From: Gil Trevizo Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 00:26:35 -0600 (MDT) Subject: NEW: "Hazards of the Job" 1/3 I did not write this - it got bounced accidentally. Please send all comments to the author at . *************************************************************************** Greetings Fellow Philes! Okay, so it's been a LOONNGG time since I last posted anything, but I've still been lurking constantly and very much enjoying all the contributions of the many highly talented writers on the group. You guys are great!:) My own lack of recent contributions has been due largely to the distractions of getting married and moving.:) AUTHOR'S NOTE: This particular story began in my head as an outline for an entire XF's episode, which I discovered, were I to write it out in prose form, would be at least novella length if not longer. Although I would have loved to have tackled this project, I simply couldn't justify giving so much time just now to something I wouldn't get paid for.:) (You've all heard this one before, right?:)). So, anyway, I decided to extract from my original outline, the subplot/character-story and just write that as a story unto itself. As a result, the XF/case is merely a landscape upon which the scenes in this story take place, and the case will not be set-up, explained, and/or clearly resolved in the course of this story. So, if the X-File element is your main thrill, I suggest you stop now and save yourself the frustration.:) Subtle hint, here--I LOVE MAIL!!!! Please let me know what you think of my story.:) Okay, enough babbling, on with the show... FOR THOSE AFRAID OF RELATIONSHIP STORIES: This story does not contain a romance, definitely no sex, but it does have a healthy dose of UST and some close friendship stuff so be wary if this kind of thing grosses you out.:) NOTE TO THE ARCHIVIST: Just to make your life more difficult than it already is......"Elizabeth Boyd-Tran" is in fact the same writer as "Elizabeth Boyd". Both me. I've recently been married and would be *ever* so grateful if you would gather my stories under one name--"Elizabeth Boyd-Tran". Also, with my recent move, my Email address has changed from lizbethb@ix.netcom.com to trans@flinthills.com Thank you, thank you, thank you.....have I mentioned what a *wonderful* job you've been doing on the archive....? SUMMARY FOR THE MAILING LIST ARCHIVE: Scully wrestles with the perils of investing personal emotions in the work and Mulder tries, as always, to figure out Scully.:) DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. This is for my husband, Peter--my encouragement and my inspiration, always. HAZARDS OF THE JOB by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1996 The grey of the asphalt seemed to reflect the unrelenting grey of the twilight sky. Scully tightened her leather gloved hand around the chill steering wheel. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, chancing the calculated risk on the narrow straight-away. Just an hour of sun would have done her a world of good today. The last few weeks in D.C. had brought nothing but grey skies. And now their chance to get away on a case had brought them only to a drearier place than they had left. Normally, Scully didn't mind. She could keep her focus and her perspective regardless of the terrain or the climate or the tone of the case. But this afternoon she just wanted a few quiet moments in the sun. She was just tired, she told herself. She had only caught a few hours' sleep the night before. A few deep breaths, a little fresh air and she would catch her second wind. She rolled down the window and flipped on the radio. This case had proved grueling work. It had looked convincingly enough like an X-File, buried in their basement office reviewing the dry case files. But less than 24 hours in town had convinced even Mulder that the case was of purely earthly origin and should have been assigned to the VCU. They were dealing with a series of murders, possibly motivated by revenge, perhaps by something deeper or more sickening. Motive. That was the crucial piece they were missing. They had blood samples from the home of the victim who had put up the most admirable struggle, a predictable pattern of attack, a consistent murder weapon and method of disposal of the body, and a probable physical description from a young girl who'd had the misfortune of losing her best friend to this...suspect. But without a concrete motive they couldn't predict or protect the killer's next target. And that left Scully edgy. She didn't like the lack of control. Their first day in town, she and Mulder had driven directly from the airport to the local FBI office for an update on the investigative progress and an introduction to the local field agents who'd been assigned to the case. Then Scully and Mulder had branched off on their own and driven out to a quiet development on the nice side of town for a talk with Audrey--the single eyewitness. Scully half-smiled at the memory. She propped her elbow on the car door and pushed back her wind-blown hair. Audrey. Only nine years old and not a shy bone in her slender body. When they had arrived at her house, Audrey had planted herself firmly on the lowest step of the front staircase and flatly refused to answer a single one of their questions. Mulder had tried his patented "cozy up to the child" routine (which, in all fairness, *had* worked for them in the past), asking Audrey about her toys, or her friends, or school, attempting to court her favor and receiving only the occasional sarcastic quip. And when Mulder had run out of clever approaches and adorable smiles, the young girl had looked him straight in the eye and said, "Nice tie. Maybe if you and your people spent a little less time on clothes and a little more time on the street there wouldn't be so many criminals on the loose." Only the inevitable pain behind the girl's sassy demeanor had kept Scully from laughing out loud. Before Mulder could respond, Audrey had turned and stomped up to her room. Mulder had given up on the inquiry and retreated to the living room to question the parents. "I doubt she knows anything she hasn't already told the police," he'd said to Scully as he passed. And she had nodded consent. Scully had settled quietly on the couch beside Mulder while he'd spoken with Audrey's mother, rotely absorbing and recording the course of events around her while her thoughts circled through her private theories. When Mulder had gotten up to leave, he had whispered to Scully that they should go next door and have a look at the crime scene. Scully had agreed, but suggested Mulder go ahead of her. He'd given her a mildly curious look, but remained silent. Then she had smiled at Audrey's mother, holding eye contact for a moment before slipping up the stairs toward the young girl's bedroom. "What did you talk to her about for so long?" Mulder had asked, turning the rental car toward their middle-class motel. Scully had shrugged, giving him what she hoped had been a placid expression. "Not much. Just talked, I asked her about her friend. Maybe she just doesn't like men. I was shy around tall men when I was young." Mulder had guffawed. "I'd hardly describe her as 'shy'." Scully had kept her eyes on the passing road and said coolly, "Sarcasm can be a defensive reaction to shyness or pain." Mulder had nodded silently, sobering a bit and acknowledging the truth of her statement. In fact, Audrey had started out as stubborn toward Scully's questioning as toward her partner's. Then Dana had begun a sentence with, "I understand what you've been through...," and Audrey's green eyes had flamed and she'd shouted harshly, "No you *don't*! You can't! *Your* best friend wasn't murdered! She *wasn't*!" After a beat, Scully had strolled evenly across the room, knowing all the time the weight of the risk she was about to take, and lowered herself gently onto the canape bed beside the young witness. "No," she'd said softly. "But my sister was." And Audrey had begun to talk. "Did you get anything new?" Mulder had asked, his expression failing to mask his lingering curiosity over the forty-five minutes his partner had been tucked away with Audrey in her ruffled bedroom. "I think so," Scully had said. "She mentioned a tattoo. Something she'd been seeing in her dreams--nightmares. I didn't remember anything so distinguishing from the file, so I asked her to draw a picture of it." Mulder had nodded. So all had been going smoothly. Until the call had come. A frantic tearful young voice on the other end of the line. Mulder had only made out the words "gunshots", "Maple Street", and "Mother". Scully had grabbed the keys and pushed the speed limit all the way to Audrey's house. They had hardly stepped in the door and had a chance to glance about the elegant foyer before Audrey's clear voice had rung out from the back of the house. "*Dana!*" And the little girl had burst through the swinging kitchen door and flung herself into Dana Scully's arms. She had jumped to lock her grasp around Dana's neck and wrapped her thin legs tight about Scully's waist like a child of a much younger age. She had clung to her new found friend as if to a lifeline. Scully had caught the girl's full weight as if she had expected it all along. She had hugged the small quivering body tight against her chest, smoothing the tousled brown curls and kissing the soft heat of her neck. *Such a sweet, tiny girl. Goddammit! Not her mother...Why? She would GET this bastard. So utterly unfair...* She had caught sight of Mulder's look as he observed the exchange. He had been obviously surprised by the connection between the two, the confidence with which the girl had run to Scully and the complete openness with which his partner had welcomed the girl. And Scully had seen the analytical edge to her partner's otherwise sympathetic observation and felt his slowly brewing concern. *Never form personal attachments to victims*. She knew the rules and the dogmas as well as he did. And she respected them. But with a frightened, weeping child in her arms, rules and recommendations of proper behavior seemed ridiculous and unimportant. She was a professional. She could handle her job. If simple human kindness was a risk, it was a risk she was willing to take. She had ducked Mulder's probing gaze and held her attention to Audrey. Mulder had only mentioned it once. "Scully, I respect your judgment in this, but if--" And she had cut him off with, "It's fine, Mulder. I'm handling it." *But she would protect this girl. What good was risking her life battling criminals each day if she couldn't protect one innocent girl when she came to them for help?