangerous; she looked drunk. "My baby,"
was all he could say.   He picked up her hand and kissed it. He couldn't
even think about whatever the hell had taken him over.  Maybe, he could tell
Janet-later. Much later.  "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked.

"No," she said. Despite her best efforts, it still came out in a sob. Mulder
's heart melted. He put her hand in her lap.

"Oh, God, Janet. I'm such a shit." He couldn't say the words. "I'm all
yours, Janet. Please don't throw me out." He pressed his face into her neck.

"I'm not going to throw you out," Janet choked. She wrapped both her arms
around him. But maybe I better throw myself out, he thought coldly, even
while he held her. I can't take it if Janet hates me. I can't take one more
thing. Why did I think I could do this? I have to get out of here.

"Look," he said, getting up. "I'm gonna go for a run. Sleep at my place.
Give you some peace." He pulled out his gym clothes, and dressed, and
started to leave. He hesitated at the door, and came back, and stood in the
bathroom door. "Janet," he said.

Janet turned off the shower, and came out, wrapping herself in her terry
robe. "I thought you were gone?" she said, and picked up the Tylenol from
the sink. "Forget your gun?"

"It's me, it's my problem." he said.

"Yes, it is. But let me remind you that the earth is round."

"Is that a koan?"

Janet's voice cut like a scalpel. "I mean that the world is round, and when
you finish running, you come back to the place you started, and I'll still
be here, across the street. I don't change. I won't go out and find a new
life in the suburbs. I won't hate you, and I won't fight with you, and I won
't let you off the hook."

"So, you'll just wait for me forever?" he sneered . "No matter how much of
an asshole I am?"

"No, but I'll certainly wait a minimum of six months," she said. "But not
forever. I'm not stupid." She turned off the light and brushed past him to
the bedroom, where she straightened the bed linens.  "But I don't change,"
she repeated, and dropping the robe, got back into bed.

"I really need to run," he said. "I do."

"I know, but you're thinking about not coming back," she said, in a softer
tone. "And I've got to go to sleep. Look, I want you to do what you want,
and I want you to have what you want."

"I need to run," he repeated, and finally left.

Janet turned off the light, and wondered if she had done the right thing,
before falling into an exhausted sleep.






From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2000 07:39:32 -0500
Subject: Visibility Zero (1/1) by Tesla


Title: Visibility Zero (1/1)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: R for cussin'
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip," but back for "Goldberg Variations" and "Millenium"
Archive: Let me know so I can dote
Feedback: See above, only I'll write charming replies.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny!
Summary: Continuation of "Flying under the Radar",  "Gaining Altitude" and
"Some Turbulence Expected"

Thanks to my beta, Emerex, for encouragement and all-round good cheer, and
to MaybeAmanda for the MulderClone, and advice disguised as wisecracks.
And, Fran hosts me on her new authors site at www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58
and my own page is at home.hiwaay.net/gah~1093

It was hard to pine away after a lover in the middle of a Star Trek
convention, Janet decided.  There she was, dressed as Jadzia Dax, with Trill
press-on marks on her face and neck, accompanied by one tall and one short
Klingon wielding seriously sharp-looking weaponry sticking closely to her
side. It was impossible to take herself seriously,
especially after she discovered that Frohike had entered her in the costume
contest.

"There had better not be a 'Best of Show' prize, " she warned him.


The two Gunmen had arrived at her office, ostensibly to ask her legal
advice. She hadn't talked to them for two weeks, since Frohike had called
looking for Mulder, and Janet told him that she had no idea, and wouldn't
able to take a message.  Frohike was more than capable of reaching his own
conclusions regarding Mulder's absence. "You two don't believe in the
jurisdiction of law," she said now, suspiciously. "Have you been arrested?
Is someone suing you?"

Frohike looked monumentally offended. "Counselor, we're offended. No. We
want you to review our new lease." He held out a manila file folder.

She took the file and read it.  "Who is Gizmo, Inc.? Oh, you guys. Okay."
She looked up after a moment. "This looks okay to me. What's the problem?"

"Well, can we take you to lunch?" Frohike asked. "You pick," he added
quickly, at her suspicious frown.

"Mexican is fine," she said, "and we'll take my car."

At the restaurant, Frohike came clean. "We want you to go to the D.C. Star
Trek convention with us."

She stared at him for a long moment, and remembered to close her mouth.
 Why?"

"Because we need to have a cool chick," Langley said. "I lost a bet playing
D & D. We'll get your costume and ticket and everything."

She burst out laughing. "Am I your only choice? You guys really need to get
out more."

Frohike looked relieved. "No, we needed a good-looking cool chick. And
Mulder told us you were a trekker."

She was still smiling. "Trekkie. Mulder should talk. I never wore Spock
ears."

"Shatner's going to be there, " Langley said persuasively.

"Hell, why didn't you say that to start with? It's a deal. Just tell me
where and when." She wiped her mouth, and replaced the napkin on the table.
"Guys---" she didn't know what she wanted to ask.

"Mulder's in Chicago," Frohike said. "I just thought you might like to go
out with a real man."

Frohike had lobbied hard for her to dress as a female Klingon warrior.
"But I don't know the language," she pleaded. "Really, Mel, think of all
those Klingons asking me questions."

"She's right,' Langley said. "That could get her into trouble." He leaned
back. "How about Kira?"

"I don't want to wear the nose and earring. Dax. I bet I can use transfers
for the spots."


So there she was, being cheered up by two unexpected cavaliers. She wondered
what, if anything, Mulder had told them about the split. Nothing to her
detriment, obviously. She was touched and a little surprised, though. She
thought they both saw her as a threat to Scully's place at Mulder's side.

But that's ridiculous, she thought, looking at some decidedly erotic
sketches of Worf and Dax, I'm not a threat at all. No one seems to
understand that Fox Mulder is going to do what he thinks is best, no matter
if he likes it or not. No matter how it hurts him.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Langley commented.

Janet gave him a scorching glance. "Maybe I should have come as a warrior.
Then I'd have a nice dagger in my belt for----"

"Okay, okay, I didn't mean it. Sheesh."


Mulder had actually been back from Chicago for a day. Frohike had sent a
typical e-mail advising that he and Langley were taking "your lawyer chick"
to a convention to bond with "The Only Captain."
Mulder was more than a little surprised-he had to read the message several
times to understand it. He had been evasive whenever any of the Gunmen asked
about Janet. "She's working a big case." And if Frohike, the original
inquiring mind, hacked into the county computer, indeed, Janet always had a
big case. He wondered what kind of weird scam they had going, to bring their
own lawyer along. Then he wondered if Frohike was hitting on Janet.

Maybe I should go down there, he thought, unpacking his suitcase. Either he
would have to do some serious shopping, or go get some clothes from Janet's
apartment.  He flinched. He wasn't ready to talk to her. He still didn't
know what he felt.

This was stupid. He hadn't meant to wait so long before he called her, or
went over there. Half his stuff was at her apartment, and probably all of
his socks.

He pulled out his key ring, and separated Janet's key. He could just go over
there while she was at the convention. She was probably already gone.

That would be creepy.

Not if he left a note.

Not if he left a nice note, saying he dropped by, but she was gone, and so
he had just gotten his socks and underwear from her laundry basket, and he
had brought her this snow globe of the Sears Tower because she liked the
movie Michael so much, and he would call.

He picked up the O'Hare Airport sack with the globe, figuring he could put
his socks in the empty sack, and went out and across the street.

He listened for a while, before he opened the door. "Janet?" Nothing.

He went inside, closing the door behind him. Unlike his place, the apartment
was bright with midday sunlight. He walked through the kitchen-she still had
the photo-booth shot of them on the refrigerator. Well, at least she hadn't
written Die Mulder Die across it.

Still holding the sack, he turned around and went to the closet with the
washer/dryer. Sure enough, there were his socks, undershirts, T-shirts, and
underwear, all folded on top of the dryer. Two of his shirts were hanging
directly above.

Mulder felt himself starting to cry. He couldn't touch anything. After a
moment, he left, remembering to take the sack with the snow globe with him.


That evening, at the hotel bar (called Ten-Forward for the evening) Langley
was dancing with a woman wearing blue paint and very little else. Frohike
was watching with distaste. "She's a Microsoft rep," he said.

