From: Laura Herold <76021.3043@CompuServe.COM> Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Dana Meets Jake (X-Files/Red Shoes) Date: 11 Aug 1995 02:51:38 GMT The author acknowledges the copyrights of Chris Carter, et al., in association with "The X-Files," Zalman King, et al., in association with "Zalman King's Red Shoe Diaries," and Daphna Kastner, et al., in association with "Julia Has Two Lovers." No copyright infringement is intended. This is an X-Files/Red Shoe Diaries crossover. Comments are welcome. Dana Meets Jake by Laura Herold Dana Scully walked into the diner, took a seat at the counter, and sighed. Tomorrow she was going back to DC, and she wasn't ready for her vacation to end. "What'll it be?" the waitress asked. "Just coffee," she said. A man walked into the diner and headed over to the mailboxes on the far wall. She watched as he opened one of the boxes and pulled out a wad of mail. Then he took a seat away from everyone. She knew she should probably mind her own business, but something about him interested her, attracted her in a way. He was good-looking, but there was an aura about him that was even more compelling. She had been playing little cat-and-mouse mind games with Mulder and the rest of the DC crew for years, and she really needed to talk to someone who wasn't part of the government or a member of her family. She picked up the cup the waitress had brought, walked over to a stool near him, and sat down. He didn't look at her. What could she say as an icebreaker? she wondered. "Nice weather," she said, wondering if she could have possibly come up with anything more inane. He looked past her out the windows. "Yeah," he said. "I'm Dana," she said, feeling like she was in high school. He started shuffling his mail together. "I've really got to go," he said, and she noticed a sad look in his eyes. "No, I'm the intruder here," she said, figuring this was just a big mistake. She stood up. "I'll go. I didn't mean anything by this." She turned to walk away. "I'm Jake," he said. She turned back, and he held out his hand to her. She shook it and sat down on the stool. "I'm sorry about how I acted," he said somewhat sheepishly. "I met a woman here, and it turned out..." he trailed off, looking down at his letters. "It turned out badly." "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. Their eyes met, and for a moment he reminded her of Mulder. There was pain in him, deep emotional pain like there was in Mulder. She also sensed kindness and gentleness, and that he would share with Mulder as well. He looked away. "I wasn't trying to pick you up," she said, trying to smooth things over. "It's OK," he said. "I just have a hard time meeting people. I seem to have a stab-me-in-the-back sign pointing at me." "I don't see it," she said. He smiled. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asked. "No, I'm on vacation from DC." She sipped her coffee and wondered about the back-stabbing remark. "I suppose you're a government spy," he said with a trace of sarcasm. "Close. FBI." He seemed surprised. "Really?" "Really. You want to see my ID?" "No, I believe you." She looked at the letters in his hand, all of which were addressed to "Red Shoes" at the post office box. He noticed her looking at them, and he turned them over. "I'm not a shoe salesman," he said. "Why would I think that?" "Red Shoes. People think that." "The people who write you?" "No," he said, looking away. OK, there's something weird with the letters, she thought, but she let it drop. "What *do* you do?" she asked. "I'm an architect." "I've never met an architect before." "I've never met an FBI agent before." "You're lucky. They're not much fun." He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he was wondering if asking her something would be an invasion of privacy. "I'm an open book," she said. "Ask anything you want." "It just sounds like you've got a story to tell. If you do, I'd like to hear it." "Let's get out of here." ********************** They just walked, her talking and him listening. He was a good listener: He didn't interrupt or ask stupid questions. She found herself talking about things as if she had known him for years. She told him about being a woman in the male-dominated FBI; about the X-Files cases; about Skinner, Cancer Man, and Krychek; and about Mulder. In the end she even touched on Duane Barry, something she never talked about. Finally she was talked out, and they just stood on a pier looking at the water in silence. "You call your partner by his last name?" he said out of nowhere. It seemed strange to her that he would single that out. "He prefers that," she said. "He calls me by mine." "That doesn't bother you?" She shook her head. "It was a little strange at first, but now it just seems... natural." They lapsed into silence again, watching the water ripple. "You should tell him how you feel, Dana," he said. "Life is short. It's too damn short to hide things from the people we care about." She looked at him. "Are you OK, Jake?" He sighed. "I lost the woman I loved," he said. "She decided to commit suicide rather than tell me about an affair." He shook his head. She put her hand over his. "I'm so sorry, Jake," she said. "I wish there was something I could do." He looked at her earnestly. "There is. Talk to Mulder. Talk *to* him, not at him, Dana," he said. "And call him Fox. He probably needs it." There was another brief silence. Finally she said, "Are you alone, Jake?" He didn't look at her. "I have Stella," he said. "Who's Stella?" "My dog." She sighed. "What is Red Shoes?" He put his hand over the pocket where he had stuffed the letters. "Nothing," he said. She was afraid he meant it. "Could I read one?" she asked gently, not really understanding, but knowing this was important. He took the letters out and looked at them as if something about them bothered him. "I don't know," he said finally. "Just one," she said. He handed her the top letter, and she opened it. As she read it, she tried to piece it together, make sense of it. There was something about a personal ad, which was probably where the writers got the post office box from. The author of this letter rambled on about how she felt betrayed by some guy who had randomly called her. She had spent a day telling this guy all sorts of personal things about herself, and the next day she slept with him. Later she found out that he had used this scheme before. The letter was silly but disturbing. "They're all women's stories," he said. "Stories about betrayal." "What do you want this stuff for?" she asked, handing the letter back to him. He put it and the rest of the letters back in his pocket. "I want to understand, and I don't want to be alone." She thought about this business, and she didn't see how it could do him any good. "Jake, that's just nuts," she said. He looked at her, surprised. "You don't need these letters, Jake. You need to let go of this pain, to get past this. You need to let some real people into your life." He sighed. "I find it hard to trust anyone," he said. "They always have ulterior motives and secret agendas." "You sound like Mulder," she said. "But I finally got him to let me in. There's someone out there for you, Jake. This woman that your lost, that's a horrible thing. But you can't stop your life because of that. Someone is out there looking for you, but if you aren't looking too you might not find each other." He looked at her, and he smiled. "Too bad she isn't you, Dana," he said. "You'll find her, Jake. You will." She held her arms open to him, and when he came over to her she hugged him tight. Finally he pulled away. "Will you write to me, tell me how it goes with Mulder?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Do you think there'll be betrayal involved?" He smiled and shook his head. He fished a business card out of a pocket and handed it to her. "Not to Red Shoes, to me." "OK," she said with a smile. She took the card and put it in her pocket. She held out her right hand to him. "Good-bye Jake, thank you for listening. Good luck." He grasped her hand firmly. "Good luck to you, Dana." Then they dropped hands, and she walked away.