From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1999 14:38:41 -0500
Subject: Saving Agent Scully 1/4 by Weasel
Source: direct

Reply To: zippyweasel@yahoo.com


TITLE:  Saving Agent Scully (1 of 4)

AUTHOR:  Weasel

ARCHIVE:  Gossamer, TSN -- yes.  Others please request permission.

EMAIL:  zippyweasel@yahoo.com

RATING: G

CATEGORY:  S -- R

DISCLAIMER:  Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 created and own the 
characters in this piece.  Oh, and I also quote Dave Barry in 
there, just so Chris doesn't feel like I'm singling him out 
or something.  This is all just for fun and I am not making 
any money.  

KEYWORDS:  Scully/Other romance 

SUMMARY -- Oh, come on, read it.  It won't hurt you, silly.  
When you finish it you can run straight back and read about 
3 MSR's in a row and it will be like it never happened.

*Mil gracias* to Brianna for sending me a beta reading that 
made me scream like Leonard Betts in full regenerative mode 
and bang my head against the monitor.  The story is, of course,
much better due to her intervention.  And my thumbs grew back,
so everyone's happy.


*************
Saving Agent Scully
Part One

by Weasel
*************


Dana Scully picked at the last few shreds of lettuce in her 
Sesame Chicken salad.  She had stopped at a small deli to eat 
after work, not able to face the effort of washing even the 
one fork she would need to eat a frozen dinner at home.  She 
was tired and it was Monday.  Now, however she was questioning
her logic, because the buzz of people enjoying their meals was 
depressing her.

" . . . If you can regularly come up with lunatic interpreta-
tions of simple stories, you should major in English . . . "

She was not the only person eating alone; a few men in suits 
sat up at the counter and a girl sat in a booth with notebooks 
on the table, a highlighter in one hand and a cigarette in the 
other.  Yet Scully's attention was constantly being drawn to 
the tables filled with groups. 

There was a family of four in a booth, the baby in the high-
chair banging her sippy cup while her two-year old sister 
squealed with delight and both parents slumped with exhaustion 
over their coffee cups.  A group of elderly men at a table 
were arguing in a systematic pattern that indicated that they 
had had this argument before and were looking forward to next 
week when they could have it again.

" . . . announced "you'll need this", and wrote the suicide 
prevention hotline number on the board . ."

The group that most often caught her attention was a trio of 
young men in the booth in front of her.  College kids, most 
likely, all fresh-faced and hyper.  When she was first seated 
she had gotten the impression that they were drunk.  Later she 
revised that assessment, thinking it more likely that their 
state of euphoria was brought on by their extended bouts of 
hysterical laughter and the inhuman quantities of coffee they
were consuming.  They had all laughed until tears rolled down 
their faces at least three times in the twenty-four minutes 
that Scully had been sitting behind them.
	
".. . . You have been provided with a razor blade, a piece of 
gauze, and a bottle of Scotch. Remove your appendix. You have 
15 minutes. . ."

Scully unwittingly snorted a short laugh, before the realization
that she was eavesdropping made her cover her mouth with her 
napkin and raise her hand to get the waitress's attention.  
To make matters worse, the man who faced her caught her eye 
and raised his head in a little salute.  She had to get out 
of here.  

One of the boys got up and dropped some money on the table.  
The other two were insisting that he stay, but he waved off 
their entreaties as he turned away with a whimper and a giggle.
He reached past them and pulled a huge wad of napkins out of 
the holder, which he used to mop the tears off of his face 
and blow his nose.  As he walked out the door he waved his 
makeshift handkerchief at his companions.

The waitress came with the check, and Scully handed her enough
for the bill and the tip.  She stepped toward the door and was 
pulling on her coat when she heard a voice behind her.

"Excuse me, Miss, but could I ask you a quick question?"
	
Scully turned around and gave the two men a wary smile.  "Yes?"

"Would you like some coffee?"  It was the dark-haired one, 
the one that had acknowledged that she was listening to their 
conversation.  She felt somewhat trapped.

"Is that the question?"

"No," he said, smiling, "I just thought that maybe you would 
like some coffee before you answered the question."

Scully wanted nothing more than to be at home in bed right 
now.  She certainly did not want to be sitting down for coffee
with two college kids who were somewhat over-stimulated at 
present.  She was just about to pleasantly excuse herself when
the other man, a skinny guy with long blond hair, fell into 
another fit of giggles, saying "Mr. Winky," several times 
quietly under his breath.  Scully was distracted by the way 
he let his head drop against the table with a sickly sounding 
smack.  The dark-haired stranger took advantage of her pause 
and was up out of his seat and standing beside her, gently 
taking her coat.

"Nate, get a handle on it, man," hissed the man beside her.

"No, really, it's fine," said Scully, looking for a polite 
way to grab her coat back.

Just then the waitress passed by and the young man said, 
"Could we get another cup of coffee here?"