"Satan's disciple," Janet said, drinking her coffee. It wasn't that she didn
't trust Frohike, but she didn't trust Frohike.
He cleared his throat. "I want to talk to you about Mulder," he said.

"Aha!" she said, reddening despite herself. "I knew there was something!"

"Well, we really did need a chick-rumors have been going around Starfleet
about my sexuality-but I wanted to talk to you." He cleared his throat
nervously. "Maybe we should go somewhere else?"

"No," Janet said, hating her blushes. "Spill it."

"I've never repeated anything he's told me," Frohike said. "And if you let
him know I talked to you, he'll never trust me." Another pause. "You know
that he's not just another Fed-that he uncovers a lot of stuff that our
government has denied. He's done a hell of a lot that he could have been
killed doing. He's one of a kind."

Janet slumped back, disappointed. More of how special Mulder was. What did
you expect, that Mulder showed him an engagement ring?

The Gunman looked impatient. "I'm just saying that to remind you that he
doesn't think like other guys. He expects everything to turn out badly,
because it always has. His personal life sucks, and his career is in the
toilet. Shit just happens to him. That Russian guy you met? He killed Mulder
's father, and when Mulder got the drop on him, Scully shot Mulder."

"She shot him?"

"Well, if Mulder had got him, he could have been framed for doing his dad."
Frohike said quickly. "It was his shoulder. But see, that's typical of what
happens to him. She did the right thing, but still-you're not supposed to
know that, by the way. "

"Cut to the chase, Melvin." She shifted her chair back.

"Hey, I'm not in court with you, lady. Calm down. I know that Mulder cares a
lot about you. I chewed his ass good, and he just agreed with me. He misses
you, and he wants to go back to you. That's what he told me. That's what you
can't tell him. He wants to come back."

 "Nothing's stopping him," she sighed.

"Come on, Counselor. He's stopping him. He thinks he's poison. He's never
had a family or anything. And the X-Files-they've been his life, and now he
doesn't know what to do with them."

"So Mulder's got to work through things first, is that what you're telling
me? And how long should I hang in there like a good little woman?"

Frohike held up his hands in surrender. "No, no. I think he's trying to get
through some really heavy shit. He's the best, but he's not easy. I just
want you to be cool, okay? If you want him, I mean. If you don't," he said,
looking away, "tell me."

"You know better, Melvin. You know how I feel." This time, Janet looked
away, blinking.

"So we're cool?"

"We're very cool."




It was very important he talk to her. He didn't know what he was going to
say, but Mulder needed to talk to Janet.  The bartender agreed. "Marty, why
don't I call you a cab and you can go see Janet?" Mulder thought that was an
outstanding idea. He told her so. The bartender smiled thinly, and gave him
back his change.

It wasn't the cab ride; he managed to give the address, and even pay the
man. He opened the outer door, and got inside with no trouble. The elevator
undid him.

Gagging, he pounded on Janet's door, one hand on his mouth. When she opened
the door, he bolted past her to the bathroom, and was just able to make it
to the toilet. He was faintly aware of Janet catching the seat and lid so he
wouldn't get hit on the head.

"What were you drinking?" Her arms around him, bracing him.

"Tequila," he croaked, still clutching the porcelain. Janet pulled off his
leather jacket just before the next wave hit. "And vodka," he managed to
say.

"Yuck," she said behind him. She held his head this time, and he pushed his
forehead against her palm. There went that gyro in Chicago, last week's
lunches, the lining of his stomach.


He felt a cool wet touch on his cheek, and Mulder opened his eyes. She
washed his face. He was lying on the bathmat, and she was crouched beside
him.

"That feels good," he said, still slurred. His eyes were unfocussed, and he
was shaking. "I had too much to drink. I'm sorry." When she didn't say
anything, he put one hand on her knee. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she told him, smoothing his hair. "Don't worry about it."

"Bad things happen when I drink," he advised her. He raised his head, and
the room spun rapidly. "Oh, shit," he moaned. "I've got the whirlies."

"Don't move, then," she said. She carefully pulled his sweatshirt off. "This
has to go."  She stood up, and made to leave. She was leaving him alone on
the rotating floor.

"JANET!" he yelled. He rolled on his back, clutching at her ankles. The room
dipped, and his stomach lurched.

"Whoa," she said, and dragged him back to the toilet-just too late.
"Ah, shit," she said, and pulled her nightshirt off and flung it into the
bathtub. "My bad-I thought you were done-I wanted to put your shirt in the
washer-I'll just wait and do everything." Mulder was occupied at the time,
and couldn't answer.

"Can you sit up, Mulder?" she asked. Holding on to his ribs, he did. She
guided him to rest against the side of the bathtub. He yelped when she
inadvertently touched the bandage on his upper arm.

"What?" Janet asked, pulling his T-shirt sleeve up.

"That's where I got shot," he said, closing his eyes.

Her hands stilled on his chest. "You got shot!"

He pried his eyelids apart. "It was only a flesh wound," he said in a manly
voice. "A ricochet.  Another scar for my collection.  Aren't you going to
put something on?

After a moment, she washed his face again, and his hands. She looked like it
was a normal Saturday night routine, like brushing her teeth. She looked
like she would like to yell at him.

I fuck everything up, he thought, and felt the tears leaking out of his
eyes. But he must have said it, because she was wiping his face again,
saying, "No, you don't. You haven't fucked anything up. You just got drunk.
You didn't drive, did you?"

"Cab," he said. "Can I lie down?" He noticed she was unzipping him. "Hey, I
may be easy, but I'm not-" With a real laugh, she efficiently yanked his
jeans off. "You've done this before," he said accusingly. A hiccup ruined
the effect.

"You want to go to bed? Is your stomach okay?" She was vigorously washing
herself. He must have really got her.

"No. Here." He slid down onto the bathmat. "Gotta present for you in my
pocket. Jacket."

Janet seemed to take a minute processing this, with some amusement. "Oh,
okay. Can I get it later?"

"Yes," he said, and closed his eyes for a moment.

He woke up an hour or so later, and he realized they had both fallen asleep
on the bathroom floor.  He also realized that he was still drunk, and
thirsty. He crawled to the sink and hung on it, drinking from the tap.

"Ouch," Janet yawned behind him. "Think you can handle the bed? My back's
killing me."

He shuddered.

"Can you sit up? Couch?" They slowly got up, Mulder leaning his full weight
on Janet. After she propped him up on the couch, Janet went to the kitchen
and came back with two glasses of water. Her mouth was quirking. "This is so
romantic," she said, with a little snort.

"I heard you the first time. I'm drunk, not deaf. Did you really go to
the-the---thing with Frohike?"

"And Langley." She yawned, and crawled on the other end of the couch. "Go to
sleep. We'll talk later."

"No," he said succinctly. "I don't want to break up."

Janet looked wide-awake. "I don't want to, either."

"I just need to get my head straight," he said, enunciating carefully. "I do
stupid things-all the time. And I'm not even talking about lately."

"Are you afraid you're going to do something stupid with me?" Janet asked,
her eyebrows coming together in a frown. Mulder felt like he was one of her
clients.

"Yes. All the time."

"And you don't want to do anything stupid? You want to keep seeing me?"

"I don't want you to hate me," Mulder said baldly. "Everybody ends up hating
me. Everybody."

"I won't," Janet said. "That's a promise. I won't hate you."

"Well, you say that now, but wait until you get abducted by aliens and
sterilized." Did he say that? That's not quite what he meant. He squinted,
trying to think.

"I don't like kids, anyway," she replied. "Let's not worry about that for
now." She leaned forward slightly, her palm out. "What do we need to worry
about? What are you really worried about?"

"I don't want anything to happen. To you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Mulder."

"Something always happens." He gave her a sad smile. "Usually it's me."

Talking to him right now was like trying to pick up Jello with her fingers.
She had a sharp spasm of irritation, and took a deep breath. "Mulder.I don't
know what to say. You've just got to trust me on this. Just trust yourself
on this. Just trust us." She squeezed his leg. "Use the Force, Luke."

He still looked miserable. She finally said, "So you don't want to break up,
and I don't want to break up. Looks like we agree. So.don't." She yawned,
and closed her eyes for a minute.


