Date sent:        Sun, 13 Jul 1997 11:01:56 -0400 (EDT)
From:             misfiled@xtalwind.net
Subject:          NEW: W.I.B. 1 (1/1) by Nancy


TITLE: 'W.I.B. 1' (1/1)
AUTHOR: Nancy
EMAIL ADDY: misfiled@xtalwind.net
SPOILERS: none
ARCHIVING: Please post to atxc and Gossamer.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and characters of Scully, Mulder and Skinner,
etc... belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 Productions, Fox Broadcasting, and the
actors who portray them. Used without permission and no infringement is
intended. All other contents owned by the author.
RATING: G
KEYWORDS: bar
CLASSIFICATION: story
SUMMARY: Scully joins a sorority.
_______________________________________

'W. I. B. 1'

by Nancy
started 7/25/96
completed 7/31/96
___________________________________

Dana Scully was bone weary.  It was Wednesday,
they'd just returned from a grueling case over in Chicago, and
she was soooo tired she was contemplating calling in sick the
next day.  And she hadn't even exited the parking garage yet!
Not that she was just bodily tired and  a simple 24 hour down
time would cure the problem.  Her mind and soul felt worn to a
thread, as well.  She might almost say she felt ....depressed?
But that wasn't really it, either.  Tired and ..... lonely....

   Glancing around, she saw that the route she
usually took away from the Hoover building towards home was,
once again, under construction.  Remembering the convoluted
detour route the road crew established the last time this road
was worked on, she headed in the opposite direction and
attempted to deal with the D.C. traffic on her own.

  Twenty minutes later and only 6 blocks from where
she'd started, she gave up.  At that moment she was almost past
a little pub called 'Grady's', when she decided to stop and have
a drink. Damn, but it'd been a long, long time since she'd done
much of anything spontaneous, let alone went to a small pub and
bought herself a drink.

  Pulling into a conveniently empty parallel parking
space, Scully exited her sedan.  Leaving her raincoat in the
car, she tucked her gun into her handbag, along with her
cellular phone.  No way was she walking into *any* place thet
served liquor wearing a gun, even a concealed one.  Stepping
across the sidewalk, she moved towards the swinging door of
'Grady's'.

   Once inside, she waited a moment to allow her eyes
to adjust before deciding on whether she should just sit at the
bar or choose a table.  Looking around, she realized that is was
still early enough that either bar or table would be available.
Moving slowly, she picked her way across the tiled floor around
the few occupied tables and headed for the bar.  Whimsically,
she decided she'd sit at the end of the bar. Dressed as she was
in her office apparel of black suit and white blouse, she'd
probably look like some sort of crow!  Somehow she didn't expect
to have too many men hitting on her tonight...although, maybe a
little light flirtation would ease that hollow feeling of
....loneliness....aloneness....she was thinking of before.

  She was just about to step up onto a bar stool,
when she heard her name called in a questioning voice. Turning,
she saw 2 women seated at a table only a few feet away.  Shirly
and Darcy, both agents with the FBI, but in separate divisions.
Shirly, the one who'd called to her apparently, was waving her
over to their table.  Scully hesitated, then nodded to the
women.  No need to insult them by ignoring a polite
acknowledgment. They did have to work in the same building,
after all.

  Just then, she arrived at their table. A moment or
two of small talk ensued, before Darcy asked, "Won't you join
us, Dana?  Unless, you're meeting someone...?"  That's when
Scully remembered hearing bullpen gossip to the effect that
Darcy had a case of the hots for Mulder.  Amused at Darcy's
blatant attempt to find out if Scully was expecting Mulder to
join her at the pub, Scully murmured, "No, I'm not meeting
anyone." and took a seat.

   The waitress approached with Darcy and Shirly's
drinks. After Dana placed her order, she sat back to see where
the conversation would flow.  Picking up where they'd
interrupted themselves, Darcy and Shirly continued their
discussion of a new Management ruling that required  vacation
requests be made 60 days in advance.  From there, the
conversation crossed from the general areas of their divisions
to more personal topics.

   Turning to Scully, who was nursing her second
wine, Shirly asked, 'Dana, could you tell me something? Do you
and your partner get along? I mean, do you *always* get along or
is it more common for the two of you to get on each others
nerves?  I'm having a hard time adjusting to my new partner and
he's making NO attempt to adjust to me!".

