Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. Well, so much for getting my freakin' Muse to assist in the timely completion of this chapter. I apologize for making you wait. ::Forte checks under her collar for bees:: Please note my new (at least, "new" since the last time I posted a chapter of V&H!) URL: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/. All prior chapters of "Value & Honor" are available there both individually and in a single compiled file. The site also includes a summary of all chapters posted to date (excluding this one). ******************************************************************** - Chapter 14 - ******************************************************************** Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport Arlington, Virginia Saturday, 5:26 p.m. "Jesus, Mulder. This is worse than I thought it would be." Scully threw the words over her left shoulder, counterbalanced by the duffel bag slung over her right. She hurried toward the US Airways ticket counter, dodging other passengers with every step. Mulder, his eyes sweeping across the crowded terminal, followed a short distance behind her. "Damn it." Mulder somehow heard Scully's muttering over the din of flight announcements and other passengers' conversations. He followed her gaze to see scores of people waiting at the ticket counter; the line of travelers and their luggage snaked back and forth too many times for him to count. Sensing something out of the corner of his eye, Mulder returned his attention to the crowd around them. A blond man in jeans and a kelly green cardigan walked across the terminal towards them, his nose in the latest Tom Clancy paperback and his free hand pulling a wheeled suitcase. As though the event were playing out in slow motion, Mulder realized that the man was on a collision course with Scully: he seemed oblivious to everything except his book, and Scully was focused on the ticket counter and not on the GQ refugee who was only steps away from her. His eyes followed the man in the cardigan; one hand reached forward blindly to grab his partner's shoulder. "Scu -- " His comment was cut off as he lurched to a halt, pressed up against Scully's back. She had stopped short herself, her body stiff against his, her right hand held up and out to prevent the man from cutting them off. The man halted as Scully's hand pushed back against his chest. Another man, in a plaid flannel shirt, stopped behind him, both men sporting blank, wide-eyed faces. For a moment Scully glared at them, her right hand still stretched out. Without shifting her eyes she withdrew her hand and pushed away from her partner. She shouldered past the two strangers toward the ticket counter. Mulder followed, checking over his shoulder after a few paces. Green Cardigan and Flannel Shirt were following them to the ticket counter, he noted. Green Cardigan was again reading while he walked -- idiot! Flannel Shirt paced behind him, checking his watch and tugging at his shirt collar with his free hand. Moments later Mulder dropped his garment bag next to Scully's duffel bag as they joined the long queue for the ticket counter. She clutched the laptop case to her chest and rocked on her heels, then stood on her toes and craned her neck to estimate the waiting time to the ticket counters. Scully was not given normally to fidgeting, but the rolling tap of her fingertips on the laptop echoed his own uneasiness: that feeling he'd had all day that something just wasn't right. Something that was putting Scully in danger. One eye on his partner, Mulder scanned the people in their immediate vicinity. A tired-looking woman stood in front of them, lecturing the two young boys with her to stop fighting. Green Cardigan was still reading while he stood in line behind them. At least he wasn't an accident waiting to happen while he was standing still, Mulder thought. Flannel Shirt stood behind him, squinting at a monitor on the wall. Mulder swept his eyes over the rest of the surrounding crowd: business people in suits, families, backpack-toting college kids. Standard airport fare. At the startled gasp from Scully he turned toward her at the same moment she crashed into him. His arms immediately went around her in an effort to stabilize them both, narrowly preventing the laptop from slipping to the floor. "HE STARTED IT, MOM!" "NO I DIDN'T! YOU PUSHED ME FIRST!" The mother yanked the boy who had fallen into Scully off the ground by the arm and swung him around so that her back was to Mulder and Scully. "I am =sick= and =tired= of you two fighting! How many times have I told you..." Scully shook her head, sucked in a long breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth, her frustrated growl barely audible in the din. But it was enough for Mulder to know that she was seconds away from losing her temper, especially when she made to leave his hold with a jerk. He loosened his arms, though he didn't release her fully, his hands settling on her upper arms. "Are you all ri -- " "I'm fine, Mulder," she hissed, glaring at the mother's back as the woman continued her diatribe to the boys. Mulder pursed his lips as Scully broke away fully, glanced at her watch, then turned to study the monitors. They'd been in far more frustrating situations before, yet he could almost see the tension radiating off of her stiff form. His Scully-instinct told him to just leave her the hell alone, but under the circumstances neither of them could afford to be "off." He worked his jaw, preparing to speak. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE." A uniformed man with a bullhorn walked behind the end of the ticket line. He continued as the crowd quieted to only a moderate din. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you're already ticketed and are not making a change to your flight information, you can go to curbside check-in. If you're already ticketed and have only carry-on baggage, you can go straight to your gate for check-in." A few people struggled their way out of the crowded line and, to Mulder's relief, they finally moved forward. Scully said nothing, shoving her duffel bag forward with a kick and a chuff of breath, nearly clipping the mother and kids with it, though he knew it wasn't intentional. A gentle nudge near his ankle made him turn. "Sorry," Green Cardigan smiled, pulling his bag back toward him. Mulder stared at him a moment -- was that bump intentional? His gaze seemed to make the other man uncomfortable, as he shifted his own eyes to look past Mulder, then cleared his throat. "Seen and not heard, I believe the saying goes?" The southern Virginian drawl was delivered with a raised brow and a nervous smile. "At least that's what my mama always said. She wouldn't tolerate fightin' in public, that's for sure." Mulder held his glare, then finally gave the stranger a slow nod when he showed no indication of wanting anything from him or Scully. He returned to his attentive stance behind his partner in time to catch her checking her watch with a jerk of her arm. He leaned down close to her ear, trying for a low, neutral voice. "We have plenty of time, Scully." She turned her head toward him, her lips nearly touching his jaw. Her own voice was low, but staccato. "We have five hours, Mulder. That's not much time at all. At this point driving isn't even an option. We're out of choices." "When's the last flight, Scully? Eight thirty? That would get us into Boston by ten, and it's only a few miles from the airport to Park Street. We'll get there by ten thirty with no problem." She pulled back, giving him a cool look. With pointed frustration, her eyes darted from him to her watch to the monitors above, forming a precise, repetitive triangle of growing annoyance. "KNOCK IT OFF! MOM, HE HIT ME AGAIN!" Mulder glared over Scully's shoulder at the two arguing boys and their ineffectual mother. Maybe they'd get lost -- or at least go to curbside check-in -- if he flashed his badge at them. At that thought, he leaned toward Scully, checking that no one was paying attention to them as he dipped his head to her ear. "We can always just go to the head of the line," he whispered, tapping his chest over the pocket where he'd stowed his FBI credentials. Scully closed her eyes, her lips pressed together; it looked to him like she was giving him a ten count. Great. He straightened and waited for the inevitable logical argument. She didn't disappoint, finally opening her eyes to state softly, "Mulder, if we show our badges..." She shook her head and continued, "Kersh found us in Nevada, didn't he? If we're not careful, we're going to find an FBI welcoming party at the end of the jetway in Boston." "Oh, come on, Scully, what could they say? We're just a couple friends going to have a fun weekend in --" He broke off, realizing that she wasn't paying attention to him, but rather was staring at a man across from them in line talking on his cell phone. "Hold this, please," she said, pushing the laptop case into his chest. He took it from her with a small, "Ooof," and watched as she squatted down to her duffel bag on the floor. Mulder gave the crowd one more scan before lowering his eyes again to watch her. She opened a compartment at the end the duffel bag, pushing aside some papers, small tools, and other supplies she carried in the field, and finally extracted a folded piece of paper and a pen. She re-zipped the compartment, stood, and brushed the hair from her face, reaching for her cell phone in her jacket pocket. Referring to the page in her hand, she dialed. Ah -- =now= he got it. "QUIT POKIN' ME, BUTTWIPE! MOMMMMMMM!" "=ENOUGH=! DO I HAVE TO SEPARATE YOU TWO? OR SHOULD WE JUST FORGET ABOUT THIS VACATION