* * * * * * The traffic was thickening as Scully drove, and by the time she slowed the rental car to a halt at her destination, the once peaceful riverside lot had been heavily cluttered with vans and cars and med carts and men and women in and out of uniform. The message Scully had received from the local police had consisted of a few poorly scrawled words on a crumpled piece of paper. Damn her temperamental cell phone. And damn the bureaucratic red tape. She'd put in for a replacement phone over a week ago. The message had barely allowed her to decipher the location, the request for her to come, and the caller-- Mulder. Scully scanned the lot for her partner's familiar figure as she pushed the car door closed behind her. The urgency in the actions of the people around her was unsettling. She scanned the faces that passed, noting their unusual degree of sobriety. Scully's more personal thoughts of sun and sleep and the philosophies of law enforcement faded neatly into the background as her familiar Agent Scully persona slipped into place. Her pale blue eyes narrowed and an eyebrow lifted. She pulled herself up straighter and started toward the riverbank with a firm gate; the click of her own high heels was lost in the wash of wind and muted voices. Scully had only moved a few steps when she caught sight of Mulder in the distance. As if sensing the intangible weight of his partner's gaze, Mulder turned to see her approaching. He turned back for a brief comment to the agent beside him, then started toward Scully. His long legs stretched out in heavy strides across the smooth tarmac, pressing his speed to its limits in a dignified substitute for a jog. Scully looked up at him as he approached, her eyes conveying her question before her words. "What's going on?" But she had hardly spoken before she was distracted by Mulder's movements. He had touched a hand to her forearm, urging her back in the direction she had come. She frowned in confusion, stealing a brief glance past Mulder toward the area that seemed to be the focal point of this structured chaos. But she could see nothing but men in dark trench coats and a couple of idol paramedics. "Come on, Scully," Mulder said, insistently guiding her back toward the car. She conceded a single step before planting her stance firmly and raising a hand to push against Mulder's arm. "Mulder, what's happened? What is it?" Something flashed through her mind that she didn't want to think, something that could have explained Mulder's actions and told her what was lying those few yards away amongst the gathering of men in trench coats. But she forced the picture from her mind. "Scully--" "Mulder, you called me here, right? I assume this is something to do with our case, now--" Mulder spoke over her words, keeping his own voice frustratingly soft and controlled. "Scully, just come back over here with me, I'll tell you everything that's happened." He closed his hands gently over her shoulders and Scully's stomach tensed instinctively. She swallowed hard. Suddenly, she needed very badly to see what lay beside the river. She deliberately kept her voice down. "Mulder, if--" "Scully, there's something down there you don't need to see," Mulder said at last, speaking as if every word were difficult for him to voice. Scully tilted her head and sighed softly. "Mulder, I appreciate the gallantry, but I'm a forensic scientist. I need to see anything that relates to this case." She was almost surprised at how equivocally she had met this somewhat condescending treatment, particularly under these strained circumstances. But Mulder had always regarded her as an equal and an unquestionably capable agent. Following on the basis of his behavior over the past years, his actions now seemed only the genuine and natural concern of a friend. Mulder nodded understanding of her words, but his expression didn't shift. He kept his hands on her shoulders. "Scully, I know you can handle this case, I never said you couldn't. But, please, just..." he leaned his head toward the rental car. Scully disregarded the gesture, intently studying his features. "Mulder. Tell me." Her tone left no path for further digression. Mulder glanced away for half a beat, either to consider his words or to gather his courage, she couldn't tell which. His nose had reddened in the cold wind. She felt a subtle shift in his touch. The weight of his hands on her shoulders somehow softened from a directional guide into a gentle offer of support. She tightened her stance, not willing to accept this gesture's implications. She kept her focus unrelenting as he brought his gaze back to meet hers. She wasn't allowing him a chance to shy away. "There's been another murder," he said plainly. When Mulder did not continue Scully lifted her eyebrows and eyed him pointedly, expecting her look alone to prompt him with the obvious question. When he still did not speak she said, "Who's the victim, Mulder? Someone already involved in the case?" Mulder looked down at her and nodded. "Some workmen found the body on the riverbank about two hours ago. She'd only been dead a couple of hours. Scully, it's Audrey." For a moment Scully hardly moved. Her gaze broke from Mulder's and her breathing quickened. She lifted her chin slightly and closed her eyes. The grey of the sky seemed to wash down around them like fog. The figures around her that had once had faces blurred into movement and sound. A second