   Dana stiffened at Shirly's question. Did they
really think she'd gossip about her partner to relative
strangers?? She'd never be that incautious with any friendship,
but her relationship with her partner was nearly sacrosanct.
Instead of answering directly, she asked a question of her own,
'What kind of problems are the two of you having?'

   Shirly, looking aggrieved spit ,"From day one,
which was just over 2 months ago, he's acted like he's the only
one with any experience in our partnership. He hasn't *quite*
sent me out for coffee, but he's come close.  In the field, he's
had me interview only the secretaries or low level management;
write up all the case notes because he's too busy checking on
more *important* things; constantly overrides any attempts I've
made to direct the cases investigation.  Once, he even
countermanded my orders to a local sheriffs office for backup,
saying that he could handle the perp just fine without 'some
clumsy local' butting in! Not *WE* could handle-HE could. I was
so burned, I could've belted him!"

   "So why didn't you?', Scully asked. 'Figuratively
speaking, of course." The last added with a wink and a sip of
her wine.

   Shirly and Darcy both gawked. The so correct Agent
Scully recommending violence? Before either could speak, a new
voice joined their table. " Sorry I'm late, girls. Traffic,
doncha ya know. Hey, Dana, how's it goin'? I didn't know you
were joinin' us tonight."  All this from the tall black woman
joining them at their table.  Raising an arm, she waved at the
waitress and called, 'Beer, tapped.'

    Turning back towards Scully, Teesa Le Biche gave
her a big smile and exclaimed, 'Girl, I haven't seen you much
since that copycat killer case last year. Where you been hiding
yourself?'

    Darcy gurgled, 'In the basement with Mulder!".

   Dana mentally cringed.  Then, hoping to derail any
further comments about her partner, asked Shirly more about her
new partner.  "How did the two of you get teamed?'

   'Well, my former partner, Riggs, took a desk job
in the S.C. regional office. It was a step up for him, but a
real disappointment for me.  We'd worked so well together. He
and I were paired straight out of the academy, so neither had
any real expectations of how the partnership should work. It
just grew, kinda on our individual talents. Now I 've got this
guy who makes me feel like he got stuck with some bimbo from the
typing pool. Yes, he has more field experience, but only 3
years. Riggs and I were a damn good team with respectable solve
percentages, so where does he get off treating me like excess
baggage?" This last was practically bellowed across the table at
the other women.

   'Um...Shirly, I think those are questions you need
to put to....what *is* his name, anyway?' Darcy asked.

   'You mean other than Shit -for- Brains?  He is
AGENT Dirk Bascombe. Dirk, can you believe it?' Shirly smirked.
'And you're right. Tomorrow we've got a load of paperwork from
our last case to finish. Not only am I *NOT* going to complete
it by myself, I'm going to set that Agent back on his heels with
a few truths."  Tossing back the rest of her draft, she banged
her mug on the table for emphasis then leaned tipsily back in
her chair.

    Dana, trading amused glances with Teesa, inquired,
'Shirly, how are you getting home tonight? If you're planning to
drive yourself, think again.'

   Teesa spoke up before Shirly could get her
thoughts off her coming confrontation with Agent Dirk the Smirk.
'Don't worry Dana. I live in her direction. I'll carry her home.'

   Rolling her wine glass between her palms, Dana
looked at the other 3 women seated around the table with her in
the little pub. How long had it been since she'd talked to
another woman? One not related to her or involved in a case?
Months, at least.  Taking a quick inventory of her rumor mill
knowledge of the other women, she knew that Shirly, a bottle
blonde, and the new partner worked the white collar crimes;
while Teesa was currently assigned to the VC division.  Casting
her mind carefully over her skimpy knowledge, she found that she
couldn't place just which division Darcy was assigned to.  Was
it Behavioral Sciences or Anti-terrorism?  Scully went with
Behavioral, because she hadn't heard anything about a female
being assigned to the exclusively male Terrorist unit.  Still,
Behavioral was no cake walk.  From observing Mulder on some
cases, she knew the toll such a job could take on a person.

   Starting out hesitantly, Dana asked, "Darcy, you
work in Behavioral, right?"

   Drawing circles in the condensation from her ice
tea, Darcy looked over at Dana and nodded. Sudden shadows
crossed her  light blue eyes, giving her a surprising
resemblance to the porcelain 'Precious Moments' statues.  'Why
do you ask? Need a profile?" Darcy inquired.

   Shaking her head, Dana reminded her," Mulder does
most of our profiles. I was wondering.... how do you handle..."
here she broke off.  Too much wine on an empty stomach, girl,
she warned herself. You're about to ask a virtual stranger
for.....

