Sent: Thursday, August 13, 1998
Like a Turtle on Its Back (1/2)

This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen
Productions. Characters used without permission. No infringement intended.

TITLE: Like a Turtle on Its Back
AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter
EMAIL ADDRESS: 70302.3654@compuserve.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Post anywhere. Thanks.
SPOILER WARNING: Slight reference to "Detour"
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: S, R
KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully UST/Romance
SUMMARY: After several blows to his male ego, Mulder begins to question the
equilibrium of his relationship--both professional and personal--with
Scully.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Set in the fifth season, around the same time as "Detour."
This is mainly a character-driven piece, but it's built around the
investigation of an X-File, so there's a plot and bad guys (sort of) and
characters you love to hate. There's angst, but it's not extreme enough to
earn it the big "A" classification. There's some MulderTorture, and a
little ScullyTorture, and lots of UST. Romance, too. Wait for it.
THANKS: To Gerry, Lauren, Jill and Jackie for beta reading.

Like a Turtle on Its Back (1/7)
by Jo-Ann Lassiter
70302.3654@compuserve.com

Concord, New Hampshire
Wednesday
March 11
3:45 p.m.

"So we stay on 93 until Route 135?" Mulder looked up questioningly at the
gray-haired woman behind the desk.

Before the SAC's assistant could answer him, a voice sounded from an open
doorway. "Asking directions, Spooky? I thought you just knew these things."
Agent Bill Massone leaned against the frame, arms folded across his chest.

"Well, I don't, and I'm driving," Scully snapped to the smirking agent. She
had had enough of the Concord office and its rude agents with their snide
remarks. Looking at her partner, Scully saw his lips pressed tightly
together and knew that their 'Spooky' remarks were beginning to get to him.
The comments hadn't let up the two hours they'd been there, and Scully
didn't know how he managed to keep his cool. She had to admit she was proud
of him; if it were her, she didn't think she would have been able to
restrain herself from at the very least telling them to stuff it up their
asses.

She still didn't see why the Concord SAC had insisted that they stop in at
the field office instead of proceeding directly to the local police
department who'd put in the request for FBI assistance. The SAC was openly
hostile to her partner, and he'd let it be known in no uncertain terms that
he was dissatisfied with Mulder's being placed in charge of the
investigation.

Earlier, when Mulder had mentioned to Scully that he was acquainted with
the SAC, Ralph Freitas, Scully had asked what he was like. She had to agree
with Mulder's assessment: the man was an A-1, first-class asshole. And
since the SAC's attitude set the tone for the office, the rest of the
agents were assholes, too--at least to Mulder and, to a lesser extent, her.
Only the clerical staff--all one of her--seemed to possess a mind and
opinion of her own; Anne Gibbon, Freitas's administrative assistant,
continued to impress Scully with her not-so-subtle put-downs of the surly
agents.

"Don't worry, Agent Massone," Gibbon intoned now, all professional
courtesy, "I'll get to your request for a map of your neighborhood as soon
as I finish with these agents." It took all of Scully's concentration to
maintain a straight face; she didn't dare look at her partner. "Shall I lay
in a supply of pre-printed instructions for you, or will one be enough?"

Massone's face flamed bright red, and Scully was pleased to note Mulder's
interest in the other agent's embarrassment. "It's a new apartment. I told
you that," Massone mumbled.

"Yes, sir," Anne said crisply. "I'll have a hundred sets made up then." She
smiled brightly. "Will that be sufficient?"

Scully didn't catch whatever Massone murmured before he slithered back into
his office and slammed the door. Unable to contain herself any longer,
Scully let out her laughter. Mulder turned to the older woman and smiled
shyly. "Thanks."

She nodded and handed the Massachusetts/New Hampshire map to him. "Here you
are, Agent Mulder. You were right. Stay on 93 until exit 43 in Littleton,
then follow the printed directions." She gave him a single sheet of paper.

A corner of Mulder's mouth quirked. "We won't end up at Massone's
apartment, will we?"

Gibbon laughed. "I wouldn't do that to either of you. You're a breath of
fresh air in this cesspool of an office."

Mulder's eyebrows arched, but he didn't say anything. "How long have you
worked here?" Scully asked.

"Thirty-two years." Scully was sure her surprise was reflected on her face.

"Frietas has only been here six months," Mulder said. Then, softer, "It
wasn't a promotion."

Gibbon nodded, then said in an overly-conspiratorial tone: "He has a little
trouble working with women."

"Really?" Scully said, genuinely surprised. "I hadn't noticed."

"That's because he had bigger fish to fry." Anne threw a sympathetic gaze
at Mulder.

Scully knew immediately to what she was referring--the 'Spooky-fest' had
been in full swing--and her heart ached for him.

"Just call me a knight in shining armor." Mulder's smile was strained.

Scully smiled at him. "Sir Mulder."

His smile came easily this time. "At your service." He gave a mock bow,
then turned to Gibbon. "I've seen the way he treats women. How do you
manage?"

"I stay out of his way, and he stays out of mine." She smiled. "And I have
a week and a half to retirement, so I've been..." She tossed a look of pure
evil at the closed door behind which Massone was hiding. "...indulging
myself."

This time Mulder laughed, and Scully was glad to see it. She laid a hand on
his arm. "We'd better get going."

Mulder nodded, then turned to Anne. "Two hour drive?"

Gibbon nodded. "At least."

Mulder hesitated. Gibbon pointed to the back of the office. "All the way to
the end and around the corner. First door on your right. Ladies room is the
door after it," she told Scully.

"Thanks," the agents said, heading in the direction she indicated.

Scully breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of sight of the rest of
the office. "Wait for me, Mulder?" she asked when they reached the doors.

He nodded, looking back toward the way they'd come. "Not the friendliest of
places, is it?"

She shook her head. "No." Then she pushed the door open and went inside.
The rest room was empty, as she knew it would be. Anne Gibbon was the sole
female employee in the office, and she was at her desk. After using the
toilet, Scully glanced at her reflection in the mirror, deciding that she
was presentable enough for the drive north; she didn't want to keep Mulder
waiting too long in, as Anne had so eloquently put it, this cesspool of an
office.

"And you be sure to keep me informed every step of the way." The voice
belonged to Freitas. Scully's hand froze on the partially-opened door. She
could see her partner's rigid posture through the half-inch crack.

Mulder's voice was stiff. "It was my understanding that we were working
independent of your office."

"We? Oh, you and that girl."

"*Special Agent* Scully is a woman, Freitas." Scully could have kissed him,
if not for his words, than for the affronted tone of his voice.

"I didn't think you noticed those things, Spooky." A new voice that Scully
recognized as belonging to Special Agent Ronald Stiles joined the fray.

"Look, this is growing tired. Can we just cut the Spooky crap? My profiling
abilities have nothing to do with this case." Mulder was definitely
becoming annoyed.

"Profiling abilities?" Stiles asked.

Mulder spared Stiles an indulgent glance, then faced Freitas. "Looks like
your boys didn't do their homework." The DC agent shook his head. "Tsk.
That's a reflection on you, Ralph."

Freitas's voice fairly crackled. "Weren't you ever taught to show respect,
Mulder?"

"I was," Mulder answered, nodding. The air was bristling now as Mulder said
nothing more.

"You will keep me informed, Mister."

"I'll be happy to." The unsaid, 'sir' hung in the air between the men.
"Shall I tell my superior that you're countermanding his order?"

"*I'll* tell him," Freitas snarled. He snapped his fingers and Scully could
picture Stiles scrambling for a notebook. "Who is he?"