"Certainly, I'll be right back with it," said the waitress, 
suddenly exuding super-human efficiency.

Scully, an FBI agent trained in self-defense and investigation 
techniques, and currently carrying a fire arm, was unable to 
combat the conspiracy being wrought upon her by the inhabitants 
of a deli.  She sighed and sat down next to blondie.  One cup 
of coffee.

"I'm sorry.  I feel like we should apologize.  You were trying 
to have a nice peaceful dinner and we were causing a ruckus 
here."  The dark haired one, who was now sitting across from 
her waved his hand toward his friend.  "This is Nate, and I'm 
James. The guy that just left was Max, a friend of ours from 
college, and we hadn't seen each other in a while.  We were 
catching up on old times, and things got a little out of hand.  
I hope that you will accept our humble offering of coffee as 
an apology."

Scully smiled her acceptance, saying,  "I'm Dana." The waitress 
arrived with the coffee and Scully began to blow on it, trying
to cool it off enough to take a few slurps and make her escape.
Nate lifted his head and said, between gasps, "Tell . . . tell
her about Mr. . . . Mr. Winky."

When Scully looked down at her watch she realized that 40 
minutes had passed.  She had stopped drinking coffee after 
her second cup, but she felt light and punchy from laughter.  
James had been telling stories about his college days in New 
York City; the same college stories that everyone could tell.
Roommates, professors, creatively excessive parties.  At first
she had tried to maintain her cool control by reminding herself
that laughter was contagious, and her own laughter was just 
being brought on by Nate giggling beside her like a 50's 
sitcom laugh track.

Half way through the Mr. Winky story she lost her ability to 
control her laughter.  Her stomach hurt from it and she didn't
even want to think about what her mascara looked like right 
now.  The waitress had brought their check and Nate was 
counting out about $5.00 in dimes for his portion of the bill.
Scully stood and once again began to put on her coat.

"Do you live around here, Dana?" asked Nate.

"No, this is just about halfway between work and home," she 
replied.

"Well, I think we should do this again sometime," said James, 
"Maybe next Monday?  Same time, same booth?"

Scully just shook her head.  "I really can't make any promises.  
My work requires that I travel a lot."

"Well, we'll be here next Monday.  If you're in town, I hope 
you can stop by."

Scully thanked them for the coffee and left.  As she walked 
down the sidewalk to her car she felt a strange liberation.  
She had just spent half an hour talking to people who had 
nothing to do with her work.  People who were not talking 
about death and destruction.  People who were not packing guns.  
It occurred to her that these were the normal everyday people 
that she was supposedly protecting by risking her life in a 
myriad of situations.  She was glad that she had finally 
gotten to sit down for a few minutes and enjoy some of that 
normalcy she was working so hard to protect.

* * * * * * * * * *

It never really occurred to Scully to return to the deli and 
seek out her new acquaintances.  It had been a fun break, but 
part of the fun had been the spontaneity of it.  It really was
not plausible that she would start spending her Monday nights 
in a deli with people who probably had nothing in common with 
her other than some typical university memoirs.

She had found herself laughing a little throughout the week 
at some of the stories she remembered them telling.  They were
funny guys.  At least she thought they were, but it could have
been a product of her fatigue and the coffee, combined with 
her generally funky mood that evening.  

She spent a quiet weekend at home, cleaning and reading up on 
her medical journals.  She bought a new plant on Sunday and 
potted it in a little wicker basket.  She rented two movies 
and fell asleep on the couch.

When Monday rolled around however, she found herself thinking 
about the invitation, as if it were an important secret.  It 
was her ace in the hole.  Even if she had just passed a completely 
forgettable weekend; even if her job was beginning to drain 
her with its constant parade of horror and machinations of 
power and deceit.  Even though her partner was . . . Mulder.  
She had an invitation from people who had nothing to do with 
her job, or her family.  They were just normal average deli 
patrons.  Even though she was not going to go, she still felt 
better for having been invited.  

So she was surprised to find herself sitting in her car outside
of the deli at 6:30 on Monday night.  She was arguing with 
herself, since no one else was offering any opinions.  

She was not sure why she was actually considering going in 
and finding these guys again.   She did not even know them.  
Seeking companionship with strangers was risky at best.  They 
might enjoy dogfights on the weekends.  They might be serial 
killers or encyclopedia salesmen.  Plus, they had to be ten 
years younger than she.  

Was that the problem, then?  They were too young for her to 
drink coffee with?  Had she really gotten that old that fast?  

"I just want something new in my life," she said out loud to 
the car.  Something that did not require guilt or fear or 
responsibility. 

*Well,* she thought, *now I've gotten myself so depressed that
if I go home I may try to drown myself in the bathtub.*  She 
got out of the car and locked it behind her.

She did not know if it was a good or bad omen, but the booth 
they had occupied the previous week was vacant.  She sat down,
and glanced quickly around the restaurant.  She did not see 
Nate or James.