Full awareness, and a grinding headache, came to Mulder at about seven that
morning. His mouth tasted horribly. He was stretched half sitting on Janet's
couch, she curled up at one end, his bare legs entangled in her afghan. He
almost moaned. Where were his clothes? There was no way he could deal with
this, not with alien entities trying to burst out of his forehead, and his
back cramping up. She was going to kill him. She had fallen asleep while
they were talking.

"Gobacktosleep," Janet mumbled into the armrest.

"I've got to pee. I'm too old for this shit," he breathed. He pulled himself
up by the back of the couch, but nearly fell on the way to the bathroom.

He saw that his jeans and jacket were lying on the bathroom floor, but his
sweatshirt, a pink nightshirt, and a couple of towels were soaking in the
bathtub. Oh.  He splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth. He
squinted at himself in the mirror, and swallowed four ibuprofen tabs. Jesus.
Guys looked so stupid wearing an undershirt and boxers and socks. He thought
he had a toothbrush, but couldn't find it. He gave up and smeared toothpaste
on his finger, then gargled. He pulled on his jeans and shoes.

 Wincing, he bent down and felt his jacket pockets for a bulge. The snow
globe had survived. He went to her, only bumping into the wall once or
twice. She opened one eye as he came in, then sat up on one elbow.

"You look horrible. You don't have to leave, just because you threw up on
me. In some societies, that's considered a compliment."

He sat down heavily at her side, holding out the wadded-up sack.
"I got this for you in Chicago," he said, feeling that he was already such
an idiot that he need have no shame.

She took it, with a quizzical look, and emptied the sack onto her lap. "Oh,
cool," she said, shaking it, and holding it up to the light. "The Sears
Tower! From Ferris Bueller. Thanks." She held it flat on her palm, admiring
it.

"I should go," he said, rubbing his face with both hands.

Janet's temper snapped.  She carefully set the snow globe on the coffee
table. "Then fucking go! By God, pee or get off the goddamned pot!"  She
jumped off the couch and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door.

"I will!" Mulder yelled back, adrenaline pumping. He only heard the noise of
something being thrown, behind the bedroom door.

Mulder was already out the door, and halfway down the first flight of
stairs, when the door opened above him.

"Don't forget this," Janet said, and Mulder flung himself over the banister
to the next landing, as an old black bowling ball crashed down the
stairwell. The door slammed again.

Thank God for field training, he thought, heart pounding, and ran down the
stairs, with Hell's bowling ball following him with tremendous echoing
bangs. He managed to close the vestibule door on it, and left, shivering in
the winter wind as he crossed the street to his apartment.  He remembered
something, and stopped.

"Oh, hell," he said aloud. "Where's my car?" And he still didn't have any
clean underwear.





--
"Some days it just doesn't pay to chew through the restraints."---Anonymous




From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2000 07:41:30 -0500
Subject: NEW: Flight Delayed (1/4) by Tesla


Title: Flight Delayed (1/4)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip,"
      But spoilers for "Orison".
Archive: Sure, everyone, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone
I knew.
Feedback: See above, only I'll also write charming replies.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny!
Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar",  "Gaining Altitude", and
"Some Turbulence Expected"

THANKS to Emerex for excellent beta work, and general encouragement, and for
giving me my own little webpage at home.hiwaay.net/~gah1093; and to the
small select band of folks on my reading list-and Fran58's site, at
www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58, which first hosted my stories, and gives a
place for new authors.



 So here Scully was, sitting in Mulder's apartment, talking to his
ex-girlfriend. And said ex was not a stripper, not a Hooter's waitress or an
aerobics instructor, but a criminal defense attorney. Her attorney, if she
wanted. In case the county prosecutor arrested her for killing Donnie
Pfaster. And what Scully wanted, more than anything, was to put her face in
the couch cushions and weep, weep for both of them, both of them Mulder's
women (although he wasn't having sex with either of them, as far as Scully
knew).

  Mulder had talked her into seeing Janet Durrell almost immediately. "These
cops are making noises like they want to arrest you," he said angrily,
urgently, kneeling beside her as she sat at her kitchen table. "I've put
them off. But this one idiot seems to think it was a lover's quarrel."
Scully barely made it to the sink before retching. Mulder got her a glass of
water, a wet paper towel, before continuing his hissing in her ear. "You
need to see a lawyer."

 "Where am I going to find a lawyer on Sunday morning?" she choked, trying
not to hyperventilate. "The Bureau-"

 Mulder looked straight in her eyes. "Janet. She's home. She's across the
street from my place.  That's what she does, Scully. She's a defense lawyer.
She's smart. She'll fight for you.  And she knows a hell of a lot more about
the X-Files and all the shit we've seen than anyone the Personnel Office
would recommend. And she won't be a Bureau flack. She's told me a hundred
times that there's a conflict of interest with the Bureau and with an agent
under investigation."

 "Damn, Mulder, she's not gonna help me," Scully spat.

 "Yes, she will. I'm the one who-I didn't stop seeing her because of you,
and she knows that." He paused. "I told her a lot about the work. About
Tooms, and the Jersey Devil, and Pfaster, and Bill Patterson. She knows
about our work. You won't have to bring her up to speed. And she's good."

 Scully couldn't believe she was even considering talking to Janet. "Why did
you stop seeing her, then?" she asked bitterly.

 Mulder blinked twice. "Because I'm a fucked-up shit," he said levelly.
 "Is that what she said?" Scully demanded.
 "No, that's what I say." His eyes, already bloodshot, grew darker. "But
Janet will help you." He stood up, slowly, knees cracking. He looked down at
her. "Because I'll ask her."

 "And she'll do it? Because you ask her?"

 He turned away, head down, his hands on his hips. "Yeah."




 The District cops just wanted Scully to "come downtown" that afternoon.
Mulder, having made his phone calls to Janet, and, presumably, Skinner,
dragged Scully out the door to his car, and drove like a maniac to his
apartment. Like he was afraid Janet would change her mind and tell him to
stuff it. He pulled out his cellular and said, "We're here." He listened.
"No, it's late. Meet us downstairs." He locked Scully in his car, and loped
across the street to the entrance of the other apartments. Scully thought
sullenly that if Mulder had known Scully had spied on him there, he wouldn't
be so cavalier in his assumptions.

 He had no idea how carefully she had observed him, back in December, when
he abruptly changed from his abnormal cheerfulness into full-blown Mulder
the Miserable Victim of Fate.  He didn't go home early, any more, or she
else she saw him leave for the gym. He was casting an even deeper gloom than
usual through the basement: Mulder, the dark star. So, she had seized upon
one of his usual groanings over the Bureau's Christmas memos, to ask him if
he was seeing Janet over the holidays.  "No," he had said, and changed the
subject. And he continued being the familiar Mulder she was accustomed to.
Even the whole New Year's Eve extravaganza of the Undead, complete with
mandatory visit to an emergency room, and the kiss, was within normal
operating perimeters. She had fully expected him to kiss her, given his
usual Pavlovian response to anything he was watching on television.

 There they were, walking towards her, Janet with a legal pad, pages flying
in the breeze, long coat open over sweats. She nodded briefly at Scully,
getting out of the car, and they walked into Mulder's building, Mulder
giving his version the entire time. Finally, in the elevator, the other
woman turned to Mulder. "Be quiet, Fox, " she said, her voice gravelly. "I
want to talk to Agent Scully. Alone." She held up her hand, palm out, as he
started to speak. "Attorney-Client privilege, remember? Don't worry, we'll
talk later." They were at the apartment door, and Janet gave him a tiny push
away. "Go get us some coffee and donuts." She shut the door on him, and
looked around before walking to the couch.

 She sat down, and looked up at Scully. Her gaze was very clear and steady.
"What are the cops gonna say?" she asked. "Well, wait. Is this the mortician
with the fingernail fixation?" She stood up and pulled off her coat. "Where'
s the bathroom?"

 Scully stared, pointed to it. "Don't you know?" she couldn't help herself.

 "I've never been over here," Janet said, without inflection, and
disappeared in the direction indicated.
 Scully collapsed in the chair, mute. What a morning.

 When Janet came back, and sat down, Scully was shaken by a glimpse of
sadness on her face her brown eyes almost black. Then it was gone. "Nicest
single-guy bathroom I've been in for years," Janet said approvingly.

