She
watched as the office door opened and he trudged in.
He was late, which was unusual and she started to make a comment until she
saw his face. He looked ill. He didn’t even notice her over to the side at
the file cabinet. He collapsed into his chair
rubbing his forehead. Maybe he really was
sick. She moved over to him and placed her
hand on his brow. He jerked away from her
startled.
“It’s
just me Mulder. Are you okay?”
“I’m
fine. Who are . . . Agent Scully,
right?”
“Not
funny Mulder. What happened to you?”
He
had no answer. What was the Ice Queen doing
in his office, and apparently she had a key? Diana
was going to love that. “Look, you need
to run along. I don’t know what you were
looking for, but this information is classified. You
shouldn’t even be in here.”
She
stood looking at him, speechless for a moment. Then
she straightened her spine and her eyebrow rose. “Enough. Where were you last night?”
For
some reason he felt compelled to respond. It
was as though she had some authority over him. “I
was at the Blue Moon.”
“Why? What were you doing there?”
Now
he was beginning to get angry. “Not that
it’s any of your business, but I was drinking myself into a stupor, like I do every
night.”
She
was obviously aghast. “Mulder, no! You started . . . When did you start drinking? No! You
can’t!”
“Would
you mind telling me what business this is of yours?
And just where is my partner? Has
Diana not been down here?”
Her
lips moved a couple of times before sound actually emerged.
“Diana? Have you . . .
have you seen Diana?”
“Listen,
I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care. My head is killing me. I want to take some aspirin and some strong
coffee. I would appreciate you going to your
own desk and giving me a little time.” He’d
made it to his feet now and was leading her to the door.
For the time being she allowed this. Something
was definitely wrong and she needed to find out what.
Once out of the office she headed immediately for Skinner’s office.
He
sank gratefully back into his chair and closed his eyes.
His headache was worse than when he’d arrived. With his eyes still closed he reached into his
breast pocket and expertly opened and dry swallowed two capsules. He’d start with two, though it now usually
took four or five to touch his headaches anymore. After
a moment he dared open his eyes and booted up his computer.
What the hell was this crap? Who’d been
screwing with his computer? He didn’t
know these cases. Diana’s name
wasn’t in evidence - according to this stuff Scully
was his partner. Oh yeah, that uptight piece
of ass? She probably hadn’t been laid in
years.
He
turned from the computer and picked up a file from the top of the pile on his desk. Look at the detail of her report! What was the deal?
He’d never bothered with this kind of testing, this attention to
detail. Well, not for years anyway. He closed his eyes again; he really needed a
drink.
A
tap on the door drew him up straight again. “Yeah?”
The
door opened revealing AD Skinner. “Mulder? I thought I’d check, see if everything was
all right.”
She
had sent him. What was the deal? “Everything’s fine, sir.” That came out a little less respectfully than he
wanted, but what the hell.
“Agent
Scully seemed to think there was a problem.”
“Agent
Scully was incorrect.” He met
Skinner’s eyes, then looked away. Skinner
seemed different somehow, as though he actually cared or something. Fat chance.
“Look
Mulder, you’re obviously not feeling up to par today.
Why don’t you go back home, sleep it off and start over again
tomorrow?” Mulder tried not to show his
shock - take the rest of the day? Sleep it
off? Since when was the Bureau going to cut
him that kind of slack? Who cared, he
wasn’t hung over enough not to take advantage of it - and at home he could get some
hair of the dog. A win-win all around.
He
nodded and hoped he murmured something that sounded grateful, then moved toward the door. “Mulder?
Aren’t you going to lock up?”
Lock
up? No one ever came down here - he
hadn’t been assigned a real case in years that anyone would care about seeing. He turned back and signed off his computer and
closed the file he’d opened, returning it to the stack. Once outside the door he had to fumble to find the
correct key. Diana always left after he did;
she usually handled this. Where the devil was
she anyway?
They
rode up the elevator together. Mulder
didn’t bother to speak when he exited the car and headed for the garage. Skinner watched him walk away. Scully was right - something was off about him
today. Well, Scully would be checking into it
- she’d give him some kind of report, though probably not a thorough one. He continued to his office, his mind moving on to
other things.
Mulder
let himself into his apartment with a sigh. A
strange morning - he really needed a drink. He
opened the cabinet and stopped dead. No
liquor, there wasn’t a single bottle in there. He
hadn’t finished it all; he hadn’t been that drunk. He yanked open the refrigerator, not even a
beer. What the hell was going on! He did not want to go back out - hell; did he have
any cough syrup?