Scully wondered if she was going to be upset if they did not 
show up.  Last week's waitress brought her a cup of coffee.  
"You gonna be waiting to order, hon?"  she asked with a little
wink.  Scully nodded and smiled feeling like Monday night's 
installment of the deli drama.

She was relieved to see James walk through the door.  The joy 
at not being stood up was short-lived, however.   He was alone,
and he had replaced the jeans and T-shirt that he was wearing 
last week for khaki dress pants and a dark green corduroy shirt.  
Date attire, one of the voices in her head chastised her.

The voices settled down a little when she saw James' face light
up in recognition.  He strode over to the table and slid into 
the booth across from her.  

"Dana.  What a pleasure.  I'm so glad you didn't have to go 
out of town," he said, grinning.

"Where's Nate?" asked Scully.  

"Well, it's a funny thing.  He was really excited about coming
tonight.  He was talking about coming and planning on coming 
right up until the last minute, when I bound and gagged him 
and stuffed him in the trunk.  So it's just going to be you 
and me."

Scully's laughter was half nerves and it segued into silence.
The voices in her head threatened to rise up again.  "Get a 
hold of yourself," she thought. Just make the best of it.

"So, James, what do you do?"  She was very proud of herself.  
Her voice didn't even shake.

"I am an associate professor of English Lit at the University 
of Maryland."

"Oh really?  That's my alma mater."

James' eyes lit up.  Nice gray eyes with long lashes Scully 
noticed.  "Wow, what did you study?"

"Medicine," she replied.

"Doctor Dana?" he asked

"Yes, Dr. Dana to you," she replied, smiling.  *Oh, dear,* 
she thought to herself.  *Am I flirting?*  She studied the 
menu as if it were an ancient scroll.

"Where do you practice?" asked James after the waitress had 
taken their orders.

"I'm not a practicing physician.  I am a forensic pathologist 
and I work with the FBI,"

James looked at her as if she had just said that she juggled 
mangoes in a traveling circus.  "Crime lab stuff?"

"Well, I'm a field agent.  But I also do lab work."

"Agent Dr. Dana?"

"*Special* Agent Dr. Dana,"  she said.  The voices in her head
had finally fallen silent.  This was too much fun.  

James smiled, then shook his head.  He opened his mouth as 
if to speak, then he shut it again.  Scully suspected he was 
suffering his own infestation of voices right now.

* * * * * * * * * *

Scully was drinking hot tea and watching James devour an 
obscenely large piece of chocolate pie when anxiety struck 
her again.  It had been a pleasant evening, but she still 
needed to determine if this was a date or not.  It couldn't 
be a date, because if it was a date there would be a lot of 
uncomfortable questions at the end of it, and the end of it, 
whatever "it" was, was probably near.  Ok, then it is not a 
date, she decided.  It was just a little Monday night thing 
that they had decided to do.  She would just pay her half of 
the check to make sure that it was not a date.   She pulled a 
ten dollar bill out of her purse and laid it on the table.

"I already paid," said James between bites of chocolate.

"When did you pay?"

"When I was looking at the pie wagon."

"Let me pay half," she said pushing the bill across the table 
to him.

He wrinkled his forehead and shook his head.  "I already paid."

She wrinkled her forehead back at him.  "Take this."

"You're making me uncomfortable," he said laying his hand over 
hers.  "You can buy the popcorn, if you insist."

Even in her current state of panic brought on by the 
realization that this was indeed a date, she was no sucker.  
"I'm not going to fall for that one."

He shrugged and looked away.  "I tried," he said, then pulled 
open the fingers of her left hand with his right hand, took 
her ten dollar bill in his left hand and passed it into her 
right hand, pushing her right hand towards her.  At the end of
this complicated maneuver he was holding her hand across the 
table and her money was back in her purse.

Scully decided that it was time to go on the offensive.  She 
pushed her tea cup out of the way and leaned towards him, 
nailing him with what she hoped was a piercing gaze.  
"How old are you, James?"

"I'm 29," he said leaning in and meeting her gaze.

"You know I'm older than that."

"I won't tell the neighbors if you don't."

Scully laughed.


*************************

The saga continues in Parts Two, Three and Four


TITLE:  Saving Agent Scully (2 of 4)
AUTHOR:  Weasel

***********


James Webber had driven with a lead foot from his house to Dana's 
neighborhood, but now that he was actually close he wanted to post-
pone. He thought he had seen a florist a few blocks back; maybe he 
would just circle around and see what was fresh.

He was going to Dana's apartment this afternoon.  He was glad to be 
going.  This would be the first time he had actually been in her 
apartment for more than ten minutes, and it seemed kind of momentous.
He also had a suspicion that it might be momentous is other ways. He 
was bringing ice cream and cheesy movies, two things known to be 
conducive to foolishness.