 "Thank you for seeing me," Scully said. It wasn't as hard as she had
thought. "I wouldn't, in your shoes. I wasn't very friendly when we met
before."

 Janet raised her eyebrows. "I've represented law enforcement cases," she
said, clearly making Mulder off-limits.  Scully thought, But we have so much
in common! We should form a support group, ask Fowley, call that English
bitch?Hi, I'm Dana and I work with Fox Mulder.

 Janet picked up her legal pad. "I don't want you to confess to me. I want
to know what you did up to the point of the shooting. Don't tell me about
the shooting. Tell me everything until then."

 So Scully did. Janet made notes, only interjecting the occasional "Shit!"
Strangely enough, Scully felt quieter, herself. Janet seemed to radiate
massive calm and confidence, even with bed hair. By the time Mulder
reappeared, with, Scully was surprised to see, cartons of coffee and a box
of Dunkin' Donuts, Janet seemed to have what she wanted. She wrote steadily,
her face almost placid.

 "We'll want your boss to messenger the first casefile to the cops.
Eventually. Let me have a copy of everything, first." she told Mulder,
popping the lid of her cup. Delicately sipping at the coffee, she held out
the pad to Mulder. "Write down exactly what you're telling the cops and your
boss." Waving aside the paper, Mulder went over to his desk and sat down at
his computer. Janet motioned to Scully. "C'mere." Warily, Scully sat down.
"You knew he was going to kill you," she said quietly. Scully nodded. "You
were tied. He prepared the bath. He brought the candles and lit them. You
got loose. You got your gun." Janet paused, running a finger along her
eyebrow. "Did you know Mulder was there?" she asked.

 "I thought I was still alone with him," Scully said, and shivered. " When I
came out of the bedroom. But right after-I mean right after-I knew Mulder
was there."
 "All you could see was Pfaster," Janet stated. She looked straight at
Scully for emphasis. "You know, you did the right thing. You know that a bad
situation only gets worse. You know that you have to defend yourself by any
means necessary." Scully nodded, and then jumped slightly, like someone
coming out of a trance. She was sitting knee to knee with Janet, both her
hands gripping Janet's left hand.

 "They can't charge you," Janet said, her voice deeply satisfied. She
disengaged herself from Scully's clasp, and stood up abruptly. "What time do
they want her?" she asked Mulder.

 "One, " he said over his shoulder. He was watching the printer, but he got
up as Janet walked over to him. "Let me walk you back." He was still wearing
his jacket. She plucked the paper from the printer, leaning around him.

 "Dana, I'll see you later on today. Don't say a goddamn word until I'm with
you." They left the apartment, and Scully heard their footsteps recede.


 In the elevator, Mulder turned to Janet. "You're the best," Mulder said
thickly. Janet shrugged, her lip curling cynically.

 "I'm billing you," she said, trying for snottiness and failing. She was
startled when Mulder put his hands on her shoulders.

 "You are the best person I know," he said. He dropped his hands as the
elevator stopped; the door opened and closed as they stared at each other.
Mulder gently took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm.
It took all of Janet's strength not to snatch it away, not to slap him and
run. Or throw herself in his arms. She couldn't keep from letting her face
show her misery, her eyes from filling with tears.

 "I must be. I must be a fool," she choked.  "I must be a fucking idiot."

 "No," Mulder said, and kissed her, his hands tight and painful on her arms.
She wanted to fall into him. She shook him loose, but gently, and they
walked across the street in silence. Mulder let her get her own key out, and
when she looked up at him to say goodbye, he kissed her again, on her open
mouth.

 At the police station:
 "She's a victim, god damn it!" Janet insisted. She was nose to nose with
the assistant district attorney. "He already attacked her once. He escaped
just to kill her! He brought the candles-read the fuckin' file! That's his
MO. This is a serial killer for God's sake." Scully moved her eyes to look
at Mulder. He was concentrating on Janet's face with all the interest he
customarily showed at budget meetings-a game face for the cops, Scully
thought with one disinterested part of her mind. The other parts of her mind
were blank
 "I read it as a deliberate killing. Her partner was there-he had his weapon
drawn-"
 "Yeah? Well, she's gonna testify she didn't know he was there!" The two
women seemed to realize that a roomful of cops was watching them in
open-mouthed fascination, and they went into an office, slamming the door.
Scully was hunched over, her face milky pale. Mulder looked like a man with
a bleeding ulcer. No one said anything in the outer room.

 "They think we're gonna catfight, Darla," Janet said mildly, sitting down
in the chair in front of the desk. Darla Skemp, the veteran ADA, perched on
the desk.
 "Yeah, well, I tend to agree with you. I don't want to prosecute. But for
some reason, the sergeant felt like something was funny." She pushed her
glasses up her nose. "I admit, it's a waste of time."
 "Darla, a grand jury would no-bill it. We're talking Clarice Starling and
Silence of the Lambs here. She should be commended, not charged. The only
thing she has to worry about is the internal investigation. She didn't know
her partner was there, and she could have shot him. But that's not our
problem. Since she didn't know her partner had come in the front, there's no
intent. And since she had every reason to believe she was about to be
tortured to death, she has every element of self-defense. C'mon. Don't you
think I could get a straight acquittal? Hell, I could get a straight
dismissal at preliminary." The desk creaked as Janet shifted.
"I-could-sell-it," she chanted, in a singsong. "You don't wanna charge a
fed."

 Darla looked at the copy of the X-File in her hands. "Yeah, I tend to
agree. Okay. No charges. I'll have them file self-defense." She raised an
eyebrow. "But you'll have a time with those dildos in Reno's office, if you
don't put the right spin on it."
 "Mulder's taking care of that."

 "Jesus, that's another thing. Get him out of here, before some other corpse
turns up. My officers hate him. Call me this week about your dear little
mugger."


 The door opened, and Scully found herself looking not at the ADA, but at
Janet. Janet smiled faintly at her. "We're done here, guys. As far as the
District Attorney's office is concerned, it's self-defense." Scully felt her
vision blacken for a moment. When she recovered her self-possession, Janet
had left with the ADA. She could hear their voices outside in the hall for a
moment. She looked at Mulder, but he wasn't looking at her. His head was
bowed.


 After Mulder had driven her home, he and Scully had spent all Sunday
clearing the debris, throwing out the rug, and generally trying to remove
all traces of "crime scene." Mulder was in his most infuriating mood, making
stupid jokes about everything, going to IKEA for a new mirror without
consulting her, calling Frohike! to come help them. Melvin refused, thank
God. But she managed to get rid of Mulder, she managed to take a shower, she
managed to sleep. She dreamed of Janet holding her hands while she slept.
And she was able to get up and face Monday.

 Monday was hideous, of course. She had to report to Skinner. She had to
surrender her weapon, pending his review of her report. He asked her to
write a report for him and a report for the Office of Professional
Responsibility; she had to draft them and let him see the drafts first. His
growl was set on low; apparently, the assistant district attorney had called
him and given him the good word about the lack of charges. After that, she
thought, go home and finish cleaning up her apartment. She had to go to
Confession.

 But it wasn't as bad as she thought. For one thing, Mulder didn't shadow
her with his hangdog guilty expression, and he didn't go to the other
extreme and glower at her. He had his own report ready on the computer, and
after he got a phone call, left with it and did not come back to work. She
assumed, by the strained look on his face, that he went to have his own
private session with the Assistant Director. She got her reports done, and
sent them up to Skinner after lunch; then she made her mandatory appointment
with the counselor.

 When she finally got home, she decided that she and Mulder had done a
pretty good job at cleaning. The professional carpet service had removed all
traces of glass and blood from the carpet, and the Mulder had already
replaced the light fixture. So, she took a long hot shower (without thinking
about the cold bath Pfaster had in mind until later) and drank a glass of
wine, watching the Discovery Channel.

  She slept, and didn't dream.

 Tuesday morning brought other thoughts. How could Janet have helped her if
Janet loved Mulder? It must have really been nothing. Mulder acted upset
about it, but face it, Mulder was dysfunctional.  They couldn't have been
living together. Janet couldn't have any hard feelings. Scully would have to
force Mulder to tell how much Janet's regular fees were. It was worth it.
For just that one moment in Mulder's apartment, no one had ever made her
feel as safe. That must be part of her lawyer mojo-the whammy, she smiled to
herself.