Wait,
did he still have that bottle in the back room? He
opened the door and was shocked into immobility. A
bed? Furniture? This was his apartment; the key had fit. He backed out, not willing to go in there even to
look for liquor. The world had gone mad, or
maybe he was still drunk and this whole day was a hallucination.
He
was startled to hear a key in the lock and turned to see Scully entering his apartment.
“You? Did you come in here and empty out my booze? And where the hell did you get a key?” She stopped, stunned at the attack. Whatever had been wrong with him earlier
hadn’t abated.
“Mulder,
please.” She held out her hand, “I
need you to calm down. I didn’t empty
out anything. When I was over on Friday,
there wasn’t any alcohol here.”
“Bullshit! You’re trying to mess with my mind and I
don’t know why. And the key - where the
hell did you get that?”
“From
you Mulder, years ago. When we first became
partners. You gave me the key. Originally it was to feed the fish - at least that
was the excuse, but I - “
“We’re
together?” He interrupted her abruptly. “I don’t remember you ever being in my
bed.”
Her
back straightened again. Damn she was a
formidable looking bitch like that.
“You’re
damn right I haven’t been!” She
tried to relax and wrap her armor of composure around herself again. “Mulder, what is going on? Talk to me - why were you drinking last night? What happened?
What made you start drinking?”
“Start?” He made his way around her and turned toward the
desk in his living room. One of them was
crazy and he wasn’t willing to admit it was him.
He
stopped so suddenly she almost ran into him. She
looked up at him - what? His face had gone
ashen, his eyes wide.
“You
- it had to be you. Did you do that?” He sounded strangled. He was focused on the desk. She forced her eyes away from him and concentrated
on that side of the room. What? What had upset him so? She couldn’t spot anything out of place.
“Mulder,
what are you talking about?” She was
using her most calming voice, finally realizing just how out of it he was.
“The
picture! Her picture! Where did you find it? Why did you . . .?“
She
looked again. The only picture on the desk
was of Samantha and it had always held that place of honor.
“Mulder,
calm down. Are you . . . are you talking about Samantha’s
picture?”
He
jerked away from her. “How do you know
her name? Who are you to do this to me!”
“Mulder?” He spotted the tears in her eyes. She blinked them back as he watched and though he
tried to ignore it, felt her compassion wash over him as well as her fear.
He
didn’t want her compassion; he didn’t want anything from her. He didn’t want anything from anyone. He moved around her and sank onto his couch, his
head in his hands. It felt like his head was
going to explode.
After
a moment or two he spotted her shoes in front of him.
When he looked up she was holding out two capsules and a glass of water. “Take them Mulder. They’ll make you feel better, then maybe we
can talk.”
“Why
would I want to talk to you? Why the hell are
you here?” He ignored the medicine she
held out to him. He wanted her out of here,
he wanted a drink, he wanted oblivion.
She
sank onto the couch beside him, at a loss. They
sat in silence for a few minutes, then she took a deep breath and rose. Good! She
was finally taking the hint. But instead of
heading toward the door, she moved to the desk and picked up his phone. He was watching her, what was she up to now?
“John,
there’s a problem. Can you come to
Mulder’s apartment?” She avoided
looking at him, “Thanks,” and hung up the phone.
“Now
what stranger have you invited over? How do I
get rid of you anyway?”
“You
don’t Mulder.” She returned to the
couch. He was just staring at her now. You don’t?
What the hell did that mean?
“Who
did you call?”
“The
guys, Byers, Langly and Frohike.”
“You
know them? God, I haven’t seen them in
years. Why would they come?” She didn’t respond, just shaking her head.
She
busied herself in his kitchen rather than be near him.
He was grateful for the space and, after a few minutes of eyeing the
medicine she had left on the coffee table, swallowed it.
He
didn’t bother to move when he heard the knock at the door. She came out of the kitchen drying her hands,
glanced over at him, then opened the door. The
guys took in her expression and Byers automatically reached out to take her elbow.
For
some reason the sight of the man’s hand on her raised the hair on the back of his
neck. He shook that off, she was nothing to
him. They hadn’t even slept together -
according to her.
“What’s
going on?” Byers looked back and forth
between the two of them.