It was their fifth date. It could be the sixth if you counted the 
second time he saw her as a date, but that was kind of an ambush. So 
he called it their fifth date.  He had been a complete gentleman and 
had successfully ignored the voice of the ancestral caveman deep 
inside him that told him to swing that woman over his shoulder and 
carry her back to the cave.  Except for one eight-minute lapse in 
the back of a dark jazz club, but she had not appeared to be 
offended.  In fact, when he walked her up to her apartment, she had 
swayed up against him and suggested that he come over on Sunday for 
"movies or something," at her place.

"Or something . . ." he said, "what the hell am I delaying for?"

The prospect of snuggling on a couch with his favorite woman was 
very enticing, but he was also a little worried.  It sounded quite 
unmanly when the words were spoken aloud inside the car, but he was 
starting to fear for his heart.  

Since he met Dana he had concentrated his efforts on maintaining her
attention.  Dana was like a wild kitten -- you had to keep her eye 
with a piece of string or a feather until her attention was diverted.
Then, if you were lucky you could pick her up and rub her ears before
she realized how close you had gotten.  Now, however, he was 
beginning to wonder if he was getting in over his head with this 
particular feline.

He thought it had something to do with her job.  "I have a hard job,"
she had said once when he was teasing her about not smiling enough.  
A thousand glib remarks had run through his head when she said that, 
but luckily he had been in full kitten hunter mode and had not voiced
any of them.  Hell, what did he know?  Maybe she did have a hard job.
She carried a big gun.  

"Why am I doing this to myself?" he asked the steering wheel.  Why, 
indeed.  Well she was beautiful, that made it easy to get started 
and then he noticed that she was also brilliant, so he kept going 
and then reason had rolled over into instinct.  Resistance was 
futile.  

If her high-intensity job was not enough to worry him, there was also
her partner.  James had pictured "Mulder" as a boxy military type 
with a buzz cut or a maybe a balding, cheap-suited law-enforcement 
cliche.  So he was only slightly uncomfortable when the cell-phone 
rang at odd hours or frequent intervals.  She spoke very highly of 
her partner and from what she told him about her work, he got the 
impression that their somewhat atypical department provided a 
welcome, if occasionally gruesome, challenge for her.  

The day he picked Dana up for lunch, he got to meet Agent Mulder in 
front of the FBI building.  He could suddenly put a face with the 
ringing cell-phone.  He knew exactly who left up to five messages on 
her machine at a time. A GQ model with a dangerous smirk and paranoia
in his eyes. Dana had casually mentioned that day that she and her 
partner had never had a personal relationship. 

"No, you just have an extremely intimate work relationship," he had 
said.  She had given him a glance that drew a very clear line in the 
sand, and they had eaten in silence for nearly fifteen minutes.

It was during that little period of introspection that he had decided
that maybe he should just take a step back.  He felt the green, snaky
head of jealousy coiling around in his stomach, and he did not like 
it.  He was not the jealous type.

Two weeks had passed before they saw each other again.  They had 
spoken on the phone a few times, and she had gone out of town on a 
case.  James had probably looked appropriately tormented and 
aggrieved for his class's reading of Paradise Lost that week.  

She had called him the day she got back to town, and he had asked 
her to go to dinner with him that night.  She left her cell phone 
at home, and he barely suppressed the urge to do a little dance in 
her hallway.
 

* * * * * * * * * 


He spotted the florist shop and a parking space at exactly the same 
time. 

*Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone,* he thought
reflexively as he looked over the buckets full of daisies and 
carnations.  There were some roses in a cooler.   *No,* he thought, 
*too predictable.*  There were some sprigs of pink freesia, and some 
wilted looking orchids.  He was just about to settle for some cheery 
sunflowers when he smelled something better -- violets.  Beautiful 
purple ones in a white ceramic pot.  They were the cutest thing in 
the world.  Well, the second cutest.  He paid the florist and got 
back on the road.  If he delayed any more the ice cream was going 
to be completely melted.

"Hi," she answered the door with a smile five minutes later. 

"Hey, you," he winked, handing her the ice cream and hiding the 
flowers behind his back.  "Put that in the freezer quick."  He needed
to deter her for just a minute while he recovered enough from his 
first look at her to put on his recitation voice.  She came back 
from the kitchen a moment later and he handed her the violets.

"From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
   That whenever a March-wind sighs
 He sets the jewel-print of your feet
   In violets blue as your eyes"

"Wow," she said with a shy smile.  "These are beautiful.  That was 
beautiful."

"I'm glad you like them."  Now, what was it that he had been thinking
in the car?  It was something about emotional distance, but now he 
could not quite remember how it pertained to the present situation.

She showed him around her apartment, and put the violets on the 
kitchen table.  She fixed them drinks and then they moved into the 
living room.  He handed her the movies.

"What have we here --  the Return of the Pink Panther and Dead Men 
Don't Wear Plaid," she said.  "Gee, I can hardly decide which we 
should see first."