after the initial news registered within her a horrible aching sadness swept through. And fast upon it's heels came her shut- down reflex. She had consciously taken this on. She had promised Mulder she wasn't getting personally involved, wasn't being unprofessional. So, now she had no choice but to take it. For that second in her life Dana Scully wished desperately she could have been her sister. Melissa Scully would simply have cried. And she never would have regretted it the next day. Dana allowed herself a single soft sigh, lips parted, shoulders slackening a bit. Then she snapped her eyes open and tossed a testing, fleeting glance up at Mulder. His focus had not wavered from her countenance. She flinched slightly, moistened the corner of her mouth, tasting the familiar sweet perfume of her lipstick. She started to speak, needed an extra breath before she could dive in, then said, "Is it the same killer? Same marks on the body?" Her voice was a bit soft, hoarse, yet steady. Mulder nodded. "All the same. Scully, if you--" But she cut him off. "What about witnesses?" she said. She glanced about her. "What is this place? Would there have been anyone working here?" Mulder shook his head. "Not likely. This building's been deserted for over a year. The men who found the body were working on that telephone pole over there." He gestured toward a worn wooden phone pole at the edge of the riverbank. "Last night's storm caused problems with the line." Scully nodded. She pushed her hair back against a strong surge of wind. The leather of her glove felt cold against her cheek. "Where are the workmen who found her?" Mulder tilted his head toward the small empty building in the center of the lot. "With Agent Paldron." Scully glanced past her partner's shoulder and briefly rested her gaze on two men in blue coveralls huddled beside the building's entrance. They were facing Agent Paldron. "Have you questioned them yourself yet?" "No, I haven't, but Agent--" "I want to speak with them," she said. And she took a step away. "Scully..." She paused, keeping her gaze just below his reach. Silence. "We'll find him," Mulder said at last. And Scully knew he wanted to help her, wanted to say something kind, knew he was wrenching his brain for just the right words to reassure her. But she couldn't... Scully nodded tersely, her gaze locked on his trenchcoat cuff. "Not soon enough," she said. And she walked away, feeling his warm grey eyes against her back. * * * * * End of Part 1. Continued in part 2..... =========================================================================== From: Gil Trevizo Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 00:27:25 -0600 (MDT) Subject: NEW: "Hazards of the Job" 2/3 I did not write this - it got bounced accidentally. Please send all comments to the author at . *************************************************************************** DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. See part 1 for further info. HAZARDS OF THE JOB by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1996 Continued from Part 1.... * * * * * "No, nothing here," Mulder said softly, mouth pressed close to his cellular phone. He snapped the "off" button and dropped the phone into his lap. He looked over at the silhouette of wavy hair and rumpled trench coat snuggled against the passenger door. A glimpse of smooth white skin glowed in the patchy moonlight. Scully had dozed off part- way through their midnight stakeout. And he had let her sleep. They had been awake for nearly 23 hours. The break they'd been praying for had come last night only an hour after they'd given up for the night and retreated to their motel rooms. They'd spent the night and half of the morning in the local station house searching electronic records. The afternoon had been spent coordinating a surveillance team. And now, as day faded into dusk and dusk into darkest night, they sat in their rental car, one of three pairs of agents stationed along the tree-lined road surrounding the decrepit farm house. They were waiting for Martin Driscoll to arrive, hoping this was where he would run, where he would hide. They had enough evidence pointing toward Driscoll in the past three murders to justify taking him into custody. But their investigations had put him on guard. And now he had become a challenge to locate. Mulder took a last sip of his stale coffee, then slumped down further in his seat. His long legs ached from the lengthy confinement, they begged to be stretched and straightened. Car seats rarely moved back far enough to accommodate his extended frame. Scully, however, could curl up, stretch out, snuggle in, and generally sleep like a baby on their long drives, no matter how compact the car. Mulder smiled faintly and rolled his head against the headrest to gaze at his partner. She could always sleep more easily than he. Her years in med school had trained her well--sleeping in waiting rooms, naps on unused gurneys. But Mulder--he was lucky to sleep the night on his own couch, let alone in strange surroundings. He needed a sense of security, and something to clear his mind in hopes of abating the ever lurking nightmares. When he dozed off at his desk or in a dark silent car, he inevitably woke with a start and a fast diffusing memory of the light and the shadows and the pain. But Scully, despite her tendency to wake on the