AND GO HOME RIGHT NOW?" Scully rolled her eyes and tugged on Mulder's arm, cell phone to her ear. He questioned with a crinkle of his brow and she answered by pulling him until they'd switched places. He now stood between her and screaming mother and kids; she was using him as a sort of shield from the bellowing. Scully pressed a key on the phone and hunched over, her head toward Mulder's chest, her free hand over her uncovered ear. After a moment she said, "Yes, I need to make two reservations -- " Mulder noticed that Green Cardigan had looked up from his book with a rather appreciative glance at Scully's ass; he narrowed his eyes at the man and shoved him away with an imaginary, "Back off, pal." It worked, as the man cleared his throat, turned, and went back to his book. Mulder couldn't help taking the opportunity to admire his partner himself; her position gave him an unusual view of her shoulders and back. Only hours earlier, his arms had wrapped around her, and he swallowed hard at the memory. "What are you waiting for?" Frohike had asked him. It was a damn good question, one that didn't have an easy answer. Scully's voice, louder now, brought him back to the matter at hand and he lifted his eyes from her to resume his lookout as she spoke. "I said, I need to make two reservations on the 6:30 flight from National Airport to Boston." A pause, and then she hunched over further. "What? Are you certain? There were plenty of seats when I called -- " Another pause; she straightened a bit again. "What about standby... I see... yes, we'll take the 8:30 flight." She jotted down a flight number. Mulder flinched in spite of his earlier confidence. If the 8:30 flight was delayed or canceled... "One way, coach," Scully continued. "No, I don't want to use a credit card now... I, um, I'm calling on a cell phone. I'll just pay at the ticket counter. Yes, thank you." After giving their fake names to the person at the other end, she thumbed off the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She hung her head with a muttered, "I don't believe this." With a quizzical look, he bent his head and felt her breath tickle his ears she supplied, "Well, at least we have reservations now -- but best we could do is the 8:30 flight. The 5:30 flight was canceled for some reason, and those passengers got bumped onto the 6:30 and 7:30 flights. That's probably part of the reason there are so many people on this line." At his nod, she continued, "We'll still have to pay at the ticket counter with our cash. I could have paid on the phone with one of Frohike's credit cards, but..." Mulder nodded again, understanding what she wouldn't say aloud: the longer they went without using the phony credit cards, the better. The announcer's voice broke in. "Ladies and gentlemen, once again: if you're not making a change to your flight information, you can use curbside check-in." Several more people left the line, pushing through the throng and climbing under and over the cording that gave the line some semblance of order. "Good Lord, look at those sheep -- moving from one long line to another." Mulder and Scully both turned their heads toward Green Cardigan, who gave them a broad smile. "I'm staying right here -- my flight's not until 7:30. Did I hear you say you're going to Boston, too? Are you going to the NAL conference?" Off of Scully's startled look, he used his paperback to point over his heart, where "Brian" and a design of an open book were embroidered in white on the kelly green sweater. "National Association of Librarians? Well, if you don't know, I guess that's not why you're going." His smile broadened, directed at Scully. "Still, Boston's a nice city, isn't it?" Mulder recognized the Scully version of a panic face as it darted across her features. It took her only a second to recover her poker face, looking the man in the eye. "I'm sure it's lovely. I apologize for disturbing your reading." Mulder watched Brian's smile fall and his eyes widen as he realized he'd stepped over a boundary. After a moment the blond man shrugged, mumbled, "No problem," and went back to his reading. Smart move, Mulder thought. There's persistent, and then there's fucking stupid. Keeping an eye on Brian, Mulder looked around; they'd moved a little closer to the front of the line but they still had at least a half hour to wait. For a third time, the announcer repeated the curbside option; the mother with the unruly boys left the line and he and Scully moved forward. Brian kept reading; Mulder still wasn't sure whether he was a threat or not, but in any case preferred to keep the man in sight, as annoying as he was. Flannel Shirt left the line, too. Maybe he didn't want to be the next object of Brian's ass-watching, Mulder mused. As he finished his sweep of the surrounding crowd, he checked his watch. Nearly 6 p.m. He wished he and