 For a moment, she pitied Mulder for breaking it off with Janet.

Title: Flight Delayed (2/4)
Author: Tesla

Janet had a shitty Sunday afternoon. She sent an e-mailed invoice for her
fee to Mulder, to relieve her feelings. She sent an invitation to
Darla-the-ADA for lunch sometime. Then she went to bed and decided to sleep,
until Monday morning.

She had been doing that a lot, ever since she and Fox Mulder had broken up.
FoxMulder, all one name. Him. He had just gotten to tolerate being called
Fox, too-and didn't care at all if she called him Fox in bed. Fox. She had
bought Dr. Seuss' Fox in Socks  for his Christmas present, and it was still
in its sack under her bed. She hadn't seen him since early December.

Get a cat, she thought gloomily. Cat in the Hat.

Mulder had called her early Sunday morning, his voice strained. I know you
should hang up on me, he had started, but I need you to help Scully. She
said, derisively, "Hah! Help her?"

"Yes."

At her continued silence, he had actually said, "You know I wouldn't ask you
if I was with her."

"With, in the sexual sense?" Janet had replied, furious at herself for
asking.

"I'm not," he said. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know," Janet said, her voice cracking. On the other end of the line,
Mulder let out a breath that was close to a sob, before telling her the
details. So, for the chance to see him, the chance to prove what a wonderful
person she was, she agreed.

That's what she hated herself for: setting herself up for sainthood. All to
have him at her door, at her mercy. His mouth on her hand, his mouth on
hers. If he had asked, she would have done him in the elevator.

The case itself was a piece of cake. Indict a cop? A former victim? A tiny
woman like Dana Scully? As for Scully herself, she was like every
defendant-she didn't think she would ever be talking to a criminal defense
lawyer.  She was law enforcement, not a defendant. The change in identity
rattled the strongest people. Janet was so relieved that Scully wasn't
acting like the new MulderWoman, she could hardly stand up. And there she
was, literally holding Scully's hand-but Scully didn't have Mulder, either.
Too bad Mulder didn't see the hand thing-he would have been mumbling about
threesomes.

Janet didn't have him, but she had two ties, a suit in its dry cleaning bag,
three casefiles, half a carton of Coronas, the DVD player he had brought
over and plugged into her television,  a souvenir snow globe from the
Chicago airport, and a pillow that still smelled of him. His hair stuff and
a razor in the bathroom-well, she had bundled up all the loose items in a
Borders shopping bag and put them in her hall closet for return. Sometime.

Monday morning, she had one tasteful bouquet of flowers from Scully, one
odd-looking plant from Frohike (did they ever stop monitoring police band
radio?) and a messengered cashier's check from Mulder.

If he doesn't think I'll cash it, he's nuts, she thought, tapping the
envelope on her open palm. Cash it and blow it all. Diamond earrings,
day-spas.

She turned it over to sign, and saw a Post-It Note.

I love you.

And that's when she left work and took the Metro to the J. Edgar Hoover
building.

Title: Flight Delayed (3/4)
Author: Tesla

 Mulder didn't know what was going to happen next.

 He had spent all Sunday helping Scully clean up her apartment. Things
looked almost normal by the time he left. But he still couldn't sleep,
wondering what to say to Janet.  Seeing her again had jolted him back to
perspective, in a way that his New Year's Eve kiss with Scully had
significantly----not.

 Not a mistake, exactly, but a mis-step. After so long without Janet, he had
clung to Scully again. But this year, Scully did not bother to ask him what
he was going to do for Christmas. It was somehow clear to him that new
excursions to haunted houses were off the agenda. She didn't call him, and
he didn't call her. Careful spying informed him that Janet's car was gone
the appropriate number of days for a trip home for the holidays. He bought
another snow-globe, but he hadn't made the effort to give it to her.

Then, after he kissed Scully, he had thought for a minute-ten seconds,
really-that maybe they would change. That maybe she would show him something
aside from that comradely, fellow-soldier devotion. He knew that, in the
abstract, Scully was devoted to him, that she respected the work, and she
admired how he had kept looking for the truth. She knew that he would do
anything in his power for her. And that she would put her career and life on
the line for him.

But her feelings were all in the abstract. He didn't feel that she had one
gleam of affection for his flesh and blood. He needed some affection. He
needed some physical contact beyond a handclasp. The world hadn't come to an
end for them, and it should have. He was tired of being alone, and it was
clear to him that Scully didn't want him in her nice, tidy world, any more
than she really wanted him in her nice, tidy apartment.

His thoughts naturally went to Janet. She wanted him. He still had her key,
and she had never called to demand it back. She also hadn't sent his
belongings back to him, C.O.D., or worse, via Melvin Frohike. (And she was
quite capable of doing any of those things)

Mulder was still doing emotional long division problems in his head, when
Donnie Pfaster escaped from prison. When Scully shot Pfaster, and the
friendliest of the cops suggested that he get his partner a lawyer, he
thought, Who you gonna call?

So he called. And she came, although not without making her unhappiness
plain to him.  And when they were alone in the elevator, he knew that she
still cared. He knew he could move back into her apartment, and her life.

When she e-mailed her bill, he got an idea. He wrote a check for the entire
amount, and before giving it to the messenger, he wrote "I love you" on a
Post-It Note. Like a real geek, he thought, once he had sent it.

After that, he waited. Thank God Scully was upstairs with Skinnermost of the
morning; she would have caught on that something was up. (Or would she?) He
answered all his e-mail (including snotty questions from Accounting
regarding his expenses involved in going to California and Chicago),
polished up his incident report, and put away several files. Well, that
might have made her suspicious.

Scully returned from Skinner's office, without the expression of one who had
been treated to Skinner's imitation of the Iron Chef ("And the dish tonight
is: agent tempura!"). She sat down at her desk and booted up her laptop.
Mulder pretended to be absorbed in reading his stack of Weekly World News.

Then his phone rang.



 Janet had ridden about halfway to downtown D.C. when she realized, to her
horror, that she was still wearing her sneakers. The complete urban
professional look: business suit and running shoes. At least she had clean
underwear. She coughed, blushing bright red, and her seatmate gave her a
curious stare.

"What if he isn't there?" she asked aloud.
Her seatmate kindly ignored her.

 No, he messengered it this morning. He wouldn't do that and then vanish,
not after writing.that.She touched the note, folded in her pocket, for
reassurance.


 Then, she just had to go in and ask for him. Go in and give her name to the
guard. She'd been there before, with her first boss, escorting a defendant
who wanted to make a deal. The guard, incurious, took her name and Mulder's
extension, before calling Mulder's office.

 "He'll be right up, he said," the guard told her. "You can wait over
 there."
She sat down, clasping her hands on her lap over her briefcase. (Her last
coherent thought was that she should try to look like she was working, so
she had dumped the contents of her briefcase onto her desk, and filled it
with the contents of her purse.)

 "Hey," Mulder said behind her, and she started. Just like him to sneak up
on her. She stood up, and held out her hand. "Did you bring your car?" he
asked in a normal voice. He was wearing his patented "Fox Mulder, FBI"
expression.

 "I took the Metro," she said. "Are we going somewhere?"

 "I hope so," he said quietly. "My car's in the parking deck."

 "Okay," she said. He released her hand, and nodded towards an exit she hadn
't noticed. She walked in front of him, and he put one hand in the small of
her back to guide her.

 They walked for a few minutes in silence, until they reached the parking
deck elevators. He punched a button, the doors opened. They got in; she
noticed that even this elevator had a security camera. Finally, finally, the
doors opened and he led her around a concrete pillar. "My car's up there,"
he said, pointing up a ramp. "But this is the security camera's blind spot."
He scuffed the toe of his shoe through discarded cigarette butts. "As you
see."

 "Oh," she said, and looked up. His face was unbearably worried. She couldn'
t have that.

 "I love you," she said. "I'm crazy about-" but he had shoved her against
the pillar and was kissing her. Her briefcase fell out of her hand onto the
concrete. She ignored it.