defensive, had always seemed to rest peacefully. At least the few times he had been nearby to see. Until now. Fox Mulder frowned and with some effort pulled his head up from the cushioned headrest. Scully shifted, tucking her leg up closer beneath her. Her breathing broke pattern and the smooth peach of her forehead creased with tension. Mulder swallowed stiffly. His stomach prickled as a wave of adrenaline washed through its empty recesses. Dana Scully was having a nightmare. It was as clear as print on her pale, sweet face, even in the shadows of the sheltered car. And to his distress and surprise, Mulder realized he had no idea what to do. He felt the awkwardness of his long limbs as he had not since grade school. He wanted to touch her cheek, to wake her, to help her. But he was nervous--afraid she would resent the intrusion, that she would pull away from him. He could almost feel the pain of her potential embarrassment. It always hurt him to watch her fight so desperately for control in those rare moments when her cool slipped from her grasp. But reaching out to her at those times only deepened her pain. She needed her space. Only once had he reached out for her and insisted she not pull away. And she had at last melted in his arms. But he had felt the depth of her bruised confidence that time, had watched it rebuilding over the following weeks. Until he had almost believed the Pfaster case had never happened. Scully flinched again, drew a soft breath through her slightly parted lips. He couldn't take it, couldn't just ignore it. He reached across, cursing the intrusive noise of his trenchcoat sleeve in the silent car. He hesitated only a moment, then lowered a gentle hand onto her shoulder. "Scully?" he whispered. Scully caught her breath with a sharp gasp and jerked away from Mulder so harshly she nearly cracked her temple on the window frame. "Oh, Scully, I'm sorry..." Scully glanced about her, scanning her surroundings, fighting to grasp her bearings. She raised a hand to push back her hair. She was shaking. "Scully, I'm sorry..." Mulder said again. Scully hesitated a beat, holding her breath to regain control of its rhythm. Her gaze had locked on the dashboard. "It's all right," she said flatly. "You okay, Scully?" She nodded. "I'm fine." She reached up and drew her fingers lightly and quickly across her eyes. She sniffed sharply, defiantly. Mulder watched her in silence. After a moment, she turned and matched his gaze. "What's going on?" she asked. Mulder shrugged dismissively. "Nothing, no sign yet." Scully stared at him. He looked away, feeling like a schoolboy caught in a white lie. His response had clearly begged the question, "Then why did you wake me, Agent Mulder?", and he hadn't prepared himself to answer that. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. He shrugged and gave her a sideways smile, resorting as usual under duress to humor wrapped in half truths. "You seemed to be dreaming about the return of the Village People," he said. Scully didn't smile, hardly reacted. She lowered her gaze to her lap and retreated from the issue. The roar of a motor banished their silence. The two agents turned in unison and Scully's hand slid instinctively toward her weapon. "It's him," Mulder said. * * * * * They went in before the other teams of agents had time to catch up. They paused a moment outside the door, weapons raised to their shoulders, their bodies flanking the entrance to the cabin. Scully took the moment to hone her focus. She had hardly had a moment to wake, to pull herself free of the dark blanket of her nightmare. And now she stood a thousand miles from home, surrounded in shadow, feeling the dampness of the air on her cheeks, the slick cloth of her trenchcoat sleeves, hearing the cicadas humming above her, and preparing to face the man who in all likelihood had murdered Audrey. Her surroundings felt unreal--the wood too hard, the mist too soft, sounds too harsh. But she couldn't dwell on that. Not now. She had to be alert, clear and solid, or she would get hurt. Worse, she would fail to back-up her partner. Scully secured Mulder's eye contact, recognizing the masque he wore in dangerous situations, knowing the same hard lines graced her own sleep brushed features. Her pulse quickened and she welcomed the familiar adrenaline rush that sharpened her senses. A slight nod to Mulder. The sound of a sliding chair from inside. Mulder tapped on the door with the back of his hand. "Mr. Driscoll?" Nothing. Another knock. "Mr. Driscoll? Open the door. FBI." Nothing. Scully licked the corner of her lips, tightened her hands around the grip of her weapon. Mulder. "Mr. Driscoll, you have one more chance to open the door." Nothing. He met Scully's gaze again. They breathed together. He lifted his hand. 1...2...3...PULL Mulder kicked the door, his first kick breaking the lock, his second the chain. Scully heard her own voice ring out from a distance. "FREEZE-- FBI!" She dropped to a crouch on the hard wood floor as her aim swept the expanse of the brightly lit room. Martin Driscoll sat calmly at a long white table, fork in one hand, water glass in the other. He wore faded blue jeans and a pit-stained tee-shirt. He gazed at the two intruders with marked indifference and chewed on a bite of chicken salad from the plastic container before him. A few feet from Driscoll, a petite