"Walter Skinner."

Dead silence. Then Freitas's choked tone. "As in..."

Mulder clasped his hands in front of him and waited.

"On your way, 'Spooky.'" The SAC's tone was tight..

"Shall I--"

"No." Freitas pushed by Mulder, Stiles following not too closely.

Scully opened the door the rest of the way and walked over to her partner.
"Ready?" she asked, softly.

Mulder nodded. The anger he'd kept at bay during the confrontation was
creeping into his eyes. Scully gave him a look that telegraphed, "I know,"
and he let out a sigh. "Let's blow this pop stand," he said.

They stopped and said their good-byes to Anne Gibbon, wishing her luck on
her retirement, and even more luck on surviving the rest of her time in the
Concord office. She laughed and said she was going to make the most of it,
then wished them good luck on their case.

Scully shivered as they stepped out into the brisk March wind. Mulder
pulled his unbuttoned coat closed, and followed her to their rental car,
waiting beside the passenger door until she unlocked it. She was still
fighting to adjust the seat forward when he slid in beside her. *She* had
very conscientiously moved the passenger seat back before she'd exited the
car after their drive up from Boston. Mulder had left his all the way back,
and even though she knew he couldn't have adjusted it forward without
getting trapped inside, she still threw an annoyed glance his way.

"If it's stuck, I can drive the rest of the way," he said.

Finally, the handle gave and the seat slid forward. "Got it," she said,
victoriously.

Mulder visibly relaxed, and only then did she realize how very tired he
looked. She supposed that being the butt of everyone's jokes pretty much
took it out of you.

"Why don't you see if you can get a little sleep, Mulder. I won't be
needing your navigational skills until we hit Littleton." She tried to mask
her concern by letting a sparkle of mischief shine in her eyes.

He gave a weary, but appreciative grin, and cranked the seat back until he
was almost lying flat.

Scully found her way back to the interstate with no trouble. By the time
they left Concord and Freitas behind, Mulder was asleep.

*****
6 p.m.
The Puffin Stop
Lancaster, New Hampshire

He felt the deceleration when they turned onto the exit ramp. Glancing out
the window, he encountered only darkness. His eyes drifted to the sky. No
moon, no stars. Heavy cloud cover. "Where are we?"

"Exit 40. A couple of exits before our turnoff."

It had been two hours from Boston to Concord, and probably another two to
wherever they were now; he knew they must be down at least half a tank.
"Gas?"

"And food." She threw a glance his way. "Are you hungry?"

His stomach rumbled. "I guess I am," he said, a little embarrassed.

"Well, the sign said gas *and* food. Let's hope they meant an actual
restaurant and not just a convenience store with prepackaged baloney
sandwiches."

They finally found the gas station--about five miles down the road--and
Mulder gazed at Scully sympathetically when the only other building in
sight was the convenience store.

"I'll pump, you pay and get the food?" she asked, getting out of the car.

"Okay." He noticed Scully rubbing her neck and rolling her shoulders. "How
about I drive the rest of the way?"

She looked up tiredly, unhooking the nozzle from the pump. "Mm. Yeah.
Thanks." Her eyes drifted to the top of his head. "Mulder, come here."

A little hesitant, he took a step toward her cautiously. "Something wrong
with my hair?"

A tired smile. "You look like an angry rooster." She reached out and
grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him the remaining foot-and-a-half
between them. "Come *here.*" Resigned to his fate, he sighed and lowered
his head so that she could reach it with ease. He had to admit that having
Scully patting his head wasn't exactly unpleasant.

"There," she said, with a final smoothing pat.

"Done?" He straightened and looked at his reflection in the car window.

She nodded, and he started to walk away. Her "Mulder!" pulled him up short.

He sighed. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Sorry. See if they have a ladies room, will you? And get the
key if it needs one?"

"Okay." He walked the remaining few yards to the entrance and pushed the
door open. The two scraggly men behind the counter were laughing over some
private joke, and he waited patiently until one of them calmed down enough
to acknowledge him.

"Help ya, bud?"

"Do you have a ladies restroom here?"

The men exchanged a glance. One man let out a guffaw, and the other, the
one who'd spoken to him, barely maintained his control. "Yeah, we got one.
But you'll need the key to get in there, slim." His voice was shaking with
amusement, and Mulder suddenly had an inkling of their earlier frivolity.

The agent felt his face flush. "It's not for me." He glanced out the window
at Scully. Standing with one hand on the handle and one hand on her hip,
she looked like she was born to pump gas.

"Oh, sure, sure," the man said, winking at his friend, following Mulder's
gaze and handing him the key. "It's around the back."

Mulder took the key and pulled the door open a little more forcefully than
was necessary. By the time he reached Scully, he felt like throwing the key
at her, but she smiled at him, and he was angry at himself for wanting to
blame her for those two ignoramuses inside. "Here's your key."

"Thanks, Mulder." She twisted the gas cap onto the tank and took the key
from him. "I'm all set here. You can pay now." They walked toward the store
together, but parted near the entrance. He went inside, pleased to note
that Mike and Ike were otherwise engaged in ogling a tourist through the
opposite window. Peering closer, he was repulsed to find that the object of
their fascination was his partner. Well, he thought, slipping unnoticed to
the back of the store, no harm done. So long as all they did was look.

Mulder was studying the contents of the refrigerator cases when Frick and
Frack captured his attention again.

"That's some piece of ass, eh, Ted?"

"You said it. No wonder a tiny thing like that has that tall dude wrapped
around her little finger."

Mulder's hand, which was reaching into the cold case, froze in mid-stretch.

The as-yet-unnamed man laughed. "You said it. Man, that boy is one whupped
puppy."

Ted chuckled. "Didja see her out there fixin' his hair like he was mommy's
good little man?"

Frack guffawed. "And she gets out of the car and starts handling that pump
like a pro."

"He pro'bly don't know how to work it. Bet she don't want him dirtying up
those lily-white hands of his."

Mulder pulled his arm back and looked down at his hands. True, they weren't
callused, and his fingernails were clean, but lily-white? Something about
the phrase rubbed him the wrong way.

"And she sends *him* to get the key to the john. And he did it!"

"Man, that was too funny. 'Do you have a ladies restroom here?'" He recited
the line as a man would imitate a woman's voice. Mulder gritted his teeth
as the men roared with laughter.

A loud clap of thunder and a flash of brilliant white light lit up the
store. Mulder peered from his hiding place and saw the downpour that
accompanied them.

"Hey," Frick said, out of breath from laughter. "I'll bet he's on his way
to the john now with an umbrella for her highness."

"Oh, jeez, Rob, cut it out. I'm gettin' a stitch in my side."

Mulder felt his face reddening again. He'd been thinking that very thing.
Scully was just back to work after having been out a week with the flu, and
he was worried about her catching a chill from the cold rain.

But how could he now? Those two buffoons had him pegged as hen-pecked,
subservient to Scully. And he wasn't. He knew he wasn't.

Another crack of thunder, and Mulder bolted into action. Grabbing
plastic-wrapped sandwiches, a couple of bananas, and two iced teas, he
headed boldly for the front.

"Shit," Frick said under his breath, poking Frack in the ribs. "I think he
heard us."

Frack looked at Mulder, then looked back at Frick and smiled. "Yup. I think
he did."

Frick rang up Mulder's items without glancing at him. "Twenty-three
seventy-five, with the gas." He looked up and met Mulder's eyes; Frick's
were dancing with amusement. "You *are* paying for the gas, aren't you,
slim?"