Scully could leave the line as well, but they had no choice but to wait. ******************************************************************** 5:55 p.m. The man stopped once he'd put ten yards, a hundred people, and a thick pillar between himself and the young Mulder's scanning eyes. He tugged at the collar of his stolen flannel shirt, lifting his eyes to the monitors. Still on schedule. His hearing, many times more sensitive than a human's, had easily picked up the conversation between Scully and the young Mulder. As he had expected, they'd revealed their plans. Now he merely had to reach Boston before they did. It would be much easier to terminate them, but he no longer had that option. He could only proceed with the elimination of the Kurts. He watched the crawl of the ticket line off the reflection in the monitor. For now, he needed to wait for the human in the green sweater. ******************************************************************** 6:40 p.m. "Ladies and gentlemen..." Brian looked up from his book at the announcement. "... would any passengers with confirmed reservations for US Airways Express flight 6535 to Boston at seven thirty please step out of the line and go to the ticket agent at the end of the row." That was him. It figured; there was only about a five minute wait before he would have gotten to a ticket agent anyway. He gave the duo in front of him a quick glance; they'd been studying some kind of paperwork for more than half an hour. Must be some kind of big-shot business people, he decided. In any case, his upbringing demanded a show of good manners, despite the cold reception from the woman and the burning, jealous looks from the man that he'd gotten earlier. "I was almost at the head of the line anyway," he joked, grabbing the handle of his wheeled bag. Each gave him a curt nod and he wished them a safe trip before squeezing past them on his way out of the line. He hoped he'd have better company on the flight. ******************************************************************** 6:43 p.m. "Next in line, please!" Scully cradled her laptop in one arm and moved forward, feeling Mulder close behind, doing away with pleasantries to tell the ticket agent, "We made our reservations by phone about an hour ago." She reached into her jeans pocket for her phony driver's license; from the corner of her eye, Mulder's appeared as well. Together, they placed them on the counter. "Any baggage to check?" the agent asked, eyes trained on her keyboard. "No, all carry-on." They answered the ticket agent's standard pre-flight security questions. To Scully's relief, the agent barely glanced up at them. "That's six hundred ninety-six dollars for the two one-way adult fares." She saw Mulder's hand move towards the front pocket of his jeans; she reached over and covered his hand with her own: no need for anyone to know they were =both= carrying a lot of cash. Mulder met her eyes as she silently transmitted her plan to pay. His chin dipped a fraction, and he moved his hand from his pocket to rest at the small of her back. From the front pocket of her own jeans, Scully pulled out the wad of bills that she'd stowed earlier for this purpose and handed them to the ticket agent. The other woman didn't bat an eye -- how often do people pay cash? Scully wondered. She'd done it once or twice herself, but... It took less than a minute to complete the transaction. The ticket agent handed the "licenses" and four dollars in change to Scully. She gave Mulder his, then ran her thumb over the name on the driver's license -- the name she had chosen -- as she had done at home, trying to assuage her guilt at using it. Sensing Mulder's eyes on her, she looked up to see him staring at her hand with a subtle crease of his brow. Clearing her throat, she stuffed the license back in her pocket and turned her attention to the ticket agent. "All right, Ms. Franklin, you and Mr. Risheloo are all set. Be at the gate half an hour early for boarding." She wrote the gate number on the folder for Scully's ticket and circled it. "Enjoy your flight." ******************************************************************** 6:50 p.m. Freed of his checked bag, Brian relaxed with his Tom Clancy paperback (certainly not a literary masterpiece, he was quick to admit to himself, but good airport reading) in a row of seats close to the gate door. At the commotion that drifted his way, he glanced up to see the boys from hell being dragged in his direction by their overworked mother. They wouldn't last five minutes in =his= library, he told himself. With a resigned sigh, he checked his watch and slipped his ticket into the novel as a bookmark. He pushed himself to his feet, tucking the book into the pocket of his cardigan. Not too long until boarding, he figured. Time for a quick trip to the restroom, and a few more minutes of relative