brunette woman crouched against the far wall of the sparsely decorated cabin. When Mulder swung his aim in her direction, the woman screamed and pushed away from them like a night creature cowering from the light. It flashed through Scully's medically analytical mind, that the woman showed signs of possible hallucinogenic drug use. But that thought receded when Mulder moved toward the panicky woman and Scully instinctively turned to cover their second suspect. "Are you Martin Driscoll?!" she shouted, straining to be heard over the woman's escalating screams. She took a step toward the man, keeping her regulation 45 degree angled stance. Driscoll lifted an eyebrow. His forward gaze swept the length of her figure. A shiver of revulsion rippled along her skin, mirroring the path of his gaze. The corner of his thick lips curled in a sideways smile and he shrugged. "I guess I am if you want me to be, Darlin'." Scully kicked the table leg sharply with her black leather boot as she passed and the far end of the table top lurched into Driscoll's stomach. He gave a light cough and a fraction of the cockiness slipped from his gaze. "Hands in the air!" Scully shouted. And when his movement was hesitant, "NOW!" Scully heard Mulder's voice behind her, but his words didn't register. "Are-You-Martin-Driscoll?" The man smiled. "Yeah, I'm Martin Driscoll, Little Lady." Scully watched as his hands rose against the dark backdrop of the cabin wall. Standing so close she could smell the stale beer and cigarette smoke in his hair and his clothes. Her gaze locked on his thick fingers. His skin was streaked with grime, as if he had been working beneath the hood of a car. The dirt and scum had dried in dark crescents beneath his fingernails. An image as vivid as any in the cabin room flashed before her mind's eye--*those miserable greasy hands clawing, pushing, hurting the pale precious skin of Audrey's tender throat*-- "Jesus, Lady!" The wall paneling popped and bowed as Driscoll's weight slammed against it. She heard his skin squeak against the slick finish. "You're under arrest for suspicion of murder in the cases of the deaths of Jessica Taylor, Ashley Millford, Jeffrey Kasner, and Audrey Taylor." She snapped the silver cuff around Driscoll's meaty wrist and snugged up on his arm once more, registering a dark pang of satisfaction at the painful joint twist she knew he had felt. She shoved him tight against the wall as she patted the length of his figure in search of weapons, her own weapon still balanced in her hand. She snatched a pocket knife from the cuff of his sock and tossed it blindly across the disheveled dinner table. She heard Mulder's voice again. The woman wasn't screaming anymore. "Did you do it?" Scully breathed against Driscoll's back, feeling the tension in her own jaw, the sharpness of her words. "Did you kill those little girls?" His words were slurred, his mouth misshapen pressed against the wall. "Well, now, I don't know if I should say just what-- With a burst of strength Scully jammed Driscoll harder against the wall, her knee in the back of his calf, the barrel of her gun tight between his shoulder blades. "YOU KILLED HER! YOU SHOT A NINE YEAR OLD CHILD YOU GODDAMNED BASTARD!" And the sound of her own words blurred with the clatter and clamber and the voices of the four local agents who rushed through the cabin door. Then Agent Paldron was covering the frightened woman and Mulder was just to Scully's right with his arm extended and his weapon trained solidly on Driscoll. "I've got him, Scully," Mulder said firmly. Scully didn't move. Her breath was heavy and ragged, her pulse racing. Driscoll's moment of docility, be it from fear or purely from surprise, was filling her with a perverse pleasure, an almost irresistible feeling of vengeful power. "I've got him covered, Scully. Back away." Scully softened a bit. Something in the quality of her partner's familiar voice triggered an instinctive reaction, an unwilling compliance. She slackened her grip. Mulder took a step closer. After a beat she shoved off against Driscoll and stepped away. But the moment she had relinquished the power, passed the moment of crisis, the anger and frustration rushed back through her veins. She shoved against the dinner table as she passed, sending the last of the take-out food to the floor, she kicked the one extra chair, letting it tumble away from her, lashing out at anything within reach that could not fight back. Behind her she heard the other agents moving, speaking, but she wasn't tracking what they were doing anymore, she was too absorbed in harnessing her own rush of emotions. She was startled back into their reality when Mulder's hand touched her shoulder. "Scully..." She shrugged to push off his touch but she offered him a moment of eye contact. Her breath was still heavy and deep. She couldn't hold still, her body fought the inactivity. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, pushed back her trenchcoat and rested a hand on her hip. She pushed her hair behind one ear. Mulder's gaze didn't waver from her expression. "Slow down, Scully," he said softly. His tone was firm, and yet it held a note of pure kindness and almost--intimacy?