"Yes," Mulder murmured. He didn't know which he was more: embarrassed or
angry. All he knew was that he wanted out of that store. He threw two tens
and four ones onto the counter. "Keep it." Snatching up his purchases, he
stormed out the door.

By the time he reached the car, he was soaked. The paper bag broke as he
lifted it over the front seat, and the back seat floor was littered with
food.

"Great," he muttered. He was still fuming about those jerks and how
accurately they'd pinned his relationship with his partner. Was he carrying
this equality thing too far? Did he bend over too far backwards in his
attempt to be fair? Did he let her walk all over him?

The umbrella on the back seat caught his eye. That part pissed him off the
most. That he'd thought it, and they'd predicted it. He'd be a fool to go
after her now. Their jeering laughter would ring in his ears for a long
time to come. There was no way in hell he would risk that kind of
humiliation. No way, no how. A little water wouldn't kill her.

He heaved a long, put-upon sigh as he reached for the umbrella.

She was waiting for him. "I was hoping you'd come," she said, her smile one
of gratitude and affection.

"I almost didn't," he admitted.

She met his eyes. "The guys in the store giving you a hard time?"

His mouth fell open, then he closed it stubbornly. "No."

Her hand touched him lightly. "I saw them looking at me when I walked by
the window. I also saw you duck into the back."

He sighed. "Anything else?"

She hesitated. "Well... you were a little upset when you brought me the
key."

He blew out a breath. "Remind me never to play poker with you." He extended
the umbrella toward her and crouched down a few inches so the umbrella was
closer to her head.

She stepped close to him, then surprised him by leaning over and kissing
him on the cheek. "I know what it took for you to come out here," she said
quietly.

"Come on," he said, gently, taking note of the slight quiver in her voice.
"We're only getting colder and wetter standing here."

They made a dash for the car, and she didn't protest when he opened the
door, then waited, holding the umbrella over her while she got in. He
started the engine, turned the heater on, then took the ladies room key
from her shaking hands. "Be right back."

When he pushed through the door to the convenience store, a cold, hard
stare and an "accidental" glimpse of his weapon stifled any remarks Heckle
and Jeckle may have been saving up to use on him. He dropped the key on the
counter, then returned to the car and his partner.

*****

End Part 1/7

Like a Turtle on Its Back (2/7)
by Jo-Ann Lassiter
70302.3654@compuserve.com

Colebrook, New Hampshire
Police Station
Thursday, March 12
8:30 p.m.

"Hey, Mulder, a bunch of us are going out for a few brews and some darts.
Want to come?"

Her partner seemed a little taken aback by the invitation. Even though he
appeared to hit it off really well with the locals, social interaction was
practically unheard of.

"Uh..." he hesitated and looked at her. She smiled encouragingly, and he
turned back to the officer who'd made the offer. "Okay." He focused back on
her. "Scully?"

Immediately, the buzz of friendly conversation died. Mulder seemed not to
take any notice as he awaited her answer. "Um, no. I'm kind of tired,
Mulder. But you go ahead."

His look of concern warred with his obvious desire to "belong" for once,
and Scully silently entreated with him to go, she was fine, but she didn't
want to accompany them. A slight nod, Mulder's promise that he wouldn't be
too late, and the relaxed atmosphere returned.

What was this, an epidemic? First Concord, and now this small town near the
Vermont/Quebec borders. Scully felt a little sick when she realized that
she hadn't been imagining things after all. These men--fellow law
enforcement officers--were not predisposed to associate with women--at
least not as equals, in work *or* in play.

She glanced at her partner. Either he was ignoring it, or it never occurred
to him that she would be treated with anything less than the respect he
afforded her. She sighed, certain that it was the latter. Mulder could be
so blind sometimes.

He walked over and pulled her aside. "You're sure you won't come?"

She shook her head. "I'm beat, Mulder. I just want to crawl into bed."

"Just for a little while? Scully, they *want* us to come."

She looked at him and smiled tiredly. "They want *you* to come."

He threw her own patented "skeptical" look back at her. "No, they don't.
They want both of us."

She didn't know whether she should hit him or hug him. "They don't. Think
back to the conversation. Think back to the whole day. Not all males are as
enlightened as you."

She waited while he re-ran the past few hours; horrified realization
settled in his eyes, and he stared at his new "friends" as if they'd sold
his best friend down the river--which, in effect, they had.

She knew what was coming next. "Go," she said, forcefully, pushing him away
from her.

"I don't want to go anymore," he said very quietly.

"Mulder, I want you to go with them."

Suspicion flashed in his eyes. "Why?"

"Because you already said you would. I know these types. If you back out
now, they'll needle you relentlessly." She rubbed his arm affectionately.
"You get enough of that already; I wouldn't want to add to it."

He seemed about to protest further, but his mouth froze before he could get
the words out, and he simply nodded.

"Hey, Mulder, you ready?" Officer Max Randall yelled across the room.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." He gave Scully a look like *he* was the one
selling his best friend down the river. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said,
softly.

"I'll see you back at the motel, okay?"

"Okay." He dug in his pocket and produced the key to their rental car. "You
take it. I'll get a cab back."

She had to smile. "Mulder, I doubt this town has a cab."

He blinked. "Oh."

Randall came up behind her partner and clapped him on the back; Mulder
nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hey, easy, Mulder. Man, you're jumpy. Looks
like you could use a little down time." He glanced at Scully, then returned
his gaze to Mulder. "You coming?"

Mulder held the key out. "We were just working out transportation."

Randall took the key from Mulder's hand and placed it in Scully's. "Little
lady takes the car. I'll give you a ride to your motel." He looked at
Scully. "All right?"

Scully felt the blood rushing to her face as she whirled on Randall. "First
of all, I am not a 'little lady.' I'm a Special Agent with the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. Second of all, you will *not* be giving him a ride
if you've been drinking. And third..." She looked at Mulder and she saw the
pride he felt in her reflected on his face. "...have a good time," she told
him.

She needed to meet his eyes, to thank him for supporting her and
empathizing with her. Yet she was still livid, and she was afraid he would
see it as being directed at him. Since that was the last thing she wanted,
she simply turned her back on them and walked out. She knew Mulder would
understand.

*****
The Dublin Bar
Colebrook, NH
11:17 p.m.

"Hey, boy, where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

Mulder whirled around--too quickly--to face the speaker, Chief of Police
Bill Dwyer, and nearly landed in the man's lap. Maybe that third beer was
one too many.

As Dwyer caught him and righted him, laughter rang in his ears, yet he
didn't mind. It was the laughter of camaraderie, of being laughed *with*
not *at.* It was laughter Mulder had heard too few times in his thirty-six
years, and he liked it. A lot.

A pang of guilt stabbed at his heart as he realized that he liked these men
who behaved so badly toward his partner. Part of him felt like a traitor,
while another part reveled in the sheer joy of fitting in. How he'd balance
these feelings in the morning he had no idea, but for the moment he was
just going to enjoy himself.

He smiled wickedly at Dwyer as he scored his fifth straight bullseye. "Four
years at Oxford." At the chief's blank look, he elaborated. "England. Where
they invented darts."

The light came into Dwyer's eyes. "Oho, a ringer! Now I see why you
wouldn't take my bet. You're an honorable man, Mulder." The agent caught
the wink and was almost prepared for what came next. "Even if you do take
orders from a woman."

The room went quiet with Mulder's anticipated response, and he certainly
wasn't about to disappoint. "If I appear to be taking orders from Scully,
it's only because I do. When we're working in her area of expertise, which
today's little foray into forensics was, I defer to her knowledge and
experience. If we get into an area in which I excel--profiling, for
example, then the roles are reversed. He gazed out over the group of six
male officers. "She's my partner and my friend; that will not change. If
that's going to be a problem, tell me right now and I'll leave."