 "I love you," he said.
 Behind them, they heard a door open. Mulder cast a harassed look over his
shoulder. "We better leave." He bent down for her briefcase, and put it in
her hand. "My car's over here," he said, and gently took her elbow.

Title: Flight Delayed (4/4)
Author: Tesla

 Tuesday, Assistant Director Skinner called Scully into his office and went
over the ground rules for the expected inter-agency investigation. He seemed
fairly nonchalant about it. "This is just routine, Agent," he said. "You
know that; any time an agent fires her weapon, the Bureau investigates.
However, since you   haven't been charged, there's no need to worry. You and
Mulder don't have anything pending out in the field. I'll authorize another
stint at Quantico. Or take some time off; Mulder won't, but that shouldn't
stop you." He picked up a letter. "Mandatory counseling, I'm afraid, but you
know the drill." He picked up a business card. "I'm giving you my private
number, Scully." (When he called her Scully in that tone she knew she was
home free.)

In the elevator down to the basement, Scully wondered what Skinner's
girlfriend called him-not Walter. Sergei? And Skinner was such a skinny
name, like an old man's name. Walter Skinner. Set Janet Durrell up with
Skinner.
She paused. No. She didn't like that idea at all. Set Janet up with
Frohike-he'd like those long legs wrapped around him.

The elevator door opened. Her bawdy thoughts didn't surprise her. Karen
Kossoff had told her years ago that one way the mind processed
life-threatening situations was to turn to sex.  Well, Karen had meant
actual sex, not mental sex; but that was the only kind she had. And life
with the X-Files had certainly given her enough fantasy scripts for shelves
of MulderPorno Lite.

She squirmed mentally. Yuck. Don't go there. Be firm, make Mulder accept her
repayment of Janet's fee. Besides, she didn't (and let's be honest, Dana)
like the idea of owing either Janet or Mulder.  Not so much Janet-Janet was
another professional.  Scully couldn't bear the idea of one more item on the
mental tally of Who Owed Whom, a list already seven years long.

It would be nice if she and Mulder could wipe the slate clean, and start out
by neither one of them owing the other anything.


 Mulder was at his desk, writing furiously on a legal pad. He raised his
eyes as she came in.  "You've got a letter," he said, and went back to
scrawling notes. On Scully's desk were a lidded cup of Starbucks coffee, and
an envelope.

 Scully picked up the envelope. From Janet, "Hand Delivery" was typed as the
address. Inside, Janet enclosed Mulder's check, saying that ethically, as
Mulder wasn't the client, she was pleased to return his check, per Scully's
request, and would Scully forward a check for the agreed amount? And that
Janet had Mulder's copy of Bureau regs and OPR procedures. Please let Janet
know as soon as Scully was given her hearing date, and make an office
appointment as soon as said hearing was set. And she was very truly Scully'
s.

 "It feels weird having a lawyer," Scully said conversationally, watching
Mulder's face like a flyfisher watching the success of her cast.

 Mulder didn't give her the quick quip.  Perhaps, he being the veteran of
many sessions with the review board, Mulder (at last) wasn't going to joke?
He didn't even look up.  Scully's teasing feelings left her. "Skinner acts
like nothing's going to happen."

 "Something always happens," Mulder said, looking up now. He seemed
exhausted.  Scully felt protective of him. He would worry much more than she
did. He always thought everything that happened to her was his fault.

 "Really, Mulder, Janet and I can handle it."
But at that, Mulder gave her one of the blankest stares in his repertoire.



He hadn't slept at all the night before. Not because of the hot reunion sex
or even a Knicks game running overtime, but because he lay awake imagining
all the dire things that could happen to Janet. True, the Consortium was, to
all appearances, dead, but who could say? What if various mutants began
breaking into Janet's apartment? His apartment certainly had been violated
more than the DUI laws in Fort Lauderdale.

 This is sick, he had told himself, turning his pillow, while Janet slept
with an annoyingly satisfied smile. You're transferring all of your anxiety
about Scully onto Janet. Which must mean that he really did love Janet.  And
he couldn't be sure whether she really believed all the weird shit he said
had happened to him, or whether she had decided he was demented but cute.

But Frohike told her, he comforted himself. She thinks Melvin hung the moon.
In fact, their little mutual admiration society was a little scary. If
Scully had ever joined forces with Frohike, his life would not have been
worth living.
But if Scully had ever given a thought to him as a person with feelings,
instead of some kind of comic relief/fighter against injustice, he wouldn't
be in Janet's bed now.

Janet had opened her eyes then, proving that she had been awake all along,
and climbed back on top of him. And all of Mulder's arguments had
disappeared, subsumed by sensation.

Which was why he couldn't even respond when Scully mentioned Janet's name.
He felt like a traveler in a foreign land, one in which he didn't know the
language or the rituals.

He wanted to tell Scully that he was changed; that he had joined the ranks
of the ordinary male; that he wanted an ordinary life; that there was no
single bad guy, and that even finding Cancerman would never bring back the
dead.  That he had grown up.

That someone loved him.

Instead, he kept writing his reports.


At lunch, in a suburban strip-mall restaurant, a tall bald man met a shorter
man with a neatly trimmed beard. Businessmen among other businessmen, all
with cell phones and briefcases.

John Byers handed AD Skinner a floppy disk. "That's all I've found on Janet
Durrell," he said. "There is nothing to indicate that she is anyone other
than what she is supposed to be."

The Assistant Director frowned. "She's representing Agent Scully in this OPR
investigation. Is she still seeing Agent Mulder?"

"Not that I know of."

Skinner hesitated fractionally. "You understand why I couldn't risk using
the Bureau to check her out?"

Byers nodded. "Believe me, Mr. Skinner, we wouldn't have given you this
information if we didn't think you had Mulder's best interests at heart."

Skinner's shoulders raised and lowered a fraction of an inch. "I hope so."


####




--
"Some days it just doesn't pay to chew through the restraints."---Anonymous



From: Tesla <gah1093@ro.com>
Date: Thu, 20 Apr 2000 06:51:55 -0500
Subject: NEW: "Shuttle" (1/?) by Tesla

Title: Shuttle (1/?)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip,"
     But spoilers for "Orison".
Archive: Sure, everyone, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone
I knew.
Feedback: See above, only I'll write fulsome thanks.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny!
Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar",  "Gaining Altitude",
"Some Turbulence Expected", "Visibility Zero" and "Flight Delayed".

THANKS to Emerex for excellent beta work, and general encouragement, and for
creating my little webpage: www.home.hiwaay.net/~gah1093; and to the small
select band of folks on my reading list-and Fran58's site, at
www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58, which showcases other new authors.

NOTES: Waiting for that "Bob" MulderClone, complete with pullover and
loafers.




Dana Scully grew quite accustomed to talking about the invasion of her
apartment.  She first talked about the original case, when Donnie Pfaster
had abducted her, in Minneapolis, and how he had attempted to "prepare" her.
Then, she talked about walking in on him at her own home. Her lawyer did not
let her wander from the script, and her lawyer did not let her appear alone
before the investigative committee. Scully had repeated her planned
testimony at least six times before they showed up.

"I'm astounded that you ever testified before these people without a
 lawyer," Scully's lawyer said angrily. "Talk about a death wish."

 Janet Durrell was pacing in the hallway. She obviously couldn't wait to get
started. She only stopped when the door opened, framing Assistant Director
Skinner. Scully stood up, and Janet stepped in front of her.

"Ms. Durrell," he said frostily. "The committee is ready for Agent Scully,
but was not prepared for her lawyer." He closed the door behind him.

"Then Agent Scully isn't talking," Janet said, and picked up her briefcase.
Scully kept her expression neutral: they had rehearsed this. The employee
handbook clearly stated that any agent was entitled to be represented by
counsel at any hearing of this nature.  Meaning, shooting suspects was
serious, had possible political repercussions, and said agent could be
facing a shitstorm.

"You are inferring that Agent Scully has something to fear," Skinner was
saying.

"You are inferring that Agent Scully loses her Constitutional rights because
she is a federal employee," Janet said back. "Hey, I got all day to debate
this, but I would assume that high officials of our nation's chief law
enforcement agency have other things to do than interrogate and humiliate a
federal law officer, one who should be commended rather than excoriated."