peace. ******************************************************************** 6:51 p.m. He took measured steps down the corridor of the terminal. He blinked twice, then refocused on the man in the green sweater, a dozen yards away but walking towards him. He watched the man run one hand through his blond hair while lifting the other to brush something off his sweater. The man was oblivious to his observer. That would have to change. As he watched his subject close the gap between them, he molded his expression to mimic human distress and illness. He paced himself to be at just the right point in the hallway... With a twist in his step he staggered into the blond man, wheezing and clutching his stomach with one hand. "God, I'm sick," he groaned. "Where's the bathroom?" The other man jerked backwards a step, waited for him to look up, then pointed toward the men's room fifteen feet away. Not good enough. He doubled over as if about to be ill. After a second's hesitation and a mumbled expletive, the man in the green sweater gripped his upper arm and half-dragged him to the restroom. They disappeared around a corner into privacy. Several minutes later the blond man left the men's room alone, gripping his plane ticket. He checked his watch, blinked twice, and started down the corridor again. The book was gone. ******************************************************************** 6:57 p.m. Well, there goes Brian the librarian, Mulder thought with envy, watching him step past them to board. The man didn't even acknowledge them, after all the pestering he'd done in line. Despite the annoyance he still felt with the man, Mulder almost wished Brian would look Scully's way. With a smile or two, maybe she could talk him into giving up his seat. At least one of them would make it to Boston well before ten thirty. Brian disappeared down the hallway, though, and he sighed, facing the woman at the counter again, listening to Scully's negotiations with the gate agent. "Are you sure there's no chance of us getting on the seven thirty flight?" The pert brunette on the other side of the counter gave Scully a condescending smile. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but every seat and every stand-by slot is filled on the seven thirty flight. You'll need to wait for your eight thirty flight." Mulder knew -- even if she would never admit it to him -- that at that moment Scully wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off the woman's face by slapping her FBI credentials on the counter and subtly hinting that the woman's credit rating would be irreparably damaged if she and her companion were not on that seven thirty flight. But he also knew that she was still concerned about tipping their hand to Kersh. "I don't mean to be difficult," his partner continued, "but it's very important that we get there as soon as possible. It's an emergency, actually." The gate agent's eyes narrowed, although the rest of her expression retained the same fake-friendly appearance. "I may be able to make special arrangements if this is a bereavement situation. Are you traveling to a funeral?" Mulder thought. He started to piece together a plausible lie in his head. After all, he'd already used a similar story on Diana that day... "Well," Scully started, pulling her laptop tighter against her chest, "um... well..." "=Will=" Mulder cut in. "The funeral was, uh, last week. This trip is to see the lawyer about my father's will. We have an appointment very early tomorrow. If we aren't there on time, we'll have to wait at least another week to see him." He gave the woman behind the counter a tight, sad smile. "Your lawyer works on a =Sunday=?" Mulder looked the brunette in the eye, expressionless, his voice firm. "He's a family friend." But by the stony look on the woman's face, she was no longer buying any of it. "We'll do the best we can for you," she said, her voice as bland as her dismissive face. "Take a seat -- " she glanced at their tickets laid before her on the counter -- "Mr. Risheloo, and we'll call you if we can get you on the seven thirty flight." After a long pause, Scully scooped their tickets off the counter, gave the woman an icy, "Thank you," and walked away. Mulder followed her to a far row of seats; she dropped her duffel bag and sat down hard, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat next to her, mentally planning another "We have plenty of time" speech. His partner beat him to the punch. "And I thought =I= was a bad liar," she muttered, picking at the torn pocket on her jacket. Mulder blinked back his surprise, then looked down; needing something to do with his own hands he picked at the loose thread on the handle of his garment bag. "It wasn't the best lie I ever told, but at least it was a consistent lie. Diana bought it." Shit. As soon as he'd mentioned Fowley's name, he