"Hey, easy, Mulder. Chief was just yanking your chain. We all have wives
and girlfriends."

"Do you treat them as demeaning as you've treated Scully?"

They looked surprised. Every single solitary male face in that bar wore an
expression of bewilderment. "How do you figure that?" Randall asked, and
Mulder detected no hostility, just honest curiosity. "We've been more than
polite to her."

"That's exactly it. You're treating her like a woman, not a law enforcement
officer."

"Well, hell, man, she *is* a woman."

Mulder smiled. "I know that. But she's also an FBI agent."

"We're just not used to working with women... y'know?"

Mulder shrugged. "I guess." But he didn't.

"Look, from now on we'll treat her like one of the boys. Will that make you
happy?"

He thought about it a minute, and then he nodded. What he really wanted was
for them to treat her like Scully, but he supposed that it would have to
do.

"Good. Now let's get back to the game. You're on my team next, Mulder,
right?"

*****

Castlenook Inn
Colebrook, NH
12:31 a.m.

"Hello," Scully mumbled into what she hoped was the mouthpiece of her cell
phone.

"Hey, Scully."

At Mulder's slurred voice, she came fully awake. "Mulder, where are you?
Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said, and she could hear a cacophony of male voices engaged in
song in the background. "I think I've had enough male bonding for one
night. Can you come get me?"

"Sure," she said, slipping out of her pajama bottoms and into a pair of
pants. "Tell me where you are and how I get there."

"Down the street from the police station. Four blocks. Great big green
shamrock light out front. You can't miss it."

She threw her coat on over her pajama top, then slipped into her shoes.
"I'm leaving right now, Mulder."

"Ukay. I'll be out front."

"Right." She disconnected as she pulled the door open.

The sign was visible the second she hit Main Street. It was, without a
doubt, the biggest green blob of light she had ever seen. As promised,
Mulder was waiting for her on the sidewalk. She stopped at the curb, and he
walked unsteadily toward the car, then got in.

"Thanks for coming," he said quietly. "I didn't trust myself to find my way
back in the dark."

Surprised to hear him admit that, she looked him over carefully. His eyes
were pretty well glazed over, and he looked like he could fall asleep at
the drop of a hat. "Are you okay, Mulder?"

He lifted his eyes up to meet hers, and it seemed to her like it was a
great effort on his part. "I'm drunk, Scully."

She smiled sympathetically; she knew he hated being inebriated, hated the
loss of control, which is why he so rarely drank. "I know, Mulder. But are
you feeling okay? You look a little..."

"Green around the gills?" He swallowed. "I thought I was drinking
commercial beer, but I guess they wanted to have a little fun with the city
boy."

All sorts of bells and whistles started going off in Scully's head. "What
did they give you?"

He sighed. "Local stuff. Billy's Bud. Tastes good, hits you *bad* about an
hour later." He leaned against the door, and his eyes closed. "I know I'm
gonna be sick tonight."

She felt terrible. She was the one who had encouraged him to participate,
and they'd played him for a fool. Those jerks! She had half a mind to march
in there and rip what passed for their hearts out through their throats.
And that was if she was feeling particularly generous. Which she wasn't.
Maybe she'd just deliver one mass kick to the balls. Or maybe not; one at a
time would be a hell of a lot more satisfying.

"Scully, can we go?"

She tore her eyes back to the real world and Mulder. "I'm sorry. Of
course." She put the car in gear and made a U-turn. He moaned at the sudden
swerve, and she patted his shoulder. "Sorry. I'll take it easy on the
curves from now on." He nodded miserably, and her imagination conjured up
several tortures that she deemed fitting for Colebrook's finest.

"Scully?"

Her visions of revenge faded, and she looked over at him, head bowed,
staring at his hands in his lap.

"I want you to know that I appreciate this. I also want you to know that I
feel rotten, I'm angry, and I probably won't be a very pleasant person in
the morning."

"I don't blame you," she said softly. When he turned his face to her, she
removed one hand from the steering wheel and held it out to him.

His hand was cold and clammy when he took hold of hers. She was afraid he
*was* going to be sick later.

If not sooner.

*****

Mulder honestly didn't know what he would have done if Scully hadn't been
there. Probably be lying in a ditch somewhere or, if he'd been stupid--and,
he had to admit, he could be incredibly stupid--wrapped his car around a
tree.

He was surprised at how much it hurt. Even more because it had come so far
out of left field. After he swore he'd never lay himself open like that
ever again, he'd allowed himself to be led like a lamb. The sad part was
that he never even knew he'd been slaughtered. He'd been on top of the
world, enjoying his status as darts player extraordinaire one minute, then
wondering why he couldn't hit the side of a barn the next. The dart in his
hand had felt foreign, and he'd been certain that it had been trying to
kill him. But he'd killed it first. When he'd looked up in triumph, his
little world collapsed in on itself. His "friends" weren't laughing *with*
him any longer.

His stricken look had only fueled their mirth. Damn him for letting his
guard down. Damn them for making him feel that he could.

Looking over at Scully, he decided that it was just as well. There was
really only room in his life for one true friend, and Scully already filled
that position.

Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with him. He felt her hand
holding onto his, and suddenly that was the only sensation that mattered.
Scully's hand in his, flesh to flesh. Bare skin to bare skin. He squeezed
her hand, and she squeezed back. Action and reaction.

Shifting his head on the backrest, he opened his eyes. She filled his
entire vision. Another squeeze, and again her hand tightened in response.
Encouraging. He smiled.

She looked at him then, and smiled back. "Mulder? You okay?"

For every action, there is an equal and positive reaction. He wondered if
he kissed her if she would kiss him back.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she eyed him like
he was a rotting animal carcass. "*What?*"

He stared at her. What was going on? Why was she looking at him like that?
It was almost as if... Oh, God.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "I was thinking. But my brain's not working right."

"No kidding," he heard her mutter.

All of a sudden he felt trapped. By the car, by her hand still clutching
his, by his whole life. The night's activities spun around in his head
until he had to expel them. "Stop," he rasped. "The car. I need to get
out."

He couldn't spare her a glance, but her immediate compliance told him she
had been waiting for it. They screeched to a halt even before he finished
his plea.

The door handle wouldn't work for him, and he was frantic that he might
soil the inside of the car, when Scully pulled it open from the outside. He
rushed past her and ran as far away as he could before he fell to his
knees, retching helplessly onto the snow-covered grass.

Even as he was puking his guts up, he heard her footsteps crunching in the
thin layer of ice. She didn't say anything, but he felt her warmth as she
knelt beside him on the wet ground and laid a comforting hand on his back.
He felt shaky and dizzy, yet her presence gave him peace of mind. Worry
that his arms would give out and he would fall into his own mess all but
evaporated because he knew she wouldn't let that happen. Even though upset
with him for what he'd said, she would still watch out for him.

If he was in control of his faculties, he knew he'd be deathly embarrassed;
as it was, he only knew that he felt awful and that she would keep him safe
from harm. Even if that harm was from himself. He could feel the beer
sloshing around his insides, could taste it as it came up, and it made him
all the sicker. Jesus, how many did he have anyway?

He felt Scully's arm wrapping around his shoulders, and he knew that
something had changed; he just didn't know what. "Come on. Come on, Mulder.
Listen to my voice. Concentrate. That's it. Can you hear me? Deep breath...
take a deep breath. Easy now. Easy. That's it. Breathe."