   Her interest piqued, Darcy leaned forward and
propped her elbows on the table.  ''What, Dana? How do I
what?''.  Teesa interrupted a long rambling story by Shirly to
listen to the other two women at the table.

  .....help.  She'd never even asked Mulder, who
shared the cases with her, for help in handling the nightmares.
But, maybe...

   Taking a deep breath to stave off a sudden feeling
of nausea, Dana looked up at Darcy, then Teesa and finished her
sentence, '...nightmares.'  And waited.

   Darcy, looking closely into the face of her fellow
agent, saw the shadows that never entirely left the small
hollows under Agent Scully's eyes.  They'd taken root there
sometime in the past 2 years.  From water cooler gossip and
inter-agency memos, all 3 women at the table with Dana knew that
she'd been through a lot in the past few years.  Kidnapping,
coma, and quarantine to name only a few.

   Sorting her thoughts as she spoke, Darcy asked the
group at large, "Bear with me here a moment while I digress. Do
you know  how many agents there are in the FBI, currently? A
little over 10,000. Of that, only 13% are female. Now, it's true
that more men than women apply to the agency each year, but
women make higher passing grades on average than the men. So why
the small number  of female agents?  In some cases, they aren't
emotionally equipped  to handle the rigors of working in an all
'male envirnment', or are given such undesirable assignments
they leave the agency.  Those of us that tough out the male
dominated field, often wonder if it's all worth the other
sacrifices.  Many female applicants also see that the more
stable jobs are in the labs or behind desks than  in the field.
Hell of a lot easier to raise a family or maintain a
relationship if you can go home at quitting time every night.
Many of the lab agents or desk jobs pay just as much, if not
more!,  than the standard field agents job. Why put up with so
much hardship if you can make as much or more in a safer job
anyway?"

   'So that leave us with about 1360 female agents in
the field.  A large number of them are single or divorced.  Lot
of agency  marriages can't withstand the strains of our careers,
even when we don't have jobs that require us to constantly
travel,  as yours does Dana."

   "Now, back to your original question. How do I
handle my nightmares. And you're ab-solute-ly right in assuming
that I have some doozies.  At first, my husband was my rock.
Then we divorced.  I took up social drinking, but  gave that up
when my partner told me to dry up or get out. Now I do the only
thing I can. I talk it out. With a few friends who've been there
themselves. It *does* take someone who's seen or experienced
what we have in order to help us through. Platitudes aren't
enough.'

    Raising her glass, she indicated both Teesa and
Shirly. ''And when even that isn't enough, I go see the
wonderful Dr. behind the inconspicious beige door.  She's there
for a purpose,  Dana. Let her help you, if you need it.  She's
an ear. She's also seen a  lot of what we have, in one form or
another. She'll probe and  squeeze us into venting the ugliness
. It can be a great balancer. Talking it out with someone who
really does understand why you did what you did; why you don't
quit when it gets rough; who can  understand or at least accept
the existance of fears that usually have to remain hidden during
the day, is just about the only way to retain your sanity.  How
much can you expect your partner to help out  when they've got
their own troubles to deal with?  Often she can offer alternate
directions, when all seems lost. I know. I've met with her
several times myself over the last few years. Particulary since
the divorce."

   Smiling Darcy continued, "Of course, you're
welcome to join us  here on Wednesday evenings when you're in
town. We're not *always*  as maudlin as we've been tonight.
Mostly, we don't even talk about work.  Sometimes it *is*
partner bashing, sometimes it's a hot date, sometimes it's
nothing. Many times it's just plain silly. Or girl talk. A
safety valve. A way to release the tensions of the job, without
comprimising the agency or boring our friends and relatives with
highly  edited tales from the office."

   Teesa pitched in, ''Until we started these
bi-weekly gatherings,  I hadn't realized just how much I'd
missed gabbing with other women. I mean other than those in the
office.  But it had been years, for each of us, since we'd been
able to open up to an non-agency person and just be ourselves.
Occassionally foolish. Sometimes angry at the things we see or
are forced to do.  Those on the outside just can't fully
comprehend the jobs we have and their effects on us. For
instance, my neighbor is a grade school teacher. She's invited
me up for coffee while the laundrey spins.   She's a nice enough
person, but  we really have no common ground.  I can't tell her
about my work, since much  of it is classified until the cases
go to trial, and the parts I could talk about aren't something
I'd share with a stranger.  Other than living in the same
building, we can only chat about current events. Instead of
fishing for things to talk about, I stopped trying to  establish
a friendship and she stopped offering a cup of coffee. Except
for maybe a cop, I don't know of anyone that I could talk over
the stresses of the job, or even the craziness of it and have
them do more than gaze at me with a blank stare.  How can a
woman who waits tables or teaches English fully comprehend the
ugliness and insanity that we're often called on to investigate
and resolve?"