"Put one in . . . we'll see how far we get," he said sitting on the 
couch.  She started the VCR and came over to sit beside him.  She 
leaned in close to him and rested her forearm on his thigh.  *Oh 
boy,* he thought, *I'm hers.  I hope she's gentle with me.*

"What was the poem that went with the flowers?" she asked looking 
up at him.

"Hmm? Oh, that was from Maud, by Tennyson," he replied.

"I don't want to read it, silly," she said, nudging his ribs.

"Of course you don't," he smiled, "I am a silly."  He thanked a 
higher power for putting him in his element, as he leaned down 
close to her ear, brushing his nose against her hair.

*There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."*

"Very nice.  Do you have a literary quote for every occasion?" she 
asked.

"Of course.  For some occasions I have several.  This occasion, 
for example, has probably inspired more poetry, literature, art, 
and music than any other."

"What occasion would that be?"

"You know:  boy, girl, love.  A soft place to sit, some flowers 
and mindless entertainment.  Volumes have been written on it.  
Entire careers have been based on it."

"Are you going to write something about this particular occasion?" 
she asked, stretching out on the couch and laying her feet in his 
lap.

"I really don't write much, but you never know," he said as he 
traced the small bones on the top of her feet.  "Maybe I just needed
the right inspiration."


* * * * * * * *

Continued in Part 3 and 4

TITLE:  Saving Agent Scully (3 of 4)
AUTHOR:  Weasel

* * * * * * * * *

It was 6:50 when Mulder pulled his bag out of the taxi and turned 
toward the terminal.  He saw Scully getting out of a car further 
down the curb, and was going to shout to her when he realized that 
she was getting out of James' car.  James pulled her bag out of the 
backseat and handed it to her.  Then he leaned in for a minute and 
spoke in her ear, and she smiled.  Scully turned toward the terminal 
and Mulder caught up with her.  James saw him and raised his hand in 
a little wave, which Mulder returned.

"Scully?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"How did James know that you needed a ride to the airport this 
morning when I just called you two hours ago?"

"He's precognitive, Mulder.  Didn't I tell you that?"

Mulder filled her in on the details of case while they checked 
in.  Children in several rural Tennessee towns were reported to be 
suffering from mysterious bruising and one girl had died from her 
injuries.  All of the children reported having the same nightmares, 
yet they did not know each other, or attend any of the same schools.  
Mulder casually dropped the phrase "mind net," and Scully offered a 
few token arguments, but they both knew that the real sparring would 
not begin until they were on the scene.

Mulder was just glad that things were getting back to normal between 
he and Scully.

He had suffered when he first realized that Scully was dating 
someone.  It was just such a bizarre thing to happen.  She mentioned 
it casually once, that she had a date the previous weekend.  He had 
laughed.  Right out loud.  Thinking of it now made him cringe.   
Contrary to popular belief, Mulder had the ability to recognize that
he was an asshole sometimes.  He just usually couldn't recognize 
soon enough to keep it from happening.

Thank God for Scully's strong soul, because she told him that week 
that she was going to be seeing the same person again.  This time he 
was prepared and refrained from saying anything anti-social.  The 
tight fear that crawled up into his chest spoke loudly.  She was 
trying to keep him informed of a developing situation and he should 
not do anything to compromise that communication.

"Who is this lucky guy?" he had asked.

She had given him the basics:  James Webber, Assistant Professor of 
English at the U of Maryland.  Mulder had told her to leave early 
and have a good time.  Then he had tried unsuccessfully to put it 
out of his head.

He tried not to get ahead of himself, but he was filled with a 
sudden dread.  This was how it was going to end.  They had fought 
together through a motley assortment of threats and menaces and now 
he was going to lose her to an English professor and the infamous 
normal life.  He cringed when she came in each day waiting for her 
to say that she had decided to quit the X-Files, that she had 
something to live for now and wasn't going to keep tempting death.

These torturous thoughts were tolerable during their days together, 
but when they both went home in the evenings it was unbearable.  So 
he did what he had to do; he forced the issue.  He called her on the 
cell phone and left messages on her machine, trying to annoy her to 
the point where she would end the suspense and tell him to leave her 
alone.

She didn't though.  She answered the phone every time and spoke to 
him for a few minutes before telling him that they could easily 
discuss this in the office.  If he left messages, she called him 
when she got in.  He soon realized that Dana Scully, sly little 
fox that she was, thought that she could have her cake and eat it 
too.  She was going to do this; she was going to force two entirely
different worlds to coexist.

Mulder had felt a sudden respect and protectiveness for her plan.  
She deserved to be happy, and it was certainly more fun to come to 
work with Glowing Scully than Glowering Scully.  He tried to believe 
that this was going to work just fine.  Then Scully had casually 
mentioned that if he walked out with her that day, he could meet 
James, who was coming to pick her up for lunch.