He must have been complying because his stomach muscles stopped clenching,
and he could take air into his mouth without wanting to gag. His head was
spinning, though, and when he leaned into her, he toppled them backwards
onto the ground. He could feel her beneath him, but he was powerless to do
anything except breathe, and that in itself was quite an effort.

"Mulder!" She tried to squirm out from under him, and he tried to move off
her, but he was totally spent, unable to move a muscle.

"I... need a few... seconds... catch my breath..."

Her struggling stopped, and he felt her hand rubbing his arm. "Okay," she
said, in a whisper.

He was so exhausted, and Scully was so soft and warm beneath him that he
could have fallen asleep right there on the side of the road, were it not
for a little niggling voice that kept telling him that Scully was getting
soaked lying in the snow. So as soon as he had some motor control, he
rolled off her to lie face down on the wet ground.

It actually felt kind of good, the cold, revitalizing his lethargic thought
processes, but not enough, he knew, to make him sober. He'd need a few
hours in deep freeze for that. He shivered when he remembered that he'd
been there, done that, got the frostbite.

"Mulder?"

Her voice was laced with concern, and he made a gargantuan effort to raise
his head. "Yeah?" His voice hurt.

"Mulder, we have to get back in the car." Her voice was quivering. "Do you
still feel sick?"

Truth to tell, he felt like he could--and probably would--puke all night,
but he gathered up what little reserves he had and put them toward his goal
of getting Scully out of the cold.

"Yeah," he answered, "but I can make it back to the motel."

"Good, because I'm freezing."

He knew she was, and that was why he pushed himself up to his hands and
knees. Yet beyond that, he was stumped. How did one go about becoming
vertical when one could not feel one's extremities? They were there; he
could see they were there. But how to maneuver them? "Um, Scully, I, uh...
I need a hand up."

She wrapped an arm around him, pulling him upright. His knees buckled, and
she quickly snared him around the middle, preventing him from falling. The
pressure of her arm against his stomach became too much, and he cursed
himself when he felt his control slipping. Breaking out of her grip, he
stumbled a few feet before dropping to his knees and tainting the pristine
snow again.

"Oh, Mulder..." She was kneeling down next to him. "I'm so sorry. I should
have known better than to grab you there."

He thought it was probably his good fortune that he was unable to respond,
because she would have flattened him for sure if he gave the comeback he
had for *that* remark.

Like before, she stayed quietly beside him, her palm on his back, until he
was done. Then she gently eased him through the dry heaves, wiping his
face, softly encouraging him to breathe deeply. She nudged him away from
the foul-smelling ground, and he showed his gratitude by not falling on top
of her when he collapsed.

"Hey." Her hands were on his cheeks, and he opened his eyes.

He felt like the world's biggest heel. All that worry and all that concern
for an affliction he'd caused himself. And caused her: she was shivering in
earnest now. "I'm okay. Get in the car and turn the heat on. I'll be there
in a few seconds."

A shake of her head. "You need my help."

"I'm fine. Now get in the car before you get sick again."

"And leave you lying in the snow? No."

Damn, she was stubborn! Nowhere near ready, he nonetheless hauled himself
to his feet. "There. I'm not lying in the snow anymore." She eyed him for a
moment, daring him to fall. His anger began to resurface, and misdirected
though he knew it was, he still focused it all on her. "Get in the fucking
car, Scully."

His outburst didn't faze her in the least. She stood her ground for a good
ten seconds before turning around, striding to the car and getting in. She
didn't even slam the goddamned door.

Mulder followed slowly. He was shaking with fury, and he didn't know why.
She'd done nothing. She certainly didn't deserve what he was feeling toward
her. Yet he felt it anyway and it scared him.

He couldn't get in the car. He'd say something hateful. He knew precisely
how and where to turn the knife for maximum effect with minimum effort.
Sometimes their closeness worked against them; he knew what she liked, he
knew what she feared. He knew what would hurt her.

So he walked to the car and past it. The cold air felt good, and the longer
he walked, the more his head cleared. After about twenty minutes, he looked
around. For the first time it occurred to him that although treading down
an unlit highway, he could see the road beneath his feet. Taking a deep
breath, he pivoted to look behind him.

The car stopped, her door opened, and she stepped out. Their eyes met for a
second, but it was enough. By the time he reached the car he felt ashamed
of his behavior. If he had a tail, it would be securely tucked between his
legs. His hand pulled on the handle, and he slid in. He didn't look at her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I was... I just had to walk it off."

Out the corner of his eye, he saw her nod of understanding. Lifting his
head, he looked at her and smiled. She met his eyes and smiled back.

He would not hurt her for the world.

*****

End Part 2/7

Like a Turtle on Its Back (3/7)
by Jo-Ann Lassiter
70302.3654@compuserve.com

Castlenook Inn Parking Lot
Colebrook, NH
1:12 a.m.

Scully reached over to tap Mulder, but stopped short. "Oh! I thought you
were asleep."

He shook his head. "No, just repentant."

They got out of the car, and she followed Mulder to his door. She waited
while he opened it. "Mulder, let me have your key."

He looked at the open door, then back at her, confusion plain on his
features. Gradually, understanding replaced puzzlement. "I feel a lot
better, Scully." He handed her the key anyway.

"I know you do--now."

He sighed. "You're not going to camp out in my room all night, are you?"

"That depends on you." The glossiness was gone from his eyes, as well as
the slurred speech. "You seem lucid enough, but I don't think Billy's Bud
is through with you yet."

A hand covered his stomach protectively, and he grimaced. "I'm afraid you
may be right."

She smiled sympathetically. "Ten minutes?" That was more than enough time
for him to change out of his wet clothes and even take a quick shower. It
was also, gauging by his appearance, about when she judged the next bout
would hit him.

"Scully, you don't--"

"Mulder, do you know how many people die from choking on their own vomit
every year?" Without waiting for his response she continued. "I do, and I'm
not going to let you become one of them." She stabbed him with her eyes,
then gently grasped his arm. "Okay?"

He didn't shy away from her gaze even though she could read the
embarrassment in his eyes. "Okay," he said, very softly.

She gave him a quick squeeze before letting him go. A shiver ran up her
spine, and she hurried into her own room, shedding wet shoes and clothes
almost before the door was closed. Glad she brought sweats--she'd rather
not parade around in front of Mulder wearing pajamas--she pulled them on,
sighing in ecstasy when the warm fleece caressed her skin. Checking the
time--seven minutes--she picked up her medical bag and her key and headed
next door.

Even before she slid the key in the slot she heard him. The bathroom door
was closed, so she knocked before opening it a crack. "Mulder? Are you okay
in there?"

"Scully?" His tone held a plaintive appeal, so she pushed the door in
carefully.

She gasped when she caught sight of him, naked and wet, still in the tub,
leaning over the rim, retching into the toilet. He was shaking like a leaf.
Rushing over to him, she tossed her bag in a corner and picked up the towel
from where he'd dropped it. She dried him as best she could, then took a
clean towel and draped it across his back.

His hand was blindly searching for the toilet paper; she gently guided it
to its goal, then helped him tear off a generous piece. Averting her eyes
while he ran the tissue over his nose and mouth, she filled a glass with
water and held it out to him. He took it without looking at her, rinsing a
few times before taking a careful sip. She glanced at his unclothed body.
"Do you want me to wait outside while you get dressed?"

"Yeah, but..." He finally met her eyes, and she was shocked by the fear in
his. "Not yet?"

"Hey..." She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "I only wanted to give you
some privacy. I'll stay as long as you want."