"We have no other agenda than making sure that Agent Scully acted properly
on this occasion."

"Well, surely your own investigation and your own report should be
sufficient. Or is there a secret FBI handbook of procedure that is not
furnished to agents?"

The two just stared at each other. Scully felt impatient with the entire
dance. She knew that Skinner believed her, and filed the appropriate report.
They all knew this was just a farce.


"Farce?" Janet had repeated. They were in the law office. "This is to keep
you from getting snotty remarks in your personal file, a pay cut, or a
suspension. Didn't you have enough of the old boys' club when you were in
the general office pool? Don't you realize that this is just like any
corporation in America? Women have to try twice as hard to stay in the same
place. "

"But it's all garbage. Skinner told me everything was all right."

"Okay, it's garbage. But you have to do it, so get used to it. It's part of
the game."

"Donnie Pfaster was pure evil," Scully said sharply. "Do you know that he
was a necrophile? Mulder let the Minneapolis cops say 'death fetishist', but
he liked dead women. He wanted them nice and cold. He wanted to groom my
hair and nails. You could see the Devil in his face."  Janet said nothing,
sitting back in her chair, playing with a snow globe of the Lincoln
Memorial. "I saw it," Scully said.

Janet turned the globe over. "Tell me all that again, with more detail," she
said.
Scully blinked. "I mean it, " Janet said. "Tell me again. Tell me about the
Devil."

"It's too late to use an insanity defense," Scully said. She picked up her
coffee cup and set it back down.

"Tell me about the Devil." Janet repeated.

"I saw him. The first time, in 1994. I saw his face change. His face-he
looked-he was a demon.  I can't really explain it. Maybe I hallucinated. But
he was evil. He tortured his victims. He was going to torture me."

"Yes, so you were in fear of your life. You knew what was in store for you.
You knew you were going to be raped and mutilated, and murdered." Janet put
the globe on her desk. "You say you can't remember if Mulder was there when
you shot."

"It all happened at the same moment." Scully said, slowly. "But I could have
shot Mulder. I was shot, you know. My partner in New York came in and shot a
suspect and the bullet went through him and hit me."

"A different partner, not Mulder, shot you?" Janet asked, wrinkling her
forehead.

"Peyton Ritter. But it was the same thing. Ritter barreled in, and thought I
was in danger. And I got shot."

"No, if you use that analogy, then Mulder would have shot Pfaster. In fact,
the fact that Mulder wasn't shot suggests that it was over by the time he
was there."

"But did I have to shoot him?" Scully asked. She stood up, and went to look
out the window of the tiny office. Janet swiveled her chair to watch her. "I
had my weapon. Mulder was right there. He had his weapon. Something made me
shoot him." She looked down at Janet. "But what if I wasn't supposed to
shoot him? What if it was a test, and I failed?"

"Is this a Catholic thing, or are you being karmic on me?" Janet asked
expressionlessly. "Because I thought shooting the bad guys was what the good
guys are supposed to do."

"Don't patronize me, counselor, "Scully said, still staring outside.  "You
should clean these windows."

"Don't patronize me," Janet said equably. She swiveled slightly in the
chair, until her knee nudged Scully. "Hey. Listen up. " Scully glanced down,
out of the side of her eyes.  Janet raised her hand, palm out. "This is how
it will go. Your assistant director will first act like you aren't entitled
to a lawyer. That's bullshit. Then, if all signs are right, and I'm damned
sure they are, we go in to the little committee, and you either tell them
what you told me, or they say they accept your report and your assistant
director's report, and the matter is closed."

Scully looked down at Janet for a long minute. Then, seemingly out of the
blue, she asked, over her shoulder, "Did Mulder ever tell you that I'm
supposed to be some sort of Snow Queen?"

"You rode a float in the Snow Parade?" Janet asked.

"No. Like the Hans Christian Andersen story. I don't know if anyone really
said it. Someone told me someone else told them-"

"Triple hearsay," Janet interjected. "But I know the story."

"Do you think I act like a Snow Queen?" Scully asked harshly.

Janet paused. Scully turned fully from the window and faced her, knee to
knee, waiting.

"I think you're more like Kay," Janet said gently. "You might have a sliver
of ice in your heart, and it's freezing everything."

Scully felt her face scrunch up hideously, painfully, and then she was
kneeling, crying with her face in her hands, on Janet's knees.



With a wrench, Scully was back in the present. Skinner was closing the door
behind him.

"I thought you'd gone into a trance, " Janet said, stuffing Altoids in her
mouth.
"Now, watch.  It'll go like I said it will."

And it did.

Title: Shuttle (2/3)
Author: Tesla

The man came into the Alexandria law office at four o'clock Tuesday
afternoon. He did not look any different from any other salesman or client,
as he stood in front of Valerie, the secretary, with his zippered portfolio.
He claimed he had some documents for his wife's lawyer. Ms. Durrell wasn't
available, she told him.

So he pulled out his pistol and aimed through the glass partition and shot
her.
She had just enough warning to dive for the kneehole in her desk, so the
bullet missed her head and gouged her upper arm, but he ignored her as the
glass exploded. She fell to the floor, pulling files and the telephone down
with her.

Other people ran out of their offices at the noise, then backed up when they
saw the gun. "Where is she?" he screamed. "Where is that bitch?"

He began shooting through the flimsy wood doors that were slammed against
him. Others were piling office furniture against their doors; the college
student who worked as a runner made it out the back door and ran to the next
office to call for help.
*

On the Beltline, stuck in traffic, Dana Scully was arguing with her partner
about God.

"I believe in randomness," Mulder said, drumming his fingers on the steering
wheel. "I believe in random numbers and spontaneous combustion." He wasn't
focussing on the argument, but was half-listening to the local talk radio.
Scully had promptly turned the volume down to the minimum. Like it was going
to distract him from watching the line of stopped cars in front of them.

He leaned back in his seat. "Haven't we been having this conversation for
several years now? Your beliefs were formed in a formal religious system.
Great. You're satisfied with the answers that you find in that system. Great
again."

"But?" Scully asked, examining her cuticles.

He sighed theatrically. "Haven't we done this a hundred times?"

*

The gunman was methodically shooting at door locks. The secretary pulled her
office chair over her head, and hoped her would think she was dead. Her
blood was streaming over the plastic chair mat.

Someone had called the police; sirens wailed outside.

No one came in. The air was cloudy.

"Where is she?" the gunman shouted, and tried to kick a door open. A woman
screamed as he shot through the door.

Valerie could smell what she thought was her own blood, and gunpowder, as
she tried to lie still. She counted the people in the building. Who was
still at court?

She saw his shoes as he stood before her. She didn't blink.

He pulled the telephone up by the cord, and punched in a number.

"I'm at Alexandria Legal Services, and I'm going to shoot everyone here
unless I can talk to my wife," he said in a perfectly conversational voice.

*
It was amazing how vicious some professed Christians could be, Mulder
thought, not for the first time. Sheesh. He had met stone cold atheists who
at least listened courteously to another point of view.

Of course, he had deliberately hit Scully's flash button. The "I don't need
this shit" tone seemed to drive her to raging lunacy. It was always good for
a fifteen-minute tirade, which always ended.

"Since you aren't listening to me, as usual, I'll stop," she concluded,
delivered in her coldest forensic tone.

"Scully, I always listen to you," he said. He spoiled the effect by adding,
"I've always liked that lecture. Your catechism teacher must be beaming-"

She held her palm out for silence and turned up the radio. This was an
unusual day.

"-Shots fired. There are reports of a gunman holding hostages inside the
offices of Alexandria Legal Services."

Mulder went cold.

"That's Janet's office, " Scully said, blankly.

"Get your gun and badge ready," he said, and bumped his car onto the median,
driving up through the grassy strip to an exit. The other cars honked
belligerently, and Scully wound down her window and held out her badge.


*
The police had the street cordoned off, and ambulances waiting. A negotiator
was on his way.

Valerie didn't know that. She saw the gunman move the chair from her, and
squeezed her eyes shut.

"You can go," he said. "You're just a secretary, aren't you?"

Valerie usually bristled at those words, but she nodded fervently, and he
helped her up with one hand, the other hand still holding out the pistol.
She clapped her hand to her shoulder, and he half-dragged her to the front
door, and pushed her out in front.