Only the supremest act of will and Scully's expectant smile had kept 
him from screaming when he met James.  He was so young.  Mulder had 
known that he was not going to be in control when Scully came back 
from lunch.  He thought about leaving the building -- just running 
away.  But the image of Scully actually sitting down and eating 
lunch with that kid was too much for him.  He waited in the office 
until she came back.

"Is he going to take you to prom, Scully?"

"Go to hell."

That was when Scully did turn off her cell phone.  Messages went 
unanswered.  She avoided him whenever possible at work.  Mulder knew 
that he needed to apologize, but whenever he tried to formulate an 
apology his mind was flooded with graphic images of Scully and her 
young lover.  What could he say? "Scully, I'm sorry that I made fun 
of the fact that you're being ridiculous."

She had also lost the glow of weeks past and was looking tired and 
angry again.  He suspected that there was trouble in paradise and 
that soon this whole situation would blow over and things would be 
back to normal.  

They got sent out of town the next week.  It was a long case and 
after three days of not speaking, they both broke down.

"Scully, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to judge you," he said.

"I know, Mulder.  I promise . . . " Scully shrugged weakly and 
smiled, "I promise he's older than he looks."

Scully was coming towards him now with a cup of coffee in each hand 
and a newspaper under her arm.  She was good at juggling things.

Mulder could tell that she liked her new man.  She laughed and 
smiled when she spoke on the phone with him.  She spoke highly of 
him, and most importantly, she no longer got angry or defensive if 
Mulder teased her.  She just ignored him or, more often, laughed 
at him.  He was glad she had found a person who could make her 
laugh.

*And,* he thought to himself, *she still showed up at the airport 
in two hours when I called her.* She did not appear to be leaving 
any time soon.  He knew that part of his relief at her happiness 
was selfish.  He leaned hard on Scully sometimes and he was glad 
that she had someone to lean on in turn.  One of these days he 
would have to thank James for holding him up.

Scully dropped into a chair next to him and handed him a cup of 
coffee.  She passed him the sports section and then flipped open her 
section of the paper, pulling her glasses out of her purse.  She 
raised her head and caught him looking at her.

"What?  I know that you can just hardly wait to start pushing 
theories on me, but really, let me have my coffee first," she said 
smiling, "so I can have that caffeine edge when I start refuting 
you."

Yes, thought Mulder, if any woman deserves two men in her life, it 
was Dana Scully.

* * * * * * * *

Please move on to Part Four

TITLE:  Saving Agent Scully (4 of 4)
AUTHOR:  Weasel

* * * * * * * * * *


Dana Scully put out her hand to restrain the large paper bag of
Chinese food as she slowed the car for a stoplight.  She was
bringing carryout back to her apartment where James was currently
occupied installing her new closet organizer.

She was not timid enough to think that she would not be capable
of assembling furniture, but she was smart enough to realize
that it looked tedious.  Men just seem to have a craving for
reading assembly instructions and using loosely veiled phallic
symbols that masquerade as power tools.  Any smart liberated
woman knows that it is best to just step out of the way; it is
not nearly as fun as it looks.

As she pulled up in front of her building she was met by a scene
from one of her recurring nightmares:  Mulder's and James' cars
both parked in front of her apartment at the same time.  *This
should be interesting,* she thought as she gathered the food and
locked the car.

It was not that they did not get along well.  They both did a good
job of being pleasant to each other, and sometimes even acted 
friendly.  But Scully kept getting the impression that they both 
wanted to ask her the same question that Betsy Meyers had asked 
her in the sixth grade:  "But who is your really, really BEST 
friend?"

Scully managed to get her key into the door without dropping 
anything and as she crossed to the kitchen she could hear voices 
from her bedroom.

"Look, if you just put the shelves closer together then there 
will be room for all five."

"I was just going to put four, because if I put the fifth one up, 
it is going to be really high, and she's not going to be able to 
reach it.  What's the point in that?"

"I'm sure that Scully is smart enough to get a chair or something 
when she needs to reach the top shelf."

"Do you see a chair in this room?"  Scully could hear James' voice
rising.  "Is she going to bring a chair from the kitchen every time
she needs to get something on the top shelf?  Besides, I already 
drilled the holes.  The extra shelf can go in the bathroom or 
somewhere."

"In the bath . . . these are closet shelves."

Scully entered the arena, against her better judgment.  Mulder 
was paging through the assembly diagrams, saying "See, it's right 
here, just follow the instructions."

"I don't follow instructions, Mulder.  I'm a rebel," replied James.

Scully announced her presence.  "Hey, Mulder, what are you 
doing here?"

"Scully, good, you're here.  Look at this, there should be five 
shelves on the left here, and he's only putting up four."

"Dana, come here," said James, pulling her into the closet with 
him.  He ran his hands up her sides and pulled her arms up over 
her head.  "Now look, she can barely reach the fourth shelf as 
it is.  What good is a fifth shelf?"

"Scully?  What do you think?" prompted Mulder.

*I think that I am not getting into the middle of this.* she thought.
It was really not an important decision.  She did need to get Mulder 
out of her bedroom, though, before James started urinating in the 
corners.  That would be a mess.