wished he hadn't. "Di -" Scully cut herself off as she half-turned toward him. She faced the window again, still clutching the laptop to her chest. "Yeah," he said, and cleared his throat. Why did every mention of Diana have to turn into a struggle? "I told her I was looking into my father's estate. She bought it, hook, line and sinker." Maybe humor would ease the tension...? "See? I can lie with the best of 'em." Too late, he realized his words carried more weight than he intended, as Scully turned her head, her eyes piercing him with residual anger. "Yeah," she whispered, "I found that out last Christmas." She swung the computer into his lap and stood, walking away. Cursing under his breath, Mulder watched her disappear into the restroom. ******************************************************************** 7:25 p.m. She'd been in the restroom for almost 15 minutes: splashing water on her face, holding a cold, wet paper towel to the back of her neck, and kneading her shoulder muscles, not caring who saw her. But what she really needed was to eat something and get another dose of Tylenol into her. She also owed her partner an apology. She returned to the gate area, now less congested since the seven thirty flight had boarded. The smaller crowd made it easy for her to see from a distance that Mulder wasn't where she had left him. She picked up her pace and within moments reached the spot where they had been sitting. No sign of Mulder, no sign of their bags. "Hungry?" Scully whirled around at the sound of Mulder's voice to find him loaded down: their three bags were slung over his right shoulder while his left hand juggled a drink carrier and a large grease-stained bag. "Mulder, you're going to hurt yourself," she admonished, moving to his side and carefully removing two of the bags from his shoulder. "You shouldn't carry so much weight on one side. You're unbalanced." Mulder broke into a grin. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you realized that about me, Scully." She ducked her head to hide her own smile and plopped her bags on the floor in front of the seats. "I know this isn't your meal of choice," Mulder continued, dropping his own luggage and holding out the "Burger Heaven" bag, "but I figured you might be needing something to eat and this, while not the most nutritious, *was* the fastest." She looked at his contrite face, his gentle eyes, and felt her animosity of minutes ago fade. The headache, combined with the stress of their impending journey, had sharpened her tongue and weakened her self-control. And she'd taken it out on him by bringing up mistakes of the past. "Mulder, I'm sorry for --" "I know it's been long day, Scully," he interrupted, grasping her elbow with his free hand, urging her to sit. "It's okay." She gave him a small smile and reached for the bag, their truce simple, as always. "So... got a grilled chicken sandwich in there for me?" "Of course, and two cheeseburgers for me," he grinned. "And large fries. But I'll eat your fries if you think that's too much --" "Gimme that," she said, watching his smile broaden as she dug in. Some time later, her fries balanced on her lap with the remnants of her sandwich, Scully pulled out the passenger manifests. They'd scoured them earlier while waiting in line, but perhaps they'd overlooked something. "Find anything?" Mulder mumbled through a mouthful of special sauce and questionable meat by-products. "Nope," she answered, popping a French fry into her mouth. "But it's worth another look, don't you think?" Mulder half-turned and reached for the drink carrier on the seat next to him, coming back with what looked like... "Trade you a chocolate sundae for half of those," he winked, gesturing at the papers. This time, her eyes smiled, too. ******************************************************************** 8:15 p.m. As they walked down the jetway and made their way onto the plane, nagging thoughts of Diana re-emerged in Scully's food-satiated mind. She really wanted to discuss the woman and her involvement in all this with Mulder, but she was too tired and too stuffed with carbohydrates to debate coherently. And this wasn't a topic to address when she wasn't at 100%. She knew for certain that she wasn't up to the discussion when she let Mulder place her duffel bag in the overhead compartment without so much as a token protest. ********** Mulder took his partner's silence in stride. Her mood this afternoon had not been light, to say the least. He knew the food had gone a long way toward a reconciliation of sorts, but for the moment his best bet was silence, especially if there was a chance of Diana's name coming up again. And it should: at some point in the very near future they should re-open their discussion about the e-mail and attached photos Diana had received that day and had shown to him. The images of