   Dana agreed, "The jobs themselves *are* isolating.
So much of what we see and do is confidential. Other parts of it
are just plain hideous. There is no way I could tell some friend
from college over for a weekend visit of the totally astounding
things Mulder and I investigate, without sounding like a
complete loon.  And would they *really* want all the gorey
details on the autopsy I performed today on a floater?"

   Teesa grinned. 'Dana, sometimes the parts of your
reports that come across my desk in the VC make you sound like a
loon until I read the justifications behind the questions you
and Mulder ask. But then, I've always been partial to loons.
Such a colorful variety of avian!"

   Dana relaxed, and in a quiet good humor for the
first time in a week, shrugged and grinned back. Raising her
glass in a slightly  unsteady hand, she proclaimed, "A toast! To
the 13% of the FBI that actually gets something done! Salud!"

   Shirly, speaking up for the first time in quite
awhile, held her glass up, "To the  "Women in Black" . Best damn
thing to happen to the FBI since Hoover died!"

   Four women held their glasses high, wine-beer-tea,
to answer that toast. 'Women in Black', they murmured.  With sly
smiles at each other, they knew they'd just been christened.

   Dana, looking at the newly made friends across the
table from her, suddenly blurted, "Here's a joke for you:  Why
don't men eat more M & Ms?" then waited with embarrassed glee
for a response.

   Teesa, hiding a smile behind one well manicured
hand, prodded, ' We don't know, Day-nah. Why *don't* men eat
more M & Ms?"

   "Because they're too hard to peel!" Dana supplied
with juvenile glee.  The other women at the table were silent
for the barest moment, then the giggles struck.

   Shirly, recovering from her giggle fit first,
asked in a slightly blurred voice, "What's the most insensitive
part of a p-penis?"

   Darcy, her eyes still watery from Dana's
surprising display of humor, hiccupped "what?".  Shirly, her
eyes rolling in exaggerated dismay, finished, 'The man!" and set
them all off again.

   Giggling until her sides ached, Dana realized that
she no longer felt that sense of loneliness that had been
weighing on her for so long.  She still felt tired, but free-er
somehow.. Stifling the last of her giggles, she smiled around
the table and said, "I think I *will* stop by on the Wednesdays
I'm in town. I get the feeling you're going to be good for me."

   'Ok, here's one more; then I've got to head home.'
Teesa stated.  "Did you hear about the sign someone found on the
condom machine in the men's room?  It read 'this gum tastes
funny'!"

   Howling with mad laughter, the WIB's tossed some
money on the table and helped each other to the door.  Still
laughing as they walked to their cars, they each called good
nights and disappeared into their vehicles.

   Arriving home some time later, Dana let herself
into the apartment she'd leased 4 years ago.  Noting the
blinking light on her answering machine, she softly sighed and
hit the rewind button then turned away to toe off her shoes and
hang up her suit coat.  She emerged from her bedroom in time to
hear her mothers voice remind her of a movie date they'd made
for the upcoming Saturday afternoon. The next message started
with 'Scully, it's me.  Where are you? I figured you'd be home
by now.  Anyway, do you know where I put the ....'.

   Feeling too pleased with her evening to let Mulder
and his incessant workaholic mentality drag her back down, she
stopped the machine and erased the messages.  They weren't
working on anything important enough to warrant calling him back
tonight.  They'd find the lost papers tomorrow...in the office,
where work belonged.

   Friends, she mused.  Except for Mulder, she didn't
have any left in the FBI. Some that she'd made in the early
days, during the weeks at the academy, were still civil. Others,
though, like Tom  Colton were jealous of the success rate the
X-Files Division enjoyed. Until tonight, she'd let herself
become isolated from the rest of society.  Mulder was a great
partner and even more steadfast friend, but he wasn't much good
at girl talk.  And boy did her soul feel better for the time
spent in the company of Teesa, Darcy, and even Shirly.

   Crossing to her computer, she opened her calendar
and made an entry to remind herself of the next WIB gathering at
Grady's.


 End.

Nancy
~~~~~~~~~