"Mulder, are you joining us for dinner?" she suggested.  "I got 
Chinese, so there should be plenty."

The closet shelves were momentarily forgotten.  "Hey, we're going 
on a case tomorrow.  I came by to drop off the files for you to 
look at, but, sure, I'll stay for dinner," said Mulder.

"Let's go look over the files, and then when James is done in here 
we can eat," said Scully.  Mulder looked at the assembly instructions
one more time before grudgingly following Scully out to the living 
room.  James revved the little motor on the power drill as they left.

Mulder and Scully settled onto the couch and Mulder handed her the 
photos and autopsy reports of four bodies that had been found in 
Northern Wisconsin.  The cause of death was declared as blood loss 
in all four cases, but the presence of large amounts of digestive 
enzymes in the bodies of the victims had puzzled local investi-
gators.  The enzymes had also performed their function and left 
the bodies a little bit drippy.  Scully noted that three of the 
bodies had strange puncture marks.  She was looking closely at 
the photos of the fourth victim when James came out of the bedroom.

"Oh Jesus, Dana!" shouted James, throwing an arm over his face as 
he veered toward the kitchen.  "I have to eat, you know.  Do I 
leave grammatically incorrect Freshman Comp papers lying about 
to horrify passers-by?"

"Sorry," she called to James.

When James had disappeared into the kitchen, Mulder leaned over 
and whispered, "I've never seen him sit still. Is he always this . . . 
active?  Doesn't it wear you out?"

"Yes he is, and no it doesn't," said Scully, with a patient smile. 

James was active; she knew it.  He occasionally shouted when speaking 
would suffice, and he often used exaggerated gestures if he had an 
audience.  He sometimes ran inside the house, and he had an unnerving 
habit of picking her up, even in public.

Underneath this external energy, however, his psyche was dead calm.  
On the inside, he was like a cool, clear pond in the shade -- quiet 
and refreshing.  He knew exactly who he was and he liked himself.  
He did not have his entire future planned out, but he knew the 
general direction he was headed, and he believed in enjoying the 
trip.  

Mulder was quite the opposite.  He put on a good show with his dry
humor and dark suits.  He appeared much more under control on the 
outside.  But on the inside Mulder was like a pinball machine when 
you've just passed 100 million in the middle of a three-ball 
multi-ball, shooting for the bonus with the extra ball lit. 
Frenzied.

A few minutes later, Mulder and Scully joined James in the kitchen 
where he was pulling plates and glasses out of the cupboard.  Soon 
the three were gathered around the little kitchen table eating Mu 
Shu pork and chop suey.

Mulder piled food onto his plate and ate for a minute before 
speaking. "All of the victims were dairy farmers, and in the 
police reports there was a mention of low milk production in 
the area this year.  I talked to a veterinarian there, and he 
said that many locals suspected that it was a large predator, 
a wolf or a bear in the area, that might be spooking the dairy 
herds.  Apparently, milk production can be affected by the 
emotional state of the cows, and even small disruptions in their 
environment can show up as reduced milk production."

James and Scully were both listening intently to Mulder's 
lesson in bovine psychology.  Mulder broke off his explanation 
just long enough to reach for the last egg roll.  "I think that 
the puncture wounds and the digestive enzymes, along with the idea 
that some sort of large animal has been wandering around scaring 
the dairy cattle points to a giant arachnid of some sort."

James smiled.  He looked from Mulder to Scully and back again, and 
then a laugh escaped his mouth.

Mulder finished his egg roll.  

"A giant arachnid?" asked James.  "So you think a giant arachnid 
killed some farmers?  Or are you just yanking my chain?"

Mulder considered for a few seconds before answering.  "I believe 
that there are indications of a giant arachnid.  Scully might not 
agree with that impression, right Scully?"

"Dana?" prompted James.

Scully resisted the urge to look around for the fourth person 
in the room.  Then she spoke carefully.  "I don't believe that 
there are giant arachnids murdering dairy farmers in Wisconsin," 
she said.  "I mean, I've seen some big spiders, but . . . "

James choked back another laugh and Scully reached over and 
gave him a push.  That only made him laugh harder.  Scully was about
to give him an angry glare when she noticed that Mulder was also 
laughing.  Interactions between Mulder and James were impossible
to predict with accuracy, she had noticed.

After the laughter had cooled down, Scully continued.  "But 
seriously, these cases come to us because other law-enforcement 
agencies have tried to solve them and have failed.  Realistically, 
my ability to invalidate theories is probably not going to lead 
us toward a solution.  Mulder's theories, however unorthodox they 
are, generally open the investigation toward new ideas and extreme 
possibilities.  Often the answer to the mystery is found somewhere 
among these extreme possibilities."

"That's just Scully's way of saying that I'm usually right," said 
Mulder.

"I did not say that," she replied. 