--that somehow calmed her. She risked another brief moment of his eye contact. She nodded to him, catching her breath, swallowing thickly, then looking away. She could feel one of the local agents standing a few feet away, eyeing her and Mulder inquisitively. She needed a moment to breathe. And she needed Driscoll the hell out of her sight. And Mulder to just keep standing where he was, radiating his steady calm. *Damn. The little girl was dead. Damn.* * * * * * End of Part 2. Continued in Part 3.... =========================================================================== From: Gil Trevizo Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 00:28:20 -0600 (MDT) Subject: NEW: "Hazards of the Job" 3/3 I did not write this - it got bounced accidentally. Please send all comments to the author at . *************************************************************************** DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. See part 1 for further info. HAZARDS OF THE JOB by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1996 Continued from Part 2.... * * * * * "Do we have the photograph back in the file now or is that still at the lab?" "Uhhh..." Scully finished thumbing through the contents of an X- File, holding his words in her mind to be processed in turn. She reached the bottom of the pile and snapped the folder shut. She looked up, took a beat to register his question, then said decisively, "Yes, we have it back. I put it in the cabinet yesterday." Mulder pulled the drawer out a notch further, hoping this wasn't that one drawer that always failed to lock at its maximum extension and dropped freely to the office floor. Dana Scully had never perpetrated this fiasco herself--she unfailingly remember which drawer to be wary of. Mulder, however, had sent the thing flying on three separate occasions, two of which had resulted in rather brutal injuries to his foot. His pride had some time since stopped him from continually asking Scully which drawer to avoid. To his relief today's drawer snapped firmly into its lock. He found the picture and dropped it onto his desk. It fell into Scully's line of view. Mulder climbed over a box of files on the floor and sank into Scully's desk chair. He stretched out his long fingers toward the computer keyboard, but was caught mid-action when he glanced toward his partner. She was standing beside his desk, the file in her hand forgotten, her gaze locked upon the photograph. Mulder drew a soft breath. His stomach twisted as the knowledge hit him just what photograph he had blatantly tossed into her line of view. He had been too wrapped up in paperwork to register the significance of his action. Scully didn't move. Mulder pushed to his feet and made his way back to stand beside her. He followed her gaze to the desktop. An 8x10 black and white photograph of Audrey Taylor, seated at a picnic table in her own backyard, her arm wrapped around the shoulders of her best friend. Mulder turned to Scully. He studied her profile for a long beat. Such a tight mask. In three years of seeing this woman each day, he had only begun to learn a few of the small gestures, movements, or expressions that might indicate the volumes she was feeling beneath. A pulling down to the corner of her mouth, a tightening of the right side of her chin...occasionally a minuscule narrowing of her left eye...he watched for these things, closely, carefully. Always hoping to catch a single moment when he could reach out to her; a moment when she might...might want his comfort. Scully reached up and smoothed her hair behind one ear. Mulder lowered a hand and brushed his fingertips across the photograph. "You know," he began softly, "it wasn't our fault, Scully. We did everything we could." Dana nodded, gaze still locked on the photograph, perhaps as a place to hide from him, perhaps just lost in thought. She drew a breath and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest so close beside him. Her gentle flowery perfume tickled his nostrils. Such a familiar scent, so very much a part of his life. His gaze moved to the skin of her cheek, her temple. He stood so close he could make out the small flaws and smudges in her end-of-the-day make-up, details that would have blended into oblivion from only a few feet away. He was so often the one to initiate any touch between them. And yet he stepped close to her so often--to confer in whispers, to study a piece of evidence--and she never moved away. In fact she often returned the gesture. It might have meant nothing. But somehow it meant a lot to him. And that made him remember the Mansfield case. There had been a gas tank explosion. He had grabbed Scully, pulling her to the ground, rolling with her, and settling on top of her to shelter her from the impact and the falling debris. When the clutter had settled, they had relaxed their stance and looked up to survey the damage, scan the grounds for the other members of the crime team--and he had realized that in the chaos his hand had fallen upon her breast. He had fought the urge to pull back sharply, hoping she would think he had not even noticed the incident. But what had remained in his mind was *her* reaction. She hadn't thought a thing of it, hadn't flinched in the least. There wasn't a chance she hadn't felt it. And yet her trust for him had been so complete it had never crossed her thoughts that his motives were anything but pure. Mulder scooped a pile of folders off the desk and dropped them with a resounding thud into the file box on the floor. "Come