“He
says . . . he doesn’t seem to know me, or our work, or . . . “
Langly
sat on the table in front of him, “Is this a joke Mulder?”
Mulder’s
eyes narrowed, “How did she get you to go along with this?” They didn’t answer, turning to look at her.
“He
needs a complete physical.”
“You
gonna handle that?” Mulder’s eyes
raked her body and he was brought up short by Frohike’s sudden grip on his collar.
“A
little respect, G-man.” Frohike had no
humor in his voice. The other two looked like
they wanted to do the same. He subsided and
slumped back on the couch. He’d lost
control anyway, of his apartment, his computer, hell, his life.
“What
if this is the water again, Scully? Like when
his father died?”
“I
haven’t gone down to check the tanks but - “
“What
are you talking about? My father’s not
dead!” Mulder looked at each of them.
“Mulder,
I’m sorry. It’s . . . it’s
true. He was killed several years ago.” Scully wanted to touch him, but he had been so
resistant.
“Killed? Who would . . .?“
“It
was Krycek, Mulder.” Byers answered the
half-formed question.
“Krycek? I don’t . . . “
“You
don’t remember Alex Krycek?” She
shook her head and left the couch. She needed
to step away. This was too much. He didn’t remember anything, not this, not
her, not them.
She made her way back to the kitchen. She
needed to be alone.
“What’s
with her?”
“It’s
Krycek, Mulder.” Frohike spoke softly,
so that she wouldn’t hear. “He
killed your father, but he also murdered Scully’s sister and he aided in
Scully’s abduction.”
“Abduc
. . . “ His head jerked around to look for her, but she had moved out of his line of
sight. He turned then to stare at the
photograph of his sister. This woman too? Why? “Enough. Get out of my place. I don’t need this.”
“Mulder,
we need to get to the bottom of what’s happening.”
“Fine.” He rose to his feet. “You get to the bottom of it, but leave me
out of it!” He grabbed his jacket
and was out of the apartment.
“Mulder!” She raced back at the sound of the door slamming.
Byers
was at her side, “We’ll go after him.”
Her
shoulders slumped. “Don’t. He doesn’t want our help. We can’t force it.”
“Dana,
I . . . we, we can’t leave him like this. He
doesn’t know who he is.”
“He
knows this is his apartment, he knows he works for the FBI.
He remembered you; he just thought he hadn’t seen you in years. He remembers . . . “ She looked at the
ceiling for a long moment. “He remembers
Diana.”
“Dana
- “
“It’s
okay. I’ll uh; I’ll wait here to
see if he comes home tonight. It’s
okay.” She put up her hand to forestall
their protest. “We can pick this up
tomorrow. Maybe he’ll be more himself
them.”
The men exchanged glances and finally, silently agreed with her. Byers put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll do what we can tonight. Call us - call us for anything, anytime. Promise?”
She
nodded, unable to speak and let them out of his apartment.
She locked the door behind them and returned to sink down on the couch. She felt helpless - he didn’t know her,
didn’t want to know her.
The
sound of the door opening woke her and she sat up, allowing the afghan to slip to the
floor. He was home, good, maybe he was -
“Fox,
stop it. At least shut the door. Your neighbors don’t have to . . . “ She
fell silent as she spotted Scully standing beside the couch. It took him a minute to notice, his hands were
busy molding her large breasts, his lips on her neck.
Finally
he realized she’d gone rigid in his arms. “What? Sandy?”
“You
son of a bitch.” Her palm made sharp
contact with his face and she turned, slamming the door behind her.
What
the hell? He turned then toward the living
room and spotted her, standing beside his couch. Her
officious suit coat was gone and she was holding his t-shirt. She’d apparently used it as a pillow.
“Why
are you still here?” He was more than a
little drunk and horny now. “You want to
be my ‘partner’ tonight? Is that
why you ran her off? Fine, you’ll do
just as well.” He was approaching her
now and for the first time she realized her vulnerability.
She started to take a step back but her calf touched the couch.
“Mulder,
don’t do this. I just wanted to make
sure you were okay.”
“I’m
great.” He sounded so bitter. “My life is just perfect. I have a job I love, a palace to live it, the
respect of my peers. What more could any man
want, except maybe a piece of Ice Queen ass. Right?”
Now
she was scared, truly scared of this man in front of her.
That was a first. In seven
years this had never - she’d been afraid for
him many times but never, ever of him.