The conversation veered toward baseball and they finished their 
meal in relative peace.  "I hate to eat and run," said Mulder, "but 
I need to go pack and get ready for the trip to Wisconsin.  You too, 
Scully."  Mulder headed for the door.  "I'll see you at the airport 
at 10:00."  

Scully walked him to the door.  She returned to the kitchen to 
find James putting the rest of the dishes into the dishwasher.  
He dried his hands on a towel before draping them around her neck.  
"So, Dana, how long are you going to be out of town?"

"Well, it's hard to say, at least a couple of . . . oh, the rafting 
trip."  She closed her eyes in a grimace.

"Friday.  You probably won't be back, will you?"

"I'm sorry.  I don't think I'm going to make it."

"Well . . . maybe next time," James said with a little sigh.  "Can I 
stay tonight?  Soak up some love and affection before you and Mulder 
head off to fight arachnids and leave me to go on a romantic rafting 
trip with Nate?"

"Sure," she replied, wrapping her arms around him.  She definitely 
needed to recharge her batteries if she was going to spend the next 
few days with Mulder, and a quiet night with James, along with some 
precise channeling of that infamous energy, was fast becoming her 
favorite way to recharge.  "Hey, how did the closet come out?" she 
asked.

"Organized," he said, leading her into the bedroom to inspect.  
"You will never want for shelf space as long as I have anything 
to say about it."

* * * * * * * * * *

Scully dropped to the bed in her hotel room four days later.  
The case was finally solved and the perpetrator had not been a big 
spider, but a real human being.  The human being had taken on 
some extremely arachnid-like behaviors, though, and by following 
that theory they had been able to track him down.  He had led 
them on a hell of a chase.  For some reason Scully had thought 
that Wisconsin would not be insufferably hot, but apparently 
there is no such thing as North of summer.  She was dying for 
a shower before she and Mulder went out in search of supper, 
but she had to make a phone call first.

She picked up the hotel extension and dialed and a minute later 
a man's voice answered.

"Hello," he said.

"Nate?  This is Dana," replied Scully.

"Hey, Dana.  Man, you missed out," said Nate.

"I know, I know.  Things ran long here and I couldn't make it 
back."

"You missed out!  James went headfirst over the bow of the raft.  
You'll probably get to see the results; I don't think that his 
black eye will be going away for several days," he said, laughing.

"Oh, no.  That's horrible."

"No, it was just funny.  But seriously, we missed you.  It was 
a great time.  Here let me go get James. . . "

Scully listened to a thousand miles of static for several seconds 
and then a more familiar voice came on line.

"Hi Dana, how are things in Wisconsin?"

"Fine.  Hot.  Finished."

"Really?  When are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow.  I'm sorry I missed the trip."

"Don't worry.  But it was a great time.  You would have loved it.  
The weather was perfect for it."

"Yeah?  Well the weather was not perfect for chasing criminals 
through Northern Wisconsin.  It was too hot."

"In Wisconsin?  Weird.  We'll have to sit you in front of the 
air-conditioner tomorrow, and eat ice cream."

"That sounds great.  Hey, Nate said you fell out of the boat?"

"Well, it's a little difficult to describe, but yes, I fell out 
of the boat.  I didn't really hit that hard -- I don't know where 
this black eye came from."

"It doesn't take much with facial contusions."

"Oh, Doctor," James murmured.  "You know how I get when you talk 
medical jargon to me."

"Really?  Maybe if you're lucky I'll give you a full exam tomorrow."

"Mmmmmm -- I miss you.  What time are you getting in tomorrow?  
Maybe I can pick you up at the airport."

"We get in at 2:00 p.m."

"I can do 2:00.  I'll pick you up, O.K.?"

"That will be great.  I'll see you at the airport."

"O.k., sweetie.  I'll see you tomorrow."

"James?"

"Yep?"

"Thank you."

"For what, Dana?"

If she hadn't been so tired she would have told him for what.  
*Thanks for making sure that when I'm out of town I'm missing 
something.  Thanks for reminding me that most people can't look 
at autopsy photos before dinner.  Thanks for pulling me two steps 
back from Mulder so that I can remember what a brilliant person 
he is and how lucky I am to work with him.  Thanks for giving me 
someone to call and tell that I am coming home.*

"Thanks for organizing my closet."

"Oh, that, well.  That was pretty special of me, wasn't it?   I'll 
see you tomorrow, Dana.  I love you."

"Me too.  Goodnight." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

The End.

hee hee.

All parts available at 
http://www.netsys.hn/~mwetzel/files/fic.html

NOTES:  This story is dedicated as a "Welcome to Your New Posts 
present" to Darcie, Brianna, and Gilly who have taken over the 
MORSOR Society/The Shipper's Nightmare.  They are working hard to 
provide for the romantically inclined Noromo.


Although Darcie probably won't think it's a very damn funny present.
I think I only called Mulder a bad name once, so maybe she won't be
too hard on me.