He swallowed hard, then nodded. Straightening to his knees, he grabbed hold
of the towel covering his lower regions, pulling it closed, fumbling to
tuck it in place. She reached up and touched his fingers, and he
immediately relinquished the task to her. The towel rode low on his hips,
and as she struggled to gather in the cloth, her arm bumped the tip of his
penis; she felt Mulder stiffen. "Sorry," she muttered, feeling her
temperature rising a few degrees.

"It's all right," he said, very softly. "I'm too sick to fully appreciate
it anyway."

She patted his towel-covered hip. "I know. Poor Mulder."

His hand pressed into her shoulder, and she looked up. Mulder's eyes held
gratitude, love, desire--and most of all, regret. She loved him more in
that moment than she ever had in all their five years.

"Come on," she said, gently, helping him out of the tub. His sweat pants
and underwear were still intact on the toilet tank, and she reached for
them. "Do you feel steady enough to dress yourself?" He nodded, and as she
handed the clothes to him, a giant yawn overtook her; she covered her mouth
in surprise. "Sorry."

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, very tenderly. "Why
don't you lie down? If I need you, I'll call you."

She felt her lids beginning to droop. "Yeah. I think I will." Her eyes ran
over him. "What about you?"

He gave her a sickly smile. "I think I'll stay in here for awhile.
Things... still haven't settled down."

She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. It was unlikely that he'd get
much sleep tonight. Her hand reached out and squeezed his arm in sympathy.
"Leave the door open so I can hear you."

His face screwed up into a grimace.

"I'll sleep better, Mulder."

He shook his head. "Only you, Scully, would find solace in hearing me being
sick."

"And only you, Mulder, would take comfort from my 'singing.'"

He laughed. "Point taken." With a gentle hand on her back, he pushed her
toward the door. "Now get some sleep." His hand stayed with her until she
was beyond his reach; she thought if he wasn't committed to spending the
night on the bathroom floor he'd have followed her right into bed. Poor
guy. She should probably leave the--

She turned around quickly--and stopped short. Mulder was staring after her,
dreamy look on his face, arm still outstretched. He blinked in surprise and
pulled his arm close against himself protectively. He looked embarrassed,
worried, confused--and hurt.

She didn't know which unnerved her more: his expression before she caught
him, or the kicked-puppy one he wore now. "I forgot my bag," she mumbled,
brushing by him into the bathroom. Picking up the satchel, she searched
inside until her hand closed around a bottle of AKA Seltzer. "I wanted...
This might help you." She held out the container like a peace offering;
that longing in his eyes was something she was never meant to see.

"Thanks," he said, taking the medicine from her hand.

She could tell he was upset, but she was too tired, and he was too sick, to
deal with unsettling emotions right now. "Good night, Mulder," she said,
stepping around him.

His soft "Good night, Scully" was cut off when she closed the door.

Sometime during the night, when she tucked a pillow under his head and
wrapped a blanket around him, he mumbled in his sleep, but this time his
words didn't shock her. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and pressed
her lips to his forehead.

It wasn't exactly an answer, but it would have to do. For now.

*****

Crime Scene
Quabbin Marsh
Colebrook, New Hampshire
Friday, March 13
8:07 a.m.

After a quick glance at the body, Mulder decided that he should explore the
surrounding terrain. Corpses were Scully's forte, after all, not his. Even
though shivering with cold, Mulder was grateful for the grey, cloudy day.
Sunlight glistening on the vast expanse of white would surely have killed
him.

When Randall called them this morning at seven, Mulder had just dropped
into an armchair, finally free of the bathroom's allure. The detective
asked how he was feeling, then broke the news about the latest victim. In
his best I'm-not-dead-yet-but-thanks-for-trying voice, Mulder ignored the
health question and asked for directions to the crime scene.

Scully had awakened when the phone rang, and after a little confusion as to
who was in whom's room, she left to get dressed, and he collapsed onto the
bed.

It was one of the biggest--and best--mistakes he had ever made in his life.

The bed was soft, and the bed was warm--Scullywarm. Traces of his partner
were everywhere, and he wallowed in them like a porker in a mud bath.

Fifteen minutes later, she was standing over him, "scolding" him for
falling asleep. She offered him a hand up, and he didn't refuse; when a man
awakes in the middle of a dream to find it hovering over him, he
perpetuates it any way he can.

He showered quickly and found her sitting on his unmade bed when he came
out. Before they left, he hung the "No maid service" sign on the door.

*****
Crime Scene
Quabbin Marsh
Colebrook, New Hampshire
8:18 a.m.

Scully was in her element, and she knew it. The body held all the clues
they'd need. Even Mulder admitted that Dwyer had jumped the gun, assigning
paranormal overtones to a case that had none. Her partner had completed his
circuit of the grounds and now stood behind her, looking anywhere but at
the body.

She knew he still wasn't up to snuff when he'd asked if she'd mind driving.
She hadn't realized how ill he still felt, though, until he'd laid eyes on
the corpse; she hadn't seen anyone turn that white that fast since Jake
Warren fainted dead away her first day of teaching at Quantico. A quick
glance at Mulder, his nod that he was okay, and she'd put the incident out
of her mind.

Until now.

His hand at her elbow was a welcome courtesy; she'd gotten stiff with cold,
crouching by the body for so long in the snow.

"You okay?" he asked, when she grabbed hold of his arms to steady herself
on almost-numb legs.

She let him lead her toward the car. "I'm frozen."

"All through here?" he asked.

"I am." She met his eyes. "You?"

A nod. "They didn't need us on this one. A boy scout with a broken
magnifying glass could piece the evidence together. Well--and you." He
smiled, and she was glad to see that his color had improved, although not
by much.

"How are you holding up?" She smiled gratefully as he opened the driver's
side door for her.

"I'm still a little shaky." He walked around to the passenger side and got
in while she situated herself behind the wheel. "I guess you noticed my
Casper impression at the body?"

Shifting the car into gear and pulling out, she nodded.

"They didn't need us here." He was repeating himself, and Mulder repeating
himself signified that he was angry or embarrassed, probably both. What he
really meant was that if they'd never come, he wouldn't have had to go
through last night. And this morning.

She'd noticed that he'd struck out on his own, never making contact with
the officers, except for a few terse words with Dwyer. His demeanor now was
a sure indication that he hadn't missed the snickers, furtive glances, the
little remarks--digs--that the officers didn't even try to be subtle about.

"Why don't we go back to the motel?" she said. "It'll take them a couple of
hours to get me set up." Until her arrival, the autopsies had been taking
place at the nearest equipped hospital--65 miles to the south. "We can get
some breakfast."

She heard him swallow. "I'm not hungry, and frankly Scully, I don't think I
could take the smell of food right now."

She was afraid of this. "Still? I thought you felt better."

"I do." He looked at his hands in his lap. "A little."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I actually think I got a couple of hours in." A hand rubbed his lower
back. "And I have the aches to prove it." He glanced over at her, a
tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Uh... thanks for the
blanket and the pillow."

She returned the smile. "You're welcome." He was shivering when she'd
checked on him a couple of hours later, and she had felt guilty about
closing him in--after she had just told him to leave the door open--with
that drafty window.

He looked back at his hands. "I can probably manage some tea and toast if
we eat in the room."

"I think you'll feel better, Mulder," she said softly.

He didn't look up, and if she hadn't turned to him that very second she
would have missed it, because the smile was gone almost as quickly as it
had come. But there was no denying it: Mulder had felt loved, and he had
attributed it to her.

And he had every right to feel that way.