Scanlon and of Kurt Crawford still weighed heavy on his mind. Beside him, Scully slipped the laptop under the seat in front of her and dropped into her window seat, settling back heavily. Mulder forced their bags into the crowded overhead compartment, marveling to himself that Scully had allowed him to take hers rather than doing it herself, and then sat next to her in the aisle seat. At least they had the two seats to themselves; he didn't think he could have put up with being stuck on the three-seat side of the plane with another talker like Brian, even if the man had turned out to be harmless. Scully rolled her head to face her partner and gestured toward the overhead bin. "Thank you, =Mr. Risheloo=," she said softly. Her tone and her eyes asked a question, and Mulder shrugged comically. "A name I saw on a newsgroup. I just liked it." The edges of her lips curled up, and she nodded in acceptance. The flight attendant's drone about safety procedures faded into the background and he saw her glance at her watch, her lips pursing. As the pilot's voice broke in to announce they were preparing for takeoff, Mulder gave her a nudge with his elbow. "Don't worry -- we'll make it okay. The flight lands at 10 o'clock. We'll flash our badges just before we land and be the first off the plane. We can grab a cab and be at Park Street long before 10:30." He gave her his best reassuring smile. "Five years together, Scully, and how many times have I been wrong?" She didn't answer, but he wasn't sure if it was from irritation, exhaustion, or just humoring him. "=Never=. Not flying, anyway." That got him a reaction: she grimaced, but with a slight tuck up at the corners of her mouth. She quickly erased it, though, and looked at her watch again. Sighing, she closed her eyes and opened them again, looking at her watch. As she let her arm fall to the armrest, Mulder slipped his hand over her watch. Nonchalantly rubbing circles over her hand and wrist with his thumb, he said, "Scully, you're going to pull a muscle if you keep twisting your wrist like that. You're unbalanced." A chuff blew out of her mouth and he was rewarded with the feel of her arm relaxing under his touch. Her eyes closed and she exhaled deeply, sinking as far into her seat as the coach class cushions would allow. Mulder could see from the easing of the lines in her forehead that the Tylenol she'd taken with their dinner was kicking in. Good. "You might want to get some rest yourself, Mr. Risheloo," she murmured. So much for talking. Well, he wasn't eager for conversation anyway. Mulder watched his thumb enjoy its meandering on her skin. It reminded him of her doing something similar at the ticket counter with her driver's license; since he'd just told his own story he wanted to ask her about her own choice of pseudonym, but decided that that could wait, too. Within a few minutes her breathing slowed, and her upper body leaned toward him until her head rested against his shoulder. "Scully?" he whispered. He leaned close, striving to hear if she answered over the roar of the plane as it sped down the runway. She didn't respond. <"What the hell are you waiting for?"> Frohike had asked earlier that day. He'd missed an opportunity hours earlier in Scully's apartment; he wasn't going to miss this one, however minor. Leaning over, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and held them there for several seconds, recalling what he'd planned to say to her when they'd embraced. <"This is nice. We should do it more often."> Yes, they should. Especially when circumstances weren't pressing, like they were now. Concern for her safety rose in him yet again; worry over what They wanted with her. As usual, there were unseen forces at work... or maybe not so unseen. They'd soon find out. Mulder sat back, his chin brushing the top of his partner's head, and joined her in sleep as the plane ascended. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 14 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Author's Notes for Chapter 14: The "National Association of Librarians" is a made-up organization. Or if it isn't, please let me know. I hope I didn't offend any librarians with my choice of profession for Brian. "Value & Honor" takes place in November of 1998. Airport security described in this chapter reflects practices in place at that time. And I conveniently ignored the issue of Mulder and Scully getting on the plane with their weapons, since 1013 ignores it, too. "Thank you" to Risheloo, who early on helped me with a nagging question. As promised, I've immortalized you within this fic to thank you for saving my sanity. Big heaping beta thanks to Jintian Li, Audrey Roget, and especially Mish, who went *far* above and beyond the call of duty on this chapter. Cupcakes, anyone? ;) And thanks to all you persistent stalkers -- you know who you are.