She tripped and fell down the two steps to the street; a policeman in a
Kevlar vest raced out and pulled her behind a car.

"Who is it? Do you know? Who's in there with him?"

"I don't remember, " Valerie said. "I don't remember who he is. He shot at
someone else. He wanted his wife's lawyer."

*

Mulder parked at an angle, next to the police tape. But Scully got out of
the car and raced up to the nearest officer, badge in hand.

"Agent Scully, FBI," she said. "I know one of the lawyers. What's going on?"

"Disgruntled divorce, " the policeman said. "He shot one girl, and let her
go. She says there's more inside." He shrugged. "Suicide by cop, seems to
me."

Scully looked around at the crowd. There was the ambulance. There was the
hostage team.  She caught sight of a blonde woman standing beside a police
captain, and she ran through the crowd.

"I don't even file divorces," Janet was saying. "His wife could be someone I
sent to someone else." Scully put her hand on her arm, and Janet looked down
at Scully as she finished. "Oh, hi, Dana." Then she looked past Scully. Her
hand patted Scully's for a second, and then she stepped away from her.

"Damn it, Janet-" Mulder said. He was shaking.

"Is this any time to quote Rocky Horror Show?" Janet asked, pokerfaced.

"Is this any time to be a snot?" he retorted, and crushed her in a bear hug.
He let her go after a moment. "Jesus, there's a time and place for humor."
He kissed the side of her face. "You idiot."

"I can't help it. It's a joke. This guy has the wrong law office."

Scully felt at sea. Neither one had ever told her-she had assumed-she
clamped her mouth shut hard.

"I'm glad you're all right, Janet," she said formally. "Mulder, if we're not
needed here-"

Infuriatingly, he held out the keys. He still had one arm around the other
woman. "Here, I'll catch a ride home with Janet."

Numb, Scully took the keys and walked away. Behind her, she heard shouts and
glanced back; she saw the door opening, and the gunman walking out with his
hands on his head. As she walked to the car in the dusk, the camera crews
were running up the street.


Later that evening, she was making a salad when the phone rang. She let the
machine pick it up.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder's voice said. Scully came to the kitchen doorway to
listen. "Just one person wounded." He paused. "Guy was at the wrong law
office. Same last name, wrong lawyer. I told you, it's all random." And he
hung up.

Scully stood there for a moment, looking at the knife in her hand.

Title: Shuttle (3/3)
Author: Tesla

As workmen installed the new steel-cored office door, Janet read a copy of
Dana Scully's mental evaluation.

MENTAL STATUS EXAM:

Dr. Scully was appropriately attired and well groomed for this evaluation.
She was wearing a business suit that was clean and pressed. She was wearing
jewelry and makeup. There was nothing remarkable about this woman's physical
appearance. Dr. Scully's thinking was logical and orderly. Her memory
function was intact. Dr. Scully did not seem depressed to me. Her affect was
normal. She was able to smile on occasion. She made good eye contact with
me. She did not cry..

Janet flipped the page.

Throughout my time with her, I found Dr. Scully to be cautious and reserved,
although striving to appear otherwise.  She seems to be in denial regarding
the dangers of her occupation. Dr. Scully's judgement is intact. Her insight
is fair to poor.

Whoops, thought Janet. Did you piss the guy off, Scully?

The MMPI-2 was administered to Dr. Scully in order to assess her current
psychiatric status. She completed this test independently and in a timely
fashion. The results indicated a person who was striving to give "correct"
answers; however, this is not unusual for persons of her educational level.
It should be noted that Dr. Scully shows no evidence of depression, anxiety,
or generalized distress. There is nothing here to suggest a psychotic
illness. Dr. Scully shows clear signs of a dependent personality disorder.
Indeed, she is likely to be passive-aggressive and attracted to dominant
and/or maladaptive people.

Janet grinned. Battle of the doctors, and the Ph.D. is showing definite
wounds at the hands of the M.D. Well, time for the J.D.

Someone knocked on the doorframe. Janet looked up. "Hi, Dana," she said,
"Good. You got my message."

Scully's eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded.

Janet held up the pages. "Got your psych eval. You're going to feel all warm
and tingly about this guy."

Scully sat down abruptly, and took the pages.

"We also need to think about referring you to another lawyer, "Janet said
benevolently. Thank you, Jesus, she thought.

"Why?" Scully demanded.

"Oh, well, because if this," she picked up a letter, "goes any further, I'm
going to have a conflict of interest."

"Because of Mulder? Why now?"

"Well, this and that. Because Mulder and I weren't seeing each other when I
actually started representing you, and because I felt I could quash the
Bureau investigation as well as the criminal charges." She held out the
letter. "I actually think I can quash this, but now, Mulder would be a
witness."

Scully made no move to take the letter. "What is it?"

"It's a demand letter by Donnie Pfaster's sister. A wrongful death suit."

Scully actually felt the room move. "What?" she asked faintly.

"Like I said, I think this will go away. But I think I better let one of my
cohorts take over, now."

"I can't go through this again," Scully said. "I thought it was over." Her
face was vanilla-colored. "I don't want to talk about this to a stranger. To
a new lawyer."

"Well," Janet said, her voice suddenly formal, "I have advised you of a
possible conflict of interest, in that I am involved with your partner, a
potential witness. Do you ask that I still represent you?"

"Yes, of course," Scully said.

"Okay. Then, let me summarize. I think this is a nuisance suit. I think this
sister is hoping you will pay her something to make her go away. I would
like to write a strong letter telling them to go fuck themselves-"

"To use the legal term," Scully said, with a faint smile.

"To use the legal term," Janet agreed. "I would actually state that we would
counter-claim against the estate for a lot of zeros. After all, he broke
into your apartment. Property damage, bodily injury, emotional distress,
punitive damages.I think, on the whole, we should meet with your Mr.
Skinner. "

"Why?"

"Because the sister cc'd the Bureau."


Janet was used to striding through crowds, but she thought the number of
people walking through the corridors to Skinner's office was excessive. She
wasn't to know that Skinner's secretary had alerted her friends that Scully
was on her way in with her lawyer, who was Mulder's girlfriend. (Kimberly's
best friend bowled with Henderson and the ViCap guys and knew all about
Janet.) Most of them were former bullpen colleagues who had a pool going as
to whether Mulder was in a threesome with Scully and Janet.

Janet always picked up a weird vibe from Skinner. Today, while giving
Skinner a copy of the demand letter and her draft of a reply, she studied
him as she spoke.
Damn, she thought, a light coming on, he's got a jones for Dana!  She looked
at Scully, who was all wound up as usual, but in an impersonal sort of way.
And she doesn't have a clue!

Not for the first time, Janet wondered if Scully was asexual.


The meeting with Skinner went well; he gave his blessing to Janet's proposed
plan of action, and greeted with obvious relief her plans to withdraw as
Scully's lawyer, should litigation ensue. That made both Janet and Scully
wary.

"With all due respect, Sir, I do feel that I would be better represented by
my own counsel, rather than Bureau counsel," Scully said stiffly. Janet,
lolling disrespectfully in her chair, grinned.

"Agent, I do not think you would enjoy having some-" he stopped, obviously
trying not to say insulting things about lawyers-" Plaintiff's attorney
quizzing you as to your knowledge of your partner's romantic-" he paused
again.

"Entanglements?" Janet said, in a spuriously helpful tone.

"Partners," Skinner said, giving her his best Level Two glare.

Janet was unimpressed. "A little alliterative?" she queried. Skinner's head
began to redden. "Look, Mr. Skinner. Right now, we're all on the same side.
So can we skip the dancing around here? I'm out of here as soon as Agent
Scully lets me go.  She is satisfied that there is no conflict of interest,
and frankly, so am I."

"Very well," Skinner said, standing up.

Janet nodded, seized her briefcase, and left, several paces ahead of Scully
and Skinner. Through the open suite door, they (and Kimberly) heard her say,
"Why don't some of you get the hell out of here and go find the Atlanta
bomber? Jesus. Our taxes at work."

Scully and Skinner exchanged glances.

"Frankly, Agent," Skinner said weightily, " I think Mulder has met his
match."




--
"Some days it just doesn't pay to chew through the restraints."---Anonymous