*****
Castlenook Inn
Friday, March 13
9:42 a.m.

There were times when Mulder felt like he didn't have a friend in the
world. Then there were times like this.

As lousy as he felt, he was remarkably euphoric. In his lifetime, there
hadn't been a whole lot of people who'd cared what happened to him one way
or the other. Even during his VCS days, when he was at the top of his game,
no one gave a damn if he was ill. What mattered was if he was able to work.
And he always worked.

Scully gave a damn. He still worked when he didn't feel well--so did
she--but they looked out for each other, one never allowing the other to
push himself or herself beyond their limits. Where Scully had been loved
all her life, if not by her friends then by her family, he had been scorned
and ridiculed. He didn't think she had any idea how deeply her devotion
affected him.

Even though he'd been blessed with her love for years now, every time it
made its presence known he still got the proverbial lump in his throat. The
truth was, he was still getting used to it. Sometimes he couldn't get
enough of it. Sometimes it scared him to death.

"Mulder?"

He looked over at her.

"Eat your toast before it gets cold."

He nodded and took a bite.

He wondered if she could see the smile in his heart.

*****
Castlenook Inn
Friday, March 13
11:16 a.m.

Scully started awake when the chirping of a cell phone blasted right next
to her ear. She fumbled around in Mulder's jacket until she came up with
the offending instrument.

"Scully."

The male voice on the other end sounded surprised. "Ah... Agent Scully? I
was expecting Agent Mulder on this number."

"Yeah, it's his phone," she murmured, sitting up, trying to smooth the
wrinkles out of the jacket she'd been using as a pillow. "Do you want to
speak to him?"

"Ah... no. That's not necessary. I just wanted to tell him that
everything's been delivered for the autopsy."

Scully felt her hackles raise. "Oh? I was unaware that Agent Mulder was
performing the autopsy."

The voice chuckled. "The way he looked last night, I didn't think he'd be
up to performing *anything.*" After a slight pause, the voice continued. "I
could be wrong, of course."

Suddenly tumbling to the man's meaning and the reason he reached that
meaning, Scully stabbed her partner with a glare. For no reason other than
he was sleeping peacefully on the other side of his own bed while she was
turning all shades of red, Scully wanted to grind him into fine powder.

"I'll tell him you called," she said, not bothering to ask who it was.
Punching the "End" button, she leaned across the bed and gave Mulder a
shove.

"Hunh?" Opening his eyes, he looked up at her. "Time to go?"

"One of your friends called." She met his eyes briefly, but was too angry
to maintain contact.

"My friends?"

"One of your buddies from the police station called with a message for
you."

"Huh?" He was rubbing his eyes and forehead, and she knew he had a headache
by the way he was peering at her through half-closed eyes. "What message?"

"Your autopsy bay is ready."

He sat up straight. "What do you mean *my* autopsy bay?"

"He said to tell *you,* so what else am I to assume but that you'll be
doing the autopsy?"

She heard him curse under his breath. "Way to go, assholes." Then he looked
up at her. "I'm sorry, Scully. They should have called you, not me."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Expecting him to be defensive or to respond just as shrewishly, she was
surprised when he merely sighed. "You've every reason to be upset."

She heaved a sigh of her own. "You know it's not you I'm angry with,
Mulder. You're just the most readily-available target. And you're the same
gender as those..." She bit off the very unladylike expletive she was about
to utter.

What she was sure was meant to be a comforting hand was placed on her
shoulder, and she swatted it off as though it were an annoying insect.
Mulder's eyes furrowed in concern. "What else did he say?"

She was torn between affection for him because he was Mulder, and anger at
him because he was male. "He called on your phone. It woke me up. I
answered it."

It took less than a second for the light to blink on in Mulder's eyes, and
she resented the male mentality which allowed him to reach that conclusion
without any thought whatsoever. "Oh," he said. A sadness deeper than any
she had seen before settled into his eyes. "Does the thought bother you so
much?" he asked very quietly.

The idea itself didn't, not in the least; she couldn't honestly say that it
had never occurred to her. But, God help her, it bothered her a good deal
that those apes should think that she and Mulder were sleeping together.

"I'm going to take a shower," she muttered, walking swiftly through the
connecting doors into her room. She was being very unfair to him, she knew,
but she was still seeing red. Her avoidance of the question had hurt him,
but it was nothing compared to the damage she might have wrought had she
given tongue to the unflattering thoughts rattling around in her head.

She had had it with men in general. If the manager came by with the extra
towels she'd requested she'd probably shoot him. No, Mulder was better off
the way she'd left him. Bruised, but alive.

It bothered her, though, that he looked grateful she'd left him with at
least that much.

*****

Colebrook, New Hampshire
Police Station
Friday, March 13
1:00 p.m.

Mulder had to admit that the officers were as good as their word: whatever
Scully had asked for, she'd gotten. As he'd expected, they'd gone overboard
with their "treating her like one of the boys," though. Once the equipment
had been delivered, men who once would have tripped over their feet in an
attempt to assist a "helpless" woman, left her alone to carry down and set
up everything in the building's basement.

He could tell that Scully was baffled by the turnabout in behavior, but she
didn't ask, content, he suspected, to prove her--and his--mettle, as they
spent an hour hauling tables and trays and more torture devices than Mulder
had ever wanted to see, down the narrow stairway into the bowels of the
police station. When they'd finished and Scully went to see about the body,
Mulder collapsed onto the spare table. Maybe Scully had mettle, but he sure
didn't. She was still running up and down the stairs while the most
strenuous activity he was suited for was falling asleep.

He awoke with a gasp, to find Scully waving smelling salts under his nose.
"What the hell are you doing?" He pushed her hand away, then rolled off the
table and onto his feet.

She looked as shocked as he, as she stumbled backwards. "I thought... You
looked pretty out of it toward the end. And the way you were sprawled--"

"I fell asleep, for Chrissakes! If you'd tried to wake me the conventional
way before resorting to..." His nose scrunched up at the mere remembrance.
"...that," he spat out, "then--"

"I did."

Her words brought him up short. "What?"

"I did try to wake you the conventional way. You were out, Mulder. Cold."

He felt his face scowl in distaste. "Did it ever occur to you that I just
might be tired? I had a bad night, and then you made me carry down all your
damned equipment..."

She recoiled as though slapped. While he hadn't intended to sound so harsh,
he felt a certain satisfaction at her reaction. He was still reeling from
their earlier "conversation," and he was only too glad he'd been able to
return the favor. He'd taken a risk, let his heart out of its prison, and
she'd responded by shoving it back in, locking the door, throwing away the
key. Hell, she'd even managed to get in a kick or twenty after she left.
Poor, lovesick Mulder. Stupid, blind Mulder. Her silence had supplied him
with all the answer he'd needed.

"I'm going to see Dwyer. Turn in my report."

"Okay," she said softly, her arms stiff at her sides.

As he walked away, he could feel her remorse, yet he wasn't quite ready to
pretend it hadn't happened. He'd gotten nothing but grief this entire case,
and the one person he'd counted on, who he'd reached out to, had chopped
him off at the knees, then left him alone and bleeding. He thought he
understood her motivation, but understanding didn't lessen the pain and it
sure as hell didn't make it right.

Mulder took a breath before walking through the door into the squad room.
The detectives were huddled over a desk, passing around and chuckling at a
collection of snapshots. Relieved that they were otherwise occupied, Mulder
continued on to Dwyer's office at the rear of the room.

Raucous laughter reached his ears, and Mulder forced himself to continue
walking until he reached his destination. Recalling the photos, he told
himself that they, and not he, were the source of the glee. Through the
door's window, Dwyer looked up at him, the chief's expression part anger,
part apology. A curious combination, Mulder thought, pulling open the door.