on, Scully," he said. "I say, we call it a day. All of this will most assuredly still be here in the morning. We could use some food and a good night's sleep before we finish it up." Scully drew a deep breath and nodded. She picked up the photograph and slipped it into its corresponding case folder. Mulder snapped into action. He had lifted several half-sorted piles into safe places for the night, before he realized Scully had hardly moved. He paused, took a step back toward her. "You okay, Scully?" he asked. She nodded. "I'm fine," she said softly. And for the life of him, he could have sworn she was on the verge of tears. But he could never quite be sure. "Dana..." He saw her twinge at the invocation of her first name. He leaned back on the edge of the desk, only inches from her silent figure. "We handled the case as well as any pair of agents could have. It's a tragedy that things turned out as they did. But there's nothing we could have done about it." He swallowed stiffly, folded his arms across his chest as he planned his next words. "What I'm trying to say is...it's okay if you felt something when we lost Audrey. It doesn't detract from your professionalism. Professionalism is how you perform your job under difficult circumstances, not what you feel. And if we could look at the murder of small children without flinching, we would be no better than the conscienceless monsters who commit these atrocities." He fell silent, unconsciously held his breath. Scully turned and looked up at him, her expression softening a bit. Her eyes were slightly glazed. She offered him a gentle smile, acknowledging his offer. "Yeah," she said softly. "I know." Mulder reached out and rested his hand on her arm. She patted his fingers in acknowledgment, then turned and picked up a pile of folders. The two agents completed their work in silence, shutting down their computers and locking the file cabinets for the night. Mulder picked up a stack of recent crop circle reports and hooked them under his arm. Scully snapped her laptop closed and laid their current case file in her briefcase. Scully was the first to retrieve her coat. She set her computer and briefcase by the door and pulled her tan colored trench coat from its customary hook. She slipped into the coat with a practiced, easy motion. Mulder paced briskly across the room. Scully pushed the door open and paused in the doorway, hand on the light switch, as Mulder grabbed for his coat. He lifted it off the top of the rack and knocked an old friend's hat to the floor which he bent to quickly retrieve. As he swung toward the door, Scully followed his movement and switched off the lights. But before she could take a step, Mulder reached out and pulled her into his arms. She resisted for only a second. The moment he touched her she cringed and suppressed a soft cry that tore at Mulder's heart. Before he could fully close the space between them she melted into tears. He pulled her close against his chest, his long arms cocooning her delicate figure within his warm embrace. It was such a subtle transition, so quiet, in the shadowy dimness of their basement hideaway- - -it was almost as if they were shielded from reality, as if this moment were outside time and need not be acknowledged. As if their conversation had actually ended beside the desk with their gentle exchange. Scully's soft body pressed up against his and he could feel her subtle trembling. He raised a hand to cradle the back of her head and whispered, "It's all right." Scully's fingers clenched around the lapel of his suit jacket as she let go a tense, painful sob. Her body was cinched tight, hardly letting her breathe. He moved his hand across her stiff back, kept a hand nestled protectively amongst her auburn waves. Her hair always felt just a bit softer and silkier than it looked as if it would. Mulder chastened himself for enjoying the sensation, the closeness. She was in so much pain...that was all that mattered. And yet the moment her world had stabilized she would pull away from him. And he would no longer have a reason or a right to reach for her. He tightened his arm across her back, nudged her ever so gently. "Let it go," he whispered. She had fought this for so long, buried it beneath her staunch facade. He leaned his mouth against her hair and drew a deep even breath, letting his chest rise and fall against her, willing her to breathe with him. And at last he felt her give in. She freed her breath in a cascade of quiet sobs and nestled her face into the safe crook of his shoulder. He felt the light touch of her hand as she slipped her arm around his waist. "It's all right," he whispered once more. And he held her. THE END So, did you like it? Hate it? Give up after part one?:) Feel free to write and let me know what you thought....:) I LOVE feedback.... ************************************************************ *|PETER and BETH TRAN|* X-Philes, GA List Members, GAGA COME SEE OUR HOME PAGE!--http://www.geocities.com/Paris/2275 trans@flinthills.com bstrbabs@flinthills.com - ------------------------------------------------------------ Peter--1LT US Army Judge Advocate| Beth--Loyal a.t.x.c.-er General Corps, ABA, B5er, EBDH | WWtBJLSWWGU, MSCLer, PTDS aka: "Buster Rabbit" | aka:"Babs Bunny" "Sure, Fine, Whatever..." --Dana Scully, "Syzygy" ************************************************************