He
saw that fear and stopped his approach, an unfamiliar emotion tugging at him. He had to search before he recognized it. Shame. He
was ashamed of the way he was treating this woman.
And
what was wrong with him? He didn’t treat
women this way. He never had, his reputation
as stud around the steno pool had been earned with care.
He knew every move to get a woman in his bed.
So why was this bitch bringing this out in him? He didn’t know her; he didn’t want to know her.
He’d never bothered to make a move on her - he knew her reputation as
well.
She
was just another bit of T & A. Why was he
analyzing this so hard? Shit! He backhanded the glass she’d brought to him
earlier off the coffee table. “Get out. I’m not going to hurt you. Just . . . just leave, please.”
She’d
watched the struggle within him, but for the first time in years she wasn’t able to
read his thoughts. Something had happened to
him and she had to get to the bottom of it.
“I’m safe, I’m here. Consider
me tucked in for the night and go home.” She
nodded silently, gathered up her jacket and left without another word.
He
looked at the couch but shook his head and then grabbed the discarded t-shirt and headed
toward his newly found bedroom. On
impulse he slipped on the shirt and crawled into bed.
He didn’t expect to sleep - without a woman or booze he’d probably
have nightmares all night. But the t-shirt
smelled good.
*****
He
looked up from the files when she entered the office the next morning. She was surprised to find him there, but tried to
hide it.
“Listen, Agent Scully, I wanted to, uh, to apologize for . . . for the way I acted last night. It was good of you to be concerned - “
“You
still don’t remember me, do you?”
“No. I got here early to go through some files, see if
I could figure out what’s going on.”
She
looked away and moved toward the desk. He
seemed so distant, wary of her.
They
both looked over at the door at the tap and Skinner walked in. “You look a little better Agent Mulder.”
“Uh,
thank you. I slept well last night.” He had, no nightmares, some vague dream about
shampoo or something. He shoved that aside.
“I’ve
got something here I’d like you to look over. I
got a call from a friend of mine. This one .
. . they've requested you."
Him? Someone had requested him?
He watched Scully take the file from Skinner's hands. She didn’t act surprised. After a couple of seconds she looked up at
Skinner.
He
nodded, "You better hurry. I have a
feeling things are going to start disappearing fast.
Let me know what you need." He
let himself out of the office.
"What's
he talking about?" It sounded like a
command and she stiffened, but handed him the folder.
He
looked in the file, then up at her. “Well?” Nothing, there was nothing in his memory about
this.
“Maybe
you should spend a little more time going through the files Agent Mulder.” She turned on her heel and left the office. Whatever had happened, she was getting damn tired
of his attitude.
He
watched her walk away with something like relief. Nothing
he had ever heard about her had enticed him. Getting
to “know” her hadn’t changed his mind.
The case, however, did sound interesting.
He stepped over to the files and began cross-referencing information. If he had been requested, then maybe there was
something in here.
He
wanted to talk to Diana. Maybe she could
explain what the hell was going on. He’d
not tried to contact her, waiting to see what the hell would happen next. He’d waited long enough.
As
he reached for the phone, it rang. “Mulder.”
“Wendy
Malcolm from Travel, Agent Mulder. Your
tickets can be picked up at the desk.”
“Thanks. When do I leave?”
“You
and Agent Scully are on the 1:30 to Atlanta.”
“Agent
Scully.”
“Uh,
yes sir. She asked me to - “
“No
problem. Thanks Wendy.” He made his voice low and warm. There was a hesitation on the other end. He smiled; he’d caught her attention. Rather than pursue it right now, he got off the
line.
Where
was Diana? She wasn’t even listed in the
directory. That was odd. He picked up the phone and called the switchboard. “I need a number for Diana Fowley.”
“Excuse
me? Agent Mulder?”
‘Yes. Could you get me that number?”
“I
. . . I don’t, Agent Fowley died seven months ago, sir.”
There
was a long silence. “Agent Fowley is
dead?”
“Yes
sir.” She paused for a moment. “Agent Mulder, is everything okay?” The dial tone was her only answer.
Diana
dead? Under what circumstances? He turned toward his computer, but glanced at his
watch. If he was going to make his plane he
needed to pack. He’d investigate this,
but now he needed to focus. AD Skinner had
given him an assignment - given - so he shouldn’t blow that. He had a lot to think about.
*****
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