Striding to the man's desk, Mulder dropped the manila folder he was
carrying onto the chief's desk. "There's your case, all wrapped up. As soon
as Scully finishes the autopsy we'll be on our way."

He turned to leave, but Dwyer's, "Just a minute, Mulder," stopped him.

Sighing, he moved back around to face the man.

"Sit down, please? I'd like to explain what happened last night."

Only because the chief's mannerisms were devoid of any form of gloating did
Mulder accept, lowering himself into the chair in front of Dwyer's desk.

"Look, Mulder, we didn't know Jimmy was giving you Billy's until after
you'd left."

"Jimmy?"

"The bartender."

Mulder nodded.

"You asked for a Bud, and around here when anyone asks for a Bud, they get
a Billy's. Jimmy never even gave it a second thought." Dwyer looked
distressed. "Jesus, Mulder, you must have had five of those. I would never
have let you leave alone if I'd known that."

"Scully picked me up," Mulder said quietly.

Dwyer's face relaxed in relief, and he blew out a breath. "At least you had
enough sense of mind to call her. You were..." The chief coughed
uncomfortably. "Before you left for the men's room that last time, you
demolished one of the darts." He smiled uncertainly. "Said you killed it
before it could kill you." The grin widened. "It was pretty damned funny."

Mulder felt his face grow hot. "Yeah, I got that impression."

"Look, we weren't jerking you around, if that's what you think. We had no
way of knowing you were drinking Billy's; we thought you were just a little
under the influence, like the rest of us." Dwyer's voice softened. "Did you
get sick?"

Mulder nodded stiffly.

"If I wasted your time on this case, I'm sorry, but it didn't look like
anything done by any human or animal." The chief picked up the folder.
"Thanks for all your work. I'll read this through, and if I'm not satisfied
after I see the autopsy results I'll get in touch with you. Fair enough?"

"All right," Mulder agreed, standing, beginning to feel less persecuted.

"Why don't you go back to your motel and lie down? I know from firsthand
experience the effects of Billy's Bud on the human digestive system." He
studied Mulder's face. "It doesn't look like it's let go of you yet."

All this talk of his health made Mulder uneasy. "I'm all right," he said
brusquely. "Besides, Scully's downstairs. She might need my help."

"Oh," the chief said, coughing, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

Mulder frowned. He'd forgotten about the behind-the-back whispers at the
crime scene. Naturally, he'd assumed they were directed at him, but it
appeared that he'd misconstrued their true meaning. "Do you have a problem
with that?" he asked.

"No, no," Dwyer was quick to deny.

"Then what's the joke?"

Dwyer cleared his throat. "Your partner seems a little..." He looked up at
Mulder. "I've never encountered a male/female partnership before. I guess
that aspect of law enforcement hasn't made its way up here to the boonies
yet." He shrugged. "Is it a requirement that the female be the dominant one
in the partnership?"

Mulder was beyond appalled. "*What?*"

"Um..." The chief was starting to look uncomfortable. "She seems very 'in
charge' of this investigation."

"In what way?"

"Well, you hanging around in case she needs something, for instance."

Mulder frowned. "She's working; I'm not. When the roles are reversed, she's
there for me if I need her. The give and take goes both ways."

Dwyer smiled affably. "It appears that I was wrong, then."

His flippant tone of voice bothered Mulder, but the agent merely nodded.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me to go over anything in there." He nodded
toward the folder.

"Right." Again, the not-quite-hidden smile. "Downstairs."

Mulder met the chief's eyes for a second, then turned on his heel and left.

"Hey, Mulder! How you doin'?" Randall's voice came from off to his left,
and the agent's head swiveled in that direction. Th
e tall, baby-faced detective was sitting at a desk, crime scene photos
covering its entire surface. Carefully extracting himself from the
collection, he made his way over to the agent.

"I'm fine, thanks," Mulder answered. "You?"

"Oh, I'm right as rain. Then I knew enough not to drink Billy's on a work
night." The detective grinned, his eye twinkling mischievously.

Mulder was none too pleased to be the source of Randall's amusement. "Yeah,
well no one thought to mention that little detail to me."

Randall sighed, the gleeful attitude fading away. "We sure as hell weren't
expecting you to know about it, let alone be drinking it." The detective's
brows furrowed. "Really, though. How are you? Even the most seasoned of us
can't drink more than four, and you must have had at least that many."

"Five," Mulder sighed.

Randall's eyebrows shot up into his forehead, and he let out a long
whistle. "And you can walk?"

Either these people were still yanking his chain or last night was truly a
major misunderstanding. Mulder decided to play it careful, holding to the
adage, 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.' "Barely,"
he said, letting the hint of a smile play about his lips. Gauging Randall's
reaction.

Sympathy was not at all what he expected. "I know what you mean. The first
time I drank Billy's..." Randall's face soured. "Some joker slipped them to
me at my bachelor party. I was as sick as a dog all night. I couldn't even
stand at my own wedding the next day. I took my vows sitting on a chair,
leaning into my wife, trying not to groan."

Mulder pursed his lips and let out a silent whistle. "That's rough."

Randall beamed. "But she married me anyway. It'll be fourteen years this
July. Hey!" He started toward his desk, motioning Mulder to follow. "Do you
like kids?"

Mulder nodded.

"My son's 6th birthday party last Sunday." Opening his desk drawer, he drew
out a packet of photos. "Phil's an amateur magician, and he gave the kids a
show." Mulder assumed that 'Phil' was Detective Phil Costin. "Did you ever
see anything more funny than the looks on their faces when he sawed my wife
in half?" As Randall handed Mulder the pictures, the agent relaxed and even
had to admit that the officers' earlier laughter was justified. The looks
of wonder and horror on the juvenile audience's faces were a scream.

"These are great," Mulder laughed, handing them back.

"Thanks," Randall said, placing them back in the drawer. "Say, I'm gonna
grab a bite. Do you want to come, or can I pick you up something?"

"Uh, no, thanks." Just the thought made Mulder's stomach flip-flop. "But if
you can wait a minute, I'll see if Scully wants something."

"Sure. Go ahead."

Mulder headed for the doorway to the stairs, then turned back around to ask
Randall what type of food he was going for. The words died on his lips when
he saw the expression of amused pity on the detective's face.

This was just too much of a coincidence for his tastes. Could the entire
male population of New Hampshire be that wrong? Maybe after all this time
he'd slipped into the role of passive male without his ever being aware of
it. Scully did have a strong personality, but did it overshadow his?

He thought about the concessions he'd made over the years, how she'd
chipped away at him, piece by piece, until there was nothing of the
original Mulder left. Yet he'd always thought that these changes had been
for the better. Oh, God, maybe he *was* domesticated.

"Hey, Randall, you know, on second thought, I will join you." Scully could
handle the autopsy just fine by herself. She'd certainly made it clear that
his attentions were unwanted. And she was more than capable of getting her
own lunch.

As he walked through the door with Randall, for the first time in a long
while he felt free. It was beginning to look like this trip to New
Hampshire wasn't a total waste after all. He discovered that once he quit
worrying about Scully's well-being, Scully's feelings, Scully's opinions,
he was back. The Mulder of five years ago. The one who required no one and
nothing. A man in his own right, able to stand on his own two feet and who
didn't need anyone watching his back. This Mulder was self-made,
self-contained, and self-confident. This Mulder was a winner.

Why, then, did he feel like he'd lost something?

*****

End Part 3/7